Domestic discipline, and an unusual inversion

(We're continuing from here. I had just told Charles that I thought needed his firm hand to guide me, and he had looked me as if I were crazy.)

I took his hand. We were sitting side by side, that French way. "Well, let's say that I'm not talking about household finances." I brought his hand down between my thighs, under my skirt, where it was now very warm.

Charles positively giggled--or at least as close to it as guys can get. "I take it," he said, wiggling his fingers a bit so that I sighed contentedly, "this is something that lies outside the realm of the dungeon and the rocking-horse?"

"Exactly," I said. "I feel like I need to be taken in hand." I couldn't help it; I cracked a smile at that point, then tried to wipe it off my face and look serious and needy and feminine.

But Charles had noticed, and he was laughing.

"Stop it!" I said. "This is serious. I need to feel your firm hand, guiding me and correcting me."

That made him laugh harder. "I can't help it. . ." he gasped. I waited patiently for his mirth to subside a bit. Finally he said, "OK, so I'm guessing you're not taking back EVERYTHING YOU'VE EVER SAID about domestic discipline, right? About how you can't imagine ever living that way?"

Now I pouted. "No, not everything."

At my pout, he stopped laughing. "Alright. I understand that pregnancy does weird things."

"Fuck you."

"Alright, there's my wife, anyway. Explain, please."

So I told him about my fears about our sex life, and about my body, and how I didn't want to mourn, but rather to celebrate a new phase of our lives.

"And you think DD is a way to do that, somehow?"

"Well, not real DD, I guess. But it gives a structure, you know--the way training gave us a structure. Or maybe it does. I guess I think it's worth a try."

"Absolutely," he said. "I'm in. How do we got about it?"

"I think we should start slowly," I said. "I want you to enforce a bedtime. Pregnant women need their sleep."

"Hmm. Yes, they do."

And that was how it started. That night, of course, I refused, theatrically, to be put to bed at 8pm, and got the spanking I was craving above everything else. Charles was a little bit tentative about his formulations of uxorial authority, but he showed tremendous promise, I thought.

From bedtime we proceeded to diet. The part about the regime that I found the most surprising is how much I actually liked being told what to eat and how to take care of myself. Really, it was rather dangerous how womanly--in an erotic sense--it did in fact make me feel.

"Sweetie?" I asked one night, about halfway through my second trimester, when I had resolutely started to show, but wasn't yet uncomfortable. We were long home from France by then, and in that holding pattern you do, where you're circling the hospital like a 747 slowly running out of fuel, waiting for the inevitable emergency-landing. "Do you think if our positions were reversed. . . "

"It's hard to see how that kind of reversal would. . . configure itself--but I think I know what you're talking about. Would I want to have someone telling me what to do? I think about that at lot, actually, and I think that the answer is Yes."

"Really?" I said eagerly.

"Think about guys getting out of the army--or even out of prison. People like to be told what to do, no matter how much they pretend otherwise."

"Now I feel bad that you don't get to feel that way, because you have to figure out what to tell me to do!"

"Not so fast! Two things: one, I also like to tell you what to do, and have you do it; two, I like to spank you. Plus, you told me to tell you what to do, and I liked that."

I giggled, and kissed him. I don't think I'd ever felt so womanly, and I loved it, and hated myself for loving it.

"Do you ever like to feel womanly?" I asked, half-joking. To my surprise, he got the look in his eyes that's a sort of facial equivalent to when he says "Um."

That was the first night we ever switched. Since that time, we've done it perhaps twice a year. As on that first night, we always set it up as Charles giving me the kinkiest possible command, in order to demean me as much as possible--the command to dominate him. It works for me. We didn't have a strap-on harness that first night (we've since gotten one) so I pegged him with one of his own dildos while kneeling next to him on the bed. I'd like to think that our DD arrangement was the only one in history to produce that kind of scene, but who knows?

(If you like these stories, try the Companion to EXPLORATIONS!)

(Caroline's Rocking Horse [Mf, ageplay, anal] and The Count's Discipline [medieval, spanking, anal] are available at Amazon!)