(It is Wednesday, which is usually a writing prompt day. Enjoy!)
Hoping to be forgiven. Hoping that this time will get us back to center.
I walked in late for the third time without telling Him I made it back safely. There is something about the third time. Why is it worse? Why does third time feel less like a charm? There is something about it that feels like a pattern suddenly and not just a lapse in judgment.
It is that look of disappointment, not anger, that gets me.
She used to tell me she was disappointed and that it wasn’t “his” plan for us to act this way. I didn’t care about her plan or “his,” although in some ways I did back then. I definitely do not now. I don’t believe in her god anymore. I do not see that “he” has a plan for me. Not one I care about. I am getting too old to follow those plans blindly.
Looking at Him, though, I want His plan. I want to follow Him blindly. I need to atone for my sins. Time to get down on my knees. It is here in front of Him that my mind moves through the hurt I cause myself for going against His orders. And I do hurt without a word or a touch. They are not needed to hurt me. That hurt is already there.
No, I need His hands and His words to take away the hurt. To take away the noise in my head.
I feel my mind slowing down. My breathing begins to settle. On my knees, I know I am His. He will take care of me and show me the way.
He sees me begin to settle. He knows when my mind finally settles on being His. That is when the real learning begins.
“Off your knees, Baby, and on mine.”
I try to gracefully move over his lap and take away the excitement in my face. I am here to learn. This is not a reward.
This will help me move on. On my knees, my mind silences. On His knees, I move on.
“Since this is the third time, you get three rounds. I want you to take it for Daddy and show you understand how your actions affect me.”
“I understand, Daddy.” And I did. I loved that Daddy cares enough to want to make sure I am safe. I hate that I slipped and worried Him. I hate that feeling that I might have made Him think He was just an afterthought. That is so not true.
His belt has already been taken off and curled next to us. Hands begin to stroke my cheeks, and I see a sad face. That is not what I want at all. This is why this is not the reward people might think. The reward would be desire in His eyes. It would be the hunger between us talking loudly without saying a word.
The first round was with hands. I counted out the 10 hard slaps, 5 on each cheek. My mind was ready for the belt. The hits happened slower with the belt. There was a buildup with those first 10. I knew what was coming, but I needed the belt. I needed to feel more hurt. I needed something challenging to move past this wrong I had done.
“You are being such a good girl for Daddy, but I know you want more. This last round, I will give it to you. I will help you move past it. I will help show you are mine. You will obey me. You will let me love you the way I need to love you, Baby.”
He hasn’t even started the last round, and I am already in tears.
“Now count for me, Baby.”
“1.” I could tell this would not be easy. These would leave marks. He let the belt slip a bit so the buckle hits my cheek for the next one. I flinch and take in a breath.
“2”
Three through six come a bit faster, and I have to concentrate harder on making sure I count out loud.
“3, 4, 5, Ouch! 6.” The tears and the moans are coming out with the numbers. I can’t help it now. They keep ramping up, getting harder, but at number seven, I realize. I am doing it. I am taking it for Daddy.
“7.” Daddy hears me settle with this one.
“Such a good girl. You are doing so well. You will be sore for a while, and these marks are going to help you remember that Daddy cared about your well-being and needs to know you are ok. Three more, Baby. You can do it.”
“Yes, Daddy. 8!” He surprised me with that one. I had calmed down with His words. And number nine hit that same spot but harder.
“9!” That came out more like a scream. Hands reached out to rub me and make me breathe for a second. I know He wanted the last one to stand out. I felt more calm and confident, ready for that last hit, the last lesson, the last point of impact that showed me I could be a good girl for Daddy. I could learn and move on. I could do better for Him.
We could get back to being each other’s. We could touch each other in ways of comfort after this. Lips would soothe. Hands would stroke. Words would ease the pain.
I sighed and readied myself for that.
“10.”
Lisa Gray 