Consideration

I don't get spanked much.  A few swats here and there when Mark seems to think I'm creating chaos where none exists, or to remind me that I'm close to crossing the line instead of toeing it, but a full-fledged spanking isn't a common occurrence for us.

I didn't hold out hope that today would be a spanking free day though.  I held a pricey ticket in my hand that I knew better than to not show him.  Hopefully quick admittance and honesty would earn me brownie points.  I didn't usually hide from my mistakes—much as I wanted to.  My dad had taught me early on that that was never a good idea, and Mark was of the same mindset. 

"The longer you hide or try to pretend a mistake isn't there, the longer and more effort it takes to fix and move past it."

I could hear the words Mark had said more than once in my head now.  With a sigh, I went up to find him in the tiny room we'd converted into a makeshift office.

He was there, bent over a stack of papers he was grading.  He was a high school teacher—and a good one—although he didn't have the build of someone who sat behind a desk all day.  He kept fit as the school's assistant soccer coach and took pleasure in jogging when he could. 

I took a moment to forget about the ticket and enjoy a minute's pleasure at the sight of his blue t-shirt stretched across his shoulders, emphasizing his strength and fitness.

Something must have alerted him to my presence because he straightened up and turned with a smile for me.

"Hey, get what you needed?" he asked, knowing I'd run to the store to pick up some things for supper.

"Yeah, and one thing I didn't," I added, just wanting to face the music and get it over with.

His mouth turned down a little.  "What are you talking about?"

I held out the ticket to him and he sighed slightly.  "A speeding ticket?"

I shook my head.  "No," I said softly, not able to say out loud what the ticket was for.

Mark looked it over and his eyes narrowed in a very not good way.  "You parked in a handicap spot?" he questioned, with effort controlling the heat in his voice.

"I'm sorry," I apologized immediately and very sincerely.  "I know I shouldn't have, but the lot was completely full.  I would have had to park across the street at that gas station with the weird attendant and I knew it would only take me ten minutes to get what I needed."

"Ten minutes is long enough for someone with a serious handicap to need that spot," Mark replied seriously.

I understood his upset.  Mark's dad is severely handicapped.  He was mostly confined to a wheelchair and needed oxygen to help him breath sometimes.  Mark's mother took care of him with the help of the occasional visiting nurse, and Mark and I tried to go help with some things at least once a week.

Those handicap parking spots were a blessing to his parents because there was extra room to get his dad in and out, and it kept his mother from having to push the wheelchair farther than necessary.

"I know.  I'm sorry.  It was selfish and inconsiderate and I deserve the ticket."

I truly hoped that would be enough, but I wasn't surprised when it wasn't.  Mark stood, the three extra inches he had on me seeming much more, and put a hand to the back of my neck.  It wasn't a painful grip, but it propelled me to the one open corner of the room. 

Corner time was bad.  It meant he needed time to either calm down or to consider the most appropriate way to kill me.  Ok…maybe not, but it could feel like that sometimes.

"Keep your hands at your sides and stay here until I say," he ordered.  "I don't want any asking about when you can get out or how much longer.  When I say you can leave, then you can leave," he directed.

That did not sit well with me.  One, because even in a relationship where one partner recognizes the authority of the other, it can still be hard to get told what to do—even when you know you deserve to be disciplined.  Second, because Mark's words implied that I might be there for awhile, and the thought of staring at the boring beige walls for an undetermined amount of time was not my idea of fun.

For the next hour I bit the inside of my mouth to keep from asking when this would end.  I'd never stood there that long.  My legs and back were aching.  I was going cross-eyed from staring so closely to the corner.  My arms felt restless and wanted to move from my sides.

Finally…finally…Mark came up behind me, his hand both warm but somewhat warning as it was placed on the small of my back.

"Have you been thinking about what you did?"

I nodded.  "Yes, Mark.  But please, I'm tired and my legs ache," I whimpered.

"Good," he said without remorse.  "There are plenty of people whose legs and back hurt all the time, and it only makes it worse when they have to walk an extra long distance."

I wilted at that, now getting a much fuller picture on why I'd been left to stand there so long.  "I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Yes, I believe you.  But now that I've made it hard to stand, I'm going to make it hard to sit."

There was no joke to that.  He had me turn to him and I saw the Ruler—yes, capital letter there!—in his other hand.  The dreaded implement was not a normal, flimsy twelve inch stick.  It was a sixteen incher with solidity and weight to it, and I knew from past experience that it hurt.

Taking my hand, he led me to the kitchen.  It was the typical spot for punishment issues to be dealt out.  Neither of us cared to have that atmosphere in our bedroom, the office was too small, and the living room had too many windows.  The kitchen was essentially a neutral zone for us when it came to spankings.

He pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down, setting the Ruler on the table and crooking his finger at me to come to him.  I did obediently, but not exactly willingly.  I knew what came next.  I didn't get to take my pants down.  That was his job, which was something I hated.  It completely took away my control of the situation and emphasized that I'd done something I really shouldn't have.  Just the sensation of his fingers working my button and zipper made my eyes burn. 

Being across his lap felt just as awful, but somehow he knows how to make it ok.  He rubbed my back a moment, a caress letting me know that what he was about to do was because he loved me and he was willing to hold me and us accountable to the standard we agreed to.

"Ready?" he asked from above, his voice firm, but kind.

"Yes, sir," I managed.

A gasp was quick to follow as the Ruler smack my rear.  That first whack is always a doozy and it stung!  He steadily smacked it down, and I squirmed, instinctively trying to get my butt out of the way.  I seriously don't care how manly anyone claims to be.  When someone you love and who loves you is setting your backside on fire, you're going to be upset.  You're going to get desperate for it to stop.  And yes, you may just cry.

I did cry.  My bottom had gone spanking free for several months, so it wasn't used to being repeatedly smacked with a piece of wood.  It hurt…a lot.  But I was equally upset with myself for being so inconsiderate of those who had to face a lot of challenges in their daily life that I rarely think about.  I was lying here weeping and wondering just how long till my butt would stop hurting, when there are people out there who are always in pain no matter what medications or precautions they take. 

I saw myself as a selfish jerk.

"You are not a selfish jerk," Mark said firmly from above me. 

I swear I didn't know I said those words out loud!

You are a man who loves and helps with my father, are always thinking about me above yourself, and who cares a lot about doing what is best for others—often to the point of being taken advantage of.  This was a one-time mistake, and we're done now.

I was still crying, but nodded with my head hanging toward the floor.  His hands went to my waist and helped me stand.  He stood with me, my pants puddled at my feet as he hugged me hard.

"I love you, Connor.  I'm not disappointed in you or mad anymore."

I choked a little on a sob and one of his hands dropped to rub my sore bum. 

"Sh, hon.  It's ok."

I turned my face into his neck and worked on stopping my tears.   "I won't do it again," I promised.

Mark's hand patted a little.  "I know you won't."

Eventually I got some control back and managed to pull up my pants.  Mark hugged me one more time and kissed my cheek.  "Wash your face, hon.  I'm taking you out."

"But I just got that food from the grocery," I whined. 

Yes…whined…that's what I said.

"We'll use it another night.  Let's go to Panera and get some breadbowls."

Comfort food and a place that had items we both loved.  He knew I wouldn't say no, even if it did mean squirming on a hard wooden seat for awhile—if we could even find one.  That place got busy, especially right about this time of the evening.

"It's going to be crowded.  There might not be any room," I argued, feeling sore and in the mood to play devil's advocate a little.

He pulled me against him, front to front, so I could feel us rubbing against each other.  His hands came to cup my bottom cheeks.  "I'm sure you won't mind standing if necessary," he said with a smile showing on his lovely mouth.

"What an awful thing to tease me about," I pouted.

He kissed me.  "I can tease or I can smack," he offered.

I wrinkled my nose.  "Cruel," I accused of him.

"Yes, I'm sure I am, but I love you."

I had to kiss him for that.  "I love you too, but you're paying."