I have never read the act of penitence observed quite as brilliantly as this. It’s an old article from Lunargirl, who shut down her blog unfortunately, but I saved it.
The front door opens to what appears to be an empty house. The house is very cleanly kept and if you paid attention as you came in, you would notice the undeniable scent of a house freshly cleaned. Scanning the room it becomes clear that this is not an empty house, for there, in the far corner is a person, standing at attention, hands atop her head, toes and nose as the saying goes. She is wearing the same thing she always wears when she is occupying this particular spot: Black shoes, white knee socks, knee-length pleated green plaid skirt and long-sleeved white shirt. If the front of her was visible it would be seen that there was a dark blue tie around her neck. If one could see under the skirt, there would be found a very plain pair of white cotton briefs. Her long dark hair is pulled up into a single ponytail and her appearance is flawless. If it were not for her current position of ignominy, she would seem to be a very good girl and the picture of perfect innocence.
“I see you are where you were told you to be” is all that is said in the way of greeting. There are no further words uttered, for in truth, there is no further conversation needed.
From her place, by that I mean the one place in the house that belongs only to her, this solitary corner, she knows what is going on behind her. She does not need to turn her head slyly to the side to see the action progressing in the room beyond her little corner. She could almost tell you how long it will be before the next infallible step in this dance will begin, so many times has she tread its familiar and oddly comforting path. Her cheeks burn, knowing that she is being watched, fighting the urge to turn around and see if she is right. Knowing the consequences of such an action, of course, as always, her curiosity gets the best of her and she tries to very carefully sneak a small peek from the corner of her right eye. Looking for the feet, always the feet, because she dare not look for the eyes.
“Oh, you are a naughty, disobedient girl today, aren’t you?” she hears as she feels the grip on her left ear. Same as always, the same dance, she can’t help but think. Although she could avoid the entire circumstance she always finds herself here, being pulled across the room by that left ear, the pain intense, and sharp, and beautiful. She stumbles to find her footing, as always, inwardly cursing her enormous feet as they tangle around one another, conspiring against her, betraying her in this sacred dance.
“Come on now, you know the way, don’t you?”
Yes, she knows the way. She has walked this path and danced this dance many times before today. She is certain that she will be walking this path and dancing this dance again as well. She sees the chair, looking very alone, just as she feels. She wasn’t alone at all, though, was she? Looking at the feet, she feels her ear released. There is just the faintest hint of moisture at the corners of her green eyes. Not from any pain, the moisture, but from her own frustration. How could she end up here yet again, and then, how could she not. It wasn’t all her fault, was it? Her emotions a dark cloud tangled in her mind just as her feet had been a few moments before. She only felt confusion and despair.
Why did it always come to this? She could still feel the eyes upon her, their gaze burning into the top of her head. She didn’t want to disappoint, but she had. She knew she had. The reason was not important, the transgression did not matter anymore. She would not disappoint now. She resigned herself to accept the fate that was handed to her. Trying very hard to stand perfectly still and as always, not managing to stand perfectly still, she feels the sting of a hand on the back of her right thigh. She takes a deep breath and holds on to the pain for a moment, then lets the pain go. The beautiful, stinging pain.
She knows she should be listening to the lecture going on behind her, but all she can manage to do is voice her agreement to what is being said. Truth be told, she was sure she knew what was being said. It was always the same, wasn’t it? It was always “We’ve been through this before” and “I don’t know what I am supposed to do to reach you” and etc. She began thinking that perchance she should find some new way to misbehave. She wondered if the lecture would change then, or would it stay the same?
She could no longer watch the shoes, it appeared. Now she could only look at the lap that was in the chair in front of her. She felt that familiar tug of discomfort rising in her stomach, yes, she was familiar with this particular part of the dance as well. A strong hand takes her by the arm and pulls her towards the lap in the chair. She feels very off-balance as she comes to rest finally in the place where she belongs, which is, of course, on top of that lap. She feels the soft caress of a breeze as her skirt is lifted from her thighs and laid gently on her back. She exhales deeply, knowing that this will be the last calm breath she can take for a long while.
She feels a strong hand laid upon her backside, then she feels fingers wrapping about the waistband on her briefs. After a very short amount of time there she is, naked backside pointing heavenward, her silent prayers also heading heavenward. Her prayers that she would at least be successful in pleasing the lap she lay across in this one act of complete submission. Her prayers of learning to accept her own shortcomings and so to accept her place in this dance.
She feels the beginnings of the pain, the sharp heat of the hand slapping her backside. Although she is trying very much to stay perfectly quiet and still, she finds that both are becoming more and more difficult to do. The hand is finding its way back to familiar territory, catching the same areas two, maybe three times in a row. Her mind is racing now, trying to find the place to put the pain and keep herself safe. She finds herself squirming, both in body and in mind. The slaps picking up pace now and finding the more tender areas, her arm searching for a way to help her bottom avoid the onslaught, her mind cursing the arm for being such a traitor! She was going to take this in stride, she was going to please, now she knew she had to be a disappointment. In one swift movement, the arm was pinned behind her, now in the small of her back.
Now the sensation changes as she feels the unmistakable sensation of wood meeting her very tenderized backside. Two, maybe three swats in she begins to feel the undeniable beginnings of hot tears in her eyes, which are closed tight against the punishment. This was all so familiar to her, she knew it would not be long. Her legs, giving up the good fight, following her arm, becoming traitors to her, kicking and squirming, as if that would get her from the place where she is presently located.
Familiar with this part of the dance as well, she us unsurprised to feel the lap shift beneath her and find her legs pinned in as well. Her despair rises as the reality of the situation dawns on her troubled mind. She is now helpless and forced into the submission she vowed to willingly give only a few moments before. As if a dam were breaking behind her eyes, the hot tears begin to spill out on her cheeks and she begins to mumble soft cries, not of despair, but of release. Familiar with this part of the dance as well, she is finally able to give her full mind over to the tell-tale rhythm and take her right place in the dance. The tangles in her mind straighten, the battle within her is won, for this moment in time.
Exhausted, she sits now upon the lap, leaning against the chest attached to it, feeling only contentment and love, protection and care. She knows her place and is very glad to have found it at last.
