Weight to His Words

"You need to give weight to my words" (WHAP!)

This is what he said to me over and over again as he spanked me Wednesday evening after he came home and discovered that I completely ignored his instructions to me.

Okay, I figured out about 3 months into our tweed journey that obedience is the key word here. If B'Man gives me something that he wants me to do, no matter how trivial or insignificant, what he's really looking for is an understanding between us that I give weight to his words.

I don't like admitting certain things in this blog because he reads it, and I'm no longer able to effectively feign ignorance.

But I suppose he knows it...
I know that he knows it...
and he knows that I know that he knows it.

"You've been getting away with murder lately," he's said to me on several occasions.

Murder is such a strong term. But I imagine that if I look at it from his perspective, I've been systematically killing his authority by tiny itty bitty degrees, that if he were not paying close attention, he would never have noticed.

Tasks during the day are the little projects that he may give me on top of my normal cleaning and errand and shopping routine. It's usually something that he's noticed has been neglected and needs attention. For instance, a few weeks ago he told me to clean the window sill in the den. That means to give it my full attention and put some real effort into removing the clutter, and polishing it so that it looks freshly painted. It's a ten minute job on the outside, certainly nothing to agonize over or go out of my way to avoid.

I waited until the very last minute, I got a shoe box, dumped all the junk in it and plopped it on the floor. Then I took a damp rag and made a cursory swipe of the dust and smeared it around seconds before he walked through the door. He noticed that I was just finishing up as though the task was an annoying afterthought... and he noticed how lousy the job was.

"You know I should spank you for that," was his comment at the time.

I innocently replied, "Well you weren't really specific about what you wanted. How am I supposed to know what you're looking for if you don't tell me?"

I think it was my reprieve from that spanking that began the domino effect of a long line of half assed jobs.

Now, don't get me wrong, this doesn't happen all the time. When he wants something done. I usually give a sufficient amount of weight to his words and go out of my way to please him and go above and beyond the call of duty. But lately I've only been batting about a 500.

I know it...
He knows that I know it...
And I know that he knows that I know it...

So Wednesday the task was to clean out the science projects in the refrigerator.

Honestly, I think I had gotten to the point where I have gotten away with so many half assed jobs that if I ignored this one completely it wouldn't be such a big deal. This was not a conscious rationalization on my part. I just somehow didn't see the urgency in it any more.

When he got home we had a short discussion about it in the bedroom as he changed out of his work clothes. I was genuinely surprised when he told me to bent over my dresser and drop my jeans. I actually asked him if he were kidding.

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

My jaw dropped.

"I want you at the dresser so you can watch your face in the mirror."

When he lifted the paddle off the hook on the wall, I wanted to be angry. But I couldn't. I didn't have a leg to stand on.

I turned around, pulled down my pants and panties, and placed my elbows on the dresser and placed my face in the palms of my hands as I stared at my own face. My eyes were already red and I had this pathetic guilt ridden look on my face.

"You need to give weight to my words," he said several times as the paddle came into contact with my sit spot.  My knees buckled as I tried to remain still and started to cry.  After about five stinging swats he had me count off the final ten. And of course... if I miscount, he starts over. I hate counting! Who can concentrate? number 7 feels like number 349! Who's brilliant idea was having the spankee count?

But I digress.

I know that publishing this post is in effect telling him that I admit to taking advantage of his good nature, and it's going to cause him to be more vigilant in holding me accountable. But I suppose this was going to happen eventually anyway.

I know it...
He knows that I know it...
and I know that he knows that I know it.