What a Difference a Day Makes

Leaving for work on time.  Driving the speed limit.  Being courteous to other drivers.  Staying cheerful and wearing a smile.  Waiting patiently behind slower vehicles.  On Wednesday morning, I could have won a driving award.

But let's go back just 24 hours.  The story starts on Tuesday morning, and it is not a funny story.  That day I got started reading all of your blogs while drinking coffee.  Then wrote a few comments, too.  Finally got working on one of my own posts, working on getting the images just right and then being sure the text wrapped correctly.  Looked up at the clock.  OMG!  Should have been in the shower ages ago!  So, of course, I

was just as late getting out the door to leave for work.  Kissed Sam (no lingering kisses that morning) and flew out the door.

Now, the Number 1 Rule at Sam and Ella's house is about Ella's driving.  All the contingencies of safe driving are spelled out right at the front of my journal.  It is something Sam asks me about every day.  It's not like I could forget.  My driving faults are numerous.  I am not proud of them and work hard to improve.  The only thing I can honestly tell you I never do is text.  Pin a freaking rose on me.

So left for work late and, of course, that means traffic is heavier.  Then really started to push my usual 5-7 mph over the limit.  Had no patience with slower drivers.  Pass 'em by!  Still thought I was maybe sneaking by on following my rules.  All my strategies for staying calm and in control while driving went right out the truck window.  It all came to a head with waiting to make a left behind a line of cars at a very short green arrow.  Someone up front in the line must have been taking a nap or texting or who knows what.  Only three cars made it, and I just blew up.  Laying on the horn, yelling and swearing to

myself.  I knew I shouldn't do this.  "Crap," I thought, "now I have to tell Sam about this."  Did this stop me?  Nope.  As soon as we got the next arrow, I was off like a shot.  And not a quarter mile later, some idiot pulled out in front of me and several others,  We all slammed  on the brakes, but I was the only one who started with the horn.

I slowed way down and started thinking instead of reacting.  In the space of 4 - 5 minutes, I had broken almost every rule we have about driving.  I was so disappointed in myself.  When I sat down to my computer at work, I decided to write Sam first thing.  It wouldn't fix my blunders, but maybe it would help me concentrate on my work day.  He didn't respond to my email, and I wondered if that was good or bad.  Either way, I berated myself most of the day.  When I finally heard from him, it was late afternoon, and his email just said, "You had better do better on the way home."  There were no sweet words at the end.


When I got in the door, there was a hug but nothing tender or sexy. 

Sam asked me to get my journal since it was a Tuesday night.  I read to him, and he grunted once or twice.  What stood out to me was that I had done so well the week before.  And that's the way it usually goes.  I do great and wonderful and stupendous until I just take it for granted that I have this fault licked.  Then, Boom!  There's an outstanding failure.  He also had me read the entire set of rules pertaining to driving.  There was no wiggle room.

He quietly told me to go to the bedroom, take off all my clothes, and wait for him in the corner.  My mouth fell open, and I wanted to ask, "Why?" so badly.  Sam will never make love to me after a punishment spanking.  Never.  So I couldn't understand about the clothes coming off.  But I closed my mouth.  I was determined to be submissive; I really knew I had this one coming.  It made me feel very humble and vulnerable with no clothes.  I waited quite a while, and that kept me worried.  I do not like the corner thing, but it does make me think about how I screwed up.  When Sam finally came in, he told me to get over the bed.  I quickly grabbed a pillow, too.  I heard him reach in his dresser, and then he laid 2 implements on the bed.  I just cringed.  It was the thin wooden spatula and the clothes brush.  Both of these hurt way more than the paddles.


He started with the spatula and within 4 strokes I couldn't even get my breath.  He didn't have to ask me what I did wrong; I started spilling my guts about each and every lousy choice I made.  He was covering my whole bottom thoroughly, and I was making quite a lot of noise.  When he aimed for that sit spot, I came straight up off the bed.  Sam just leaned in with his forearm on the small of my back, and I was pinned.

The first implement was so bad that by the time he went on to the

clothes brush, I think my bottom was getting a bit numb.  I do not understand why that spatula thing is so evil; it doesn't look that ominous.  The clothes brush should have hurt more, but it didn't.  He was still lecturing, but I can only give you a recap.  This spanking hurt too much to recall the exact verbiage.  I can assume it had to do with maintaining my patience and controlling my temper.  That is what stuck in my head, and I would assume that is what Sam was aiming for (no pun intended).  There were hugs and a reconnection, but Sam remained just the disciplinarian, not my lover.

I was very sore and tender on Tuesday night, although he did rub my bottom when he came to bed.  On Wednesday morning, I was still feeling Sam's lessons on my backside when I climbed in my little truck.  And so we have come full circle , and you are right back at the first words in this post.  But the finish to my Wednesday story would have a much better ending than my Tuesday story.  Happily Ella Ever After.