So getting to today.
As I mentioned below, today was not a good day. It started out rather badly as I stayed up too late last night (and got spanked quite hard with a wooden spoon for thoughtlessness). I'd been out of sort all day yesterday and started that way today too.
A conversation with a friend helped, and reminded me that I needed to get to working. But 2:30 rolled past and I was still in my "going to get coffee" sun-dress rather than my "getting down to work" uniform. Pab was in the other room busily working. Probably thinking I was too. Probably not realizing (because I'd been crafty enough not to post anything) that while the iMac was locked, my Powerbook was still on the 'net.
But the day was slipping past. What I couldn't do, without talking to him, was leave. And I wanted to go shopping -- and I really need some new cords.
I had an idea. Instead of today, I could work tomorrow. It would all even out the same and I'd have gotten my weekly pages done. Besides, I'd worked hard (for me anyway) all month. Surely I deserved this Friday off to shop on Third Street.
So I took a deep breath, went into the bedroom (where Pab was working) and told him I wasn't really feeling it today, that I didn't want to work and I asked if maybe instead I could work tomorrow. It's getting so late, I explained.
Now, those of you who know us probably are guessing this didn't work. In retrospect I'm not sure how I could have believed it would. I can only explain that I'm spoiled enough that wanting something is enough to generally convince me that I should have it -- that, indeed, people disagree with me only because they haven't clearly understood my request. So I explained again to Pab what I wanted. Within a few minutes I was dressed in my uniform (pleated plaid skirt, white knee socks, back t-bar shoes, white school shirt) and realizing I was going to get spanked.
That realization wasn't psychic vibes. It was a judgment based on the straight back chair moving from its corner of the room (the corner I'd been standing in last night) in the center of the floor. My one comfort, as he sat down and called me over, was that there was no implement in evidence except his hand. Clearly he'd remembered I was already sore. And that, because of eczema, my skin is fragile.
He started to spank me over my panties. It hurt, especially as the swats moved up and down my thighs. I squirmed and said I was sorry. I wasn't really (aside from being sorry I was getting spanked) but it seemed the thing to say. And it seemed a shame his work was being interrupted because of me.
The spanking continued, harder still with my panties down. I started to whimper (remember, I'm a wimp, plus already sore from last night and um-teen other spankings this week) and then cry a bit. Soon he helped me up.
I thought I was about to be sent to work on the computer. Instead I was sent to fetch the hairbrush. Three steps to the basket under the nightstand where it lives. Three steps back and back over his knee.
Suddenly the spanking went from hurting to *H*U*R*T*I*N*G*. I started to howl, to kick, to cry. I felt bad for being so difficult, sorry for not having settled down to work right away. And just sorry. I said that too, between gasps and sniffles. Generally this is when spankings end.
But this time I was reminded that it isn't me that gets to decide what's enough or when it's over. That he can hold me over his knee no matter how hard I'm struggling. The spanking continued with some vigor for what seemed like forever, but was certainly several minutes. The brush found the back of my thighs and (repeatedly) my sit spots.
When I finally was allowed up (after some time sitting on P's lap for tears and comfort), it seemed such a surprise that only 15 minutes had passed. I wasn't surprised to hear this was to be written up for the PB. Not thrilled, but not surprised.
Less than two hours later and my writing for the day was done.
Why did it feel like such a big deal before? I don't know.
My chair has never felt less comfortable.