"I don't want to hear one more word of argument, Jaylee. By the time I get there tonight, I want your essay done and on the table waiting on me, and I want you in bed. Understood?"
"Yes sir, but…"
"I told you no arguments, and I meant it. Go write."
Jaylee sighed, and stared at the blank legal pad as she twirled her pen. Why did he have to make her write?
Dear Dwaine,
I hate it when you make me write, because it usually means I have done something wrong and you want me to analyze what I did, what I could do differently, and what the external consequences of my behavior should be. It also means that you are trying to find a concrete way for me think — an anchor for my actions.
In a few hours when you get here, i will be punished. We've already spent quite a bit of time on the phone discussing what I did wrong, and what you intend to do about it. A short time after you read this, I fully expect to be turned over your knee, bottom bared, feeling your hand begin a purposeful rhythm designed to transmit the burning pain in my backside into some sort of reminder in my brain.
First, the standard mechanics of the parking ticket. As I told you, I put off getting a parking decal, and by the time I got to campus Monday night the parking office was closed. So, I didn't have a sticker and parked in the lot by my classroom building anyway. I knew when I did it I was taking a chance, a calculated risk as you put it, and lost. I could have parked a block or so away in the visitor parking, and had a friend drop me off after class, but I didn't.
We both know the real problem isn't the parking ticket, although I will feel 15 swats with the strap to match the $15 fine. My real problem is putting off things I know I should do, and working in crisis mode all the time. It's the reason I have deadlines on top of me at work, and then have to violate curfew to finish projects, and it is the reason I've gotten in lots of jams personally, professionally, and financially lately.
The other problem was my sassing you this afternoon, telling you I didn't need to be punished, and basically throwing a tantrum. I'm not sure I even want to think about how you'll with that bit of defiance. For now, I'm dressed for bed, and writing about why I *do* need to be punished.
So, after a lot of thought, here goes:
I need to be punished because I did something wrong. I try to say it is no big deal, but deep inside I know that parking ticket represents two of my worst habits, procrastination and inattentiveness...and maybe just a touch of bad attitude. I don't like admitting that I feel guilty for letting those traits get the best of me. I know that if you punish me for them, I will be able to let the sting of your palm wipe away the bad feelings, and we can move on to the discipline that will help me overcome them.
I am sorry. This may not make a lot of sense, but it's the best I can do for now.
As always,
Your Jaylee
Dwaine read the carefully penned words, and knew that she had written and rewritten, not satisfied with her words. He knew if he looked in the trashcan, he would find several drafts, but the one in his hands was all that mattered. Interestingly, it wasn't so much what she had written, but how she had written it, and what she hadn't said, that really mattered.
He walked down the hall, and found her stomach down on the bed deep in thought as she read.
"Jaylee-girl, I'm here."
She raised up and hugged him immediately, a big smile crossing her face, and then fleeting quickly when she remembered they had business to discuss.
"I'm sorry Dwaine. I didn't mean to mouth off to you this afternoon. I was just tired and frustrated and mad at myself and..."
He silenced her with his finger. "I read what you wrote, and understand even if you didn't say everything you were thinking. You are right though, you are going to get a spanking."
It took only an instant for her to be over his knee, tee shirt up and grey cotton panties down. He gripped her waist, and wasted no time getting started. Every square inch was rosy pink in a few minutes, and Dwaine picked up the intensity. She squirmed and kicked, and finally when she didn't think she could stand it anymore, he quit.
A second later she was in his arms, face buried in his shirt so he wouldn't necessarily see her fighting tears — although he knew anyway.
With a well-spanked girl sitting on his lap, Dwaine began to talk again.
"I know you know better, but it's part of my job to provide punishment and discipline and bribes or whatever it takes until you can translate what you know into what you do."
Jaylee still held on to him and nodded, listening as he talked to her in slow soothing tones, but leaving no doubt as to his future expectations.
Jaylee lay in bed a long time thinking after he had tucked her in for the night, and she could hear the TV barely audible in the living room. After debating, she crept out of bed, to the dresser, and then went down the hall to him.
He looked up and saw her standing there with his strap.
"I still have swats coming for the ticket."
"You already got a spanking, Little One. What are you telling me?"
"This is really hard…but you told me a long time ago that any time I got parking tickets I had to pay the fine to you in swats. And it isn't fair that I don't get that punishment. If I don't, it won't be over. I kinda feel like the spanking you gave me was for the procrastination and attitude. I know it doesn't make any sense…." her voice trailed off.
"It makes a lot of sense. Are you sure you understand what you are telling me?"
Jaylee nodded, handed him the strap and the ticket, and without a word bent over the end of the couch. He walked over to her, put his hand on her back, and then lifted it to lower her panties to her knees.
Fifteen lines of fire across her upturned cheeks later, she really was crying, this time out of relief and catharsis more than anything else.
The next morning when she woke up, the ticket was on her night stand — his familiar scrawl denoting "PAID IN FULL".