I would call this the highs and lows, the life of a submissive. Some of you may find this post arousing, others may empathise with the feelings and experiences and there are of course those who will read it with horror. I am struggling with life at the moment, I cannot pin point one particular cause as I believe there are many, but what I can say is that this is having an impact on my behaviour and my moods. Submissives by their very nature desire to please, but I can whole heartedly say I am not doing that right now. I do not want to go in to the reasons why, but the end result is negative and unwelcomed by him. He will always give me time, time to adjust my behaviour and attitude. He will try to charm me around, if this fails, there are varying ways to correct my behaviour. If charm or subtle hints do not work, then comes the silent treatment. If I wasn’t aware of his unhappiness with me before, the silent treatment usually bring the message home as he knows I hate being ignored. However, the message wasn’t hitting home this time and he took matters in to his own hands. It was early morning and still very dark outside. I hadn’t slept well spending most of the night restlessly tossing and turning in our bed. I lost count of the number of times I turned over, but the last time I did I felt his arms snake around me pulling me towards him. Was I truly in the mood for this? No, but my mood at the time isn’t always relevant and especially with the way I had been behaving recently it would be considered less so. I did not fight him, he pulled my naked body backwards, my back into his chest and with both hands he began to play with my nipples, his fingers were tickling them, annoying me. I half heartedly tried to stop him with my hand, knowing that if he really wanted to do this he would, and my hands would be pushed out of the way. My memory of this night is vague though it was only two nights ago now, so this story will not be a perfect recollection of the nights events. He continued to toy with my nipples for a moment longer, even when the pressure and pain increased, I had no desire for his attentions to continue. He withdrew one of his hands and quickly covered my mouth and nose with the whole of his hand, an activity I usually enjoy for the briefest of moments. I struggled and pulled away from his grip on my face as quickly as I could. His fingers ran over my face, and I feared that he would cover my mouth again and I tried to evade what I thought was going to be inevitable. This though was not his intention; two of his fingers slowly forced their way in to my mouth, pushing deep down into my throat, making me gag. In that moment I desperately wanted his fingers out of my mouth, though any other time I would have welcomed this invasion being aroused by it. He continued toying with me and randomly, I tried to deny him until he pushed my arms behind my back, at which point I gave in. I stopped pushing him away and let it happen, I always give in and I knew he had no intention of giving up. In truth though, I would never have wanted a dominant who just rolled over and gave in at my slightest resistance. He took his hand off my body, moved away from me and slid off the bed. I did not turn over and look to see what he was doing, I never do. He returned seconds later, his cool body slid in beside me, but there was one part of his anatomy that was not cool. His left hand slipped under my body and his right hand held on to the base of my breast firmly. I felt the gentle tap of the cane on my nipples, I would have considered it pleasant at other times and under other circumstances. The gentle tap increased and it began to sting, but it didn’t last as he grabbed hold of my nipple and twisted firmly. I did not feel aroused but began to writhe around on the bed from the pain. He relinquished his grip on my nipple and scraped my hair away from my right ear before whispering in to it, “Who am I?” I knew exactly what he wanted me to say, though despite his expectations, I remained silent. I never sought a man who could control me the way he can, a man that could be the master of my life but in my husband I found him. Twice more he asked me that question, swallowing hard on nothing but the saliva in my mouth, I replied in a hoarse, “My Master.” He wasn’t ready to let this go and asked me what does that mean. In a quiet voice I replied, “I should not disobey you, I should want to please you.” A very brief conversation ensued where in I admitted I had behaved most inappropriately in recent times. He told me to lie across the bottom of the bed and slowly I scrambled up on to all fours and edged to the end. It was the middle of the night and the room felt cold. I felt very on edge. I turned around on all fours, my head facing the wardrobe doors and my backside facing his side of the bed, I knew his intentions. He told me to count out loud, something he never does and frequently I lose the count in my head, at least this time I shouldn’t and didn’t lose track of the coming strokes He had the heavier of our canes, the one we call the dragon cane as it landed hard on my rear I could not dispute the name came from the fire it ‘breathed’. He did not tell me how many would follow, nor did he tell me why he was doing this. This was not for pleasure, this was a reminder of my place in our relationship and as much as I did not welcome it at the time, it was, and is the right thing for me. I know many people may not understand and will certainly disapprove of the way we conduct our relationship, but that is for them to worry about, not me. This for me is better than any prescription from the doctor or bottle from the supermarket. Was there a swish before hand? I cannot recall. I do recall the instant it landed and my attempt to voice the word “one” as I was required to do. I couldn’t describe the pain as stinging, for it wasn’t, it was a deep pain which drove down into the depths of my flesh, it’s fire spreading all over my backside. I maintained the position expected of me counting each stroke, though after the third stroke my feet had started to rise up behind me, as if I were in a vain attempting to protect my burning backside. I felt the cane pushing down on the base of my feet, he wanted them moved out of the way and of course I complied with the unsaid request for I know him well. At the count of six I could no longer remain still and this is where I put my arm out and moved away from him on the bed. An act he completely unwelcomed and he firmly told me to return back to my position. I hesitated for the briefest of moments, knowing to return would mean more strokes of the cane and perhaps even more punishment for moving in the first place. He never binds me for punishment, believing that my own mind is sufficient bondage and knowing that I enjoy being tied so much that it would seem to make this a pleasure rather than a punishment. I returned with as much haste as I could muster, given the state of the bed linen and my sore behind. I reassumed my position, but joy nothing happened there were no further strokes. I realised why, in my returning I had already proved my obedience. He could have gone further, he could have punished me more, but he had made his point and his demand for my obedience had been met. The story was not quite finished there, his need is always inevitable and I deep throated him to relief. For me however this was a punishment and there was no orgasm, despite the wetness between my legs and my desire to be released from the agony of my arousal.