Today I got the first disciplinary spanking in almost a year.
Part of the reason it's been so long is because I've been struggling with my punishment kink. I've been meaning to write about my struggles in their messy, raw form but I think by the time I get around to writing about it, I will have some more coherent thoughts.
But mostly it's because I've been struggling with illness, something I mentioned in my last post on this blog in January, that got a lot worse at the end of May when I ended up with blood clots in my lungs and was promptly placed on anticoagulants for the rest of my life. After a chat with the hematologist, A. and I have discovered that there are still spankings to be had while on blood thinners. But our experimenting has just been play. No discipline.
I have Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome (also known as Myalgic Encephalomyelitis outside the United States). It's a lot like having a horrible case of the flu, except that it never goes away and starts to affect your nervous system and gene expression and well, you basically feel close to death half the time.
But every now and then you get a day where you feel just a little bit less shitty than normal. For me this often follows a good session with the acupuncturist/massage therapist. Not always, but often. And yesterday's session made me feel somewhat decent today.
So, what to do with my day of feeling good? Why do laundry and clean the bathroom!
(My sisters and I were playing Friends trivia game one Christmas. I picked the card that asked "what Friend are you most like?" All three of us went, "Monica!" No joke.)
"Now don't you over do it, lady." A. rubbed my back and gave me a slight smack on the ass.
"I'm not. I'm just going to clean the bathroom really quick."
"No, you're not cleaning the bathroom."
"But it won't take me that long," I promised.
"No, I'll do it when I get back from Trader Joe's." He nodded to reassure me.
"But I've already got the floor ready to sweep and mop and –"
"– No, you're not going to do it. You're already doing laundry." A.'s voice got a bit more firm.
"But it won't take me that long and…" You won't do it right, I thought.
"You're not cleaning the bathroom. I'll do it when I get back from the store." His voice was very firm this time. In fact, I don't think he's ever spoken that sharply to me before. Granted, I don't think I've tried to argue that much with him before, especially when I know deep down that he's right. Indeed, I think I was even giving him The Look, or at least a modified version thereof.
I took a deep breath.
"Okay, I won't clean the bathroom." I sighed and might have rolled my eyes a bit once he turned his back.
He sat down on the bed (the center of every studio apartment) and since the laundry wasn't going to need dealing with for a good half an hour or so, there was nothing more for me to do than to sit down on the bed next to him.
"You so better not clean that bathroom." Still stern, but without the edge to it.
"I won't. I'll rest."
"Good." He cuddled me and kissed me. And smacked my bottom. Then smacked it some more. "I think you need a warning spanking. Over my lap."
And over I went.
At least I was on his left side so it was his left hand whacking my bottom. They were still pretty solid smacks though. I wasn't counting but it seemed like 20 or 30.
True, it was a light spanking. And I have to admit, once he left to go to Trader Joe's, I laid there on the bed trying to decide what I could get away with, despite my trousers and panties still somewhat awkwardly arranged from their trip back up. I quickly decided he'd notice if I did go ahead and clean the bathroom. But what if I just swept and mopped the floor but didn't clean the counter, which was the most obviously messy? Nah, think he'd notice that too.
There was also the possible punishment to factor in. Directly disobeying him is uncharted territory. The worst spanking I've ever gotten was when he spanked my thighs — back AND front — with the wooden spoon, and it's always what has deterred me from possible transgressions in the past. But the wooden spoon is out thanks to the anticoagulants (it bruises like a mf). However, the cane is still very much available and considering his fondness for it, I could probably expect 18 or more strokes if I did clean the bathroom, as well as the strap and maybe even the riding crop. You know, in addition to feeling really really super shitty tomorrow because I overdid it (last week it was so bad I could barely even talk).
Well, I suppose in answer to Iris's question regarding justice and deterrence, deterrence is definitely an aspect of A.'s punishment philosophy. And, as you can see, for good reason.
In the end, I did pour a bit of Borax into the toilet bowel since I had it out anyway for the laundry — but I didn't scrub! And the non-chlorine bleach was out too, so I sprayed down the bathtub and the floor around the toilet. Okay, I did do a tiny bit of scrubbing the bathtub. The whole time I kept thinking, isn't this the part in those children's stories where they start out doing just a little and end up getting into a lot of trouble?
A. did clean the bathroom when he got home. And did a magnificent job too. There was a riding crop and wooden spoon involved, but that's for a non-punishment post. 🙂