A Punishment Report from one of Mine
(published with permission)
I didn’t sleep very well last night. It was hard to get comfortable. Physically uncomfortable. Emotionally, I was feeling a bit better than I was physically but still raw. A bit stung. There is something very humbling about going to bed after a spanking with Sir’s scolding still ringing in my ears. Sore. Not hurt. Sore.
I have a sore bottom still, today, because Sir disciplined me last night for not being diligent about my hydration, my bedtime, and going for a daily walk properly over the last two weeks or so. My heart is also sore because Sir was right. I was not being very diligent. I was giving up too easily on things I can do. I was not in an attitude of let’s make this work, let’s get this stuff done. I was not seeing my lacksidaisical performance as an affront to my self worth or Sir’s authority. I didn’t see my resistance as defiance. I did not see my quick denial, my detachment, as disrespectful to Sir. I was wilfully blind. And Sir put a big huge spotlight on all of that last night.
Sir categorized all the unwanted behaviour. Self loathing. Self sabotage. Lazy. Half-hearted. And I have the both the lack of progress that comes with this and the bruises to prove it. Sir used the word naughty. Not ‘bad girl’. Naughty. Disobedient. Badly behaved.
It is shameful when Sir takes my inventory more accurately than I do. I think, nooooooo! And then I listen to what Sir is actually saying and sulk a little before having to acknowledge that Sir is right. Sigh. It is so easy to be in denial about basic things. And that is not honest. Sir forces me to look more honestly at my behaviour. If I really want to regain my health, what I have been doing is really not the best I can do. Not good enough. We are not even going for perfect. But not good enough.
Naughty. Oh, how I hate that word.
Sir talks about having the discipline to do the right thing. No matter the cost. No matter whether there is a reward. No matter if it will pay off later or ever. There is no cost-benefit analysis to be done in looking at my strains. Those are ‘have to do’ things. Tasks and konsequences are ‘should do’. And if I cannot find the discipline in me to do them, Sir will provide the discipline for me. And it will suck. I have to learn to do the hard things, not just when it is convenient or easy or I feel like it.
Deserve. Oh, how I hate having to acknowledge that I deserve to be disciplined. To ask Sir to discipline me. I will stand in the corner (which I also hate) feeling like shit and wanting to be anywhere else than there before admitting to myself and to Sir that I deserve to be punished because I did not live up to what I need to do, what I agreed to do, what Sir told me to do, what is good for me. It feels like forever. It feels like I will have to stand there until the agony of being in limbo, with discipline pending, is more difficult to bear than the fear of the discipline itself. Having to say, “Please Sir, I am ready to accept discipline” or worse, “Please, Sir, punish me for I deserve it” is this awful acknowledgment that I have failed. I have not been a well-behaved good girl. I know. Sir knows. There is this naked honesty that feels so vulnerable. It is really hard to get there emotionally. And I know Sir will wait until I do. It’s a consent thing. It’s a power-exchange thing, a giving up of control. And it’s emotionally necessary for the discipline to help me change. But it really is hard.
I knew it was going to suck even more than usual when Sir started with my heavy leather strap. It burns deep into my skin. It adds up, exponentially. There is this distracting thudding ache that competes, like a counterpoint, for my attention with Sir’s scolding. I had already been scolded the night before. For hours. And still, more scolding. Painful. Emotionally painful. Naughty. I think Sir said that word about 200 times. “I will do better.” I think I said that almost as many times, in affirmation. I want to whine. To beg. To make it stop. And it won’t. Sir won’t. Saying a safeword is only postponing the punishment. I don’t wanna be spanked is not a safe word thing. And I will hate myself if I give up like that.
I was afraid I was going to be defiant. Resistant. Sometimes I get into that headspace and I feel trapped. I just can’t cooperate. The stakes seem too high – I will lose some part of myself if I surrender to Sir in some way. And in the past, I have dug in my heels. And then Sir is patient. And relentless. And it will get worse. I know it will get worse. It’s like knowing you’re about to crash and feeling helpless to prevent it. You’ve already put the energy in motion and you can’t take it back. And then it gets a lot worse. Sir will say get the soap – I can hear it in my head as a threat as I struggle with the paddling. Or Sir will make a position more stressful – I can already feel that in my limbs when I am whining about being in the corner. Or I risk disrespect, I say ‘yes’ but not ‘yes, Sir’ and I fear that Sir will send me to the corner with soap in my mouth or a clothespeg on my lip and I can already feel the tantrum rising. And I really didn’t want to have *any* of that. I can’t control the punishment. I can make it worse, however. #notworthit. So I try to stay present, be in my body, pay attention, not get caught up in my own thoughts.
I wanted to be more graceful, more cooperative, more listening, more receptive. I wanted to be a better submissive in accepting discipline. So I had to listen to Sir more carefully last night to stay there. I can’t let my “no!” and “fuck it!” defiant thoughts get any traction. So I kept refocusing on what Sir said when I was in the corner – that this is about accepting there will either be self-discipline in doing what I need to do for my growth, my health, or Sir will provide external discipline until neglecting myself is #notworthit. And so I endured. I was more cooperative than usual. And it still sucks. I am still sore. But I am not feeling as bad about myself. Sir said I took it well. That is high praise for someone who has escalated discipline many times before by her defiance.
But the punishment. Oh. Relentless. And Sir counts to random numbers. I have to give up my expectation that 10 is when Sir will stop. Or 20. Or isn’t there a Czech thing about 25? So Sir will stop at 25. Nope. Not stopping. There gets to be a point where it is hard to breathe. When my bottom is burning. When Sir’s words feel like salt. I feel scorched by Sir’s truths. It is a collapse, a giving in, a moment of change. And then Sir switches implements. And we do the whole scolding, failure, acknowledgment, affirmation process all over. For a new topic.
The punishment feels endless. How many things did I not do properly? It is like there is a coda in the music of the discipline and I think I hear the closing chords in Sir’s words; it is almost the end. But it’s not. We loop back to something else I had forgotten; some other lapse I had completely forgot I also fucked up repeatedly. And then I start to feel crushed, anxious. How many things am I being disciplined for? This already burns. I am going to be sore tomorrow. It hurts. I am ashamed.
My pride – my “I’m trying!!” is pierced. It is not good enough. Even I know that if I am honest. But Sir is relentless in the scolding, the interrogation, the spanking. And I think, “I get it! I’ll do better, really, truly, I promise” but the discipline still goes on and on and on. I don’t get to decide when I’m done, when I’ve learned, when I have been disciplined enough. And I know from experience I get to that point where I think I’ve got it and yet that means there is still at least another 30 or 40 percent to go. That’s when it really sucks. When it is an endurance thing. And obedience. Patience. Regret.
Home. Bumpy bus ride. Nothing reminds you about diligence like constantly feeling a sore bottom. A bottom you don’t want to rub in public. A sense of shame. Chastised. But the enemy doesn’t care about smacked bottoms or hurt pride. There still comes the thought “it’s almost 1 pm and […] it would be so easy to stop and get something [forbidden] and convenient to pick up a new frying pan at the same time to replace the one that is too old in the finish to be non-stick anymore and probably unsafe…” and then STOP. My bottom is sore. My ears are tuned more acutely to what I tell myself. The words easy, convenient. The phrase “I can just…” Those are all getting in trouble words. Nope. Naughty. Ouch. Sigh.