In the city where i live, it is law that all citizens sort their garbage so that items that can be recycled are placed in separate (and color-coordinated) bags than regular refuse. In order to help educate the populace on which objects can be recycled and which cannot, the Sanitation Department has produced diagrams with smiling cartoony recycling containers and trash bins, illustrating the most common detritus that can be recycled and that which can be tossed. To me, it's pretty easy to decipher that which can be saved from that which should be junked. However, that is not apparently the case for others who reside in the city, because the Sanitation Department is frequently sending out these illustrations as well as issuing citations to those who fall in violation. People just can't seem to glean the fundamental guidelines. Unfortunately, my girl is among the guilty ones.
I attend to most of the hauling of our trash to the curb, including bundling it up. Invariably, since she and i began cohabitating, i have found some contraband in the recycling bins that should go in the wastebasket. Despite the fact that i would point out to her that syran wrap was not in fact an eligible item for recycling, i could expect in the intervening days to find an illegal ball of cellophane in with the perfectly legal glass bottles. Now, i realized that i treaded a very fine line here. I chose not to admonish her, to reduce her with humiliation in order to make my point. That would be counterproductive because the lesson rammed down her throat wouldn't stick, not to mention it would make her feel the wrong kind of grief. I'd gain nothing from that, and would come off as a complete boar. I knew i needed to address it another way.
One Friday, the opportunity arose for me to make our weekly corrections do double duty. I retrieved her locking leather wrist cuffs, placing them on the bed. I then went into the kitchen, and took down from the wall the aforementioned diagram from the Sanitation Department that i tacked above our trash can. Stepping back into the bedroom, i hid the diagram off to the side, then called my girl from across the apartment. In she scooted, offering her non-verbal acceptance of what was about to happen with her scooped shoulders, her retracted bottom lip and her raised eyebrows. After watching her remove her skirt and panties, I instructed her to bend over forward, lying her wrists across the railing of the bed's footboard. I shackled each of her wrists, then clipped the leather cuffs to the steel curvature just beneath the railing. Once she was securely fastened, i pulled out the diagram and laid it on the bed, right beneath her chin.
"What's this for?"
"Spread your legs, and stick your butt up. Up and out."
She complied, lifting the fleshy mounds of her naked buttocks up into the air, like hanging peaches rising to greet the morning sun. She studied the diagram before her - exactly what i had intended.
"I want you to read outloud all of the items on the list of non-recyclables. Read them out, one by one."
"Take-out containers, soiled paper cups and plates, paper towels and napkins, plastic wrap..."
She continued through the list, unsure quite where this was leading. Once she finished, i asked her to count the number of items on the ineligible list.
"Correct. That is the cycle of swats you will get today. Now, i want you to read out every item, and finish with 'Please may i have a spanking, sir?' Understood?"
She took a deep breath and looked back at me in order to sneak a quick peak at whatever implement i may have in my hands. Her peak yielded very little, for i was intending to use only my fleshy digits.
"Take-out containers. Please, may i have a spanking, sir?"
I slapped my palm across both of her prone ass cheeks. This locomotion stirred up a fresh perfume into the air that immediately greeted my nostrils. In the waft of odor, i could smell that my girl was most certainly aroused by this stratagem.
"Soiled paper cups and plates. Please, may i have a spanking, sir?"
"Paper towels and napkins. Please, may i have a spanking, sir?"
She made her way through three recitations of the list, enduring a total of 51 strokes across her exposed flesh. At the end, i do believe a good number of the off-limit items stuck into her memory. To this date, i can report that i have not yet found an ineligible item in the bins. That ultimately means either she learned her lesson, or finally learned to reference the diagram unsubtly tacked to the wall above the trash receptacle.
Either way, i can safely say recycling has become easier in the House of Deity.