Finely Disciplined Thoughts (3 page)

Frozen in Time

“It’s time,” he said, so casually he might have been calling her attention to a TV schedule or the daily newspaper’s delivery.

“No.” Uttered with suddenly tear-filled eyes. “Please. Not now. I don’t want —”

He silenced her with a finger placed gently against her pouting lips. “Your preferences are no longer an issue. They brought you to this moment. But in it, your time is entirely mine.”

In justice, she could not protest. In dread, she could not refrain. “It was all a mistake.”

“Indeed it was. One you will not repeat, I imagine.”

She watched him, because she could not help it; saw him shift the pillow from its accustomed place to a new duty location — angled across the low rail at the foot of the bed; saw him finger the shiny gold hardware holding in place the soft and supple leather around his waist; saw him slither the belt through its loops to lie, instead, the length of his leg; saw him calmly double it over, palm the buckle and wrap its threatening length once around his hand.

She listened to him, because there was no evading his voice — the one she loved and hated at the same time; heard him call her name as a prelude to identifying her sin — Elizabeth; heard him reveal his awareness of her failure in measured tones — childish disobedience, unacceptable in a woman grown; heard him order the manner in which she was to present herself for punishment — bared and bent, defenseless and welcoming; heard him describe the nature of the penance — a dozen well-laid on, provided she was cooperative; heard him justly define the parameters of her compliance — “Count the twelve and at each second one, tell me of your sorrow.”

She prepared herself, filled with shame that her fault had been uncovered, but emptied, already, of the self-loathing that had been her peculiar burden while she had hidden its ugly face.

From her new perspective, stretched and offered fully with no protective intervention, she considered the consequences of her behavior. She had brought herself to this punishment place. All choices were her own. All decisions, hers for the making. Each step along the pathway of cleansing pain, hers and hers alone.

Then there was the slight awareness of air disturbed, the sharp snap of cow hide on trembling human skin, the tiniest moment — frozen in time like immobilized hands on a watch face bound in an ice packet — between impact and imprint. In that space — that cold, cold space of regret — there was, however, just enough dimension to permit hope for the suspension of inevitability.

But it was not to be. Pain — hot pain — seared her bared, bent and defenseless cheeks and melted the moment.

“One,” she cried in obedience and of necessity, the result of soul-pain released, and body-pain accepted, in an even exchange they both knew was necessary.

It was time.

She Said, He Said

By Ashlynn Kenzie and Devlin O’Neill

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I think of my driving speed as a “tree falling in a forest without people to hear” issue. I mean, if no one sees that you’re moving very quickly, are you really going too fast?

I say, “Don’t be silly. Of course not.”


The problem is, he saw. 


But that wasn’t strictly my fault. He wasn’t supposed to be standing on the porch, watching for me to come home from the pharmacy with his pain medication. He was supposed to be moaning on the couch after a trip to the dentist. 


If I had known he was going to spy on me — his angel of mercy — I would have turned the Seger CD off, which would have automatically decreased my rpm’s by several spins, and we would both be happy at this point. 


But he doesn’t look happy. He looks … anything but.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This is not what I needed on top of the ache in my jaw after a root canal. I just wanted some fresh air and to stretch my back after sitting in the dentist’s chair all morning, which is why I was out on the porch to watch my wife zoom along the boulevard and then into our driveway like Mario Andretti making a quick pit stop. Our street is quiet in the early afternoon, traffic sparse even for a residential neighborhood, but I hardly needed a radar gun to know she made her final approach at least 20 miles an hour above the speed limit. I know she knows better, because I have spoken to her about her lead foot several times.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This is truly, truly bizarre. But I swear I can almost see that little muscle toward the back of his jaw sort of doing that little hop, skip and jump thing it does when he’s irritated with me.

Although I don’t think it’s really possible for it to be so noticeable from a good 15 feet away. It must be the way the sun is sort of skimming over his adorable face up there on the porch.


Or maybe the dentist touched a nerve ... because I’m pretty sure I couldn’t see that little signal from this distance — unless he was really, really — well, never mind.


It might be a good idea, though, to give him a minute to sort of mellow out. Maybe he’ll forget that little tiny tire squeal-y thing when I pulled in the driveway.

I’ll just gather up all the little scraps of paper in the console and look for some loose change in the passenger seat and fluff up the nap in the carpet a little and maybe by then ...

Or maybe not.

My goodness. His eyes seem a little squinty, too, and that right eyebrow is definitely higher than the left one. 


It ‘s amazing the detail it ‘s possible to pick out from this distance.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

That’s right. Just sit there and pretend you don’t see me glaring daggers at you, sweetheart. The kids aren’t home so you know you’re going to get it as soon as I pull you inside. So why are you stalling? You know it’s only going to be worse if I have to come and get you. All right, let’s see how many steps I have to take before she jumps out of that car.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Getting out of car. Getting out of car. Hurrying before he comes down the steps. 


Looking toward the sun, because sunshine is a good thing. Bright sunshine is an excellent thing. It will help me with my plan — for which I need very misty eyes. 


This is important, first, though: My handsome beloved thought about being in law enforcement once. He says he didn’t really, but he signed up to do the Citizens Police Academy, so it sort of follows, don’t you think?


Anyway, while he was involved in the academy thing, he got to ride around in an “official” car with an “official” law enforcement person and he saw lots of speeders.

He says I’m faster than the best of them, but I’m sure that’s a slight exaggeration. Maybe than 95 percent of them. 


He also says women speeders do the most amazing things to get out of tickets. Some of them flash some cleavage (or some other naughty bits which I am too much a lady to actually spell out for you), and some of them pass over phone numbers, and some of them plead emergencies, and some of them cuss a blue streak, and none of it works. He says. 


If you are speeding, you’re going to get caught and you’re going to get punished. End of story.


Which is why I always confess immediately if I am so unfortunate as to be stopped by someone involved in law enforcement. 


I take off my sun glasses with fingers that tremble just the slightest little bit, and I look up at the officer and let a tear make its way slowly down my cheek, and I whisper in my best and softest and most sincerely shamed voice, “I am so sorry, Sir. This just breaks my heart that I have caused you such distress. I know you must have been so worried about my safety or you would never have gone to all this trouble to stop me and tell me about it. I just want you to know how grateful I am for your concern and to tell you I will always remember your kindness and I will never, ever, for the rest of my life go above the speed limit again. I’m just so ...” (and then I usually sort of bat my eyelashes and let some more of that watery stuff around my blue, blue eyes leak out of the corners, and I smile a shaky little “sorry” smile, and I end it with) “... sorry I’ve been such a bad girl.”

And I drive away at a nice safe speed with a warning. Only.


My handsome beloved, who is not looking his most loving at the moment and is — oh, my gosh — headed for the steps, has no idea how well this works, because he has no idea how often I have to use it.

If he did, I would probably not have to work very hard at all at tears in my eyes and a sorry speech.
And the reason why is, he is almost never moved by the tears I come up with to avoid punishment, but he dearly loves moving me to tears when he is handing out the punishment.


This never stops me from trying, however, because it’s worth any effort to keep him from creating tears all by himself. 


So, I’m sort of staring hard at that bright old sun as I get out of the car in a hurry, and I’m sort of moving contritely up the side walk, and I’m sort of climbing the front porch steps very humbly, and I’m sort of giving him a trembly, teary little smile and ...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Oh, for pity’s sake, she’s going to try it. I shouldn’t be surprised I guess, but it’s almost funny, the way she always thinks that welling up before I even say anything will make me all soft and squishy or something.

Still, it does tell me she knows she’s got it coming, and that’s a plus. And I really don’t feel like talking even though the tooth hurts less than I thought it would. I’ll let my hand do most of the communicating today. She seems to understand that sort of language better anyhow, that and my glares.

I’ll just keep mum and allow her to scold herself for the most part, and prompt her if need be. She knows what she did wrong, and I’ll bet she will tell herself off if I just give her the chance.

That’s right, honey, take my hand with both of yours — no, don’t pull back. We’re going right inside where it’s quiet, and you can tell me all about it while I pull your little panties down.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

If I just sort of snuggle up a little — no, well, he’s not very snuggly at the moment, I guess.

So maybe I’ll coax him out in the sunshine and we’ll just walk around the yard — it’s so pretty out today — and we’ll talk about this little problem so calmly for a minute, and he’ll see it’s no big deal since I’m all safe and sound and nothing was damaged and nobody was hurt ...

No, well, he’s not moving with me either, even though I’m sort of tugging with both hands.

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.