Right. So the other day I said things were getting "back to normal."
They are getting back to normal, but with some bumps. I wrote about the first day on el tercer ojo (my blog). My plan was/is to blog each day this month about how things are going. But of course I'm already two days behind. This too was supposed to be written up yesterday, but again, I've fallen behind.
What I've realized though is that being away from things -- my work, spanking, uniforms and accountability in general -- has made it a little difficult for me just to step back into life as a disciplined girl (or woman, whatever).
As it says on my blog, the first day went pretty well. I didn't get any work done, but Pab and I had already talked about that and decided I didn't need to start my school work yet. Everything else got done that day and the bedtime spanking was a sweet good girl one that hurt, but not too much. I went to bed feeling very smug. Clearly we have this discipline relationship thing down, right? And can slide back into this like a pair of comfy jeans. Right.
Tuesday? Not good.
I've written a lot here about how most punishments I receive are for forgetting things. Things I was supposed to do but didn't, and things I wasn't supposed to do but did without meaning to. My contention is generally that I'm not intentionally defiant but rather flaky. An absent-minded good girl.
Tuesday was different. I got to blog in the morning because I had a late ride into work (one of my bosses picks me up sometimes because she lives near me -- it makes it cool when she's late because since she's my boss I get to come in late too with no guilt). The day went fine. At about 1:30 (a bit late for me) I headed out to lunch. Got a chicken taco at La Salsa on campus and lined up to pay for it.
Where there was a rack full of candy.
Now one of the things you may remember is that I'm generally not supposed to have sugar without permission. It's not good for me health-wise. Add to that, I decided to give up sweets for Lent. Even though Pab's views on religion are expressed via the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, he supported my semi-lapsed Catholic decision to try and go 40 days without sweets.
Normally a rack full of candy is not a problem for me. The sort of candies I like best aren't usually in racks at the university. I told myself as I looked over the rack "ha, no problem. I'd get some if they had Lemonheads, but of course they d--"
Do have them. Right there on the bottom shelf! I didn't forget I wasn't supposed to have them. It just didn't seem important. I bought them and over the course of the afternoon ate half the box. Didn't even feel guilty or even worried.
Not even after I got home. Not much worry and no guilt even when I confessed to buying and eating candy.
But then Pab looked disappointed. My response was to feel a bit cross. After all, I hadn't done this mindlessly. I'd made a choice to have them. And I hadn't even eaten the whole box. It was annoying to have him say "that didn't last long," reminding me of my promise the night before to be good.
My annoyed feeling (but not the lack of worry) lasted even through time spent standing staring at the wall with a fresh bar of Ivory soap in my mouth. I suspect Pab could tell I wasn't exactly feeling submissive or repentant -- he pushed the bar pretty far into my mouth and I was scolded not to lower my head* or let the bar fall out. This mouth soaping was very uncomfortable. Despite lots of evidence to the contrary, according to every dentist I've ever seen, I have a very small mouth. I could feel the soap forcing its way between my teeth and spreading its horrible slimy taste across my tongue.
What was I feeling? Not annoyed. But honestly not very sorry either. The punishment felt like something to be endured and then avoided in the future.
The two minutes holding the Ivory bar in my mouth passed more slowly than I can possibly express. Even after several minutes of frantic tooth brushing, the taste lingered.
What followed the mouth soaping was a hairbrush spanking. Now, keep in mind that at this point I had barely been spanked three times in the last three months and those were not punishment spankings. This hair brushing hurt so much. I wasn't brave in the least. I struggled, kicked and tried to take advantage of the fact that right now the healing incision on my abs means I need to support myself on my arms a bit so Pab can't hold my hands behind my back as he usually would. My struggles became so frantic that he finally slowed down and held me in place saying "careful, I don't want you to get hurt." Legs pinned and wailing in frustration, I suddenly realized this had all been a test.
How stupid.
Not a test of me. I realized that when I bought and ate the candy, I was testing Pab. Part of me, despite literally years of evidence to the contrary, hadn't believed that he'd really follow through and punish me.
Totally unfair. He's definitely earned my trust and then some. Believe me when I say I did plenty of testing in the early years of our relationship and it wasn't a good thing. In fact, that early testing was damaging to both of us and, understandably made Pab angry with me when he'd realized what I was doing. But I hadn't tested like this in years. Finding out this was what I was doing was the final straw and I started sobbing, this time with guilt as well as pain. The last 20 with the brush were terrible and even with trying to lie still, I still struggled.
Afterward the comforting was important. Forlorn and shaken were definitely how I was feeling. But wasn't brave enough to tell him about my testing realization until last night. Being not really a horrible person, he understood. Though the look he gave me definitely made me sure I wasn't going to be testing his resolve on this again any time soon.
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* I've not posted this before, but since Pab seems to have figured it out) tilting your head down if you have a bar of soap in your mouth helps keep the soap off your tongue. A bit.
