She began her pace again, only much
more stingy--emphasizing that a car is for driving defensively, otherwise it is
a weapon--and driving with anger is not unlike driving with any other mind
altering substance. What really struck me was the connection she made between
not letting go of the guilt that I felt with my behavior behind the wheel. She
brought the point home quite sharply over the next few minutes and I buried my
head into the couch. She told me once again not to fight it, but I was unable to
stop from burying the sensations.
Then she congratulated me for already making changes in my driving behavior and
even stopped swatting to lightly brush my hair out of my eyes and make eye
contact. She asked if I were all right and I very truthfully said, "Yes ma'am."
She encouraged me again to stop fighting it--she said that she was having a hard
time reading my responses and told me that I was starting to bruise.
She gently stroked my hair and said that even though I had made some grave
mistakes on the road, I was forgiven and she brought down a rain of more well
placed very stingy swats that I did not think I could bear. It was only then
that I realized that she was using the hairbrush instead of her hand. She spoke
some more about forgiveness and letting go and bit by bit the rain of swats
ended.
She tenderly placed her hand on the small of my back again and I thought she was
reaching for a second implement. I was completely surprised when she started
applying a very soothing salve to my bottom.
I had written to her about so much and so many issues, I realized that I kept waiting for her to "bring out the big guns." Trying so hard not to "top from the bottom" I responded respectfully as she checked in with me while applying the salve. I couldn't help it when I asked out of surprise if the spanking was finished. She mentioned again that I was starting to bruise, and I thought this her way of taking my pulse, so to speak. I was thinking this might be my chance to ask for the cane, but I was struggling to read the tone in her voice (I was l still lying on the couch in a prone position) and could not read her facial expression.
So, I guess she took a cue from my silence and she picked up the belt. She
instructed me to stand up and place myself over the end of the couch then. I
thought about a discussion I had with another spanker. I decided that he was
probably right about his guess that Michelle could wield the cane with great
efficiency. That's because she was a crack ace with that belt. Each stroke pushed me farther. And probably the single most
meaningful two strokes of the day were when she laid one seamlessly across my
upper thighs and said that if God forgives me, I should be able to forgive
myself and when I responded with "Yes ma'am, what God has done is enough." Then
she laid the next stroke in exactly the same place; THE hardest of the day--"Yes
it was enough--and you cannot put yourself in God's place." I think after she
had given me twenty or more--and I finally started verbalizing and fighting the
strokes through the last fifteen or so, she cracked a couple of last precisely
placed strokes and tossed the belt onto the table with a little bit of emotion,
but I'm not sure which one.
She prepared the couch again, without a pillow this time and reapplied the
salve. Then she sat down beside my head and stroked me and let me look in her
eyes. I saw nothing but forgiveness--I sense it was forgiveness even for
fighting the spanking.
All I remember about this time was the feeling of being cared for and the
sparkle in her eyes. And that feeling is what continues to linger--a peace
that comes from someone sharing of themselves with you.