“Let me show you how much I love you.”
This phrase often precedes the administration of a few sharp “love pats” in our household, usually delivered because I’ve done something Daddy’s not in favor of, but that doesn’t warrant to make it a full blown spanking.
I never know when this is going to happen – when I’m in the kitchen, the car, or doing the most mundane of things. As he’s saying it, he’s pulling me over his lap or his knee or the back of the nearest chair, getting ten or twenty hard swats that make me beg him not to from the beginning.
Then he’ll pull me up and into his big, strong arms, wrapping them around me very tightly, as he knows I prefer, rubbing his hand soothingly up and down my back as he whispers to me, “That’s how much I love you.”