Submission?

"I'm sorry."

How feeble these words are! How utterly meaningless after thousands of repetitions!

"I'll be good from now on, I promise."

How sincere these words are at the time they are spoken! And how completely ignored they become after months of overuse when "I'll be good" has been beaten down to mean only, "I will stop arguing with you just long enough that you will stop this spanking."

And so, for the first time, she heard these words issued with tired, crystal clarity.

"I am not going to spank you tonight."

How she reeled! Backpedaled, even. All of her former arguments and time-tested techniques for stalling became dust in her mouth as she looked up in bewilderment. She had been, by any standard, less than well-behaved. Her deliberate disobedience may have faded to ripples of attitude here and there, but the tilt of her head and spark in her eye spoke of an iron will...iron, that is, unless it was being applied to improve her own behavior.

"What do you mean, you won't spank me?"

Her voice issued a barely disguised challenge lying just below her self-protective veneer of brash sassiness. Attitude invited less hurt than openness.
Without dignifying her outburst with an answer, her partner withdrew from the room. Leaving her to stutter, fume, and fumble angrily at the buttons of her knee-length slipdress specifically chosen for such occasions. She ripped it off and took enormous pleasure in throwing it onto the floor. Only a long-ignored sense of adultness prevented her from stomping on it as well. Quickly, she pulled her ratty t-shirt and shorts on before flopping onto the sofa. No spanking! Fine! She didn't want one anyway! See if she would acquiesce the next time she was told to "assume the position"!

At the sound of footsteps in the hall, she stiffened. Her eyes darted to the yellow slipdress lying in a heap before returning to her own clothes, hesitating. Should she? As the footsteps did not stop by the door but continued down the hall, she returned to her confused frustration. She had gotten what she wanted. For once in her life, she had won the argument. So why was she so dissatisfied?

"Ha!" she exclaimed out loud. "I'll show her who's boss around here." She sat up on the couch, her shoulders set proudly. After a moment, though, she flopped back down again. True, the strappings hurt. True, asking for each punishment and kneeling to await her sentence hurt her pride.

But also true was that her unbridled tongue inflicted more hurt than the strap ever could. Also true was that as soon as the strap was set down, arms opened to welcome her in a soothing embrace. Only from within the fierce blaze of pain afterward was she able to accept such a touch. She had never been the kind of person who could release herself in tears, but enormous pain in her bottom allowed her to let down part of her guard. Further than that, she had not been able to go. Her partner accepted her limitations, accepted her often-repeated but never-kept promises, and gave her the sensations she craved.

Until today. Until her defiance had, for the first time, kindled a hurt in her partner no longer excusable as attention-seeking problem behavior to be fixed with a few hard swats. This went beyond their usual roles; she was in new territory. Until today, no matter how strong she reacted, her partner always gently, kindly took the lead. She was allowed to throw as terrible a tantrum as she desired, and after a ritual strapping she was forgiven and cleansed. It had begun as a mutual form of intimacy and release. At what point had it become her manipulation of her partner in order to serve her own desires? A spanking to feel better, that's how she had come to view it. Not caring how much she hurt the person who gave her the release. At what point had a spanking for atonement become self-absorbed neediness masquerading as a balanced, equal ritual between two adults?

In the solitude, her face became quite red with embarrassment. At this point, a few good slaps to her rear would make her feel better. It always did. But the answer had been clearly no...

Blushing even more deeply, she shifted her weight to one hip in order to half-heartedly give her own bottom a slap. Nothing. She slapped harder, a good noisy slap that stung her hand more than her bottom. She sighed. This was only making her feel silly. There was only one way for her to get what she needed, and the only person able to give it to her was too hurt to respond.

Giving a deep sigh, she stood up and stretched her hands above her head. She took a breath and let it out loudly, all at once in a gust of air. She stripped down to her undergarments and carefully picked up the dress so scathingly discarded only minutes ago. It was creased, but it would have to do. She slipped it over her head, her cold fingers trembling while fastening the row of tiny buttons on the back. She shook her hair out, finger-combed it, and parted her hair down the middle. Their last fight had been over her refusal to wear a new hairstyle. This time, she carefully plaited each side of her hair and tied each plait with a yellow grosgrain ribbon. She smoothed the skirt over her hips, opened the door, and walked out carefully.

"Honey?" she called. "If you're not going to spank me, I guess I'll have to find other ways to please you. Although it might be hard considering what I'm wearing..."