A few days ago I told Beth we were going to do daily motivational spankings until she got caught up doing the finances. Small ones, and not intense, but daily. As she got caught up they’d get gentler. If she fell behind, they’d get worse. I calculated she would need between 5 and 15 days to get caught up, hence regular small motivations instead of one big stern “get it done now” spanking. She nodded glumly and disrobed.
This kind of spanking is all about getting the sub into the right headspace: to convince her to stop avoiding an unpleasant task but also convince her she is capable of completing it. You have to push her hard enough that she’d rather face the task than take another spanking, but you also have to keep her from getting sucked into the pit of despair where she decides the punishment is unavoidable so she might as well get it over with. You have to convince her that she has the power to get out of the situation.
I always have Beth naked for a spanking. She lay across my lap and I held her, and stroked her bottom. Before every spanking, I lecture to explain why we’re here and what she can expect. When I told her that today she would only get a few swats, I felt a tremor in her belly. I realized she was trying—unsuccessfully—to hold back a sob.
I was not off to a good start.
She was circling down towards despair. I needed to encourage, to get her back up in the midrange, above despondency but below apathy. I told her how swats would get taken away if she made progress. She lay quiet. I told her how pleased I would be when she got the finances done. This had the opposite effect I intended; the single tremor became a steady shudder of silent weeping. I felt trapped by my own rule: once she’s on my lap there’s no talking her way back off. There was no way out but forward. I picked up the hairbrush.
“One swat for being behind,” I said, meaning one swat on each cheek, and popped her right on the tender sit spot below each buttock. Beth screamed, surprising me with the intensity of her contrition. “And now one for each month you’re behind.” I counted off the five months as I swatted them onto her bum. Her cries intensified. This woman once consented to letting me cane her until she bled. Now she was writhing like I was whipping her with a sack full of bees.
“All done,” I soothed, but she kept crying. She had gone straight down the dark hole of despair and clearly was still falling. I let her up off my lap, moved up onto the bed and pulled her down into my arms to begin our aftercare ritual of snuggling and praising. She continued sobbing. I stroked her and told her she was my good girl and everything was okay, after a few minutes, she calmed down.
She made a loud wet sniffling sound. Then she was silent for a long moment. Finally, she said “I’m getting snot on your shirt.”
I really should consider making this a romance blog.
I gave her a tissue, let her blow her nose (and mop me up as best she could), and then I pulled her back down and just held her for a long time. I knew exactly when and how it had all gone wrong. But I had no idea why.
I stared at the ceiling for a long time, but the answer didn’t come. I had told her the plan I had decided on and I didn’t have a good reason to change it yet; without some new great inspiration I would continue the daily spankings and just hope she would acclimatize. And pray that she’d catch up the finances really quickly.
I decided I would wait until she was feeling calmer and then talk it out.