It was my second husband, Darrell, who introduced me to this lifestyle. Darrell and I connected through a personals ad. We wrote to one another daily over a period of five months. Darrell was a numbers person and estimated we each wrote over 350,000 words in that time. We also made audio tapes for one another, and we exchanged pictures –� we never talked on the phone (decided right away it would be cost prohibitive!!). We never met. At the end of the five months, he closed his barber shop in Texas, gave away everything he couldn't sell or fit into an extended pick-up, and headed north to Washington State to be with me.

We shared the background of past marriages that were void of any communication –� both of us were loquacious, expressive personalities –� and we had discussed in depth every topic imaginable. Yet meeting in person was still a shock –� and he moved right in with me. We had agreed to sleep in separate rooms at first – but that didn't last long!

I had been attracted to my first husband because I believed he was strong. What I discovered after we married is that he was a powerful controller who was threatened and intimidated by my strength. He solved his problem by doing everything in his power to crush and break my spirit –� and nearly succeeded.

It was after my suicide attempt that I started my word study on submission – though I truly figured at the time that it was wasted effort. I had decided by then that men fell into two categories: the weak and/or passive ones who enjoyed women walking all over them and the powerful, controlling ones who only wanted to crush and break one's spirit.

Darrell was a shock to me on every level and in every way. Neither of us had ever heard of the term DD (domestic discipline). I only encountered it myself four years after I lost him to cancer. He called what we had a Benevolent Dictatorship. For us, it was something that evolved quite naturally, starting with a first spanking that evoked powerful reactions in both of us.�

He had only been here for about three weeks. I was having difficulty adjusting to his attitude –� he was so damned bossy and arrogant – yet because of the situation, he wasn't comfortable pushing me too far. It was a long way back to Texas and he had pretty much shut those doors behind him.

This particular day, we had decided to take the bus to town to do some shopping. We really have a wonderful bus system here and the landscape is incredible. But he had been grating on my nerves all morning with his bossy attitude and finally I snapped. I charged out the door and rushed down the street to the bus stop. Darrell never rushed anywhere – �but he had long legs that could out-stride me two to one easily. Several times he ordered me to wait up for him, but I was having none of it. I reached the bus stop just ahead of him – and just as the bus pulled up a couple of minutes early. I hopped on and took a seat. He was right behind me and sat down beside me. He tried to take my hand –� but I yanked it away from him.

Then he had the audacity to tell me if I didn't behave myself, he was going to turn me over his knee right there in front of God and country. I really wasn't certain if he meant it or not – �in this state he could easily go to jail for taking such an action –� but I abhor public scenes, so I let him hold my hand. I turned my head away and glared out the window the entire trip, plotting.

When the bus stopped downtown, he stood up to let me out first. I dashed off the bus and hit the ground at close to a dead run. He was still very unfamiliar with our town, so I easily lost him –� which was my intent. I finished my shopping and got on the next bus home.

The buses run every 30 minutes here, and it was exactly one half hour after I got home that he opened the front door. I was standing in the center of the living room when that door opened. I was struck by two things –� he seemed to fill the entire doorway (I had never really noticed just how BIG he was before) and the look on his face. It made me freeze right where I was. He strode across the room, grabbed my arm and pulled me over to the sofa. Normally, I am a fighter from the get-go, but something about his demeanor made my intuition scream that this would most definitely not be a good time to fight.

He sat down in the center of the sofa and in the same move, pulled me down across his lap. Then I felt his hand reach into my pants and start to pull them down. That galvanized me into action – �but too late. There was a band of steel across my back. I tried as hard as I could to get away, but I was stuck.

The shock of that first hard slap on my bare bottom was unbelievable and I was bloody furious! But it didn't faze him. I went from blazing rage and demands that he stop to tears and sobs. It didn't matter –� he was determined to thoroughly blister my behind. Then as suddenly as he had started, he stopped. He turned me over, took my chin in his big old paw and made me look at him. It was the first sound he had made since he had walked in the door. His expression was deadly serious and his tone of voice was so calm and intense at the same time that it sent shivers right through me and straight into my soul. He said, “I STRONGLY suggest that you never pull another stunt like that again.”

As shattering as that was, it was nothing compared to what happened next. He pulled me so close to him I could hardly breathe, and sat there holding and rocking me until I quit crying and was all calmed down. I will never be able to adequately explain what I was feeling just then, but the closest I can come is that for the very first time in my life I new what home and safe meant.

I wish I could say it was smooth sailing from there, but it just wouldn't be the truth. I am an aggressive fighter, a warrior by nature and temperament, and I was determined to make certain he wasn't deceiving me –� that he didn't truly fall into one of my preconceived ideas about men. I pushed and tested and challenged in every way possible, but he was undaunted. The only thing that ever seemed to suffer was my bottom. The turning point for me happened in one night. I wanted desperately to yield to his love, but I was so scared of being hurt again. He was lecturing me about something –� I really don't remember what. The man was ALWAYS lecturing me, or so it seemed. He reached out to stroke my face and I bit his hand hard. I was over his knee with my bottom naked so fast it made me dizzy. But he didn't do anything for what seemed to be an eternity. That damned band of steel wouldn't let me up, but he was doing nothing. Then suddenly his voice got that terrible calm intensity to it and he said, “I (and he emphasized it with a resounding slap that sounded like my dad's handgun going off and felt like it went clear through me) don't (another slap) care (another) if (again) it (you get the idea) takes a lifetime, I am going to prove to you I love you with all my heart and all my Soul and you are mine forever.”

Without any prior plans having been made, we were married one week later (I had refused until then). As far as I was concerned, he had conquered my will, won my respect and stolen my heart. I was his – heart, mind, body and Soul. Understand – �I am not saying I was instantly docile and obedient – �I never came close! But I was his Lady and he was my Hero.

Kathy