What Happened: I got spanked at bedtime last night. It wasn’t especially hard (a bare-bottom, over the knee hand spanking) but it included scolding (I had stayed up later than I was supposed to, even after being reminded to go to bed) and went on long enough to hurt. Not a lot, not like a hairbrushing, but enough so I started feeling very sorry (okay, mostly for myself rather than my actions) and telling, then begging Paul to stop.
That doesn’t work. As I was reminded, I don’t get to decide, just as it wasn’t for me to decide that I didn’t want this spanking. I hadn’t wanted it either — by the time he took me otk, I was tired, even over-tired, and wanted to go sleep. Plus it was late enough and quiet enough that I thought the spanking could be heard from the street. Our window, you see, was open because I hadn’t expected this.
Then it happened, and not for the first time. My whiny frustration at not being able to get away, at the spanking that continued and I wanted stopped, at not ever feeling like there was enough time for anything rushed together with the frustrations of the day and guilt at being scolded and for ignoring Paul, I burst into racking sobs.