Hi. My name is Cindy, and I'm married to my wonderful husband and Daddy named Tom. I love him very much, and I know he loves me. Our relationship is rich and complex, but as you could probably guess from me calling him Daddy, he is my leader as well as the love of my life.

I'm by no means a perfect wife. I have a willful streak and when it gets out of hand, Daddy will tell me so, and if I don't rein myself in, he'll pass sentence on the spot, usually by saying, "Alright, Cindy, it's clear that you need some discipline. Come with me." (if we're not home, he'll simply say instead that we'll attend to my discipline when we get home). My tummy usually does a little somersault when he says that and he simply walks into our living room. My feet feel like they're acting under their own power as they follow him.

He starts each punishment by having me strip, then he sits me down nude at the kitchen table, gives me a blank sheet of paper and a pen, and a paper with my rules on it:

1. I must be nude for discipline. This helps ensure that I am humble and receptive.
2. The discipline is mine and mine alone. It is for my own benefit, and I must own it.
3. Despite that, Daddy decides everything about my discipline. His word is absolute as to when and how I need discipline.
4. I must fully cooperate with my discipline. Because I own my discipline and Daddy decides, I must be completely obedient and do everything I am required to facilitate the process.
5. Discipline always ends in acceptance. Discipline cannot end until I completely accept my discipline, because it is for my own good and I must own it.

The first time he did this, the rules were just printed from the computer. But every time after that, he has given me the last copy that I wrote out. He keeps them all - hundreds by now. Most of the time the handwriting is my usual pretty cursive, but I always notice when the writing is just a little more shaky. Usually, I also remember why - that I knew while I was copying that I was going to get a particularly well deserved punishment.

Writing out a new copy of the rules is never a mechanical operation for me. I can't help but read them while I write, and reading them brings each one into sharp focus, and the writing can only go so fast, so each one is present in me for as long as that takes.

As I start writing out "I must be nude for discipline," I usually think to myself that that's certainly already true. Of course, like anyone with a partner, I am nude in their presence regularly, but it's very different when he marches me into the living room, shuts the blinds, orders me to strip, and watches me while I comply. It's mortifying every time and I can feel my face and chest flush when I see his eyes move up and down my naked body, always pausing just a little on my shaved crotch. Of course, as I write down rule 1, this is always fresh in my mind having happened only moments ago. The embarrassment at stripping for discipline always edges in front of the trepidation I feel at my impending spanking, at least temporarily.

Next comes "The discipline is mine and mine alone." Deep down I know this is true. I do have a safe-word, and I have no doubt that if I used it Daddy would stop. But I never have. Even as I fret about how much a spanking hurts I know how much better it feels to empty my soul out while he holds me tight and makes it all better. And no matter what, after my spanking, he tells me that I am forgiven (if it's a punishment for having done something wrong) and that I am his very good girl and that he loves me very much. I know too that the remainder of these rules I get from this exercise is good for me too.

"Despite that, Daddy decides everything about my discipline." I've long since put my trust in him, and his leadership (which is more than just spankings) helps me be the best person I can be. When I stray from that path, I count on him to help me return to it. He always knows exactly what's best for me and it's always better after he is done, even if my bottom is sore (sometimes for a day or more). I don't know as I copy this exactly what my punishment will be. He never tells me in advance, he just leads me through it. Often it's just a hand-spanking over his knee, but Daddy has an extensive collection of implements - hairbrushes, paddles both long and short, a few straps (plus the belts he wears every day), and even a couple of canes. He's even broken up lengthy punishments with time in the corner with my hands reaching up to the ceiling.

"I must fully cooperate with my discipline." This is actually the easiest rule. Stripping for him in the living room really brings a change to my mindset and makes me very obedient. You wouldn't think it would be easy to not move out of place when Daddy is using a two foot long wooden paddle on my bare bottom while I'm bent over with my hands on my knees, but I don't. I get quite vocal while he's punishing me, as you'd naturally expect. He allows that as long as I don't try to control the process or get mouthy. That used to happen, but he would take things up a notch whenever I misbehaved.

"Discipline always ends in acceptance." If the last one was the easiest, this one is the hardest. Once he starts, I quickly start crying, but even through the crying I still know that it won't end until there's nothing in my mind except for the crying. It's hard to explain, but as the spanking goes on, the crying intensifies and everything else fades away from my mind. I never know when he stops. I just know that eventually, I start to come to my senses. When I am able to stand, he helps me up and ushers me over into the corner. Once I'm there he'll stand me facing the wall and arrange my hands. He'll either bring my hands behind my back, behind my head or reaching up to the ceiling. Almost always when my hands are up I know that means there will be another round after I've calmed down.

After the writing is done, I know it's up to me to say, "I'm ready, Daddy." He'll come over, check my work, and then my discipline begins.