Submitting to a Spanking…the Reins of Control

Taking the reins can mean so many things in the BDSM world. For me this means taking control, whether of the situation as far as scening during playtime or of the entire relationship. Of course a Dom takes control, has control, expects control, but the methods in which he garners this can be vastly different. You’ve heard me say this before, good Masters or Dom’s earn respect. They nurture the desire to for the submissive to be completely devoted. I was reminded of this again as I noticed a picture and I’ll share the beautiful piece with you today. The words on this particular photograph, as well as the black and white setting and what’s in the Dom’s hand, totally resonated with me. Giving credit here – on Facebook, there are many pages and of course the great FB police monitor and have destroyed many for what theyI will take you depict. This particular site is all about the alternative lifestyle of BDSM, but their pictures are very tame and very sensual given the censorship bullshit. Whips, Chains & Duct Tape is the perfect site in my opinion and every day I am inspired by their beautiful words and messages.

What you’ll notice about this picture is the subtly of what the words mean. And they are so very true to me. Every time John Patrick and I talk, we accept and nurture the fact that this is a journey and that time will take both of us to new heights as we learn about each other, our bodies and minds. He is particularly attracted to my mind (big brain as he calls it) because I’m always thinking, whether for books or in general. My mind never sleeps and I generally can’t concentrate on one thing at a time. John Patrick has learned a heck of a lot about me over the last months from merely talking and from reading my blogs and books. He’s fascinated by how I can have a wildly passionate moment one minute and literally slaughter a human with tremendous blood and gore in the next. He thinks I have a thing for knives…

Well this journey is me thinking all the time as well and I think a lot about John Patrick and how he responds to me, his tone of voice and the way in which he takes control. The picture/saying this morning completely resonated with me for a couple of reasons. John Patrick will tell you he is very new to the lifestyle and is learning every day. He’ll also tell you he is a gentleman at heart and will remain that way. Ladies, I can tell you that’s the truth through and through. He’s very amazing in his passion about everything, including me as well as D/s. He’s funny and kind, thoughtful and worries about me constantly. BUT…there is no doubt in my mind he is in charge. That didn’t happen with some big bold rule mandated. As John Patrick would tell you, being a Master all the time would get to be overpowering, yet he is the Master all the time. The subtle difference is he doesn’t push the understanding hard on me. He allows my mind to wrap around the concept, the few rules, and the methods of discipline if I break them.

Becoming devoted or becoming “his” for a woman like me, one who breaks the boundaries of sanity at times and certainly pushes every envelope she can, is a process in my mind. I have to yank down those walls. I have to feel safe and comfortable that no matter what I say or even how I’ll act he’ll subtly take the reins of control and tug ever so slightly. Guess what? That’s exactly what John Patrick does and because of that, I respect him pretty much more than any man who has been in my life. Think about that.

In this story, taking the reins is pushing our couple a bit out of the comfort zone. I will never condone a Master disciplining his submissive while he’s angry, BUT… for this story, there is a hell of a lot of frustration on both sides and at times, a Master mine darlingdoes indeed need to remind the submissive who is in charge. At times this will mean pushing his own boundaries and will necessitate taking her in hand, so to speak. With the history this couple has, I think the punishment doled out is justifiable. See what you think.

Jefferson glared at his watch and tapped the fingers of his other hand on top of the table. Meadow had always had an issue about being late to just about anything. He’d often told her she would be late to her own funeral, as the old adage said. She hated the expression, loathed when he said the words, and usually lashed out at him uncontrollably when he muttered them. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. The day seemed to be going on forever. He thought about the case for a few minutes, how they were both handling the witnesses and the cross examination, and had to admit the judge was right. The old coot. Now he rolled his eyes. They were using the contentious case to get back at each other, or to one-up in a way that might just land their pretty boy in prison for a long time. And daddy, the great Congressman who refused to accept any bullshit, would find a way to tank their asses. No doubt in his mind.

He sipped his bourbon and thought about what to say to Meadow. That is if she ever arrived. Their past and the way the relationship had ended was entirely his fault. He’d pushed both of their boundaries because of his selfishness. They hadn’t been together long enough to even ensue in something so intimate and he’ d broken her trust. Every day and every night since then he’d tried to think of a way to right the wrong. Sadly, Meadow had never allowed him to address the matter, to explain anything. She allowed her eyes to determine her own truth. That was the way she handled everything in the courtroom. Her gut was everything to her and one reason she generally won all her cases, but the few times she’d been wrong, oh boy. He chuckled as he remembered some of her glaring mistakes.

Another gulp of his drink, another quick glance at his watch and he was just about resigned she’d stood him up. He settled back in the chair and glanced out the window at the streetscape. This had been the one bar they always came to after either one of them had won a case, any case at all. They’d both agreed celebrating little wins in life was good for the soul. Night after night they’d talked about D/s and learned their inner fears, their worries and needs. The time had been precious. Funny how he hadn’t been in the place since. Nothing had really changed except his attitude. He no longer felt like celebrating anything.

Jefferson closed his eyes and realized he was still so sad, so damn unhappy. There was no other woman for him and he was completely out of his element in trying to figure out what to do. Perhaps taking the job in Houston was the best thing to do. There was a hell of a bump in salary and more perks that he could even imagine. And he’d be a thousand miles away from temptation and heartache. Yeah. The job was sounding better and better.

“Well, I’m here.”

Her voice was edgy, strained. He knew the tone well. Looking up at Meadow, he could tell she was having all kinds of doubts. Doubts about being here. Doubts about whether she was going to kick the judge’s ass and huge doubts about why she was giving Jefferson the time of day. “You’re late.”

“So?” Meadow yanked out the chair and plopped down, dropping her purse next to her with a disdainful flair.

“Always the drama queen.”

“Always the asshole.”

Jefferson exhaled slowly and counted to ten. This was going to shit in a heartbeat. “Let’s start over. Okay?” He steadied his gaze, making eye contact and allowing her to see his very authoritative look, the one he used quite often in the courtroom. Normally the dark eyes did nothing to her. Tonight, even through the dim lighting, they seemed to be making some kind of connection. When she nodded he continued. “You look gorgeous tonight. Red is your color. Can I buy you a drink, a glass of cabernet perhaps?”

“I…” Meadow stuttered. She never stuttered, had complete control of her mouth and knew how to use the English language well, much to the chagrin of those opposing her. She cleared her throat. “Thank you and I would love a glass of wine.”

“Good.” He waited until he was able to snag a waiter, remaining quiet, his eyes never leaving her. She was about as uncomfortable as he’d seen her, but intrigued. Yes, she’d been thinking. “Cabernet for the lady and I’ll take another.”

“You’ve been here a while?” she asked quietly.

“I arrived five minutes before our scheduled time.” I’m always on time.

Tick. Tock.

Misbehavin'“I’m sorry I was late. I admit I had, and still do, reservations about coming. I have no idea what you think you can say to me that will make any difference. What happened is something I’ll never forget,” Meadow stated defiantly, regaining her edgy tone.

Actually he could tell she was ready to explode into bitch mode, something he was going to have to carefully curtail. He contemplated not only what to say but how to say the words. She preferred frankness and honesty and that’s what she was going to get. Leaning over the table he lowered his voice but kept the same controlling tone. “What you saw that night with Mindy wasn’t what you thought you saw and…”

“Bullshit!” Meadow interrupted and huffed, folding her arms. “I know what I saw. You were basically fucking that little tart, the fucking whore.” Her voice was loud enough the table closest to them looked over.

Count to five. Don’t lash out. This was ridiculous but so very ‘her’. Meadow loved grandstanding, savored garnering attention of any kind, including harsh stares. He reached over and gripped her arm. Instantly she tried to yank out of his grasp but he held her tightly. “Do not interrupt me again, Meadow. Do you understand?”

She opened her mouth as if to retort then looked down. “Fine. Say what you have to say.”

“I asked you a direct question. Do…you…understand?”

Her head snapping up, there was no doubt a nasty retort ready to slip from her mouth. A full five seconds passed by and she softened, albeit slightly. “Yes. I do understand.”

In the days gone by she would have added ‘sir’, even reluctantly. Now he was lucky to get the semi-pleasant answer. “Good. Now listen to me.” Out of the corner of his eye he could see the waiter approaching with their order and while he kept his hand exactly in position, he remained quiet until the drinks were in front of them.

Immediately Meadow took a sip of wine, almost as if in defiance.

She was so much the same, except he could tell her edge was laced with such anguish and he was the very cause of her pain. “Mindy and I were talking that night only. Yes, we were talking about sharing, just like you and I had discussed on more than one occasion.” Jefferson tightened his grip the second she opened her mouth, and raised his voice just a hair. “And… And I should have told you that I was going to talk with her. The truth is I should never have had that very conversation her without your presence. I was very wrong about that as well as even considering the idea. We weren’t ready as a couple. I was the Dom and should have known and instead I did indeed allow my own needs, my desires to usurp what we shared. I hate it. I loathe my behavior, but I can only go forward differently having learned.”

She remained on edge, swirling the wine and taking another gulp, but she didn’t issue a word or even a sound.

Good. He was at least getting somewhere. “I made several mistakes then, Meadow. And the other admittance I have to tell you is that Mindy did indeed come on to me. She tried to get me to share a night alone with her.”

“We all know you two were an item,” she said quietly, the hurt tone listing through every word, every syllable.

“I have no idea who ‘we’ are, but I can tell you with every ounce of honesty that after that night I told Mindy I couldn’t talk with her again and I haven’t to this day.”

“Bull…” Her words died off and she gulped.

Jefferson wanted to wipe the single tear from her eye, but decided not to. He needed to finish this. “I fucked up the best thing that’s ever happened to me because I got greedy. I allowed my libido to take over when what you needed was a firm hand, a gentle soul and time. For that I will never forgive myself.” He could tell her big brainResting on his Lap was processing the information, putting all the pieces into a tiny box. What he knew about Meadow instinctively was that she very much needed a firm hand, a strict Dom who refused to accept anything less than complete obedience. He’d been wishy washy at best and when the concept of sharing playtime with another came into the picture, he’d jumped on it. He was the asshole she thought him to be…then. He certainly knew better, at least to a point, now.

Meadow sat back and nodded, looked out the window and took a sip of her wine.

There were so many other things he wanted to say to her, admittances as well as thoughts about the future. He wanted to make certain she knew he was committed to being her Dom, gaining her trust and respect again. Time. This was all about time.

Meadow shifted in her seat and tilted her head, a smile on her face. “Jefferson…”

“Yes?” Relief flooded him. She was beginning to understand. The air seemed to be sucked out of him as he waited for her answer.

Suddenly so many things happened at once and he was barely able to process them.

She jerked her arm away, managed to stand and tossed the rest of her wine in his face before tossing the glass and leaning over the table. “You’re a mother fucking…lying…asshole…pig…son of a bitch. I will never, and fucking hear me, never believe you again. Go straight to Hell, Jefferson.”

The sound of the glass breaking and the gasps coming from all directions reverberated in the back of his mind.

Laughing softly she yanked her purse from the floor and huffed. “And you couldn’t control or dominate anyone out of a paper bag, you looser.”

Another series of gasps then guffaws sounded in the club. While Jefferson wasn’t angry, he was incensed and this behavior he wasn’t going to accept any longer. His decision made he reached out, wrapped his hand around her wrist, pushed his chair back hard and tugged her toward him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Meadow demanded.

“Exactly what you need, what you crave and in truth what you expect. I’m giving you a hard spanking.” Jefferson pulled her over his lap, lifted her dress and yanked down her panties.

Crack! Slap! Pop!

My, oh my. What do you think? Did she deserve such a humiliation in front of all those people? I have my opinions on the subject. Let me know what you think.

Kisses and spanks…

Cassandre 

About Cassandre Dayne

Cassandre Dayne is the pseudo for the best selling author of romantic suspense and thrillers
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