Hi all! Well, the imagination has taken off again (finally!) so I scribbled out a story. Usual theme. Hope you enjoy it. Also, be sure to check out my post from earlier today (OMG! - below). Reading these books renewed my hope that this lifestyle is possible and inspired the story! All comments appreciated.
DD (As I Wish It Was)
Leigh had only been home a few moments. Her husband, Mark, had gotten there about 15 minutes before her. As she came in from the garage and entered the kitchen, she saw Mark standing there, hands on hips, a look of aggravation on his face. She looked around and saw the reason for his consternation. The sink was full of dirty dishes, the floor hadn’t been swept, and there was general crap all over the table. ‘Leigh, what is the meaning of this?’ Mark inquired. She fluttered her hands in a dismissive manner. ‘I haven’t had time to clean up. You know I had errands to run today.’ ‘This isn’t the only mess, young lady. The bed hasn’t been made either. Now, what time did you leave today?’ Leigh looked down. ‘About 11:00,’ she murmured. ‘And you couldn’t find 30 minutes before you left to get your chores done?’ Mark growled. Leigh opened her mouth to blurt out an excuse, any excuse, but Mark stopped her with a wave of his hand. ‘Don’t even try it. There is no excuse for this. You know the agreement – upstairs, panties down, and in the corner. I’ll be up to deal with you in few minutes.’
Leigh debated arguing with him, but decided her best option was to do as she was told. She turned and fled the room, racing up the stairs to the bedroom. Going to the corner, she shoved her pants and panties down to her knees, put her hands on her head, and stuck her nose to the wall. ‘It’s your own fault,’ she sniffed to herself. ‘You asked for a disciplinary relationship, and even helped set the guidelines. But I don’t want a spanking!’ She almost wailed that last sentence out loud when she heard Mark approaching her from behind. But part of the rules she had agreed to was not arguing when she had a spanking coming. She steeled herself for the coming lecture.
‘Young lady, you know that you have very few rules that we have set. One of them is simple housework. You know as well as I do that I don’t expect a spotless house. But I do like a clean kitchen to cook in and a nicely made bed to crawl into after a hard day. You had plenty of time to accomplish both those things this morning before you left and you chose not to. Therefore, you are going to be punished. First, you are going to come make this bed. Then you are going to bend over it for a paddling. Then you will go downstairs and clean up the kitchen, followed by another paddling over the kitchen table. You will then sit down and write 100 times, ‘I will do my chores when I am supposed to or I will be punished’. To finish off, you will go over my knee and read me those lines, each one followed by a swat from the hairbrush. Do you understand?’ ‘Yes sir,’ Leigh whispered. She turned and reached down to pull up her pants as she left the corner. ‘Leave those down!’ Mark ordered. ‘I want that bottom where I can see it!’ Leigh flushed with embarrassment but did as she was told, shuffling awkwardly around the room as she made the bed.
When she was done, Mark placed three pillows in a stack on the side of the bed. ‘Over you go,’ he instructed. Leigh moaned but placed herself in position. Her toes touched the floor and her bottom was offered up to her husband. He wasted no time in obtaining the Lexan paddle and applying it forcefully to her rounded backside. Within three strokes, Leigh was yelping and twisting, dancing on her toes as she tried to wiggle away from the stinging smacks. But Mark ignored her protests and laid on 25 hard swats. Leigh was howling when he laid down the paddle.
‘Now, downstairs. Get busy on that kitchen. I’m right behind you!’ Leigh struggled to her feet and scurried out of the room and down the steps the best she could with her pants around her knees. Dignity was no longer an option – she just wanted to stay far enough ahead of him so that she was out of reach of the occasional smack. She began loading the dishwasher, her face burning as she realized that every time she bent down, her bare bottom was poked out, in full view of and on offer to her husband. After clearing off all the counters and tabletop and wiping them down, she grabbed the broom and did her best to sweep up in spite of her restraining attire. As soon as she had put the broom away, Mark had her by the arm and was guiding her to the now-clean table. ‘Lean over and grab the other side, please. And do not let go!’ As it turned out, their round kitchen table was just the right size where Leigh could lean across it, on tiptoes, and her thighs rested against one side while her fully outstretched hands could just grab the opposite edge. This tightly stretched position meant that she had no leeway to arch her upper body upward to try to twist away. She also knew that if she let go to try and reach back to protect her bottom, she would just make it worse for herself. Resting her face on the hard surface, she awaited her fate.
Mark soon proved to her that her laziness was not to be tolerated. Picking up a wooden spoon, he applied another 25 stinging smacks to Leigh’s still-red backside. By swat two, she was yelping. By number ten, she was bouncing up and down on her toes, wiggling her backside in a vain attempt to avoid the swats. When Mark finally finished the barrage, she was collapsed over the table, sobbing and hiccupping out promises to be a good girl in the future. He gave her a moment to catch her breath, rubbing her hot bottom as she lay there. But he was determined to teach her a lesson, and knew he could not back down on the full scope of her promised punishment. He helped her stand, and then directed her to sit down on the hard wooden chair. Leigh winced as her throbbing bottom hit the cold solid seat. Mark fetched a note pad and pen, placing them in front of his wife. ‘Write!’ he ordered, and then left the room.
Leigh sighed and picked up the pen. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock on the wall and the sound of her pen as she wrote. Between the monotony of the writing, the sting of her bare bottom on the unforgiving chair, and the cramps that started in her hand around sentence 33, it was not a pleasant experience, nor one she wanted to repeat anytime soon. The knowledge that she still had one more spanking coming did not make it any easier. When sentence 100 was finally written, she slowly rose from her chair and shuffled into the living room, where Mark was sitting on the couch, watching the news and waiting for her. Head hanging, she held out the sheaf of papers to him for his inspection. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the dreaded hairbrush lying next to him, and she shuddered. Mark ignored this as he scanned the pages. After what seemed an eternity, he motioned for Leigh to place herself over his lap.
Shuffling to his side, she draped herself over his knees. He positioned her so that her feet were on the floor and her upper body was resting on the couch beside him. ‘Up on your elbows, young lady,’ he told her. When she had raised her upper body off the couch, he slid the papers under her nose. ‘You will read the number of the sentence, and then the sentence. After each one, you will receive a swat. You will wait for that swat before reading the next sentence. Got it?’ Leigh just nodded miserably. ‘Good. Read!’
In a trembling voice, Leigh read out ‘One. I will do my chores when I am supposed to or I will be punished.’ CRACK! The hairbrush flattened one bottom cheek. ‘TWO! I will do my chores when I am supposed to or I will be punished!’ SMACK! ‘OW! THREE! I will do my chores when I am supposed to or I will be punished!’ This continued as Leigh alternately screeched and read lines, the time between each sentence growing as she howled longer after each swat. When number 100 was finally reached, she was a sobbing mess, the last sentence barely more than a whisper as she croaked it out, but finding her voice for one last loud howl as the last sizzling swat of the brush was applied. She collapsed over his lap, papers pushed aside as she cried into the cushion. Mark laid the brush aside and gently massaged her burning bottom, giving her time to compose herself. When she had calmed down, he eased her upright and cuddled her on his lap as she clung to him and babbled apologies and promises to be a good girl in the future into his chest. His worries about their chosen lifestyle vanished when she finally looked up at him and said simply, ‘Thank you, darling. I love you.’