I try so hard to be a good girl, I really do. I kneel when I'm told to kneel and I stop whimpering when he tells me to shut the fuck up. I cringe and flinch when he hits me, but I can always be brought back into place. He tells me that I'm such a good girl, that I take everything he gives me so well. This makes me glow. I want to be good for him so badly.
I want the absolution of perfection. I want to burn away all of my regrets, and there are so many regrets. I look back on my life and see all of my mistakes and I want to erase them. Can one act of devotion to Him really take away all of the things that I have ever done wrong? Each lover that I have betrayed or bullied? I don't know, but I try.
I imagine my submissive self as a figurine made of glass, able to warm to his touch. Clear, hollow. You can see right through me. Perfect. This is what I strive for.
But sometimes I fail spectacularly. The wonderful thing about this humble relationship that I have with Him, one that some have tried to define but which resists definition, is that his discipline erases everything in an instant. I fuck up, I know it, I repent, he beats me, all is well. It is forgiven and forgotten. I don't carry it with me past the moment he releases me. I am clear once again.
This is what happened last weekend, more or less. One day I wonder if He will make an appearance here and tell his version of things. For now, all you have is my story. It may be a bit warped at this point.
It started when he was talking about a girl that he used to know who had been in a porn film. I don't know why we were talking about this. It shouldn't have been a big deal, except he was being a bit casual about the whole thing. It took a bit to build, but suddenly I was extremely jealous and I just wanted the conversation to stop. I accused him of fucking her and then bringing her up to throw in my face, as if her being in a porn film had anything to do with me. I kept accusing him and he didn't deny it, which just made me insane with jealousy.
I had to get out of the conversation, but I was feeding it and it was building. I got up from the bed and stomped out of the bedroom, slamming the door in the process. I'd like to think that I didn't realize how loudly the door was going to slam, but I did. As an experienced teenage door-slammer, I knew exactly what I was doing.
I went into the bathroom, closing the door behind me, and sat down to pee. As soon as I sat down, he came barging through the bathroom door. I instinctively threw up my hands to block him and said: "Get the fuck out of here!"
Yes, that is exactly what I said. To my credit, I knew as the words were leaving my mouth that I was in trouble. Actually, I think my exact words were "Get the fuck out of here! Ohhh nooo..."
He grabbed my head by the hair and shook me a few times while he asked me, "What did you say?" in this creepy, calm voice. I just lowered my eyes and shook my head. There could be no forgiving how I let my mouth run away with me, for how I had disrespected him with my tone and my words. "How about I let you get yourself together for a few minutes?," he suggested in a voice that told me that I should steel myself for something. I nodded as I stared down at my hands.
When I walked back into the bedroom, he was sitting on the side of the bed, hands folded in his lap. He looked up when I walked in. "Get across my knee," he whispered. I went right to him. I knew that I should be spanked. I didn't argue.
He held my chin in one hand as he spanked me hard with the other. He doesn't usually spank me as hard as he did that day. He seemed perfectly calm, but I wonder whether the hard spanking was the result of anger. After a minute, he pushed me off of his lap and growled that it wasn't enough and ordered me to kneel next to the bed. If I was resigned before, I was suddenly terrified. I heard him pick up the belt.
I started apologizing like a madwoman, sobbing with my face buried in the mattress. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry, Daddy, I'm sorry," as if that would get me out of this.
He pulled my head up by the back of my hair. "Not that you deserve to know this, but I didn't fuck her. But you don't deserve to know that because I DON'T ANSWER TO YOU. YOU ANSWER TO ME, do you understand that?," he yelled. Something clicked into place. I did understand. I answer to Him. He doesn't answer to me. It was all so simple.
He still beat me with the belt. He still made me count each stroke out loud. I took each one through tears and counted against my fists. But when he was done and he lay next to me, gently running his fingers over the welts on my back, he was calm. All was forgiven and I was empty and clear again. He washed everything away.