The Punishment Book

The issue for my Mr. Stern was the importance of the schedule and my failure to meet all the items I'd committed to completing that week (not many, only three items as I've gotten spanked in the past for making my schedule too ambitious). When he said I was going to get a "pretty severe spanking" later that day, I argued that it was only one thing one time that I hadn't finished when I've had months of completing my schedules. But I didn't really have a good reason for it not being done. Mostly not being able to settle down and just read the damn book. Not really budgeting enough time. Letting myself get distracted, which is easy when it's something I don't really want to read in the first place and you're in a studio apartment with your boyfriend. "So, you didn't allocate your time properly." No, I didn't -- a spankable offence certainly--but it didn't seem to merit a "pretty severe spanking" in my opinion. Unfortunately, my opinion, which I certainly have a right to voice, is not what decides as apparently it's not necessarily the most objective.

Hmph.

A year and a half ago, right before we actually met in person and he was keeping track of my offenses in a little book (which he has since lost...how very unfortunate...he he he) I decided I was going to change a deadline and casually let him know that I was changing it.

"Uh, no you're not going to change it or there would be no point of having a deadline," he said.

I was a bit stunned. What do you mean I can't change it? I'm a grown adult and I think I can decide when I want to change a deadline, I thought. After a bit of discussion ensued, he finally said I could send him a brief essay about why I should be allowed to move the deadline. So, I sat and thought and outlined and wrote. And the next day when he came online and read the essay, he politely but firmly declined my request. I had tickets to see Ibdaa, a Palestinian dance troupe whose performance I needed to leave for in short order, which meant that I had no time to argue with him. But damn was I sulky. I enjoyed the show but sat through it stewing. He just didn't understand. He was just being mean. He wasn't being fair. And again, I'm a grown adult. Who is he to tell me I can't change a damn deadline when I want to?

Later that night my crankiness melted into resignation and then into compliance. The only reason I was pissed off was because I was not getting my way. I was the one who had always wanted structure and discipline, and now that someone was actually giving me that, why the hell was I getting sulky? He really was not being mean but actually trying to do something for my benefit. Yes, I was a grown adult and as such had chosen of my own freewill and desire to submit to the discipline of another who I respected and cared for a great deal and knew respected and cared about me a great deal.

The other day as I awaited the appointed time for my spanking, I stewed and sulked and pondered. While I was still a bit confused about why my offense was so grave, I began to feel fairly acquiescent about my impending "pretty severe spanking." When the time came, I quietly laid down on the bed as I was told to and waited, which has a very similar effect to standing in the corner. As I lay there, I thought about how I had indeed been very naughty. I had purposely done things like clean house to avoid my reading. Watched television when I knew I hadn't finished my reading. And if I was really honest, I had sorta not taken it that seriously, thinking that if I got a few hours done, that would be good enough (you know the old cliche, give me an inch and I'll take a mile). My thinking time was interrupted every minute or two with him calling out to tell me what new statistic he'd found in the report I'd downloaded for him (some research we're doing for a book about the US and the rest of the world), bringing me out of my meditation on my naughtiness and back into our normal relationship. As he read more and I lay there snuggling my pillows, I began to get sleepy. "I'm going to fall asleep soon," I said with what was probably a bit of a whine.

So, in he came. When he took out the bath brush, I winced. When he also took out the wooden spoon, I got that heavy feeling in my stomach as it confirmed my worst fear. The wooden spoon is usually used on my thighs. It really was going to be a "pretty severe spanking."

"Now, why are you getting spanked?" he asked as his hand started smacking my upturned bottom while my knees sunk into the bedspread and my body cradled my pillows.

"Because I didn't finish my reading," I replied.

"And why didn't you finish your reading?"

I paused for a second to think of an articulate way of describing my dereliction of duty.

"Because I didn't 'allocate my time properly.'"

And thinking of an articulate response was becoming a challenge as even his hand over my pajama bottoms was starting to really sting. I had taken a bath not quite an hour before, but I didn't think my skin would still be that sensitive. My stomach felt even heavier as I knew what was coming.

Indeed, just a few seconds later came the tug on my pajama bottoms. More hand spanks on my now bare backside. Then smacks from something wooden but fairly light. (Guess the Implement is a slightly amusing little mental game to ever so temporarily distract you from the fact that it's scalding your backside.) Then the hairbrush. A pause to discuss my infraction a bit more.

How much reading had I actually done?

About three hours or so.

Had I simply not allocated my time properly or had it been a bit much to expect to finish the book?

Hmm...both answers would be bad -- the latter being perhaps even a bit worse since I've been spanked for that before. But honestly? Well, I didn't know. At the time it seemed like a reasonable expectation that I'd finish the book. It's easy reading. Not that long (well, by grad student standards). I had a week to read. At least I thought I did. Was that the week after we came back from Vancouver? Or the week I had the unexpected extended session with the massage therapist?

Even after looking up the dates on my schedule (well, he looked it up while I remained in my er...rather undignified position) I was still unclear. It seemed like stuff had come up that week that in hindsight probably did make it a bit unrealistic to expect that I'd finish the book. But it seemed reasonable at the time.

It's hard to think clearly when you're getting spanked.

Especially with a mean old bath brush.

Which was searing my sit spot.

Over and over.

Then it came. That feeling of wanting to cry.

But just for a moment. That instinctive need to be stoic quickly pushed it away. Sorta.

Even as my brain was busy trying to process the pain constantly assaulting it from the south, I was becoming aware of this tug-of-war between my desire to cry and my deeply ingrained stoicism. I'd never been aware of it before. Well, that's not completely true. I've seen glimpses of it before, but I was so much more conscious of it this time than I ever had been. I would come to that edge and start to cross over, then stop. Start to cross over again, then stop. In many ways it almost felt sorta out of body. Just sitting and watching myself going back and forth.

He stopped with the brush and started spanking with his hand again. Then told me to lay flat on the bed.

Which in some ways was good because that made my bottom less tense and vulnerable.

But very bad because it made my thighs very much more vulnerable. Which was the whole point.

As he spanked my bottom more with the bath brush, he scolded me. (Boy has he gotten a lot better and mean-- er...uh...sterner -- in his scolding). How the schedule was important. How I should tell him if I'm having trouble finishing it. Combined with my pre-spanking reflection about how naughty I'd been, it made me feel very little and naughty and guilty and repentant. I just wanted to be a good girl again.

Then came those mean smacks with the wooden spoon on my thighs. And promises that if I ever failed to finish my schedule again without good reason I'd get the wooden spoon on the top of my thighs (with the memory of such a spanking adding to the horrible "eek!!" in my gut).

I crossed over the edge again. Stepped one foot fully down on the other side and started to tear up and vocally sob.

I so wanted the spanking to stop.

I so wanted to be a good girl.

I so wanted to let all that sadness and guilt and hurt out.

But it was only one foot. The other stayed firmly planted on solid stoic soil.

For this time, at least.

The bath brush came out again for six more strokes that I had to count. Then it was over. He lay down on the bed next to me. "Big cuddle." I clutched him with a foot on either side as he held me. Still tearing up. Still letting out little sobs. But not quite fully crying.

We lay there for a long time. He stroked my hair and my bottom. Softly asked me if I was going to let him know next time if I was having problems completing my schedule.

"Yes," I nodded.

"Good girl."

I had the most intense feeling of love and intimacy with any human being I think I've ever had at that moment. It was one of, if not the most amazing thing I've ever felt. As I think back on it now, all I can think is, oh my god, I soooo want to do that again. I mean, I remember that the spanking really hurt, but it seems so absolutely beautiful and profound now. And even though I have this desire to repeat the experience, I also want very much to be good.

Though good girl spankings just don't have quite the same effect.