"I know you and I know your rear, my dear," He said this morning, "and the burn fades to something you *like* much too quickly."

That was how I started my day after T. fell asleep the night before, while I was waiting upstairs for a bedtime spanking.

The love/hate relationship I have with the fact that I'm watched over and well-disciplined kept all my attention last evening, as I sat on the bed, and let myself sneek a book off the side table. I figured He was giving me tons of extra time to think about the stuff I'm supposed to keep better track of in my life. Like the expiration date of my car registration, for example.

But an hour went by, and then it was going on two hours, and all that time to think about what was going to happen! For pure punishment, T. usually uses His belt, but never before He starts to lecture me about keeping better track of my life, and wanting me to "thrive" (He loves that word, uses it to mean almost anything -- I always think of bumblebees, like a "hive", and that makes me think of stinging, which is appropriate I guess *s*).

He usually stands over me, after sitting me down on the bed, and goes over what I'm to be punished for. If it's something *real*, you know, something I really feel I messed up on, then this always gets me into the punishment headspace very quickly. I feel bad for letting Him down, you know how that feels probably. And the longer the scolding, the more disappointed I know He is, and so the harsher the punishment. I usually end up staring down at His shoes by then, and blushing like mad. Smaller and younger and more embarassed by the second!

It's only when I see His hands move out of the corner of my eye, down from where He usually has them on His hips, and to His belt buckle, that the butterflies in my tummy really kick into high gear

Do you ever question your willingness to be a grownup that's disciplined? I only do at this very moment. I suddenly want to stand up and say, "Okay, ha ha, this was a fun game, very cute, but I'm a grown woman, it's not fair to make me look and act and feel like a badly behaving girl!"

But deeper inside I know that this need is a big part of me, and much as I usually hate the moment of punishment I find thinking about that moment later on terribly thrilling, I'm not going to call that big timeout in my life, no way.

"Alright Jennifer," He'll say as He begins to very, very slowly unbuckle His wide chocolate-brown leather belt. More like milk chocolate, and don't think I haven't had time to study it carefully!

"You know what's about to happen, now don't you."

Of course it's a retorical question, and He always asks it, which I can understand; it puts an image in my mind of me, dangling over His lap, kicking and squawking and pleading while He straps my bottom over and over and scolds me. He knows what that kind of thought does to me. Total dread, but also total tummy twinges, kinda *low* down in the tummy, you know? *s*

And of course as any misbehaving woman or girl might know, there's something totally focusing about the :::thwip::: sound as He pulls that big belt out of the loops. A warrior unsheathing His weapon, or a master whipping out His artisan's tool, either way it's an expert arming Himself to do a job right.

Shiver.

Only this morning it went just a little differently. When I woke up, still curled there on the bed where I was waiting for Him last night, He was standing over me with one of His warm sweet smiles (bastard) and holding something in front of Him, sing-songing me awake as if it was the nicest morning wake-up you could imagine.

Which I thought it was, until I focused on the thickish beige cylinder, with the bulging part along the middle, and the tell-tale blue-and-white colors of the tube He gripped along with it. KY jelly!. Johnson-and-Johnson, *another* pair of bastards!

I must have looked comical, trying to come awake, trying to focus on what He was carrying, half smiling 'cause His face was so warm and His voice so soft and inviting. I smelled the Irish Spring on Him, wanted to nuzzle where He hadn't shaved for some reason.

But He was reaching across me as He spoke, pulling the unused pillows on His side of the bed over into the middle, stacking them. Uh oh.

"Well now, brighteyes, *you* have an errand to run this morning, now don't you." Another rhetorical question, He likes those. I thought quickly, pretty much awake now, as He arranged and plumped those pillows into as high a stack as He could. Bastard. :)

The registation. The car. Oh man, yes I had to get that registration taken care of! And it would cost more to re-register them than to renew them. And if I'd been stopped it would have been a massive ticket, and maybe even towing if they impounded it. We'd covered this ground last night. I think I moaned as it all came into focus, or something, because He smiled as He leaned over me (spicy scent of Gleen toothpaste mingles with the lovely Irish Spring) and patted the pile of pillows He'd made.

And then the confusion evaporated like a droplet in a scalding-hot pan. He tapped my bare left hip, where I lay on my back, and held up the objects of today's repurcussions, the beige plug and the ominous TUBE.

"And as the first part of your punishment for that unacceptible LAPSE," He narrowed His eyes at me on that last word, turned His warm-honey smiling face into a silent scold, and held it a few seconds.

"For *that* lapse, you are going to wear this," He held the embarassing, totally intimate objects up in front of my astonished face again, "while you go down to the DMV and take care of things. The way a grownup girl SHOULD have taken care of it *before* it expired. Then she wouldn't find the waiting *nearly* as much of a lesson as she's going to today, I'm sure. And mornings seem to be their busiest time, little lady. Tick, tick, tick!"

He actually said that. "Tick tick tick". Bastard.

And He was unscrewing the cap, sizing up the end of the dreaded PLUG, when He said, "Time for it, Jennifer, and you know where to be. Come on, over the pillows, bottoms-up, let's get this overwith. You're going to wear this until you can get back here, no excuses, no quarter I'm afraid. *Then* we'll finish with part two."

After all these times, do you ever still hate putting *yourself* into position for a spanking, almost worst of all? I mean, of *course* I screwed up my quivering tummy, and kneeled up, then lay over the pillows, as instructed. I knew that He wouldn't hesitate to give my bottom some real "incentive" (as He says) to obey, and then I'd just have to do it anyway, if I dawdled much.

So even though my face burns when I position *myself*, wriggle my hips to be over whatever I'm put across, all that, it wasn't even really *that* that got me into total punishment headspace this morning. It was the other thing, the *helping* Him with this indignity to my feminine modesty, that pushed me over.

"Now, you've been here before, misbehaving girl... You know what I expect. Open up, give me a wink, and let's get this correction underway."

Oh, God! Bastard. He knew I'd obey, knew I'd lay there with my face pressed into the mattress, burning and burning and burning, and reach back with both hands, to open myself, SHOW my, my, my SELF, to Him. To *help* Him punish me this way! Burning face, quivering tummy, dread, fear, and wetness. Oh yes, absurd as it is, I'm a crazy one, I could feel all melty inside, too.

Bastard.

Let me tell you, the DMV *is* the busiest early in the morning, and is it possible that He *knew* how they've converted to a number-calling system, rather than standing-in-line system when He thought of this punishment??

Do you KNOW how He somehow conspired with the DMV to give me the gift of not being ABLE to think about the second half of my punishment, when I got home?? Do you KNOW what they now think is a customer convenience, and expect all ten thousand of us who are waiting to DO, instead of standing in a line, as we wait for a computer to call our number out??

Sit.

Bastard. :)


*END*

by Jennifer K.
2001

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