Here We Go Again

I wrote this a couple of weeks ago, but am just getting around to sharing.

Things could’ve gone a lot better, a lot smoother…if only I’d talked to him when I started getting upset rather than holding it in and trying to deal with it myself. 

You know, sometimes when I don’t talk to him about how I’m feeling it’s because I don’t want to burden him with my feelings, my emotions.  I know it can be hard for him to understand.  There are times when I don’t really understand myself.   And I feel like I should be able to get a handle on things on my own.

Other times I don’t say anything because I don’t think he’s in a receptive mood…either things are tense between us or he’s upset or busy or tired or something.  I may think that what I have to say isn’t going to go over well.  Perhaps the timing isn’t right.  So I keep my mouth shut.

There are also times when I don’t share my feelings because I know that I’m overreacting or maybe I even know that I’m wrong.  But, I’m having trouble getting past my feelings and I figure that I know what he’s going to tell me, what he’ll say to me, what his response will be.  And I know he’ll be right.  And I don’t want him to be right…or at least I don’t want to hear it.  Sometimes I want to feel entitled to my feelings, my emotions.  I don’t like to feel invalidated. 

I imagine there are other reasons that I sometimes end up not sharing my thoughts and feelings with Michael, but those are the ones that come to mind right now.

Yesterday was going so well.  I was feeling comfortably submissive.  Yeah.  I know.  Where did that come from?  It felt nice actually.  But, at one point in the afternoon Michael said something that didn’t sit well with me and I told him as much.  I didn’t think things through, I just reacted.  I raised my voice and actually started to berate him.  He stopped me in my tracks.  I’m not accustomed to being hushed, though this certainly wasn’t the first time he’s silenced me.  Somewhere, way in the back of my mind, I knew he was right.  I wasn’t being respectful.  If I had a grievance to air, this was not the way to go about it.  But, in the forefront of my mind I was angry and annoyed.  I didn’t like being chastised.  I stopped my behavior, but I didn’t deal with my feelings.  I stuffed them down.  I bottled them up.  That evening Michael said something else that ticked me off.  I managed not to spout off like I had earlier, but again, I didn’t deal with my feelings.  I stuffed those down too. 

After we put the kids to bed I tried to talk to him, but it didn’t go well.  He was tired and I was upset.  He didn’t understand what the problem was and I was having trouble articulating it.  The conversation started to get heated and I decided to bow out.  I went to bed, but I couldn’t fall asleep.  I was too tense.  So, I sent him a text, apologizing, telling him that I loved him and saying goodnight.  I hoped that I’d be able to relax and fall asleep after sending it, but before long my head was throbbing.  I went downstairs and took some pain medication and I was on my way back upstairs when Michael intercepted me.  He hadn’t seen the text I’d sent yet.  He was sitting at the dining room table, finishing up some paperwork for work.  He wanted to know what was wrong…no, he insisted on knowing what was wrong.  And that set me off.  I was indignant.  I know, I know…he wanted to help, to make things better.  But the way he went about it, combined with my headache, and then there were those emotions that I hadn’t dealt with from earlier…and, well, I didn’t react well.

I went into the kitchen, trying to get away from him, trying to avoid the whole situation.  I noticed that he looked tired, both physically and emotionally.  In fact, he looked kind of…defeated.  A few more words were exchanged.  He wasn’t happy with my attitude or my behavior and I remember saying something like “well, you know, you could do something about it, but obviously you can’t be bothered!”  Yikes.  What was I thinking?  As soon as the words had escaped my lips I collapsed on the floor, my head in my hands.  He didn’t say anything.  He digested that for a moment and then got up and started to get ready for bed.  I just sat on the floor, not knowing what to do, what to say or what to expect.  I was wishing I could go back in time and change my actions and attitude and stave off this whole thing.  He let the dogs out and when he came back in he came over to me and lifted my face up to look at him.  He said that he loved me and told me to go up to bed.  I managed to whisper that I loved him too.  He kissed me and off I went, up to bed.

He followed a few minutes later, checked on the kids and made sure the bedroom door was shut tightly.  He pulled down the covers and pulled me up out of bed.  Things didn’t go well at first.  He was stern and insistent.  I was emotional and unyielding.  We were at a standoff.  He decided to take action and I started sobbing.  He hadn’t actually done anything yet, he’d just decided he was going to and I fell apart.  He pulled me to him and held me close.  He soothed me while I let go of those emotions I’d bottled up earlier.  When I calmed down and stopped crying we talked.  After a little bit we were both quiet, and I dared to ask him the question that was on my mind…was he still going to spank me?  He said yes and explained why.  I knew he was right.  In fact, it was the answer I was expecting when I’d asked, the answer I was hoping for actually.  The reasons behind that are somewhat complex.  But, I knew that he wanted to be intimate, and I knew the only way that I was going to be open to it was if he helped me get over that last emotional hurdle.

After he spanked me, he did indeed wish to move on to more erotic endeavors.  For whatever reason, I wanted him to be rough with me.  I wanted him to push my limits.  I wanted him to know that just because I’d been emotional that didn’t mean that I wanted him to be gentle with me…not tonight anyway.  Truth be told, he could push me a lot farther than he does, but that doesn’t upset me.  He cares for me, loves me so much, he’s protective of me…so much so that he’ll look out for me when I’m not necessarily looking out for myself.  Sometimes he knows better than I do what’s best for me, for us.

There was something he had me do…or maybe I should say, he did to me (or maybe some combination thereof) that certainly got my attention.  He was standing; I was kneeling on the floor, facing him.  We were in front of the full length mirror.  He wanted me to suck him…no, he expected me to suck him.  And he’d already been inside me.  As I took him into my mouth he put his hand on the back of my head and started thrusting in and out.  He caught me off guard, but I wanted to please him and I’d already told him that I wanted him to be rough with me, to push my limits.  I needed to pause every now and then, trying not to gag or having done so already.  I needed to stop and catch my breath.  He’d wait patiently, but it was obvious that he expected me to resume.  I’d open my mouth and he would begin the rhythm again.  It was intense; that’s not something I’m used to.  When he decided he wanted to move on to other pursuits he helped me up off of the floor and onto the bed.  He was still very much in control, but he was also very loving.  Afterward, we collapsed on the bed and talked for a little bit.  And then we snuggled and headed off to dreamland together.


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