Finely Disciplined Thoughts

by Ashlynn Kenzie

  So I need some tears to start trickling a little, and if I just sort of hold his hand up to my cheek and let a tear sort of slide along his finger ...

  No, no, wait —!

  I don’t want to go inside.

  “Okay, honey, listen … oh, shoot —!”

  But I didn’t say the awful word, even though he’s looking at me like I just made a bad situation a whole lot worse, and somehow he’s holding my hand instead of me holding his hand, and he’s got the door open, and he’s pulling me inside, and he’s not talking at all.

  This isn’t a good sign.

  He’s going right through the living room and the dining room, and he’s headed for the stairs, and that means he’s headed for the bedroom, and that’s so not good.

  I’m trying hard to keep up with him, ‘cause I don’t want him one bit madder than he already is, but these darn high heels …

  “Listen, honey, I know I was going a little bit fast a minute ago, and I know you don’t like that at all, and I know you’ve told me that before, and I promise it won’t ever happen again. I just wanted to get home with your medicine as quick as I could so you wouldn’t be in pain ...”

  Darn it, no, that probably wasn’t the right thing to say. I can tell because he sort of breathed really heavy when we hit that last stair step, and he did that thing he does when he tilts his head down and narrows his left eye and the left side of his lip goes up just a little, and he looks so, so out of sorts with me.

  And besides, he’s let go of my hand, and he’s just pointing toward the bedroom.

  And I’m feeling really, really sorry I ever drove one single bit over the speed limit, ever in my whole life, and it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t had the Seger CD on.

  Wait, that’s it.

  I’m still walking down the hall, but I’m sort of doing it backwards now because even as scary as he looks, I need him to see how really, really bad I feel and how much it’s going to hurt me to say this. So, here goes …

  “Honey, I got just a little carried away, but there’s a reason why I didn’t realize I was going too fast. See, I had my favorite CD on. And I know now that sort of makes me forget to watch my speed. So, even though it will break my heart, I know I need to give that silly old CD up. I’ll just run back down to the car and get it, and I’ll give it to you, and you can just smash it to pieces so I’ll never speed —”

  Oh, shoot! Not working, not working.

  “Not my panties! Please, please, I won’t ever ...”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  I knew it, and there she goes. Oh my gods, not the “I did it for you” defense. Okay, okay, try not to smile, she’s getting there, the panic is just setting in, and I haven’t had to say a word, just the look so far. She has got so good at scolding herself now I might never have to do it again.

  Well, that isn’t true, I like to. I like to see that look on her face when she’s staring down, trying to not meet my eyes until I make her look at me, and … what’s that? The Seger CD? Seger made you speed? You’re killing me, little girl, you really are, and it’s just a good thing my jaw does hurt a bit or I’d be grinning right now.

  All right, over you go, missy, and with a lot less wriggling and back yanking than usual, so you do know you’ve got this coming, don’t you? And you want me to what? Oh, honey, that’s just too precious, smash up your CD, like you couldn’t burn another one off the iTunes files in about ninety seconds. Still, the offer warrants a firm headshake and a grumbled “no,” which might mean anything but hopefully you’ll take it as meaning I’m not buying the Seger defense either, or at least that I don’t intend to take out my righteous indignation on an undeserving artifact.

  Oh, I remember these panties, and I think you were wearing them the last time I spanked you, unless you have more than one pair with little pink stars all over them. Very cute, but speaking of stars it’s time for you to start seeing some, young lady, so first these go down, and there it is, all white and clenched and ready. Or not.

  Waist grabbed, arm up, deep breath, and make it red so she remembers.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  No-o-oh, wait! I want a do-over.

  How long between cool air and hot hand? Not long enough.

  Don’t clench. He likes jiggle, or it won’t count.

  But I can’t help it.

  Oh! — My! — Gosh!

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  That’s right, little girl, you just squeal all you want to, and I have scarcely begun. I really should scold or she’ll think something’s wrong but I really like just listening to the claps and her shrieks. Still …

  “How many times do I have to tell you to ease up on that gas pedal, missy, hm? A dozen? Twenty? A hundred? If I do have to I will, and every time you’ll get a spanking just like this one, young lady, one you’ll remember at least until I have to give you another one. Is that what you want, darling? Is it? Do you want to have to drive for the rest of your life sitting on a sore bottom? Because if that’s what it takes to make you slow down, I have absolutely no problem blistering your rear end every single time you speed. Is that what you need, missy, hm?”

  “I didn’t think so, but you deserve every single spank you’re getting now, and I guarantee you’ll feel it for quite a while, the next few hours at least!”

  Okay, slow down, final volley, and rub. Whew, I really did scorch it, didn’t I? Well, she deserved it. Still, this is the hardest one in a long time so hopefully I won’t have to repeat it for a while. Right, up you get, little hot cheeks, and sit on my lap.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  I c-can’t sit anywhere! And I need a tissue. And my bottom stings so bad — I just want to rub and rub and cry and cry.

  I just need him to hold me, ‘cause I’m so sorry I’ve been a bad girl, but I can’t tell him that, ‘cause I still can’t breathe very good, and my voice will come out all funny, and I feel embarrassed enough already.

  At least he didn’t use anything but his hand. No, m-m-m-mh, don’t want to think about how hard it was.

  Wait, he is through, isnt’ he? He’s not gonna fuss at me and then take off his belt or send me to get the hairbrush, is he?

  I didn’t go that fast. Really, I didn’t.

  And I don’t need any corners, either, please, sir. I just want you to rub my bottom for me, not look at it. I just want you to hug me and tell me — you know — you still love me, not tell me I deserve a whole lot worse.

  Even if I do.

  I need some mercy. P-pl-please. Sir.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Oh, good, it took. I hate seeing her cry, but sometimes it’s the only way, and that isn’t even really her tell. It’s when her whole body gives up to me, then I know.

  Okay, wiggle back so your bottom isn’t sitting right on my thighs. Atta girl, and can I reach the Kleenex and the lotion? Yep.

  “Here, honey, it’s all right now, dry your eyes. You were bad and you got spanked and now you’re sorry, so I forgive you. We’re finished, and no corner this time, but if it happens again, there will be, and I’ll use my belt. Just nod if you understand. Good girl. I love you, honey.”

  Right, now big smile and a kiss. Huh. My jaw doesn’t hurt at all.

  In a Mirror

  I was named for my father. But he never called me by that name.

  For him, I was “Baby” or “Princess.”

  He set me up to believe the world would grant me the same recognition.

  While my mother consistently tried to disabuse me of that notion, I confess I clung to his vision for years.

  My father’s baby could do no wrong. His princess could not disappoint. And so, to keep his beautiful expectations intact, I seldom did. At least not where he would know.

  And we danced a perfect dance.

  My father never raised his voice to me. He certainly never raised his hand to me.

  And now he is not here to.

  Perhaps you can explain to me, then, why I stand here, my arms raised and bent and clasped behind my head — my
clinging, pale blue shirt thus raised above my waist and framing the rest of my body … bared.

  My eyes stray to the mirrors that show me the world advancing toward me.

  The one I need comes into focus, stepping softly forward, tracing the fingers of his left hand like butterfly wings against my interlocked ones. It is a gentle reminder not to disturb the image.

  I heed it.

  But my gaze is not bound. It rises to see his perfect face, green eyes slightly narrowed as he considers me, beautiful lips carefully and a little tightly sealed for the moment, close-cropped grey-flecked beard signaling his full masculinity. He leans toward me, and his breath is soft against my ear on the right side of my body.

  “I will help you, love. I can free you. Trust me.”

  It is no silky lover’s promise. It is authority, slightly rough to the touch, but washed a shade softer by passion.

  And he places a whisper kiss at the curve of my chin, just below my ear.

  I shudder gently and it requires all my resolve not to melt against him. I yearn for him with something beyond sexual desire.

  If he does not touch me soon …

  I close my eyes — it is nothing more than a swift movement of the lids downward and then upward again. The breath I draw conforms to the jagged pain somewhere in my heart.

  My body’s response to him is so slight, so quickly completed, and would be so obscure to anyone else, I think they could not — would not — notice.

  But he sees. He knows. He has placed me perfectly to effect my healing and I have signaled that I am in compliance.

  When I find his reflected image again, he has stepped back slightly and he has raised his right arm. It is golden brown from the sun we have lived and loved in. It is finely muscled and gracefully sinewed. It is perfectly framed by the pale white of his sleeve — the sleeve with cuff he has so calmly, quietly, and carefully rolled up moments before in another of the signals I register deep in my brain with admiration.

  He is a master of nonverbal communication and he is telling me what I both fear and yearn to hear.

  I panic. I cannot do this, I think, and my fingers loosen around each other. I see his chin lift a fraction of an inch, his lips tighten almost imperceptibly. His eyes capture mine. I do not see myself move, but I know that I have. Somewhere inside. I have crossed a boundary and committed myself.

  Committed, in spite of the fact, or perhaps because of it — I can no longer tell — his fingers are clasped around a beautiful, free, transforming black belt of pain, and his strong right arm is moving it swiftly and with complete authority downward. Our eyes lock in the mirror as the stripe is painted diagonally across my white, white cheeks.

  His are filled with wisdom. His are filled with love.

  Mine are filled with tears. Mine are filled with gratitude.

  Perhaps you can explain this, then, to a princess.

  BOSS Meetings Get to the Bottom of the Matter

  Reports on meetings of local civic groups are a staple of small-town newspaper “Society” pages. There follow two such reports: one of the Bottoms Over Spanking Society Auxiliary and one of the BOSS organization itself.

  The March meeting of the Bottoms Over Spanking Society Auxiliary was recently held at the home of Mrs. Topper (Angelica) Martin of East Meadowlark.

  Members opened the meeting with the Pledge to the Flag and a recitation of “The Purpose,” which is, of course, to avoid potentially squirmy situations that might necessitate working hand-to-bottom with BOSS. Following this monthly ritual, it was noted and recorded by the secretary, Miss Blush McAdams that five of the seventeen members declined to be seated.

  Three of these were repeat non-sitters from the February meeting. Mrs. Hardy (Mary Carol) Bumpass, Miss Blisteria “Bliss” Conroy and Mrs. Hinds (Spanky Sue) Williams were reminded that their “good standing” in the auxiliary would necessitate the payment of a fine of $10 each, based on their ongoing record of non-compliance in the area of sitting in a lady-like and refined manner for the business session and program.

  Mrs. Bumpass asked to register an official protest over the fine. She noted that her failure to be seated at the February session was, in fact, the result of a rather protracted experience with a hairbrush, which actually occurred on the last day of January, two days prior to the February session. While the “standing” offense took place in February, the precipitating incident occurred in January, according to the auxiliary member, and it should not, therefore, be listed on the February roster.

  A vote was taken, but members declined to support Mrs. Bumpass. It was suggested, for future reference, that any member who had received a disciplinary action in a month prior to the scheduled meeting, but who was inclined to plead ongoing discomfort, should be required to offer either visual proof of such distress or a signed excuse from the spanker, attesting to (1) the severity of the correction and (2) its long-lasting effect.

  This measure passed on a narrow 9-8 vote, with those opposed noting the humiliation factor involved in providing proof. Those supporting the measure insisted any member whose behavior necessitated a two-day no-seater spanking deserved the additional embarrassment factor.

  Mrs. McAdams read the minutes of the February session and gave the treasurer’s report, as well, in the absence of Mrs. Ashton (Monica) Kane. Mrs. Kane was unable to attend the session as she was completing a session of corner time resulting from her reluctance to account for a most unsightly ding on the right rear fender of Mr. Kane’s new vehicle. It was not clear if the corner time was a preparatory or post-spanking situation. Mrs. Kane will be asked to provide clarification at the April session, it was noted.

  Mrs. Luther (Elaine) Tawser reported on the auxiliary’s efforts to persuade BOSS members to suspend all disciplinary sessions for the month of May. That month has been designated a potential “No Spanking Time” calendar event in memory of Lady Jane Gray, the nine-day Queen of England, who was persuaded to her situation in the sixteenth century by an intense encounter with a birch rod and who was subsequently wed in May as a result of that very public meeting.

  Mrs. Tawser noted that following the presentation of the proposal at the Feb. 15 meeting of BOSS, two of the auxiliary members were promptly summoned to bedrooms in the home of BOSS president Michael Beltane by their husbands (who are BOSS members and officers) to “discuss” their participation on the presentation committee. Following these sessions, auxiliary members Mrs. Brisco (Pamela) Paddler and Mrs. Woody (Veronica) Spooner appeared before BOSS members again and tearfully and regretfully withdrew their initial request. The auxiliary members subsequently received hugs from all BOSS members and special cuddles and chocolates from their husbands.

  Auxiliary members voted to donate $25 to purchase packets of disposable panties for auxiliary sergeant-at-arms Mrs. Leland (Rhonda) Smacker, who has reportedly been divested of her own so frequently since the first of the year that the elastic has frayed in every new pair she received for Christmas. It is hoped by auxiliary members that once all credit card billings reflecting holiday purchases have been received and “paid” at the Smacker home, Mrs. Smacker will be able to avail herself of standard durable (but very pretty) undergarments.

  “Thinking of Switching? It’s Not All It’s Cracked Up to Be” was the title of the auxiliary program presented by special guest Mr. Russell “Hickory” Stickman. Mr. Stickman is the husband of auxiliary member Heidi Stickman and is a founding member and vice president of BOSS. He included an impressive and very squirmy array of implements related to his topic and offered to demonstrate their effectiveness. As there were no volunteers to assist the speaker in this hands-on exhibition, he was unable to effectively showcase his favorites; however, Mrs. Stickman supported his contention that technique can be as important as choice of materials.

  Auxiliary member and program chairman Mrs. Chico (“Pinky”) Bottoms thanked Mr. Stickman for his contribution, but noted with some asperity that she had expected the program to focus on the issue of change
s in the discipline dynamic rather than selection of implements. Mr. Stickman acknowledged Mrs. Bottoms’ concerns but suggested she was mistaken in her expectations. He then offered to clarify the issue with Mr. Bottoms, a fellow BOSS member who had initially requested his participation in the program. Mrs. Bottoms declined to pursue this course of action, however, once it was noted that Mr. Bottoms might be inclined to switch sides in any subsequent discussion of the issue.

  Following a time of refreshment that featured delicious angel food cake with a bright red cherry sauce and hot spiced tea, members repeated the Auxiliary Commitment: “I will be a good girl all month, and if I cannot be a good girl, I will be better at sneaking.”

  The meeting was adjourned.

  The April program will focus on creative excuses for behavior that BOSSes find unacceptable. This will be a closed meeting and auxiliary members will be expected to sign secrecy pledges.

  — — —

  Members of Bottoms Over Spanking Society met recently. BOSS members lifted weights, worked on palm-toughening techniques, engaged in shoulder-joint relaxation exercises and took part in timed contests for skirt raising and panty lowering before adjourning to enjoy beer and burgers.

  In closing, members repeated the BOSS Commitment: “I will allow no bad behavior to go unpunished, no matter how much the effort may hurt me.”

  BOSS will meet in April for a program focusing on the efficacy of standing-up spankings. Fourteen members signed up to provide volunteers to help demonstrate the technique. In the interest of time that can be devoted to the program, only six members’ magnanimous offerings of “bottom models” will be accepted for the program — an event that is eagerly anticipated.

  Dancing will follow.

  A New Position

  Ask me why.

  There is no good answer. No acceptable answer. No answer he will respond to with sympathy. He will respond positively, however. And that positive response will be a strictly disciplined one.