Inspired by a cartoon I saw on social media, and based on a mistake I made in the past, I thought I’d write a nice simple husband/wife scene.
Saturday morning started out peaceful for Daniel. He woke up late, sipped his coffee, and ambled into the living room, where he planned to catch the last half of the game he’d missed the night before. He barely noticed the sound of the dishwasher running in the kitchen—his usual contribution to the household chores. Life seemed smooth.
Until it wasn’t.
“Daniel!” His wife’s voice pierced through the calm like a siren.
He winced, setting his mug down. “Uh-oh,” he muttered to himself, trudging to the kitchen.
There she stood, holding a now-warped wooden cutting board that had been her grandmother’s. Beside her were several misshapen plastic containers, their lids curled like flower petals. Her hands trembled, whether from anger or disbelief, he couldn’t tell.
“I told you how many times that these are not dishwasher safe?” she hissed. “Do you even listen when I speak? Or is this your idea of a joke?”
Daniel’s mouth opened, but his brain scrambled for an answer. “I—I forgot?” he stammered.
“Of course, you forgot,” she snapped. “Like last week when you forgot the cast iron skillet, or the week before when you forgot the insulated mugs? Daniel, this is ridiculous!”
“I swear I’ll do better,” he said, raising his hands as though she were an armed assailant. “It just slipped my mind!”
She pointed to the counter. “Start unloading. Now.”
He obeyed, setting the warped and ruined items to the side. By the time he was done, she’d lined up every single dish that wasn’t dishwasher safe. She pointed to the sink.
“Wash them. By hand,” she said firmly.
“But they’re already clean,” Daniel protested weakly.
“That’s not the point. You clearly need a hands-on reminder about which dishes belong in the sink and which can go in the dishwasher.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I’m going to supervise.”
For the next half hour, Daniel scrubbed dishes in silence under her watchful eye. Every time he sighed or paused, she tapped her finger against the counter, and he resumed, muttering apologies under his breath.
When the last dish was drying on the rack, he turned to her with a sheepish grin. “There. All done. Lesson learned.”
She crossed her arms. “Not yet. Sit down.”
He blinked. “What now?”
She pulled out a legal pad and pen, slapping them onto the table in front of him. “You’re going to write this: ‘Next time I put dishes not safe for the dishwasher into the dishwasher, my wife will take me across her knee.’ One hundred times.”
Daniel gawked. “You’re kidding.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”
His shoulders slumped as he sat down. He picked up the pen and began scrawling the sentence. The words felt absurd, even embarrassing, but he dared not argue. After a few lines, he ventured a glance at her. She was leaning against the counter, arms still folded, watching him with the intensity of a hawk.
By the time he reached line 50, his hand was cramping. “Can I—”
“No,” she said sharply, cutting him off. “Keep writing.”
Thirty minutes later, as Daniel finished the last sentence, his wife inspected the page, nodding with satisfaction. “Good. Now, let’s make something clear. If this happens again, I will not hesitate to make good on that sentence. Am I understood?”
His face turned bright red. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Now put these dishes away properly,” she said, pointing at the drying rack.
As he silently complied, he vowed never to forget again.
——
Weeks passed, and Daniel had genuinely tried to do better. He carefully examined each dish before putting it into the dishwasher, sometimes double-checking with his wife just to be safe. She seemed pleased with his effort, and for a while, peace reigned in their home.
But habits die hard, and one afternoon, absentmindedly humming to himself, Daniel cleaned up after lunch. Without thinking, he placed his wife’s favorite china cup—an heirloom from her grandmother—into the dishwasher. He didn’t even realize it until the load finished, and he began unloading.
The cup emerged intact but transformed. The delicate golden patterns, once vivid and intricate, were now faded, smudged, and uneven. His heart sank. He immediately knew what he’d done.
Cradling the cup, he approached his wife, who was reading in the living room. “Honey,” he began cautiously, “I, uh, have something to tell you.”
She looked up, her brow furrowing at his tone. “What is it?”
He held up the cup, his shoulders sagging. “I… put this in the dishwasher. I didn’t mean to, I swear. I wasn’t thinking. I’m really, really sorry.”
Her eyes widened as she took in the damage. “Daniel,” she said slowly, her voice trembling with barely contained anger. “That cup was my grandmother’s. It was irreplaceable.”
“I know,” he said miserably. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I just… wasn’t.”
She stood, taking the cup from him and examining it with shaking hands. “After everything, after all the warnings, after supervising you, after making you write it out, you still did this?”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice small. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you.”
Her jaw tightened. “Oh, you’ll make it up to me, all right. I warned you, Daniel. Go to the bedroom. Now.”
His stomach dropped. “Honey, please—”
“Now, Daniel,” she said, her voice cutting through his protest. “And don’t make me tell you twice.”
With a deep sigh, he trudged to their bedroom, the weight of his mistake pressing down on him. She followed moments later, closing the door firmly behind her and crossed her arms, staring at him.
“Drop your pants and underwear,” she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.
He hesitated, his face burning with embarrassment. “Is this really necessary?”
“You tell me,” she said sharply, gesturing with the hairbrush. “You ruined something I can never replace, and this is the only way you seem to learn. Pants. Down. Now.”
Reluctantly, he unbuttoned his jeans, letting them fall, followed by his boxers. He stood there awkwardly in the center of the bedroom, his pants and underpants bunched around his knees, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides. His wife said nothing as she walked to her vanity, her heels clicking softly against the floor. She turned the chair to face the center of the room, the deliberate motion making his stomach twist with dread.
She reached for the large wooden hairbrush resting on the vanity, lifting it with an air of finality. Its polished surface gleamed under the soft light, and Daniel felt his heart drop to his stomach. His face went pale as he stared at the implement, his breath catching in his throat.
“Please,” he blurted out, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to—”
“Quiet,” she snapped, sitting down in the chair and gesturing with the hairbrush. Her eyes were sharp, her jaw set. “I warned you what would happen if you put another dish that wasn’t dishwasher-safe in there. You didn’t listen. Now, come here.”
He hesitated, shifting from foot to foot. “Honey, please, can’t we talk about this—?”
Her expression hardened. “I’m not asking, Daniel. I’m telling. Now. Over my knee.”
Her tone left no room for argument. Resigned and mortified, he shuffled forward, his pants and underwear restricting his movement. His face burned as he lowered himself over her lap, the vulnerability of the position making his humiliation complete.
“Good,” she said firmly, adjusting him so his weight was properly balanced and his bottom was raised high. She reached down and grabbed his pants and underpants, yanking them down from his knees to his ankles in one swift motion, leaving his legs completely bare. He let out a small whimper, but she ignored it.
Next, she gripped the hem of his shirt and pushed it up his back, baring him entirely from mid-back to ankles. She took a moment to adjust the fabric, tucking it neatly to ensure it wouldn’t fall back down. “There,” she said with cold precision. “Now you’re ready.”
Daniel swallowed hard, his face pressed against his folded arms. His stomach twisted as he felt the cool air on his exposed skin, knowing it wouldn’t stay cool for long. He squirmed slightly, but her hand pressed firmly against his back.
“Stay still,” she commanded. “You’ve earned every bit of what’s coming to you, and I don’t want to hear a single excuse.”
She gripped the hairbrush tightly, her knuckles white with the force of her anger. The sight of the faded, ruined pattern on her grandmother’s heirloom cup fueled her frustration. Her voice was low and trembling as she began, “I warned you, Daniel. Over and over, I told you not to put these things in the dishwasher. I tried patience. I tried lessons. And you—” she raised the hairbrush, her voice cracking with fury, “—you just don’t listen!”
The first smack landed with a sharp crack against the center of his bare bottom, making him yelp in shock. It was sharper than any spanking she’d given him before, and she was only getting started.
“You’ve ruined something I can never replace!” she said, the hairbrush smacking down again and again, each word punctuated with a fiery stroke. His skin, pale at first, began to redden almost immediately, the hairbrush leaving angry pink ovals in its wake. “What part of ‘not dishwasher safe’ do you not understand?”
“I’m sorry!” Daniel cried out, his voice rising in panic as the sting turned to a searing burn. “I didn’t mean to—ow! Please, I’ll do better!”
Her answer was another volley of rapid smacks, this time focused on the sensitive undercurve of his bottom, where the flesh was softer and the sting sharper. “You’ll do better?” she snapped. “You’ve said that before, Daniel. What happens every time? You forget! You don’t think! And now—” she shifted her attention to his upper thighs, eliciting a loud wail from him as the hairbrush cracked against the tender flesh—“now, I’ve had it!”
His legs kicked instinctively, but she pressed a firm hand into the small of his back, pinning him securely across her lap. “Stop squirming,” she commanded. “You’re not going anywhere until I’ve made my point, loud and clear.”
The hairbrush continued its relentless assault, alternating between his cheeks and thighs. His cries grew louder and more frantic as the fire in his skin built. “Please, please, I’ll never do it again!” he sobbed, his voice cracking. “I swear, I’ve learned my lesson!”
She paused for a moment, glaring down at his now-bright red bottom. The skin was mottled, splotches of deeper crimson spreading where the hairbrush had landed hardest. His thighs bore matching marks, the delicate crease between bottom and legs especially inflamed. He was trembling, his breath coming in ragged gasps, tears streaking his face.
“Have you?” she asked coldly. “Have you really learned, Daniel? Because I’m not convinced. You keep promising, but promises don’t bring my grandmother’s cup back, do they?”
“No!” he wailed. “I know! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
“Not as sorry as you’re going to be,” she muttered, raising the hairbrush again. The next flurry of smacks was harder and faster, leaving no spot on his bottom untouched. His sobs turned into outright bawling, his legs kicking wildly despite her firm hold. The once-pink skin turned a deep, angry red, and sweat mingled with the tears streaming down his face.
“Please!” he howled. “I’ll never do it again! I’ll be careful, I swear! I swear!”
She didn’t stop. “This is the last time I’m going to tell you, Daniel,” she said, her voice sharp with finality. “If you ever put another item in that dishwasher without thinking, you will end up right back here, and I won’t hold back next time.”
He was sobbing so hard he could barely respond. “Yes, ma’am,” he choked out. “Yes, I promise, I promise!”
Satisfied that she’d made her point, she delivered a final series of punishing swats to the tops of his thighs, ensuring he wouldn’t soon forget the lesson. Then she finally set the hairbrush down, her chest heaving from the effort.
The spanking had been thorough, relentless, and left Daniel a sobbing mess. His bottom and thighs burned, a deep, throbbing heat radiating from the fiery red marks left by the hairbrush. Daniel lay limply over her lap, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.
“Get up,” she said sternly.
——
Daniel pushed himself up gingerly, wincing as his sore bottom and thighs protested. He immediately reached to pull up his pants and underpants, but her sharp voice stopped him.
“No. Take them off,” she ordered, standing and picking up the hairbrush. “You won’t be needing those right now.”
His face burned with fresh humiliation. “What—what are we doing?” he asked timidly.
“Remove your pants and underpants. Completely.”
Blushing furiously, Daniel bent down and stepped out of them, leaving the garments in a crumpled pile on the floor. He stood there in just his shirt, the hem barely beneath his waist. His exposed, reddened bottom and his shamefully displayed genitals felt unbearably vulnerable as she looked him up and down with an expression of grim satisfaction.
“Good. Now, march,” she said, gesturing toward the stairs with the hairbrush.
He shuffled ahead of her, every step a reminder of his humiliation and the fiery sting on his skin. By the time they reached the kitchen, he felt utterly defeated.
“Over here,” she said, pointing to the china cabinet. She opened the glass doors, revealing her collection of delicate plates, bowls, cups, and saucers. “This is what you’ll be working on.”
Daniel blinked in confusion. “But… what do you mean?”
She placed the hairbrush on the counter and turned to him, her hands on her hips. “You are going to wash, dry, and put away every single piece of good china in my collection. By hand. One at a time.”
“But… but they’re clean!” he protested weakly.
“I don’t care,” she said coldly. “Consider this an object lesson. Maybe after tonight, you’ll understand how much care these pieces require.”
His shoulders slumped as he realized there was no point in arguing. He shuffled to the sink, still bare from the waist down, and turned on the water. She moved to stand behind him, crossing her arms.
“And don’t even think about rushing,” she warned. “I’ll be checking up to make sure you do it properly.”
As Daniel began carefully washing the first plate, the sting in his bottom and thighs flared anew every time he shifted or bent slightly. He bit his lip, determined not to complain. He could feel her eyes on him, her presence a constant reminder of the consequences of his actions.
“Maybe next time,” she said calmly, picking up the hairbrush and tapping it lightly against her palm, “you’ll think twice before treating my things so carelessly.”
As Daniel stood at the sink, his cheeks burned almost as much as his bottom. His wife had settled herself in the living room with a book, leaving him alone to complete his humiliating chore—but not without reminding him that she’d be checking in every ten minutes to supervise his progress. The sound of her occasional page turning and the clink of china in his hands filled the otherwise quiet house.
He shuffled back and forth between the cabinet and the sink, his bare genitals wobbling with every step, the humiliating exposure making him hyperaware of his every movement. The sting in his bottom and thighs was a constant, throbbing reminder of the punishment he’d already endured, and it made every task feel like an ordeal.
With careful hands, he fetched a delicate saucer from the cabinet, its edges gilded with gold, and lowered it gently into the soapy water. His fingers were clumsy from the soreness in his arms after gripping the bedspread during his spanking, but he knew better than to let anything slip. If one piece of china was damaged, he shuddered to think what might happen next.
“Careful, Daniel,” his wife called from the living room, her tone sharp even though she wasn’t in sight. “I’d hate to hear something break.”
“I’m being careful!” he called back, his voice tense with embarrassment.
He washed the saucer meticulously, turning it over and inspecting it for any missed spots before rinsing it under warm water. He set it on the drying rack, then grabbed a clean towel to dry it thoroughly. Finally, he carried it back to its designated place in the cabinet, his steps slow and deliberate. The process repeated endlessly, with each plate, cup, and bowl demanding the same level of attention.
Every few minutes, he heard the creak of her chair and the soft click of her heels on the floor. She would appear in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, her expression stern.
“How’s it going?” she asked during one of her inspections, her eyes scanning the sink, the drying rack, and the cabinet.
“Fine,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.
“Fine?” She raised an eyebrow. “Let me see your work.”
He stepped aside, his face flushed, as she picked up a dried teacup and held it up to the light. She examined it thoroughly, running her finger along the rim and inspecting the gold detailing. Finally, she gave a curt nod and returned it to its place.
“Better,” she said. “But don’t get sloppy. I’m watching.”
Her gaze flicked to him, lingering on his bare, reddened backside. He shifted awkwardly, his hands twitching at his sides as if to cover himself, but she gave him a warning look. “Don’t even think about it,” she said, her tone icy. “You’ll stay exactly as you are until every single piece is cleaned and back in its place.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled, his face burning as he returned to his task.
The next time she checked on him, he was bent over, reaching for a delicate serving bowl in the cabinet. The motion caused his shirt to ride up higher on his back, fully exposing his punished thighs and bottom. She smirked faintly, leaning against the doorframe.
“Quite the sight, aren’t you?” she said dryly.
He stiffened, standing upright as quickly as he could without dropping the bowl. “I’m trying my best,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.
“You’d better be,” she said, stepping closer to inspect his progress. “I’m not above making you start over if I’m not satisfied.”
He swallowed hard, resuming his work with even more care. The soapy water stung the slight abrasions on his hands, and his legs ached from the effort of standing for so long, but he dared not complain. Each trip between the cabinet and the sink felt like a walk of shame, his bare skin on full display, and he could feel her eyes on him every time she returned to supervise.
As the hours dragged on, Daniel’s movements became slower and more deliberate, the weight of the punishment sinking in fully. By the time he placed the last piece of china back into the cabinet, his bottom throbbed with every step, and his pride was utterly shattered. He turned to his wife, who stood in the doorway with the hairbrush still in her hand.
“Done,” he said quietly, his head bowed.
She inspected the cabinet one last time, running her fingers over the delicate pieces before closing the glass doors with a satisfying click. “Good,” she said. “Now, maybe next time, you’ll think twice before being so careless.”
As Daniel turned to leave the kitchen, his wife’s voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Not so fast,” she said firmly. “We’re not finished yet.”
——
He froze, the words sending a chill down his spine. “I—I thought I was done,” he stammered, his voice trembling with a mix of confusion and dread.
“You’ve had one more reminder due before you’re truly finished,” she said, her tone calm but resolute. She gestured toward the living room. “Come with me.”
Reluctantly, Daniel followed her, his bare feet padding softly against the floor. As they entered the living room, his eyes widened. The coffee table had been moved to the side, and in the center of the room sat the large ottoman. Several throw pillows had been piled on top of it, creating an elevated surface. Resting prominently on the top of the pile was one of his leather belts, coiled and ominous.
His stomach dropped. “Honey,” he began, his voice cracking. “Please, I—”
“Not another word,” she interrupted, picking up the belt and running it through her fingers. “This is the next part of your lesson. You’ve earned it, Daniel, and you know it.”
He swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the belt in her hands. “Please,” he begged, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll never do it again. I promise. Haven’t I been punished enough?”
Her eyes narrowed, and she stepped closer to him. “You’ve been punished for today’s mistake, yes. But this isn’t just about today, Daniel. This is about the pattern of carelessness, the repeated promises you’ve made and broken, and the way you’ve ignored my warnings time and time again. This,” she said, holding up the belt, “is to ensure there won’t be a next time.”
He stared at the ottoman, the belt, and then back at her, his face pale. “I—I understand. I do.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Then you’ll understand why this is necessary. Kneel on the ottoman, bum over the cushions.”
His legs felt like lead as he shuffled forward, his face burning with humiliation. He knelt on the ottoman and leaned forward, draping himself over the pile of pillows. The position left his already-red bottom raised high, completely exposed and vulnerable.
She stepped behind him, the belt snapping lightly between her hands. “Good. Now stay still. You’re going to take this, Daniel, and when we’re done, I expect you to remember it every single time you open that dishwasher.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, gripping the edges of the ottoman tightly.
The first strike landed with a sharp crack, the leather biting into the already-tender flesh of his bottom. He yelped, his body jerking involuntarily, but her stern voice kept him in place.
“Stay still,” she commanded. “We’re just getting started.”
The belt came down again, then again, each stroke leaving a vivid red stripe across his cheeks. Daniel gasped and whimpered, his hands clutching the ottoman as he struggled to endure the fiery pain.
“I warned you, didn’t I?” she scolded, the belt cracking down with unrelenting precision. “How many times have I told you to be careful with the dishes? How many times have you promised to do better?”
“I’m sorry!” he cried, his voice cracking as tears welled up in his eyes. “I’ll never do it again, I swear!”
The belt landed harder, the sound echoing through the room. “You’ve said that before,” she snapped, her voice filled with frustration. “But your actions keep proving otherwise. This time, I’m making sure you’ll remember.”
His sobs grew louder as the belt struck lower, the leather licking at the tops of his thighs. “Please!” he begged, his voice desperate. “Please, I can’t take any more!”
“You’ll take as much as I decide,” she said firmly, her arm never faltering. “Because this is what happens when you don’t listen, Daniel. This is what happens when you take my words—and my things—for granted.”
By the time she delivered the final stroke, his bottom and thighs were a deep, angry red, the marks of the belt vivid and unmistakable. Daniel was a trembling, tearful mess, his body slumped over the ottoman as he gasped for breath.
——
As Daniel lay slumped over the ottoman, his breathing ragged and his body trembling from the punishment, he noticed his wife moving toward the kitchen. Confused, he lifted his head slightly, wincing at the pull on his sore, welted bottom. From his position, he could just make out her movements through the open doorway.
She opened a drawer and pulled out a paring knife, then reached for a large piece of ginger root from the countertop. His stomach twisted in dread as she began peeling the ginger with deliberate precision, the knife scraping against the rough skin. Once the root was clean, she used the knife to carve it into a smooth, rounded shape—wide at one end and tapered to a point at the other.
“W-what are you doing?” Daniel stammered, his voice shaky and weak.
She didn’t respond, her focus entirely on her task. When she was satisfied with the shape, she rinsed the ginger under the faucet, leaving it somewhat wet. Then, with the same measured steps she always carried herself with, she returned to the living room, the ginger root in one hand.
“Stay exactly as you are,” she ordered, her voice calm but unyielding.
Daniel’s eyes widened in panic. “Honey, please—”
“I told you to stay still,” she interrupted sharply. “You’ve been punished, yes, but you still need time to think about what you’ve done—and this will help ensure you won’t forget anytime soon.”
“Please, I’ve learned my lesson,” he whimpered, his voice breaking. “I don’t need this, I swear!”
“Quiet,” she snapped. “You don’t get to decide what you need right now. That’s my job.”
He flinched as he felt her hand on his bottom, her cool fingers spreading him apart with clinical efficiency. The heat from his spanking still radiated across his skin, making her touch feel almost unbearably sharp. Then he felt the cool, slick tip of the ginger pressing against him, and his breath hitched.
“Relax,” she said firmly, though there was little comfort in her tone. “The more you resist, the worse it’ll feel.”
Despite her instruction, his body tensed instinctively as the ginger was pushed inside, the burn beginning almost immediately as the oils reacted to the sensitive tissue. He let out a gasp, his fists clenching around the edges of the ottoman.
“There,” she said, stepping back and wiping her hands with a cloth. “Now, you’re going to stay just like that for the next thirty minutes. Don’t move, don’t fidget, and don’t even think about removing it.”
He squirmed slightly, the fiery sensation intensifying with every passing second. “It burns!” he cried, his voice high-pitched and desperate.
“It’s supposed to,” she said matter-of-factly, settling herself into an armchair across the room. She picked up her book, flipping to her place without even glancing at him. “You’ll stay there and think about what brought you to this point. Consider it an extension of your punishment.”
Daniel’s breathing grew more labored as the burning sensation deepened, spreading through him like wildfire. His legs trembled, and he shifted slightly on the pillows, trying to find relief, but every movement only made the discomfort worse.
“Stop squirming,” she said without looking up from her book. “You’ll only make it worse for yourself.”
He whimpered, his tears starting anew as the ginger’s effects intensified. Time seemed to stretch endlessly as he lay there, his body writhing in silent misery. Every now and then, she would glance up from her book, her expression calm and impassive.
“Let this be a reminder, Daniel,” she said at one point, her tone steady. “Every action has consequences. The next time you’re tempted to act carelessly, I want you to think about this moment and ask yourself if it’s worth it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he choked out, his voice hoarse with tears.
“Good,” she said, returning to her book.
Despite the admonishment to stay still, Daniel couldn’t stop moving. The fiery burn deep inside him, combined with the relentless throb of his freshly spanked bottom, was too much to bear. He squirmed, his hips twisting and wriggling involuntarily, his bare, reddened cheeks shimmying high in the air. Every small adjustment he tried to make, every little shift to ease the discomfort, only seemed to make it worse.
His wife sat across the room, her book resting on her lap, though she wasn’t reading. Her eyes were locked on him, a smug smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she watched his frantic attempts to find relief.
“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” she said with a low chuckle. “Look at you, wiggling like that. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were performing some sort of… dance.”
He whimpered, his face flushing crimson as her words hit him. “I can’t help it,” he gasped, his voice trembling with humiliation. “It burns so much!”
“Good,” she said, her grin widening as she leaned back in her chair. “That’s exactly what it’s supposed to do.”
As he shifted again, his bottom shook and swayed, the motion exaggerated by his raised position over the pillows. She tilted her head, observing him with a gleam of amusement in her eyes. He looks ridiculous, she thought to herself, biting back a laugh. Like a two-dollar whore trying to impress her customer for an extra big tip.
She crossed one leg over the other, tapping her fingers thoughtfully against the arm of the chair. “You know,” she said casually, “the way you’re moving… you’d almost think you were trying to put on a show for me. Are you?”
Daniel froze, his head whipping around to look at her, his eyes wide with shame. “N-no! I’m not!” he stammered, mortified.
“Oh, really?” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “Because from here, it looks like you’re putting quite a bit of effort into wiggling that bottom of yours. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were enjoying yourself.”
“I’m not!” he protested, his voice cracking. But the burn was too much, and his hips started shifting again, involuntarily rolling and shaking. The motion only added to her amusement.
“Mm-hmm,” she said, smirking as she picked up her book again. “Well, whatever helps you get through it. Just don’t forget—you’re here because of your carelessness. And that little dance of yours isn’t going to make me go any easier on you next time.”
Daniel groaned, burying his face in his arms as his body betrayed him again, his hips twisting and swaying helplessly. His wife’s smug chuckle reached his ears, and he could feel her eyes on him, watching his every humiliating movement.
But Daniel’s frantic movements grew more exaggerated as the burning heat of the ginger took even deeper hold, and in his desperation, he thrust his hips back, pushing his reddened cheeks apart. The sight made her raise an eyebrow as she watched him from her chair, her lips twitching into a smug grin. Would you look at that, she thought, her mind sharp and biting. Spreading himself wide like he’s on display. You’d think he was proud of how tight he’s hugging that ginger root.
Her eyes followed the subtle motions of his body as he pulled his hips inward again, his movements almost rhythmic as if instinctively trying to ease the sensation. Good lord, she thought, her grin widening. He’s clenching and pulling like he’s some cheap tramp riding a john for all he’s worth. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he’s trying to milk that ginger for some kind of relief.
Every shift, every desperate push and pull, made his humiliation all the more obvious, and she found herself almost laughing at the absurdity of it. He doesn’t even realize how pathetic he looks, humping the air like that. All that squirming, and he’s just showing me how much he’s feeling it—and how much more he can take.
She crossed her legs, leaning back in her chair with the faintest smirk tugging at her lips. Maybe this is exactly where he belongs, she thought crudely, the idea filling her with smug satisfaction. Bent over, cheeks spread, writhing like a two-bit whore trying to impress her pimp. She didn’t say it aloud, but the thought warmed her as she picked up her book again, savoring every second of his silent, undignified performance.
For the next half hour, Daniel remained draped over the ottoman, his punished bottom raised high and the fiery burn of the ginger a constant, agonizing reminder of his mistakes.
By the time the half hour was up, Daniel was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. The sharp, fiery burn that had tormented him for so long had dulled to an aching throb deep inside, but the humiliation of his position still burned just as brightly. His body was sore from holding still, and his face was streaked with dried tears of shame.
——
His wife glanced at the clock, then closed her book with a deliberate snap. “Time’s up,” she said calmly, setting the book aside and standing from her chair. “Stay still.”
Daniel froze as she crossed the room, her heels clicking softly on the hardwood. She positioned herself behind him, and he flinched slightly as her cool fingers spread his tender cheeks again. Without hesitation, she grasped the base of the ginger root and began to pull it out slowly.
He let out a soft, involuntary gasp as it slid free, leaving him feeling strangely empty and utterly humiliated. She held the ginger in front of her, inspecting it with a faint look of distaste. The root was now slightly discolored and messy, evidence of its time spent inside him.
“Stand up,” she ordered, her tone firm.
He pushed himself off the ottoman and stood before her, his hands instinctively moving to cover himself, but she shot him a warning glare. He let his arms drop to his sides, his face crimson with shame as she held the ginger root aloft.
“Look at this,” she said, her voice sharp. “This is the result of your carelessness, Daniel. This entire punishment—every swat, every burn, every second of your humiliation—could have been avoided if you’d just listened to me. But you didn’t, and here we are.”
He kept his eyes on the floor, too ashamed to meet her gaze. “I’m sorry,” he murmured weakly.
“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” she snapped. “I’ve heard your apologies before, and they mean nothing if you don’t change your behavior. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered.
She stepped closer, holding the ginger root between them like a symbol of his disgrace. “This is the last time I’m going to let carelessness slide, Daniel. The next time you forget to respect my instructions—or my things—you’ll wish you’d been this lucky.”
He nodded quickly, his eyes still fixed on the floor. “Yes, ma’am. I understand.”
“Good.” She turned on her heel and strode to the trash can in the corner, dropping the ginger root inside with a decisive thud. Then she faced him again, her arms crossed. “Now go upstairs, clean yourself up, and get dressed. You’ve wasted enough of my day with this nonsense.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said again, his voice barely audible. He shuffled out of the room, his legs shaky and his bottom still sore, knowing he’d never forget this day—or her final warning.
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