I got spanked today. D and I hadn’t caught up on our discipline deal for three weeks. I argued, beforehand, that this was unfair and counted against me. If he doesn’t find time to deal with my misdeeds each week, I proposed, then they should be cancelled out. There shouldn’t be any rollover. It’s unfair that I should have to take three weeks of punishment at once simply because he hasn’t kept up.
He came and hugged me, smiling around the eyes. I pouted at him. He led me through to the bedroom.
I’d already tied my hair up when I answered his summons. “What are your plans for today?” he’d asked earlier, in chat. “Work, gym, more work,” I replied, “but pretty flexible.” He told me to deliver myself by 2pm, or I’d get extra punishment. It was 2:05pm in the end, after trying to get my Mac and PC to talk to each other over the network, but he must have decided I shouldn’t be held responsible for the delinquencies of Microsoft.
In the bedroom, I started undressing. “All of the clothes?” I asked, and he nodded. He sat on the corner of the bed and I stood in front of him, suddenly shy. He smiled up at me, love shining in his face. He patted the floor by his feet. “Here.” I knelt and was embraced, wrapped up in his love. I could feel my arguments trickling away.
He was so much kinder than he might have been. He took me over his knee, letting me revel in the luxury of physical closeness. He spanked me first with his hand, warming me up, although it didn’t feel that way at the time: little chilly stinging spanks that didn’t feel nice at all, but which I welcomed for not being the bathbrush I dreaded so much. My breath hissed through my teeth.
I did feel a little warmer by the time he stopped and asked me to fetch him the brush. It was a little way up the bed and I was comfortable, so I simply tugged at the duvet and manouvered it within reach. I passed it to him with a grin, and he raised an eyebrow and laid the cool round head of the brush against my bare bottom. The grin faded. I closed my eyes and braced myself.
Perhaps in response to my complaints, he broke the three weeks up into their constituent parts. So many strokes for too much wine in week 1. Another set for late check-ins. Another, hard, for missed physio exercises. It quickly became apparent that I was benefiting from the delayed discipline session: he added up the totals over the three weeks and took them as an average. For instance, I’m meant to workout at least three times a week, and some weeks I had managed more than that times, but others less. On average, I had missed less than if we’d taken each week individually.
Between each set he paused to give me a rub and tell me what was coming next. I appreciated it, not only for the mercy he showed in not delivering one long unbearable series of whacks, but also for the way it encouraged me to focus on each shortcoming as he named it. After some, I can’t remember which, I found myself whispering unprompted “thankyou, sir”. I felt very grateful to him for taking the time to help me with these things.
I was trying to be brave and not make a fuss, which is almost impossible with that damned bathbrush. When the pain got unbearable I opted for the “silent scream” coping method, gripping the duvet tightly and holding my breath until the burning volley was over. Then, panting slightly, I subsided, surrendering gratefully to his rubs and caresses.
When, afterwards, he gave me another spanking, I felt that nothing could have been kinder. His hand was cool and soothing after the horrid brush. I lapped it up.
D tells me he’s looking forward to the week I don’t miss any of my goals, and he doesn’t have to ask me to fetch the brush; he can just give me a good girl spanking instead. I’m looking forward to it too. Maybe this week will be the week.
I really enjoyed this 
