The Babygirl and the Bathbrush

I'm not going to lie, the past few months have been such a struggle when it comes to our Dom/sub dynamic. Such a struggle. 

First, the only real reason I ever got punished was for failing to follow the rules regarding respect. When I got busy or distracted, I'd sometimes lose my mind and not follow the expectations Jason has for me. 

I'm home now. I follow the rules. It's been months since I've done anything even close to earning me punishment, other than a mildly snippy tone one or twice that earned me little more than a warning or a smack on the ass, and I quickly got myself back in line. 

The very purpose of this dynamic for so many of us is to reach our expectations, to become better people, to draw closer to our partners. And once we've reached a place of complacency... well, what then? 

He has no reason to punish me. 

Privacy is at a major premium these days, as you all well know, so it's hard to fully embrace our roles when there are children constantly in our space. 

So I was getting spanked, but it was nowhere near the intensity of the crave. 

He had no reason to punish me at all. 

And it was all sort of... meh. 

"Am I still your submissive?" I'd ask. "Are you still my daddy?"

"Of course," he'd say, until finally he had enough and he'd say something like, "This conversation again?" 

So I dropped it. 

But it was hard to explain why I felt bereft. He paid attention to me, but it wasn't always enough, and I hate being the needy girl, so I'd shove it all away. 

And then recently he was on his phone and a picture of a bath brush came up in his feed on Amazon. 

"Bet that would do a good job," he said, giving me an evil grin. 

And something came over me. The brat I used to be, that I'm not even familiar with anymore, prodded on by my needs not being met and my craving for more attention, poked him. "Ha," I said, rolling my eyes. "You won't actually go through with it." 

And that was how the bath brush joined our arsenal of weapons of ass destruction. Our dusty pile of almost-forgotten tools that sit in a drawer until I lose my mind and disobey him or he gets a wild idea to stir things up again. 

He texted me.

Of course, I was mostly teasing. I wanted him to spank me. I need him to spank me. Months of lackluster attention to our dynamic left me needy and wanting and not in a good place. I worked hard to maintain my submission during this, and he reached out and gave me attention, but one of the biggest ways we've relied on communication for nearly eight years had come to a screeching halt for more days than I'd like to admit. 

"Let's try this out," he said. 

I've heard terrible things about bath brushes, and let's admit, it's not terribly sexy. So I was hesitant. But I'm needy enough, I'll do what I have to. So I obeyed. I went upstairs, and when he ordered me over his knee, I did what he said. 

"We need to test it," he said. "You need to rate it." 

We haven't tested out a new implement in years. By rating it, he wants to know, what level of intensity brings about what level of pain? And so we did, all the way from "one" to "WAY MORE THAN TEN OMG." My ass was sore for days. And finally, thank God finally, we'd found something that had shaken us out of complacency and brought us back to what we needed. 

Now I'm not recommending y'all go out and buy a bath brush (THEY HURT). But maybe, just maybe, a little something new might be just what you need, like us.