Confession 102

            I don’t know what other guys do with their submissive miss – mostly I don’t want to know.  Usually, if I happen to find out…I wish I hadn’t.  It’s invariably something Godforsaken like they make them lick the kitchen floor clean or something.

            Ewww!  (Jack shudders)

            Any event, one practice that I developed somewhere along the way, in a blind fit of inspiration (or was it drunkenness?), was a Saturday morning confession.  Works like this, for the unlearned among you – submissive miss brings her “required to keep” daily journal and, referring to it, well, does a weekly confession.  (You can’t watch them every bloody second of the day, and when you’re not, you can bet that, more often than not, they’re getting into mischief – It’s just what little girls do.  Anyway, by the end of the week, they’re usually lugging round a good hundred pounds or so of guilt about things that you’re not even aware of….yet.)  This little get-together also serves as a spiritual/emotional check-up of sorts, simply an opportunity for a young lady to openly share her thoughts, feelings, and concerns.

            I mean, for God’s sake, having taken her into your home, you’re responsible for her well-being.  So you have to responsibly attend to these sorts of things.

            (Or, I guess you could just be some revolting jerk who makes women lick kitchen floors clean.  But, I digress.)

            Okay, now, this being a “confession”, it is true that a submissive miss rarely escapes one without at least getting her bottom paddled a little bit.  Or, a lot of bit.  It’s as simple as the fact that there is likely something she’s going to unburden herself from that calls for some helpful, corrective discipline.  Now, a girl might get a mild spanking…or, well, she might end up being rather thoroughly thrashed.  (So far, I haven’t hung, nor shot, anyone.)

            Now, I told you all that just to tell you this short, but entertaining I think, anecdote.

            Helen, whom you may have met in these scribblings before, had a couple of interesting characteristics.  One, she was a fanatical journal writer – I think she wrote, on average, about 7,000 pages a day in her journal.  (All right, perhaps that’s a mild exaggeration.)  Regardless, let’s just say that she never arrived for Saturday confession without a wealth of material to share.  Secondly, Helen absorbed guilt from life much in the same way the rest of us take in oxygen – that is, unconsciously, automatically, and continually.  Therefore, she also never arrived for confession without imagining herself absolutely the most wretched sinner in all of Christendom.

            So, one bright Saturday morning, she arrives for our confessional session, journal in hand, head hung low…and she’s wearing a protective pillow strapped around her bottom – obviously in fearful apprehension of what sort of punishment she’s likely to receive.

            I couldn’t help myself – I burst out laughing, and said, “Oh God – this should be interesting to hear!”

            It was almost a funny enough stunt to get her out of a spanking entirely.

            Well, I said, “Almost”.