I opened my big mouth. I said something to Adam that was not, exactly, or even remotely, respectful. He told me, “This is your one warning. It’s the only pass I’ll give you.” I could see that he was struggling with whether it was the right decision to let me slide, even just this once. I was good with it, though. Later, after we’d gone to bed, this came up again. I repeated the thing I had said, earlier, and decided to elaborate. I added some extra “glitter” to something Adam already did not appreciate… He wasn’t amused. He told me he couldn’t let this go. I panicked and told him that felt a lot like “double jeopardy”! He couldn’t put me on trial for the same crime! He wouldn’t bend, this time. He started to climb out of bed. I grabbed onto him and held my arms around his neck, and my legs around his waist, like a damn baby monkey on its mama. I begged him “NO! I don’t want to sleep on my stomach! Pleeeease don’t!” He just said, “I have to.” He held up his hand and told me he could use his hand or his belt. I swear, his hands turn to stone, when he’s punishing me with them. I wouldn’t make that choice, this time. His hand hurts like hell, too! More than the belt ever really has. Even though I know, deep down, the belt could do way more damage, if he wanted it to. He walked toward our closet, where the belts were. I’m still straddling him, doing my best to stop him, but getting nowhere. I jumped down when he opened the closet door. I ran to our bed and jumped onto it. He came toward me, carrying that mother fucking belt in his hand. I continued to plead with him. He told me to turn over. I said no. He pulled me up, his hand under my arm, so that I was standing, facing him. He swung the belt once, twice, three times. I, somehow, wound up on the floor. He rolled me over, onto my belly, and gave me one more.
He took his belt back to the closet while I sat up, on the floor. I tucked my knees up under my chin and laid my head on my knees. He came back to me and told me that he’d caught the belt on his own leg that first one, and it would’ve done a lot more damage, had he not done that. The truth was, it hadn’t hurt that much. The belt scares me so badly, though. I was breathing heavy and fighting myself not to let any tears come. He knows how afraid of that belt I am. He also knows how easily I can bruise. He never wants to seriously harm me. It seems that he goes back and forth between, either feeling like he was too harsh, or too soft. I sat on the floor, with my head resting on my knees, until he reached down and picked me up. He put me up on our bed. Then, he climbed in and covered both of us up. He pulled me into his arms while I continued to breathe heavily and worked to calm myself down. We didn’t say anything more. I woke up twice, through the night. Both times, I laid there and let myself cry in the dark. I’m not sure if I can explain the things I felt. I just needed to let myself cry.
This morning, I texted Adam and I told him I was sorry. He wrote me back thank you. Awhile later, I sent another text message with a more elaborate description of why I understood I was wrong. He text me we’re good. I wrote, ok. He replied, seriously, baby. And, that was the end of that.
I hate his belts. Yea. It’s plural now. Two belts. Equally terrifying. Also, I need to learn how to quit while I’m ahead. I do “push it”, with Adam. We’ve discussed this. He understands that it isn’t always easy for me to realize I’m losing my power, with him. He isn’t afraid of me, at all. It’s such a mixture of emotions, for me. Frustration and comfort. Fear and security. He’s, most certainly, assuring me that he is here, there, and everywhere. I can try to push him away, but he will stand firm. I can attempt to pull away from him, but he will hold me close. These recent spankings are no joke. I have two marks on my upper thigh leftover from that belt. Adam isn’t fooling around. I think I’m starting to realize this. Holy hell. I do have a high pain threshold. This doesn’t make it easy for Adam. I have still never cried from the physical pain of a spanking. It’s what it does to me, emotionally, that gets me. Adam always tells me that he gets no pleasure from seeing a bruise on my behind leftover from a spanking he’s given me. Having said that, I’m pretty certain that if I lie to him, or even “sidestep” the truth again, there’s a good chance I end up with an even worse looking butt the next day! I feel like, the next time I’m in trouble, I’ll probably start bawling before the first smack on my behind. I’m no longer afraid about what he might do. I’m afraid of what he will do.