I did something really stupid. I can’t say what, but it put myself and someone else in danger. Everyone’s okay. It worked out fine, but it could have been bad. As a result, I’m waiting for potentially the most serious punishment I’ve ever received.
And I’ve waited 4 days for it now. He couldn’t deal with it right away because my family was there. Then, we both got sick. Wrex promised that I’m safe from punishments while I’m sick.
Every second is stuffy, swollen, achy torture. With each symptom that starts to relieve itself, I get closer to that punishment. And I find myself wanting to hold onto my illness just a little bit longer while simultaneously just wanting to get it over with. It’s an agonizing stuck feeling.
This is my first real punishment since we “removed” safewords (I can still use a ‘red’ for emergencies, but I can’t use ‘yellow’ anymore to turn down the intensity or to get out of a punishment). I trust him completely and he knows my limits. I love being able to give him this control. But it also feels like there’s this impossibly heavy weight in my stomach.
Yesterday I really felt like I was sinking. At the peak of my illness, feeling guilty and ashamed for what I did, I asked him “Do you still love me?”
He gave me a look I’ll never forget. Love and stern vexation. “Come here,” he growled.
I obeyed and he gripped my chin between his fingers, forcing my eye contact. “That’s a stupid question. Of course I love you. And once you get better, you’ll take your punishment, and then we’ll move on.”
He gave me an aggressive kiss and the sinking feeling in my stomach turned into fluttering.
Normally he gives punishments right away. I’ve never had to sit with this feeling for so long. It’s made me appreciate our dynamic even more. I love that we have our own system in place to resolve these fights, to make this sinking feeling go away.
Right now, I’m under a heated blanket with a cup of tea and a dose of Nyquil, watching movies from my childhood with the love of my life and the man that’s going to absolutely destroy me in a couple of days once I’m better. And I feel so safe.
12/10/2021 – The Day of Wreckoning
“Your task when we get home is to make dinner and peel the ginger root in the fridge.”
I swallowed hard. It was finally happening. It’s been almost two weeks since I did the really stupid thing I can’t talk about. The thing that could have killed me. I was promised a punishment I wouldn’t forget, but then I got sick. Then our family was here. Then I got food poisoning. But today there was nothing to save me.
“I might still be sick,” I tried.
“You were well enough to workout and hang out with friends, you’re well enough to be punished. We’re doing this tonight. It’s been delayed long enough.”
I stayed silent and let my fate sink in. We still had another 40 minutes left in our drive, but the minutes flew by. My mind raced between all the possibilities for my punishment. I knew I was going to get figged. And he had me buy clothespins. Clothespins weren’t bad. He also bought himself a bullwhip on his birthday yesterday and he has been playing with it idly like a damn fidget toy, whipping pillows and light switches. I really fucking hated that thing. It’s pure stingy hell. Thinking about it being used in a punishment capacity made me audibly whimper.
When we got home, I started right away on dinner. I took my time with it, putting extra care into the process and presentation. Air-fried everything-seasoned cod, kale and cabbage salad with feta and avocado, and a side of lobster bisque. While the bisque was simmering, I peeled the ginger root and shaped it into a plug. I was thankful he let me do it, giving me the chance to mold it into a comfortable size.
As I was peeling the ginger, he came into the kitchen and rummaged through the tupperware cabinet until he found a small round container and lid.
“What do you need that for?”
“You’ll see.” He walked over to me, assessing my work with the ginger root. “Set the table and leave that on the cutting board. I’ll help you insert it when we’re done eating.”
My last meal. At least he let me eat before being figged.
I ate slowly. My eyes kept wandering to the ominous tupperware container. I knew he put it on the table on purpose. He wanted me to think about it. To dwell.
I gave myself a small portion for dinner but I still couldn’t finish it. My nerves killed my appetite.
“Are you done?” he asked, eyeing my half eaten bowl.
I considered picking at it for another few minutes. But it didn’t matter. It was going to happen sooner or later. I wanted it over with. I pushed my bowl away.
“I’ll take care of the dishes. I want you to undress completely. I expect you completely naked when I get back.”
I nodded and he picked up our bowls. I was wearing one of my favorite lingerie sets under my clothes and I hated to take it off. As I was undressing, I realized I always received serious punishments completely naked. It added another layer of vulnerability, exposing my whole body for him. No part of me hidden.
I waited.
He entered the room a few minutes later with the ginger root plug and a bottle of lube, picking up the tupperware container and leading me into the living room.
What in the fresh hell was that damn container for!?
He guided me over his lap. One of my favorite places to be. I longed for the thud of his palm against my plump curves. The heat from his ferocity spreading across my skin. Instead, I felt him spread my cheeks apart and his lubed finger against my anus. I squirmed as he pressed his finger inside me, slowly pulling it out and pushing it back in.
“Dripping already,” he said as he spread my labia apart, exposing my wet cunt. I ached for him to touch me there. “Too bad this is off limits tonight.”
I knew as much. ‘Punishments don’t end with orgasms.’
I felt the tip of the ginger root against my anus. It was about the size of his thumb, but a bit wider. Slowly, he pushed it into me. I waited for the burn.
He guided me off his lap and instructed me to kneel by the coffee table, in front of the tupperware container. I obeyed and he left the room.
The burning intensified. I tried to relax but I kept instinctively clenching, causing it to burn more. I hoped that whatever he had planned for me would be swift. Maybe the container was to hold the clothespins? Maybe he’d just adorn me with pinchy sticks and make me suffer on my knees for a while… but how long?
I heard him walking down the stairs. When he entered the room, he wasn’t holding clothespins. He was holding the jar of punishment rice. I winced. I’ve never knelt on rice while being figged, but I could handle it. And the most he’d ever make me kneel is 10 minutes, maybe 15 if he was pushing my limits. It would be fast.
“These need a new home. You’re going to transfer the rice into that container in front of you. One grain at a time.”
My jaw hit the floor.
“When you’re done, you may remove the plug.”
Fuckkkkkkkkk. This was absolutely not going to be fast. This was going to take me hours.
He sat down on the couch next to me and poured himself another sake.
“That’s going to take forever,” I argued.
“You better get started then,” he said as he turned on The Great British Baking Show, one of our favorite shows and it was the finale. I was knelt in a position that I could sort of watch it, but the burning sensation in my anus had my entire focus. And now, regrettably, the rice.
I picked up a single grain and transferred it to the new container. And then another. And another. Two grains stuck to my finger and I accidentally dropped them both. I glanced up to see if he noticed. His eyes were on the TV.
“I heard that,” he said. “Take one out and do it again.”
I sighed and did as I was told. So much for loopholes. I painstakingly continued to transfer the rice. One. Fucking. Grain. At. A. Time.
By the end of the episode, I’d barely covered the bottom of the new container. The ginger reached its peak burn but it hadn’t decreased intensity at all. I couldn’t find a comfortable position and I wanted to take it out so badly.
“You can transfer two at a time.” He laid back on the couch so he was facing me and played on his phone, occasionally glancing over.
I continued the tedious task, making what felt like no progress. At this rate I’d be moving rice until Christmas. I felt helpless and desperate. I needed the plug out.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” I said as sweetly as I could, looking as submissive and contrite as possible.
He set his phone down on his chest and looked at me. Smugly. “I know you are. And I’m going to make sure you never do what you did ever again. This isn’t fun, is it?”
“No, Sir.”
“You don’t want to do this again, do you?”
“No, Sir.”
“I want you to think about what you did and how sorry you are. You can transfer four at a time.”
I continued. It took longer to count out four than it was worth, so I adopted a pinching method that typically grabbed between 2 to 4 grains at a time. I didn’t count each time, but he didn’t object to my technique. It still took me hours. He sat contently on the couch, playing chess on his phone and talking with friends.
When I was finally done, I presented the empty jar to him. He checked it, pointing out a few stray grains on the coffee table before letting me stand up.
“Put the jar in the dishwasher then you may remove the plug.”
A wave of relief washed over me as I pushed the plug out. The burning still lingered but it wasn’t nearly as intense, and no longer accompanied by the feeling of acute fullness.
I walked back into the living room.
“Kneel.”
I did. I waited for probably another 15 minutes before he turned his attention back to me.
“Your punishment isn’t over.” He pulled out the bullwhip from behind him.
“Please,” I begged. “Can I have the cane instead?”
His eyes widened, face hardening. I knew better than to suggest my own punishment. I shouldn’t have said anything.
“Basement. Now.”
I stood up and sulked to the basement. He had me bend over the ottoman, my face buried in a blanket.
“Your hands stay there.”
I braced myself for the first lash.