Yes, yes, I’d hoped we’d heard the last of this saga too.
Last night I came back home from my parents’ house which I will hence forth call the "The Sugar Shack" in honor of the amazing number of desserts existing under a single roof. Getting home involved (for Pablo) a dead battery, a tow truck and an emergency favor from a friend). It was after 11 by the time we got inside. Still, even with all of that, he’d worn new white stiff collared shirt (it’s one of our little rituals and one that had been too long coming) so I knew he’d been thinking about stuff.
I sort of hoped that meant we could skip the spanking and soaping. Because he knew I had to get up at 6am for work (ugh!) Pablo offered to wait until tonight. I thought about it, I mean any delay in a storm, but then I realized I’d have to spend the whole day thinking about it.
Better to get it over with I thought.
And with that I gave him my additional bad news.
I’d had a cookie on the plane.
I was pretty sure I could be forgiven the cookie. I mean I hadn’t asked for it — all I’d wanted was a tomato juice. The flight attendant without even a by-your-leave just went ahead and put a hot fresh oatmeal cookie on my tray table.
I couldn’t not eat it. I mean, if the plane had crashed it would be the last thing I’d ever get to eat. And as Alan King once said, ya don’t wanna go to hell hungry.
Plus their were raisins in it. A very healthy cookie.
Pab seemed sympathetic and then said we’d add it into the total. So kind!
When I went into the bedroom there was a straight backed chair waiting. With my own new stiff white shirt, ankle socks and a pair of navy blue school knickers (the ones with the little hanky pocket in the front) waiting on the seat. Pab told me to bring him the soap from my suitcase (I’d had to pack it while we were on the phone the night before in case I "forgot" it) change and then take myself into the corner. I pouted a bit, killed some time in the bathroom and finally changed and went and stood in the corner, hands on my head.
I was only there a little bit (maybe 2-3 minutes?) when he called me over to go across his knee after first lowering my knickers. The spanking was hard and my bottom started out cold so it stung like crazy. It’s always hard for me to tell these things, but I think it was a pretty long and hard hand spanking. I was aware of the pain but tried to be brave because I felt bad and embarrassed that it had come to this.
Plus I was dreading what was to come even more than I was feeling the spanking. When it was over I was sent back to the corner, this time with my knickers down.
Once I was there I could hear him in the bathroom running water. I imagined his hands lathering up the soap. When he came back with it it was as I’d feared. After commenting on the teeth marks already in the bar, he put it a lot further into my mouth than I did when I was doing it long distance.
"Nose in the corner and don’t move," I was told.
I did as he said, trying barely to breath, all the while feeling the soap pushing between my teeth and tasting it as a horrible oily SOAPY film spread over my tongue.
Now in retrospect you’d think I’d have felt embarrassed at being in the corner, knickers down and with a bar of soap in my mouth. I mean, how childish. But the fact was I was totally focused on getting out and not really that concerned with looking foolish. Perhaps I’m just really immature?
Soon it was over and I was allowed to raise my knickers and go into the bathroom to rinse and brush my teeth — it took a really long time to get rid of the taste.
All over, right? Well it should have been. Pab sent me to fetch the Burt’s Bees lotion out of my duffel bag (the soap had been in my rolly one) so he could give my bottom a little TLC. The lotion wasn’t there. Omigod! In all the confusion at LAX I’d taken someone else’s bag!
When I came back to the bedroom with that news, Pab decided I needed some of the much stingier aloe lotion and 5 or 6 really really hard smacks. Those brought everything home and I cried and cried. 🙁
After there was much snuggling and all sorts of non-punishment sorts of good things.
I was sure I’d be good
forever a very long time.
Or not very long at all.
Today when I got home from work (my luggage having been delivered and the wrong bag taken away for the bargain price of $27) I was all eager to change into jeans and go and get some Chinese food. As I was rooting through the duffel bag, Pab said "as long as you’re going to unpack, it would be good not to spread your clothes everywhere in the room."
There was something in his tone that irked me a lot and made me wanna empty my bag on his head, or at least fling everything in my suitcase at him. Instead, partly because my bottom was still hurting, I glared at him hard and then stomped to the bathroom and locked myself in.
When I came back I was all sweetness and light. Or so I thought.
The look still got me in trouble and I ended up jeans and panties down, otk on the same chair and lap as last night.
If I was brave last night I wasn’t tonight for a very hard hand spanking. I kicked and struggled, whimpered and finally cried.
Tho after, as we walked to dinner, Pab did make me feel better by telling me that had I actually thrown the clothes at him he’d have used the back of the brush. So my bathroom retreat was definitely smart.
Jeans definitely hold in heat and my bottom is still tender.
Tomorrow? Well, tomorrow we talk about what issues we’re going to work on and how. Er, discipline issues, in case that isn’t clear from the context.