Real Discipline--Gum Littering

I fidgeted in my seat as College Guy and I drove home from our Memorial weekend  visiting his family. It had been a fun but stressful weekend as I'd forced myself to spend time with both absolute and semi-strangers. It was the first time I saw College Guy more than buzzed--not the funnest thing for a girl who likes her guy in control.

The first week I spent with College Guy in our apartment had been exciting, new, but sort of mild on the spanking-side of things. A couple of things were going on. We weren't sure about the thickness of our walls or the hoped -for deafness of our neighbors. And I also think College Guy was intentionally not wanting to overwhelm me with anything that first week.

Then the second week, I, with my usual rotten timing, began my period, and that hampered things considerably.

So by the time our Memorial weekend with family and friends arrived, I was wishing things could be different. I was honestly afraid that my memories of discipline would remain memories.  Maybe College Guy didn't even want to spank me really hard anymore. A couple hours before we left his mom's house for the drive back to our apartmentthough, he told me, "When we get home, you're going to get some discipline."
"Why?"
"Because you're overdue. And because you've been intentionally trying to annoy me all weekend, haven't you?"
"Yeah."
"So you're going to be disciplined. Okay, Bonnie-jo?"
I rolled my eyes. "Whatever you feel like doing." What I meant was, Whatever you do will not be enough for me, pure and simple.

Still, I was a little excited and anxious about what would happen. I had to keep reminding myself that I could not get my hopes up. It's not going to be hard. Be prepared for it to be just a medium-ish spanking, I told myself.

But the feeling of restlessness and anger that had been pushing at me all weekend began to rear its head as we drove down the highway.  I said some snotty, unfeeling things. He got that hurt look on his face and became quiet. I apologized, and we talked it all through. But it wasn't enough. I fidgeted in my seat, chewing a stick of gum. And then I did something I've never done before. I rolled down the window.
"I'm throwing my gum outside." I announced.
"No, Bonnie-jo, put it in a wrapper, that's litter--"
"Nope. I'm throwing it." And I did so. (and I still feel slightly guilty..ugh...littering is awful...but, you see, my needs at the time felt more important)
His voice became angry and terse, just how I wanted it. "So you have hundreds of dollars at your disposal that you don't mind wasting on a littering ticket, is that how it is?"
I snap back, wide-eyed, "It's fine! I made sure no car behind us was close enough to see. You just need to calm down a little. Relax!"
"We'll talk about it when we get home."

My heart sank and fluttered. It had been the response I'd wanted. At the same time, the goofy smile on my face fell as I saw his "huffy face" as he calls it. He really was upset. But somehow, the converstation after that exchange lightened up, and we talked and relaxed the rest of the trip.

Within minutes of stepping in the door of the apartment, I was bare-bottomed and standing in the corner by the front door. He began puttering around in the kitchen, putting away everything in the dish drainer. This was oddly unsettling because I know it's not something he'd normally do. He must be super agitated, was the thought that spurred my heart just a bit faster, but I reminded myself again that the spanking would be dissapointing because our walls were so thin.

He came up behind me, and I waited for him to turn me around and lead me somewhere. Instead, he slapped one cheek and then the other so hard and so quickly that I bit back a surprised yelp. It really hadn't hurt, but suddenly I was breathing a lot faster, and my face was flushing. It's not going to be a hard spanking, stop acting like it is, I told myself.

He paces away, turns on his videogame for background noise (spanking for nerds 101....), and comes back to stand near my shoulder.
"What's about to happen, dear?"
"I have no idea." I smirk over my shoulder. In a way, I'm actually being totally honest.
He attacks my bare cheeks again, one hard slap to each side.
"What's about to happen?"
I sigh apologetically, "You're going to spank me because I was trying to annoy you." My voice sounds oddly adult to my ears. I feel so small at the moment.
"And you were doing it all weekend long."
"Yes."

"Come get over my knee."
I drape myself over his lap and he spanks hard and fast with his bare palm. Soon, I'm kicking slightly. I saw him bring the bathbrush to my chair, and suddenly, I don't want a discipline spanking anymore. He pauses, then, "That's all the warm-up you're getting."
"Nooo..." I start.
He brings the bathbrush hard onto one cheek, then the other. "You should have thought about that before you littered when I explicitly told you not to. You did that purely to make me angry, didn't you?" The bathbrush is always a shock to me, but it's usually bearable when he just brings it down on my bottom. That, however, never happens.  He softly tap-tap-tapps my left sit spot, letting me know in all clearity what is about to happen. Then CRACK, it comes down hard and I jerk  my entire body away from him. He is prepared for the struggle though and CRACK! brings the brush down on the right sit spot. I bring both legs up in a kind of fetal position, and he pauses, gently  pushing my legs back down with his hand.
I whimper softly.
"It's been a long time, hasn't it Bonnie-jo?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, Sir." I say. And a simultaneous feeling of relief, peace, and fear mix in my chest.
"Does it feel like you remember?"
"Uhmm..I think it feels worse."
But this does not stop that brush. It comes down again and again, and I stifle my yelps for our neighbors' sake.

He orders me back to the corner. There is a bit more of the bathbrush, 20 strokes, which he counts. Then 10 of the cane, which oddly don't hurt that much (I have no idea..and I really shouldn't be admitting such things) which I count. Then I'm over his lap for lotion and aftercare. I lay back on down on my stomach and watch him play his video game. It's all over.

Or is it?

I don't want it to be. I want more and I feel stupid and wrong and unhealthy for it. Sometimes, I'm afraid I'm insatiable.

He looks up from his game. "How are you doing?"
"Fine."
"Fine? Really?"
"Yup." I say and give him a smile that quickly leaves my face and that was only sort of aimed in his direction--one withouth any eye contact. He reaches over to place a comforting hand on my arm. I take his hand in mine and throw it off.

He gives me his quizical look, like he's trying to figure out what phrase I'm trying to mime in a Charades game.

Then, he sighs, "Get up."
"No."
He drags me up and propels me over to the refrigerator. "Put your hands here and here. Do not move them."
He goes and gets the cane, and I can care less. Well, for a moment I can care less. He reaches for my hips and moves them out, then takes aim, and in that moment between the taking aim and the following blow, I wonder why I threw his hand off my arm. There is no going back now.

Our movements become a sort of dance, one that we both attempt to lead. He conducts me with the cane, tapping the front of my pelvis lightly, "Stick out your bottom more. Don't move it."
"I can't help it. " I whine, as I stick it out more.
"Try your best."
SWISH!!!!
And I involuntarily move my bottom towards the refrigerator and away from the cane and in doing so break it's impact.
The cane taps back at the tops of my thighs, and I reluctantly stick my bottom back out. Then he moves it in between my legs and taps at my inner thighs, and I sigh, because that almost feels good. And I spread voluntarily.
SWISH!! It hurts and I'm immediately drawing forward and drawing my legs together. He taps at the places he wants to move again, and I move them for him.

"Do not move your hands from the refrigerator, " he tells me. "If you do I'm adding strokes."
But my hair keeps getting in my eyes, and at one point, I move a hand to push it back. "I said do not move your hands."
"I didn't move them." I protest.
"And now you're lying to me?"
"Uhh..."
"I'm going to cane you for a good long while, do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir."

And  little later....
"I'm sorry."
He looks at me with kind eyes, "Don't be sorry...unless it's about the lying."
"Yes, it is."
"It's okay." And I understand what he means. He's meaning that it's okay for me to be moody, bratty, and even annoying. He will deal with it. Lying he is not okay with. And neither am I, of course. The interesting detail is that it wasn't an intentional lie. I wasn't paying attention to whether my hands had moved or not. All I meant by claiming they didn't move was a blatant contradiction to whatever he was claiming at the moment. He could have said that 2+2=4 and I would have claimed it did not.

And then he finished the spanking with the tiny wooden hairbrush that usually I can handle very well, but this time it had me sqirming so much that my hands-on-the refrigerator-butt-stuck-out-position wasn't cutting it and he pulled me down into a make-shift-otk, with him kneeling on one knee in front of the refrigerator, me over the one knee. Then I was put back in the corner, and the time seemed much longer than usual.

You know, I still felt insatiable as I stewed in that corner. It isn't a fun feeling. Becaused I didn't really want to be spanked. It was more like I wanted him to erase my feelings. I wanted that oblivion that horrible spankings can bring.

I realized though, after he finally came and got me and said, "How about some ice cream?" and we sat down to cuddle and share a bowl of mint chocolate chip that I realized for another time that spankings don't fix everything, even though I always wish for them to and secretly think they will.

They just help.