Being a Good Girl

The thing about my kink is I love a Dominant man, I want my husband to be in charge and tell me what to do. It's an on switch. Does that mean I am submissive? To a point, I would say so. 

But in delving into this theory for the last handful of years I think we could both safely say that our Dominant/submissive relationship does not extend much past our bedroom walls. Or bathroom, or couch—as the case may be.

It works for us. Once in a while he would switch into Dom mode in a fairly public setting and as long as it had that joking, not quite serious tone to it then it would make me swoony. But other than that, just be my partner in crime. I am a fiercely independent girl and if you step on that I will get bent out of shape.

Then last week I suffered an injury at roller derby practice. Nothing major. At first I thought it was a twisted ankle, a bad sprain maybe. My teammates helped get me to a bench and got me ice and I called Mr. McKay.

Up until then I had been cool as a cucumber. It barely hurt. I was all brave face, I got this, no big thing. But once the probing questions started from my husband and I could sense his panic even through the phone—I burst into tears.

What is it about that? Like when little kids fall and they're completely fine until they look around to see if anyone is alarmed.

I heard just a hint of concern in his voice and it broke me. If he was worried, I should definitely be worried.

It turned out I broke my ankle in two places. I had a soft cast and splint on the first few days. I have these crutches that I was speeding around the house on. The first day I one crutched it out to the kitchen, made myself coffee, cleaned the living room, and spruced up the bathroom.

The look of horror on my husband's face when I told him later on would have made me laugh in normal circumstances. But I tried to think of it in reverse, if he was hobbling around like a mad man on one leg and possibly hurting himself further, yeah, I would be worried too.

So I surrendered a bit. If he told me to stay put, I did. If he gave me ice to put on the swelling I iced it. If he wanted to know what I wanted to eat I told him. 

It's been a give and take. I am trying not to be a hero and do everything myself. He's not getting crazy when I sit for a few hours at my desk instead of on the couch with pillows propping up my lame ankle.

I guess I am learning to let someone take care of me and that's a weird role for me. I also feel guilty.

We've always divided up the household duties. Nothing written in stone, but roles we had slipped into. Mr. McKay cooks a lot, and I would always clean up the kitchen. Now he's stuck with both and the first few nights he looked exhausted. Pile on that the litter boxes to clean (normally my thing) and last night he had to do a load of laundry (he knows how, I just normally do it). 

I offered to do the dishes. I can stand on one foot long enough to wash a couple plates and glasses. He almost looked swayed as I upped my game, "I'll tell you if I'm getting tired. I'll stop the minute I need to sit!"

In the end I was denied the freedom of doing the dishes (someone remind me why I was begging to do them in the first place?).

I'm trying my best to be a good patient and at some points he gets so deliciously Dommy I am hoping the swelling and throbbing stops soon so he can really Dom me.

I worry about the spanking though and the all out kinkiness—our initial problem in the beginning was that he treated me as if I were made of glass. We just got to a good point in my opinion and now he is back to treating me as fragile.

I actually asked him yesterday when he thought we would get back to spanking and he raised his eyebrows at me.

"I mean not now, obviously," I said, as I writhed in pain on the couch. "But once I'm not in pain, we can do it with this cast on, right?"

"No." He dismissed me and went back to his laptop.

"Yes!" I yelled from my prone position.

"Maybe eight weeks," he said in a mocking tone. "How about, when you can walk again?"

I narrow my eyes at him.

"Be good, or it will be a diet of steamed broccoli for you," he replied.

I barely kept myself from sticking my tongue out at him. But inside I was all fluttery. At least he cares enough for my well being.

So baby steps, maybe one night this week I can wash some dishes, and then surely I'll have earned a spanking!