You've always longed for a special kind of man. A sophisticated, accomplished man who understands the necessity of being firm with you. A man who understands the old-fashioned notion of being in control of a woman's behavior, and isn't afraid to exercise His control over you with the particular forms of juvenile punishment you find so embarrassing, so painful ... and so necessary. A man experienced in taking charge and setting limits, who cares about you enough to enforce those limits when you go beyond them. An old-fashioned disciplinarian, someone you respect and admire so much for the way He runs his own life and for the way He helps you run yours that your helpless submission to His authority when your behavior goes beyond the limits He sets is natural, unquestioning ... and inevitable.
Most nights find you sitting on your bed imagining Him firmly and lovingly correcting you. Upstairs in your bedroom, nervously perched on the edge of your bed, watching your clock ticking towards the time He set, each tick bringing the inevitable closer. You look around your empty room, feeling the humiliation of being sent there without supper. A little girl, helplessly awaiting her stern father's arrival. Alone in your room, feeling a growing dread, a sense of fearful anticipation that rises as you nervously pick at the waist of your white pajamas. The special ones. The ones that make you look and feel like a little girl. The ones hanging prominently in your closet to remind you of the penalty for your misbehavior. The ones He has you change into when he sends you to your room ... to wait.
Is it really just the creaking of the floorboards in the wind, or do you suddenly hear the sound of his slow steps on your stairs? Does the hair on your neck rise as you hear a sharp "click," realizing that He is there, outside your room, turning the knob on your bedroom door? Does your mind flash forward a few minutes, to the lecture, his scolding, and the butterflies in your stomach as He gives you the inevitable command.
Can you see your unsteady hands moving to obey? Do you see yourself slowly untying the drawstring at your waist, your pajama bottoms slowly sliding down your legs as you shuffle from your bed towards the chair He is positioning in the middle of your room? Do you see yourself, your pajamas at your knees, your bottom on display, your hands shielding yourself in front as, red-faced with humiliation, you argue with Him ... plead with Him, playing for time. One last desperate promise to be good as He takes your hand and gently puts you across his lap. Can you imagine yourself bent over his knees, face-down, a young woman submissively awaiting a little girl's punishment, your bottom framed by your pajama top and lowered pants, bare and painfully vulnerable?
