Monday, October 10, 2011


Often, when a couple has a D/s relationship, the Dom will give the sub work--"tasks"--to do when the Dom's not around, usually (but not always) of a sexual nature. The sub will also typically have to offer some kind of proof, like pictures, video, documentation or the like, that the sub completed the task. If the sub does not complete the task, or does not do it to the Dom's liking, there are punishments involved.

Husband has never really "tasked" me. It's never come up. I mean, I have my household responsibilities, but that's my job as homemaker, wife and mother; there's no specific "task" involved. How I tackle my responsibilities is typically up to me.

A while ago, I was on twitter at the same time as a few gals from my usual sub-circle--it was Bedlam, paper mirai, Housewife Raven, and the kamamama I think?--and Paper Mirai mentioned her regimen to lose weight.
I wrote how it's hard for me to lose weight because I never stick with a plan. I end up giving up too soon.
It was then I realized, I could try to get Husband involved in helping me feel "motivated" to continue a weight-loss program!
I ran the idea by him, and...he didn't really seem all that interested. Which surprised me, I have to tell you; usually that man pounces on a reason to spank my ass like a cat to a flopping fish. But maybe we can chock up his reaction to a downer day: he had just been sent pictures of his car in the shop, still being repaired. Or maybe I should say his half a car.
The good news is, I'm saving on gas! GO GREEN!

A couple days ago, we were putting child #3 to bed, who's five years old and, as to be expected, has absolutely no filters between his brain and his mouth. Husband leaned over to kiss him goodnight.
"Goodnight, my funny Daddy," he said.
I leaned over to kiss him goodnight.
"Goodnight, my fat Mommy," he said.
I wanted to cry right then. We finished putting him to bed, and I slunk back to my bedroom and collapsed on the mattress. 
"What's wrong?" Husband asked. "What he said bothers you?"
"Of course it bothers me!" I said. "I need to lose weight."
"Then lose weight," he answered, like it was a no-brainer. Which, for a man who can lose five pounds by skipping two meals, it is. 
"I need motivation," I said, reminding him of my earlier appeal for help.
"You need to get off your ass and do it," he said. "You don't need my help. You can do it yourself."
Feeling very put-out, I sulked the rest of the night. The next day, I shared my sob story with twitter, who was much more sympathetic and understanding.

After a while though, Husband realized he had messed up somehow (the "I fucked up" radar every husband grows eventually), and came looking for me to ask me what he should do.
"I need you to help me stick with a healthy program," I said. "It's not really about weight loss. Okay, it is, but it's not only about weight loss. I just feel so unhealthy and gross."
"So it's about the exercise."
"And you want me to help you feel motivated to stick to an exercise program."
"Yes," I said, relieved he finally understood.
He understood, alright. "How often do you think you should exercise?"
"Maybe, three times a week?" I said, thinking. "Just to start with?"
"No, that's not enough. You should be exercising every day."
"Oh c'mon, seven days a week?"
"Okay, I'll give you weekends off." (I suddenly didn't like the tone he was taking. "I'll give you weekends off"?) "How do you want to exercise? Walking? Jogging? An exercise video?"
"I like the treadmill," I said.
"How many laps do you plan on doing when you get on?"
"Well, I don't really go by laps, I go by time. However much distance I can do in that time doesn't really matter, as long I stay on until the time's up."
"Even better," Husband said, giving me a grin I found quite ominous. "How much time then?"
"Half an hour?" 
"Half an hour is good." He smiled wider. "So: you will work out on the treadmill for five days a week, half an hour per day. And for every minute you fail to do that, I will punish your ass."
"Wait. What?"
"I was going to go by laps, and give you a spank with the brush for every lap you miss. But this is much better. Now I can spank you however much I want in the time I have. I don't even have to keep count."
"Wait a minute--"
"Nope, nope. This is what you wanted. I'm MOTIVATING you."
"But not like this!"
"Too bad. And don't even think about telling me you've been on treadmill if you haven't. I'll know."
"I wouldn't lie about it," I said, angry now.
"You may not the first time, but you probably will the second."
"And how do you know there will be a first time?"
"Because that's the whole reason you're asking me to 'help' you. You can't get yourself to stick to it. Eventually, you'll miss a day--and I'll get to have some fun. Half an hour of whipping your butt is a long time." He looked positively giddy by the thought.

So that's the predicament I'm in right now. For two days, I've dragged my (as yet unwelted) ass to the treadmill, and did my allotted time. I know Husband is just waiting in the wings, ready for me to mess up. 
This isn't what I thought would be the first real task Husband would give me with consequences involved. But it's for my own good. 
For the good of my body...and for the good of my bottom.


  1. Oh my. What have you gotten yourself into?

  2. I'll let you know the first day I miss my half hour on the treadmill. Eek!

  3. I literally snorted out loud at work when I read what your 5 year old said to you. It's only funny because it's so typical of a child that age.

    3 recently said to me, "Mommy, your tush looks like jelly".

    So yeah, I can relate.