Credit

Sir left me last night with the instruction that there would be additional strokes for every minute after 10 P.M. that I procrastinated coming upstairs.

He really should know better by now.

C called me on it at about 10:30 and I slunk upstairs.

Then I realized that Sir never told me exactly how MANY additional strokes it would be for every minute (I was going on the assumption that it would be two… possibly five, but I rationalized that if it was five, that would be way too many for me being 30 minutes late, so Sir wouldn’t be able to make it five…

Logic and a lack of Adderall seem to have a high aversion to each other.

Sir gave me the same maintenance paddling as I’ve gotten all week. Then he gave it to me a second time. When he sent me to the corner, I figured that was it. But no. Then he got out the paddle with holes. I don’t even know if he counted. I stopped trying to count. That thing, weirdly, hurts when he’s using it, but less so than the light paddle.

The light paddle makes me climb the wall, it stings so badly. But five minutes after it’s over, it’s just a light burning. The heavy paddle (with holes) I can take by gritting my teeth, but then the pain keeps building. Five minutes after it’s over, the pain is still getting worse, which makes it a psychologically terrifying implement.

There’s always some small part of my brain that reassures me, during a normal spanking, that if it gets truly unbearable I can beg Sir to stop, or plead leniency, or… something. There’s a sense that Sir controls the pain and when he decides to stop, it stops. But with the heavy paddle, it is as if there is no control over it. Even Sir can’t make it stop by stopping. It will keep getting worse for the next twenty minutes after he stops. Then it will become a deeper pain that will remind me of it’s presence all the next day. The hot water in the shower will sting unbearable, sitting down to pee becomes a harsh reminder, and that’s even without Sir using it that hard or that long.

I’ve come to dread that paddle for it’s uncertainty. Each swat is deceptively tolerable, but I know it won’t stay that way so it becomes a mind game of, “How much is this going to build to?” and instead of living in the moment of pain, I’m instead in the more difficult anxiety of anticipation. And when it is over, I can’t even breathe in relief, because the worst is still coming.

I was telling Sir tonight that I hadn’t known that would be the consequence. I thought he just meant extra swats with the small paddle.

He asked why it matters. He asked if I would have changed my behavior if I’d known what the cost would be. I said, “Maybe. I probably wouldn’t have borrowed as many minutes if I knew what it would cost.” The words were out before I thought about what I was saying and he gave me a narrow-eyed look.

“Girl, you ass is not a credit card.”

Yes, Sir…

Also, unintentionally hilarious.

I laughed so hard I cried.