So I’m en route from Minnesota to California, currently in the great state of Utah. Even though my mom and I are mostly occupied with talking to each other, listening to Harry Potter on tape, and seeing lots of beautiful scenery, I still have a bunch of time to think. And I’ve been thinking. Lately, I’ve been thinking about the difference between punishments that are the you-earned-this kind and punishments that are the you-are-NEVER-going-to-do-this-again kind.
Hi everyone. 🙂 I just posted this in my Livejournal, but I wanted to get it here, too, just so everyone knows that I’m not dead — or, worse, Vanilla.
But lately I’ve been begging for that part of my life back.
Bloody housework. Did I mention that this place is huge?
So today Q asked, ‘Where is the vacuum cleaner and when was the last time you used it?’
‘That’s what I thought. Has it been used in the last two weeks?’
I looked at the floor.
‘It looks like you’re going to have something to post to the Punishment Book today, doesn’t it?’
(This always seems to happen when we’ve just been to Abel and Haron’s place.)
I haven't had much in the way of serious punishment spankings lately–for that matter, I haven't had much in the way of any punishment spankings lately. It was really busy with graduation (family around constantly) and as I noted in a recent comment-on-a-post, I've been feeling prickly about discipline in the last month or so. I really haven't wanted the vulnerability, so I've kept discipline at arm's length. And M has been very good about respecting that (not that he had much choice, I suppose).
And then there was last weekend.
I was out in LA visiting, getting a few last things set up before I move out there at the end of the month, but mostly it was a relaxing weekend for the two of us to reconnect. We haven't had much "us" time recently, and both missed it. So it was pretty low-key. And over the course of the weekend I found my smart mouth reasserting itself, my brat side making itself known, and even felt the beginning of a glimmer of a desire to play. Not, you'll notice, a desire to be punished. Just a desire to play. But M's patience can only last so long, and by Tuesday it was at an end. I was also feeling my oats a little because I hadn't been seriously spanked in so long–this is to explain the otherwise inexplicable lapse in judgment you're about to witness.
We were getting ready on Tuesday morning, him to go to work and me to go running down by the beach. I was a little tired and perhaps grumpy (? honestly, I have no idea what my problem was) and as he was holding the door open for me to leave, I made some really snippy remark. Not unkind, I don't think–more in the neighborhood of bratty. He stopped dead in his tracks and gave me the Look like I haven't seen in weeks. Which probably should have been my first clue. However, I was still in my own insulated world and ignored him. What I did, in fact, was look him straight in the eye as I put on my iPod lanyard and say, "Yeah, like you have the time or inclination to do anything about that right now."
Gulp. This has to rank as one of the all-time stupidest possible things to say to one's disciplinarian. Only I really didn't believe he was going to do anything about it right then, because he was running late and I'd been able to um, distract him from spanking me for something else earlier in the weekend.
His eyes sparked fire something fierce, he shut the door calmly, took off my iPod, grabbed my hand, and pulled me into the bedroom. All this time I was, of course, backtracking like crazy, babbling things like, "You're going to be late! You don't have time! I didn't mean it! What are you doing? You don't have time for this!" He pulled several nasty things from the toy bag, shucked down my shorts and panties, and tossed me over his knee. M's usually a pretty methodical, unruffle-able spanker, but this time he gave me no scolding, no warm up, and no breaks. Yikes! He started off with what we call the "quiet" hairbrush, so named because it actually makes relatively little noise on impact. It's small and MEAN (very dense wood) and it was not a fun beginning. After spanking me for far too long with that, he switched to the leather paddle, then moved to his hand, then paused to make really sure I understood why I was getting spanked and what exactly I could do to avoid a repeat in the near future. By this time I was willing to avoid a repeat in any future, near or far, so he seemed satisfied with my answers. And then he got out the two meanest wooden paddles we own and gave me about ten with each! I was more than sore and sorry by that point, but he pulled me off his lap, gave me a hard hug, and pushed me into the corner, still with shorts and panties around my ankles.
This was a different kind of spanking for a couple reasons: one, M almost never spanks me when he's actually irritated or angry with me, and two, I rarely get put in the corner after a spanking. Cornertime doesn't get used a whole lot, mostly if he wants to make sure I'm really contrite when he puts me over his knee, and after a spanking it's bordering on unheard-of. So I knew he was pretty irritated. I didn't have to stay there long, because he was still late for work, but I didn't get as much snuggling and petting as I usually get either. Sigh.
This wasn't my favorite kind of spanking (at all), but I figured it sort of broke a barrier between us that had been slowly building for a few weeks. And I had been a gigantic brat. By Wednesday morning I was feeling downright chipper. M and I were back on track, I was figuring things out for the move, I woke up early to go for a run, came back and took a cool shower: life was good. When I went into the bedroom, naked and still damp from my shower, I was surprised to see M up and dressed. His mouth was full of mouthwash, but he kissed me anyway and I giggled. As I walked past him to get some clothes he grabbed my hand to get my attention, reached over into the toy bag, pulled out a hairbrush, and gestured for me to wait. I honestly couldn't figure out what was going on, since I'd done nothing wrong, so I waited patiently while he spit out the mouthwash. But when he came back in, sat on the corner of the bed, picked up the hairbrush, and patted his knee, I got suspicious. "What?" I said. "What are you doing?" Suddenly stern, he said, "Did you write down the things in your calendar like we talked about?"
Oh shit. See, I have these migraine things that come every once in a while. They're not headaches, they're more like mini-seizures. They're very well-contained and I haven't even had one in five or six months, but I'd had one on Sunday/Monday. Ever since I started having them doctors have been telling me to track them so I have a sense of the severity, course, and any patterns. Well, I know all about the patterns and I have a pretty good idea of when the last one was; if I start having them every 4 hours again, I'll see someone. Otherwise, there's not much to be done. Stupid me, I'd casually mentioned to M that I should probably jot the recent ones down and he took that seriously and told me that he'd hairbrush me if I didn't.
But there were mitigating circumstances, honest! I didn't have my calendar with me (had left it in MN) and he knew that. Unfortunately, he had also decreed that I should write it down somewhere else and then transfer the info when I got home. And I had promptly forgotten. Completely, blissfully forgotten. Sigh. So I got hairbrushed. Harder than I wanted, on an already sore bottom, and in the middle of what had started off as a perfectly lovely morning.
I know there's another, better reason to celebrate Memorial Day weekend, but somehow I think this one may rank up there in our personal history.
Oh, and I transferred the data into my calendar this morning.