Irony
A random bit of writing inspired by events of the evening… Sorry not much commentary here. I’m tired, it’s late, and I’m under threats of dire consequences if my “ass is not in bed in the next thirty seconds…” Are dominance and a tendency to hyperbole carried on the same gene or something? Seriously… It seems to be a thing.Â
Irony
***
“Isn’t there something ironic about beating someone for being in pain?”
“I told you to take your pain meds. You didn’t.”
His hand cracks loudly again across my bottom and I let out a squeal of half pain, half outrage.
“You’re causing me pain for being in pain! Where’s the logic in that?”
He answers with another volley of swats that nearly sends me squirming off of his lap.
He speaks over the staccato rhythm of slaps. “The longer you talk, the longer this goes on, the longer it will take for you to get your pills…”
I consider snarling a response but his hand is descending fast and hard and it’s getting harder to think clearly. I settle for gritting my teeth and squeezing shut my eyes.
Finally the assault ends and I collapse, panting, over his thighs. My bottom burns and stings and my body seems possessed by small jerks and twitches.
“Ready for your pills?”
Somehow my brain has managed to lock my body out of the control center and has set the self-destruct sequence, laughing maniacally. I feel my body flinch as my brain sends words of ruin tumbling out of my mouth. “Seriously? You don’t see how stupid all of this is? You cause me pain for being in pain and now you want me to take the pills that will stop the pain after you just increased the pain…OW!”
The swat is followed by three more, stunningly hard and I feel my throat clamp a scream into a keening moan.
“I would suggest, love, that you stop thinking and start obeying or it’s going to be a long, *ironic* night.”
A curse presses against my lips and I clamp them shut, tightening my jaw until my teeth begin to ache. His fingers tap impatiently against my thigh.
“I asked you a question. Are you ready to take your pills now?”
Even before my consciousness registers what I’m doing, my body knows and tears press at my eyes. I drop my forehead against the couch cushions and with a silent shudder I shake my head, *No…*
His fingers tap another arpeggio on my leg and I’m uncertain whether he’s amused or angry – until he speaks again and I hear the wry undercurrent of laughter in his voice. “You know, you don’t have to suffer just to get a spanking. I promise I can make your bottom plenty sore even with your belly full of Advil.”
“Yes, Sir…”
Now that I’ve committed, my brain has surrendered and I am overcome with a strange mixture of sadness and peace. The energy of my minor rebellion has bled away leaving me feeling heavy and resigned and strangely solaced. Despite his words, I know my window of opportunity has passed and he will continue until he is finished. The small control I had in the beginning… when he still thought this was just a “reminder” spanking – to last only as long as it took for me to concede… has been taken from me, and in that, I realize as the first swats chase all other thoughts from my head and set me into a slow squirming dance of pain, I finally have the comfort that the pills can’t provide.
