Over at The Punishment Book, where (at least in theory) the spankings are for punishment and not (so much) for fun, Angie writes about how she earned herself a serious spanking (for neglecting her health) and then (compounding her trouble) stopped taking her potentially-lifesaving medicine because it tasted bad.
Because it tasted bad.
Needless to say, her disciplinarian decided that spanking alone wasn’t going to do the trick, so he gave her a taste of something worse than a bitter pill:
So, I told him. I told him how the prednisone tasted AWFUL, and made me gag, and that was why I stopped taking it, but now I was kind of getting sick again so I knew it was bad that I stopped taking it.
“You didn’t like the taste of the medicine your doctor gave you to get your lungs functioning right again, so you STOPPED TAKING IT? Because you DIDN’T LIKE THE TASTE?” I nodded. He got up, left the room. I heard him in the kitchen. He came back to his room, and went into his master bathroom. I saw him rooting around in drawers in there. I knew what was coming. It’s only ever happened to me once before, really. Once on the phone – but the truth is, I had a towel wrapped around it then, so that doesn’t count. And the only other time Dave did it to me, it was so quick, and I didn’t really remember it, and it was two years ago. Oh my gosh … not this, please. I mean, for what I did, and the reason I did it, this obviously was PERFECT, but nooooooooooo.
“Angela, take off your shirt and come here.” Take off my shirt? Oh, yeah, dripping … yeah, that might ruin my shirt. Damn it. I was hoping I was wrong. Fuck. “Open.” That’s when I started pleading.
“Dave, you can’t soap my mouth when I have bronchitis! I read somewhere that if I’m crying and stuff I could aspirate it! I already have lung issues. You want me to get PNEUMONIA! You can’t do this.”
He just said, “Well, then don’t cry and don’t aspirate it. You want to know what disgusting tastes like? You want to not take your medicine because it TASTES BAD? You’re going to spend some time tasting something bad. OPEN YOUR MOUTH ANGELA. NOW.” I obeyed, and he stuck the bar of Ivory in my mouth. “Bite down.” I did, careful to keep my tongue away, but aware that nothing would keep me from tasting it. I was also careful not to cry, and if you know me, you know this is a feat in and of itself. He marched me to the corner, turned me to face it, and reached around to undo my shorts and pull them, along with my panties, to my knees. “Hands behind your head.”
I don’t know how long I stood there, trying not to taste the soap, but tasting it anyway; trying not to cry, but losing a couple tears here and there anyway. It wasn’t too long, but it was certainly awhile. I knew that when he called me out of the corner there was going to be more pain to come and I was feeling sad for my already-sore bottom, but God I wanted that soap out of my mouth. And I was also thinking, “Geez, I had no idea this is what a mouth-soaping was like. And I bet it gets worse than this. If this is how awful it is, we could use this as a deterrent on the fast-food I’ve been eating way too much of and I swear, it would work where spanking hasn’t.”
When he called me out of the corner, he let me rinse, but only a little. Then he made me bend over and he paddled me with this semi-heavy, school-like paddle (but no holes) over my panties…