As Pablo and I were getting ready to leave today, him for work and me for a day of studying with a friend in her new office at a nearby university, I started searching for a book. Not just any book but Methodology of the Oppressed by Chela Sandoval. It had been recommended as vital to my research by two different people last year. So naturally I’d ordered it from Amazon and then put it out of my mind. But today I knew I needed to start outlining it.
It was missing. I looked and looked for at least 10 minutes before finally and frantically telling Pablo that my book wasn’t anywhere. So he started looking too. We don’t have a very big apartment, but there are many places a book can hide. Of course when we moved 18 months ago, Pablo spent a long afternoon helping me organize my academic books by a combination of subject and author (I have a LOT of books) so exactly this sort of situation would be avoided.
And yet here I was searching high and low for my book.
As time wore on I started wondering if I’d loaned it to someone and forgotten about doing it. Or maybe I’d taken it to a coffee house to read and forgotten it.
Finally Pab found it stuck in the lower corner of the wrong shelf. I felt so excited and happy (I’d started wondering about having to buy another copy) that I didn’t notice the look he was giving me. At least not right away. As I looked up at him in thanks, he nodded and then asked (told!) me to bring him a chair.
I was shocked. How shocked? I did as I was told. I felt dazed.
It seemed like no time and all and he was seated and unfastening my jeans and pulling down my panties. And then I was across his lap, my hand gripping the bar of the chair rail for dear life. My sandals fell off with two quick thuds as the smacking started. Deprived of the comfort of the floor, my feet kicked in midair and I tried, for a few moments, to be brave. But then it really started to sting.
This was just with his hand mind you. But two nights before I’d gotten a rather hard hairbrush spanking for poor spelling (long story, I blame the newsgroup). This hurt. There’s something about the otk position that really hurts a lot more. I feel both silly and small and punished. I doubt there were many more than 100 smacks. Still, it hurt and I found myself sniffling when I stood up again, panties at my knees, jeans at my ankles.
There wasn’t much time for comforting, though I did get hugged, of course. And a reminder for Pablo as to why this merited a spanking (because books are too important to be treated like that in case you were wondering).
Last of all was a very strong suggestion that this be written up tonight and posted on the PB. So here it is.