Fiction: Dishwasher Safe (F/M, lines, hairbrush, belt, ginger, classic)

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.

Fiction: The Unjust Spanking (FF/M, switch, daughter)

A commenter asked for a scene where the tables were turned on a dominant. I doubt this is exactly what he had in mind, but it’s along those lines!

It’s about a Daddy who unjustly spanks his teen daughter and so Mom punishes him, allowing the girl to watch. Now, if that’s all you want, stop reading after he’s put in the corner…

…but… if you’re a perv like me… keep reading!

The Williams household, usually calm and orderly, was brimming with tension. Grace had just walked through the door an hour past her 7 pm weekday curfew. Her father, Mark, stood waiting in the living room, arms crossed and jaw tight.

“Do you know what time it is, young lady?” he demanded, his voice sharp.

Grace, still catching her breath, frowned. “Dad, Mom said I could stay out longer! I texted her, and she said it was fine.”

Mark shook his head, clearly unconvinced. “Don’t try to lie your way out of this. If your mother had said something, she would’ve told me.”

“I’m not lying!” Grace protested, her face flushing with indignation.

Mark wasn’t having it. “Enough of this nonsense. You broke curfew, and you’re going to face the consequences. Come here,” Mark said, pulling the spanking chair to the center of the room. “Maybe this will make an impression on you.”

Reluctantly, Grace walked toward him, her protests still bubbling. “Dad, this isn’t fair. I told you, Mom—”

“Over my lap. Now,” Mark interrupted firmly.

With a groan of frustration, Grace obeyed, draping herself awkwardly across his lap. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she realized the curtains were open, though thankfully no one outside could see. Mark raised his hand and began to deliver a series of light smacks to the seat of her jeans.

“Dad, stop! This is so unfair!” she cried, wriggling slightly.

“If you don’t want to face this kind of discipline, then follow the rules,” Mark replied, his voice calm but stern.

“Mom said I could!” Grace yelled indignantly.

Mark grew more frustrated. “Fine,” he said after a moment. “If you’re going to keep lying to me, we’ll make this more serious.”

Before Grace could respond, Mark unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them down to her thighs. Her protests turned into mortified squeals.

“Dad, no! Not in the living room!” she begged, kicking her legs.

“You should’ve thought of that before breaking curfew and lying about it,” Mark replied, tugging her panties down as well.

“Noooo! Daddy! Not bare!”

The spanking resumed, this time on her bare bottom. Grace’s face burned with humiliation. By the time Mark finished, her bottom was pink, and tears of frustration were threatening to spill from her eyes.

“All right,” he said, helping her up. “You’re going to stand in the corner and think about what you’ve done.”

Grace, still sniffling, shuffled to the corner, her jeans and panties bunched around her thighs. Mark pointed to the wall. “Hands on your head. Don’t move until I say so.”

——

About fifteen minutes later, Carol, Grace’s mom, walked into the house. She immediately noticed Grace standing bare-bottomed in the corner, her buttocks pinkened with the evidence of a recent spanking.

“Why is Grace standing there like that?” Carol asked, setting her bag down. “And why, in heaven’s name, was she spanked?”

Mark looked up from his seat on the couch. “She came home an hour past curfew and tried to lie about you giving her permission. I gave her a spanking and put her in the corner to think about her actions.”

Carol frowned, clearly confused. “Wait, she said I gave her permission? Because I did.”

Mark froze. “You… you did?”

“Yes,” Carol said firmly. “She texted me during my meeting, and I told her it was fine.”

Mark’s face paled as he realized his mistake. He glanced at Grace, who was peeking over her shoulder with a look of vindication.

“Grace, you can pull your pants up,” Carol said gently.

Grace hurried to comply, her face still red with embarrassment. “I told him, Mom! He didn’t listen.”

“I’m so sorry, honey,” Carol said, hugging her daughter. “Your dad and I are going to have a serious talk.”

“Now, Mark,” Carol continued, her voice sharp, “do you want to explain to me why our daughter was standing in the corner half-naked, humiliated, when she was telling the truth all along?”

Mark raised his hands defensively. “How was I supposed to know she was telling the truth? You didn’t tell me anything about letting her stay out late!”

Carol’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me? Are you seriously trying to blame me for this?”

“Well, you didn’t tell me,” Mark retorted, his face beginning to flush. “If you had just communicated—”

Carol cut him off with an incredulous laugh. “Oh, I didn’t communicate? I texted you, Mark. The moment Grace asked for permission, I told her it was fine and sent you a message so you’d know.”

Mark blinked, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process this. “You… you texted me?”

“Yes, I did,” Carol snapped. “And now I’m wondering why you didn’t bother to check your phone when Grace told you I’d given her permission.”

Mark faltered, his face reddening further. “I, uh… I didn’t hear it go off.”

Carol pointed to his phone, which sat on the coffee table. “Pick it up. Let’s see if my message is there.”

Mark hesitated, glancing at the phone as though it might bite him.

Gritting his teeth, Mark grabbed the phone and unlocked it. Sure enough, there it was—a text from Carol, sent hours earlier, saying, Grace asked to stay out late. I said it’s okay.

Carol leaned over his shoulder, tapping the screen. “There it is. Right there. And your phone’s on silent, isn’t it?”

Mark glanced at the settings and cringed. “Uh… yeah, it is.”

“Unbelievable,” Carol said, throwing her hands up. “You spanked our grown daughter, humiliated her, and stuck her in the corner without even checking your phone! She told you the truth, Mark, and you couldn’t even be bothered to verify it.”

Mark groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Look, I made a mistake, okay? I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” Carol interrupted, her voice like steel. “You didn’t just make a mistake. You jumped to conclusions and punished her cruelly and unfairly. And now, you’re going to learn exactly how you made her feel.”

Mark’s head snapped up. “What? Carol, come on, let’s not—”

“No, Mark,” Carol said firmly. “You didn’t listen, you didn’t check, and you embarrassed Grace. It’s only fair that you get the same punishment you dished out.”

Grace’s grin, which had been developing throughout her father’s scolding, widened as she thought to herself, Oh, this is going to be good.

“Grace, stay right here,” Carol said, gesturing for her daughter to take a seat on the couch. “You deserve to see this.”

“Seriously?” Mark sputtered, his face going pale. “Carol, not in front of Grace!”

“She’s the injured party here,” Carol snapped. “So yes, right here, in front of Grace. Now stand up.”

Mark hesitated, glancing at Grace, who was already settling into her seat with an expression of pure glee. Seeing no way out, he reluctantly stood.

Carol  moved the spanking chair Mark had used earlier back to the middle of the room and sat.

“Get over here. Pants down,” Carol ordered, her tone brooking no argument.

“Carol, this is ridiculous,” Mark muttered, moving towards Carol, his hands hovering over his belt.

“Pants. Down. Now,” Carol said, each word a command.

With a heavy sigh, Mark unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants, letting them fall to his ankles. His boxers, patterned with cartoon characters, did little to preserve his dignity.

Grace snorted. “Seriously, Dad? Those are your boxers?”

“Boxers too,” Carol added, arms crossed.

Mark’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with panic. “Carol, no! Not in front of Grace!”

Carol raised an eyebrow and turned to Grace. “Grace, when your father punished you earlier, was your front ever exposed?”

Grace’s smirk widened as she nodded. “Oh, yeah. When I had to shuffle into the corner with my jeans and panties down, it was super embarrassing. He must have seen everything.”

Mark groaned, his humiliation deepening. “Carol, please…”

“No,” Carol cut him off. “Now it’s your turn. Boxers down, Mark.”

Mark hesitated, glancing at Grace, who was clearly enjoying every second of this. “This isn’t right…” he muttered.

Carol stepped closer, her tone icy. “Mark, if you don’t lower them now, I’ll have you in your birthday suit. And I guarantee you’ll find that far more humiliating.”

Grace’s heart pounded as she watched her dad finally hook his trembling thumbs into the waistband of his boxers. She had never seen anything like this in real life before. Sure, she’d seen photos online of naked men, but this was different. This was her dad, standing right in front of her, about to bare everything in the most humiliating way possible.

Slowly, agonizingly, Mark began sliding his boxers down. The waistband first revealed the pale skin of his lower back, then the curve of his bottom. Grace bit her lip, trying to keep her expression neutral, but the vindication bubbling inside her was impossible to ignore. He was going through what she had, and it felt so satisfying to watch him squirm.

As the boxers slid lower, Mark’s bare hips came into view, followed quickly by his genitals. Immediately, his hands shot down to cover himself, shielding his genitals from his daughter’s wide-eyed stare. Grace’s breath hitched for a moment, her smirk returning as she saw everything flop momentarily into view. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening. For a brief moment her dad had been completely exposed, his vulnerability on full display.

Mark ducked his head, his voice a stammering mess. “Carol, this is—this is too much. Grace doesn’t need to—”

“Mark,” Carol said sharply, cutting him off, “stop touching yourself. Hands at your sides. Now.”

Mark hesitated, his hands tightening over himself instinctively. “Carol, please—”

“Mark!” Carol’s voice turned cold and commanding. “If you don’t move your hands right this second, I will take that as defiance, and I will make this far worse for you. Do you understand me?”

Mark’s face twisted in a mix of shame and dread. Slowly, agonizingly, he let his hands fall to his sides, his body stiff with humiliation. Grace’s eyes flicked down, and her smirk grew impossibly wider.

From her side-on view, the scene was almost surreal. Mark’s bare manhood hung awkwardly as he shifted from foot to foot, clearly wanting to cover himself but not daring to disobey. His legs were stiff, and his hands twitched at his sides, visibly itching to shield himself. Grace couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction—he was experiencing the same helpless humiliation she had felt earlier.

“Now, over my lap,” Carol ordered.

With great reluctance, Mark lowered himself over Carol’s lap. The position was absurdly humiliating, and he couldn’t help but squirm. His bare bottom was high in the air and his genitals hung freely beneath him between Carol’s slightly spread legs. Grace settled back into her seat with a grin.

Carol rested her hand on his bare bottom. “Since you didn’t bother to verify anything, I’m going to make sure you remember to listen and check next time.”

The first smack landed with a sharp crack, and Mark flinched.

The smacks continued, each one stinging more than the last. Grace counted each one in her head with gleeful enthusiasm. Soon, his bottom was a vivid pink, and his grunts of discomfort were growing louder with each smack.

Carol paused for a moment, her hand resting on Mark’s now-warm skin. She turned to Grace. “Sweetheart, go upstairs to my vanity and bring me my big hairbrush. You know the one.”

Grace’s grin widened. “Oh, this is going to be good. Be right back!”

Mark twisted his head, looking back at Carol with alarm. “The hairbrush? Carol, no, that’s not necessary!”

“Oh, it’s absolutely necessary,” Carol replied coolly, resuming the spanking with her hand as Grace bounded out of the room. “You didn’t seem to think twice about humiliating Grace earlier, so it’s only fair you experience the full treatment.”

Smack! Smack! Smack! Her hand came down with practiced precision, covering every inch of Mark’s exposed backside.

“Carol, please,” Mark groaned, kicking his legs slightly as the sting built. “I’ve learned my lesson!”

“Oh, I don’t think you have yet,” Carol said, emphasizing her point with a particularly sharp smack to the tender crease between his thighs and backside. “But don’t worry, you will by the time I’m done.”

Just then, Grace returned, holding the large wooden hairbrush in her hand.

“Here you go, Mom,” she said with a wide grin, handing it over. “This should really get the point across.”

“Perfect,” Carol said, taking the hairbrush. She adjusted Mark on her lap, ensuring his bottom was properly presented. “Thank you, Grace. You might want to cover your ears for this part—your father’s not going to stay quiet much longer.”

Mark’s head shot up in panic. “Carol, no! Please, not the hairbrush!”

“Too late for begging,” Carol said firmly, raising the brush high. With a sharp crack, it landed squarely on the center of his already pink backside. Crack!

Mark let out a loud yelp, his body jolting at the sudden, searing sting.

“That’s more like it,” Carol said, grinning ear to ear as she focussed on methodically applying the hairbrush. Crack! “This is for not listening.” Crack! “This is for not checking your phone.” Crack! “And this is for blaming me.”

By the twentieth swat, Mark was howling, his legs kicking and his hands gripping the legs of the chair in desperation.

“Carol, please!” he wailed, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry! I swear, I’ll never do it again!”

“You’ll be very sure to double-check next time, won’t you?” Carol said, punctuating her question with a particularly firm smack to the underside of his bottom.

“Yes! Yes, I will!” Mark cried as he squirmed desperately over Carol’s lap, his legs kicking slightly with each sharp crack of the hairbrush against his already-sore backside. The stinging swats echoed through the living room, punctuated by his yelps and groans of discomfort. Carol’s expression remained focused and firm, her grip on his waist ensuring he couldn’t wriggle out of position.

Grace sat intently on the couch as she watched the scene unfold with wide-eyed fascination. She leaned forward slightly, her chin resting in her hands, enjoying the spectacle of her father being disciplined so thoroughly.

As the spanking continued, Grace began to notice something else. Her mom, calm and in control, wasn’t just punishing her dad; she was dominating the situation entirely. The way her mom lectured him, her tone sharp and decisive, while he squirmed and whimpered over her lap, shifted something in Grace’s perception.

Mom really is the one in charge, Grace thought, her lips twitching into a small smirk. She’d always known her mom was the steady hand in the family, the one who kept things running smoothly, but seeing her dad reduced to this—bare, vulnerable, and chastened—made it more obvious than ever.

Another sharp crack echoed through the room, and Grace watched as her dad’s legs twitched. She could tell he was trying to maintain some shred of dignity, but it was impossible. His bare bottom was bright red, his face buried in his hands, and he looked more like a scolded child than the man who had punished her for staying out too late.

He deserves this, Grace thought, surprising herself with how strongly she felt it. He had treated her unfairly earlier, not even listening when she told him the truth. And now, watching him get his comeuppance, she felt a strange sense of satisfaction bubbling up. Her mom was balancing the scales in a way Grace hadn’t expected, and she couldn’t help but feel vindicated.

Still, as her dad let out another yelp, Grace found herself thinking about how this moment would change things. It wasn’t every day you saw your dad so completely humbled—and by your mom, no less. Would she ever be able to look at him the same way again? The thought made her smirk widen.

Carol raised the hairbrush high and brought it down with another sharp smack, landing right on the tender underside of Mark’s bottom. He let out a loud yelp, his body jolting over her lap.

“Carol! Please!” he cried, his voice cracking. “I’ve had enough!”

“Enough?” Carol replied, her voice calm but stern. She landed another swat, this time directly across the center of his reddened cheeks. “You didn’t think Grace had had ‘enough’ earlier, did you?”

Mark groaned, his head dipping lower. “I didn’t mean to—I thought she was lying!”

“And now you’re paying the price for not listening,” Carol said firmly. She delivered a quick series of sharp swats, each one making Mark yelp louder. “And since this whole situation came about because of your unfair treatment of Grace, I think it’s time to make something very clear.”

Carol paused, resting the hairbrush on the small of Mark’s back. He panted heavily, his body slumping slightly in relief, though his backside still throbbed painfully.

“From this point forward,” Carol said, her tone even but resolute, “you will not be allowed to administer any kind of spanking to Grace. Is that understood?”

Mark’s head snapped up in surprise. “What? Carol, that’s not—”

Smack! The hairbrush landed again, cutting off his protest. He yelped, his legs jerking.

“I wasn’t finished,” Carol said coolly. “You’ve shown that you can’t handle that responsibility fairly. Grace came to you, told you the truth, and instead of listening, you humiliated her. That kind of behavior won’t happen again.”

Grace’s smirk widened, her arms folding across her chest as she watched her father’s humiliation deepen.

“But—” Mark began, only to be interrupted by another sharp swat from the hairbrush.

“No buts,” Carol snapped. “You’ve proven you’re too quick to jump to conclusions and too harsh when you’re in the wrong. From now on, if Grace needs discipline, I’ll handle it. You won’t lay a hand on her. Is that clear?”

Mark groaned, his voice filled with defeat. “Yes, ma’am…”

Carol raised the hairbrush again, delivering a final volley of swats to his already-crimson backside. By the time she stopped, Mark was a trembling, thoroughly chastened mess. She helped Mark to his feet, his hands flying to his sore bottom as he hopped from foot to foot in an undignified dance of pain.

“Corner. Now,” Carol said, pointing to the same spot Grace had stood earlier. “Keep those pants down and hands on your head. No rubbing.”

Still sniffling and thoroughly humbled, Mark shuffled to the corner, his pants and boxers tangled around his ankles.

Grace leaned back on the couch, crossing her legs and smirking. “That hairbrush really does the trick, huh, Dad?”

Mark didn’t answer, his face pressed against the wall as he tried to ignore his daughter’s giggles. Carol sat back in the chair, crossing her arms with a satisfied sigh.

“Next time, Mark, maybe you’ll think before jumping to conclusions,” she said.

——

The living room had settled into an odd sort of calm after the storm of Mark’s punishment. Carol and Grace each sat on the couch, their respective books open in their laps, but the air was thick with unspoken tension—and, for Grace at least, a lingering sense of amusement.

Grace pretended to read her novel, but her eyes kept darting toward her dad, who stood in the corner facing the wall. His pants and boxers were still pooled around his ankles, leaving his reddened, thoroughly spanked bottom on full display. The vivid marks left by the hairbrush stood out starkly, some areas a deep, almost purple shade, while others were a fiery red. Every so often, he shifted from one foot to the other, unable to stand still as the sting of the spanking lingered. His hands stayed obediently on his head, his fingers interlaced, though his knuckles were white from the tension.

Grace bit her lip, trying to stifle a laugh as she saw him clench and unclench his buttocks, clearly desperate for some relief. She glanced over at her mom, who sat calmly in her armchair, flipping a page in her book as though this were the most normal evening routine in the world.

The contrast between her mom’s composure and her dad’s utter humiliation made Grace’s grin widen. She leaned over slightly and whispered, “Mom, he keeps squirming. Shouldn’t he know better by now?”

Carol didn’t look up from her book, her tone as calm as if she were discussing the weather. “He’s fine, Grace. A little squirming is natural after a punishment like that. Besides, I told him no rubbing, so this is the best he can do.”

Grace giggled softly, resting her chin on her hand as she watched Mark again. “Do you think he’s regretting not checking his phone yet?”

“Oh, I’m sure he is,” Carol replied, still not looking up. “And if he isn’t, the next few days of sitting down will remind him.”

Mark, overhearing their conversation, shifted uncomfortably, his face burning with fresh humiliation. “Carol, do you really have to discuss this right now?”

Carol finally looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Are you in a position to tell me what I can or can’t discuss, Mark?”

Mark sighed, his shoulders slumping. “No…”

“No, what?” Carol prompted, her tone firm.

“No, ma’am,” Mark mumbled, his voice barely audible.

“That’s better,” Carol said, returning her attention to her book.

Grace couldn’t help herself—she let her eyes wander again to Mark’s marked backside. She tilted her head slightly, observing the pattern of the hairbrush’s imprint. “Mom, you really got him good with the hairbrush. Like, really good.”

“Grace,” Carol said, her voice carrying a note of warning, though there was a slight twitch of amusement at the corner of her mouth.

“What? I’m just saying,” Grace replied innocently. “You did say I deserved to see justice. And this is… well, pretty thorough justice.” She turned back to her book but kept sneaking glances over the top of it.

Mark groaned softly from the corner, shifting his weight yet again. The stillness was maddening, and the burning sting across his bottom refused to fade. Every slight movement sent fresh pangs of discomfort rippling through him, and the knowledge that Grace was watching—her amusement palpable—only made it worse.

He tried to focus on something else, anything to distract himself, but the whispers of conversation behind him made it impossible. Knowing they were openly commenting on his punishment kept his face as hot as his backside.

Mark squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memory of how he had ended up in this humiliating position. What was I thinking? he chastised himself silently, his thoughts swirling with regret. Why didn’t I just listen to her? Why did I assume the worst?

He clenched his jaw, his face burning with shame. Spanking Grace had seemed like the right decision at the time—she had been late for curfew, and he’d been convinced she was lying about having permission. But now, with the truth out in the open and his own backside feeling the sting of punishment, he realized just how badly he had miscalculated.

I should’ve checked my phone. I should’ve given her the benefit of the doubt, he thought, his shoulders sagging. But no—I had to act like the big disciplinarian, and now look at me. Bare-bottomed in the corner, just like some naughty kid.

The worst part wasn’t even the physical pain—it was the humiliation. The way Carol had taken control, the way Grace had watched with a mix of glee and satisfaction, the way his authority had been completely stripped away. He felt small, powerless, and deeply ashamed.

What kind of father spanks his daughter without even confirming the facts? he berated himself. And what kind of husband ends up over his wife’s lap because of it?

He shifted slightly, wincing as the movement sent a fresh wave of sting through his tender skin. The corner felt both too small and too exposed, a perfect place for reflecting on his mistakes. He hated every second of it, but he couldn’t deny that he deserved it. He had been wrong—completely and utterly wrong—and now he was paying the price.

Mark’s thoughts turned to Grace, and his regret deepened. She must think I’m a monster, he thought miserably. How could she not? I didn’t even let her explain. I just assumed she was lying and took out my frustration on her. And now… now I’m the one being taught a lesson.

He let out a soft sigh, his head hanging low as he stared at the blank wall in front of him. I just wanted to be a good father, he thought. To teach her responsibility, to set boundaries. But instead, I was unfair, cruel even—and now I’ve ruined everything.

Mark swallowed hard, blinking back the sting of tears as his regret settled heavily in his chest. If only I could go back and undo it all. If only I had just listened…

Finally, Grace couldn’t help but ask, her voice light and teasing, “Mom, how long do you think he should stay in the corner?”

Carol glanced at the clock on the wall. “Oh, I think another twenty minutes should do.”

Mark groaned audibly this time, turning his head slightly. “Carol, come on, isn’t this enough?”

Carol’s tone turned sharp again. “Face the wall, Mark. You’ll stand there until I say otherwise. You didn’t think Grace deserved to argue with you about her punishment, did you?”

Mark sighed heavily and turned back to the wall. “No, ma’am.”

Grace smirked, clearly satisfied with the exchange, and leaned back into the couch with her book. She didn’t really care what happened in the next twenty minutes—she knew this image of her dad, chastened and squirming in the corner, would stay with her forever.

——

About ten minutes later, Mark, still facing the corner, let out an exasperated sigh. He shifted his weight yet again, his bare bottom still burning, and finally couldn’t hold back his frustration. Stamping his foot against the hardwood floor, he turned his head slightly and said, “This isn’t right, Carol! I’ve had enough of this already!”

Both Carol and Grace froze, their books lowering in unison. The audacity of Mark’s outburst hung in the air for a long, uncomfortable moment. Grace’s eyes widened with a mix of shock and delight, and she quickly pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.

Carol, however, was anything but amused. She set her book down carefully on the side table and stood, smoothing her skirt as she rose. “Excuse me?” she said, her tone low and dangerous.

Mark hesitated, realizing too late that he’d gone too far. “I-I just meant… this is already humiliating enough,” he stammered, his voice faltering. “You’ve made your point. I can’t stand here any longer… please?”

Mark’s heart sank as Carol picked up the hairbrush and moved the spanking chair back into the middle of the room with deliberate, ominous motions. He kept his back to her, his chest rising and falling with dread. He knew she wasn’t going to let this slide.

“Mark,” Carol said, her voice low and sharp as a blade, “you’ve just made things far worse for yourself.”

Before he could respond, Carol marched to the corner, grabbed his ear with her thumb and forefinger, and twisted it sharply.

“Ow! Carol!” Mark yelped, his hands shooting up instinctively to protect himself.

“Don’t even try,” Carol snapped, twisting harder. “You stomp your foot at me like some bratty child? Let’s see how bratty you feel after this.”

Grace couldn’t suppress a laugh as Carol dragged Mark out of the corner by his ear. He stumbled awkwardly, hunched over from the sharp pain and shuffling clumsily with his pants and boxers tangled around his ankles. Each step made his genitals flop and sway comically, a sight that only added to Grace’s delight.

“Oh my God,” Grace muttered under her breath, watching with wide eyes. “This is incredible.”

“Grace, stay quiet,” Carol said curtly, not even glancing her way. She yanked Mark toward the chair, twisting his ear to keep him moving. His bare backside, already marked and reddened from the earlier spanking, wobbled with each step, but Grace’s attention was drawn to his cock, which swung with every shuffle of his bound ankles.

“Carol, please,” Mark whimpered, his voice high-pitched with both pain and humiliation. “I’m sorry! Stop pulling!”

“You’re not sorry yet, but you will be,” Carol said coldly, dragging him to the chair. She sat down, keeping a firm grip on his ear, forcing him to stoop in front of her like a chastened schoolboy.

“Carol, come on, I—ow!” Mark cried out as she twisted his ear again for emphasis.

“You think stamping your foot and throwing a tantrum is appropriate behavior after everything that’s happened tonight?” she demanded.

Grace’s grin stretched wider as she watched the absurd scene in front of her: her father bent over awkwardly, trying to relieve the tension on his ear while his genitals dangled helplessly. Every time he shifted or whimpered, they swayed slightly, drawing soft snickers from Grace.

“I’m sorry, Carol,” Mark stammered, his face crimson with shame. “I didn’t mean—ow, please!”

“Oh, you’ll be sorry,” Carol replied firmly, finally yanking him down over her lap. His ear was still firmly in her grasp as she positioned him, leaving him draped helplessly with his legs dangling off the floor. His bare backside, now bright red and marked from earlier, was perfectly presented.

Carol didn’t release Mark’s ear just yet. She twisted it, making him yelp again, and held it like that as she said, “Let me make one thing very clear, Mark. You are not in charge here. You will not stomp your foot at me or act like a spoiled child. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Mark cried, his voice muffled as he buried his face in his hands.

“Good,” Carol said, releasing his ear and transferring the hairbrush to her right hand and raising it high. “Because we’re going to make sure you never forget it.” With that, Carol brought the hairbrush down with a sharp, resounding crack!

Mark yelped immediately, his body jerking at the sting. “Ow! Carol, please!”

“You think it’s not right?” Crack! “What’s not right is punishing our daughter unfairly and then throwing a tantrum when you’re held accountable.” Crack! “What’s not right is stomping your foot at me like you’re a child.” Crack!

Mark howled as the hairbrush landed again and again, each swat reigniting the fire on his already-tender backside. Grace, thoroughly entertained, leaned forward, resting her chin in her hands as she watched.

Mark kicked his legs, his protests growing louder as Carol focused on the tender spots she’d missed earlier. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he cried, his voice cracking.

Carol didn’t slow down. “You’ll be even sorrier by the time I’m done,” she replied, punctuating her words with particularly sharp swats to the underside of his bottom.

After another dozen swats, she finally stopped, resting the hairbrush on the small of his back. Mark was breathing heavily, his body limp over her lap.

“Now,” Carol said, helping him to his feet, “you’ll march right back to that corner, and your time starts over. Thirty minutes. Not a second less.”

Mark shuffled back toward the corner, wincing with every step. “Thirty minutes?” he croaked.

“Thirty minutes,” Carol confirmed. “And if I hear one more word of complaint, you’ll get another round.”

Grace laughed outright as Mark took his place in the corner again, his shoulders slumped and his hands back on his head. His marked backside was an even deeper red now, with patches of purple where the hairbrush had landed hardest.

Carol returned to her seat and picked up her book, as calm and composed as ever. Grace leaned closer to her mom and whispered, “I think he’s going to be sore for a week.”

“That’s the idea,” Carol replied without looking up. She flipped a page and added, “And he’ll think twice before stomping his foot at me again.”

Mark squirmed in the corner, his humiliation complete, as Grace occasionally glanced up from her book, her smirk growing wider every time she caught him shifting uncomfortably.

——

As Mark stood trembling in the corner, his body was tense and his freshly spanked backside was radiating heat. The sharp sting of the hairbrush lingered, the intense second round of discipline leaving his bottom an angry red, throbbing with every breath he took. His ear still stung from Carol’s firm grip, the humiliating memory of being dragged across the room by it replaying over and over in his mind. His hands were clasped on his head as instructed, and he didn’t dare move an inch, his head hanging low in shame.

I can’t do anything right, Mark thought miserably, his stomach churning with a mix of pain and fear. I stomped my foot like some kind of child, and now I’m paying for it—again.

He clenched his jaw, determined not to move a muscle, not to do anything that could risk drawing Carol’s attention back to him. The sharpness of her voice, the sternness of her commands, and the unrelenting force of the hairbrush had made it abundantly clear that she would not tolerate even the smallest slip-up.

I have to stay quiet, stay still. Don’t make her mad again, he thought desperately. Just get through this. Don’t give her another reason to take the brush to me.

Behind him, Grace lounged on the couch, watching her father’s trembling form with a mix of amusement and amazement. She could still hear the faint sniffles coming from him as he stood there, his reddened backside on full display. The sight of her dad, the man who once had rights to punish her, no more, reduced to a corner-dwelling, cowering figure, left her feeling both satisfied and impressed.

Mom doesn’t let anything slide, Grace thought, glancing over at Carol, who sat calmly in the chair, flipping through a magazine as if disciplining her husband was just another part of her evening routine. He stomped his foot—just a stupid little foot stomp—and Mom treated it like the tantrum it was. She didn’t even hesitate. That’s real control.

She crossed her arms, a small smile playing on her lips as she watched her dad fidget slightly, only to freeze again, clearly terrified of drawing Carol’s ire. He’s scared of her, Grace realized with a hint of satisfaction. Really scared. And honestly? He should be. Mom’s in total command, and he’s learning what happens when he steps out of line.

Grace leaned back on the couch, her smirk widening as she continued to observe her father. It’s kind of amazing, actually. She’s not just disciplining him—she’s breaking through all that stubborn pride of his. He’s scared, embarrassed, and totally under her thumb now. And he knows it.

Meanwhile, Mark’s thoughts were a frantic whirlwind of regret and fear. Why did I stomp my foot? he berated himself silently. What was I thinking? She warned me to behave, and I still couldn’t keep myself in check.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his humiliation bubbling up again as he remembered the way Carol had twisted his ear and dragged him, hunched and whining, back to the spanking chair as his own daughter looked on. The sound of the hairbrush cracking against his already-tender skin still echoed in his ears, along with Carol’s firm, unyielding voice.

Never again, he vowed, his body trembling. I won’t give her another reason to punish me. I’ll do everything she says, exactly how she says it. I can’t go through that again.

Behind him, Carol glanced up from her magazine, her calm gaze sweeping over her husband’s trembling form. She exchanged a knowing look with Grace, who grinned back at her, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

“Let this be a lesson, Mark,” Carol said firmly, breaking the silence. “Stomping your foot like a frustrated child won’t be tolerated. No more outbursts. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mark said quickly, his voice trembling as he stared at the corner.

Grace stifled a laugh, shaking her head. He’s totally broken.

——

“Mark, your time in the corner is up,” Carol announced, setting her book aside. “There’s just one last thing left to do,” she said, turning to Grace. “Grace, stand up.”

Grace leaped to her feet, her expression lighting up with excitement. “What is it, Mom?”

Carol picked up the hairbrush and gestured for Grace to sit in the spanking chair. “Sit in the spanking chair and take the hairbrush,” she instructed. “Your father needs one last lesson in accountability—and I think it’s you who needs to teach it to him.”

Grace’s jaw dropped in surprise before a wide grin spread across her face. “Seriously? I get to spank him?”

Mark’s heart sank. From the corner he said, “Carol, you can’t let her—”

“Silence, Mark,” Carol interrupted firmly. “You didn’t think twice about humiliating her earlier, so now she gets her turn. Grace, sit down.”

Grace eagerly plopped down in the chair, grabbing the hairbrush with an almost gleeful energy. She tapped it against her palm a few times, testing its weight. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Carol’s sharp voice broke through the stillness. “Mark. Turn around and come here. Now.”

Mark froze, dread washing over him. Slowly, reluctantly, he pivoted on his heels, his face redder than his backside as he turned to face the two women.

Grace’s eyes widened as she took in the full sight of her father. With his pants and boxers tangled around his ankles, he was utterly exposed, his genitals hanging freely as he shuffled forward, hands still on his head as instructed.

Mark’s mortification deepened as he took one slow step after another, his hands trembling as they remained atop his head. Each awkward shuffle forward made the situation more unbearable. He could feel Grace’s eyes on him, and he dared not look at her, knowing the expression on her face would only make things worse.

Grace couldn’t help but stare. The sight of him shuffling toward her, his bare genitals flopping awkwardly with each shuffle, was almost surreal.

“Come on, Dad, faster,” she teased, leaning back and crossing her arms. “You’re dragging this out way longer than you need to.”

Mark finally reached Grace, stopping a few feet from her. He stared down at the floor, unable to meet her eyes, his face practically glowing with humiliation.  He stood frozen there, his hands trembling atop his head, his face a deep crimson. Every inch of his exposed skin prickled with humiliation, but the worst part—the part that twisted his stomach into knots—was the sight in front of him: Grace, his teenage daughter, seated confidently on the spanking chair, her legs clad in tight blue jeans that hugged her figure snugly.

She seemed utterly at ease, her smirk widening as she leaned back slightly, resting the hairbrush on her thighs. The denim of her jeans looked firm and unyielding, a sharp contrast to the softness of her expression, and Mark’s chest tightened at the thought of what he was about to do.

I’m about to drape myself across her lap, he thought, panic rising. Bare. My genitals… they’ll be pressing against her legs. The mental image made his face flush impossibly hotter, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, wishing he could wake up from this nightmare.

“Come on, Dad,” Grace said, her voice dripping with mockery as she patted her lap. The faint sound of her palm against the denim only added to his humiliation. “You didn’t make me wait when it was my turn. Let’s go. Over you go.”

Mark swallowed hard, his throat dry as his eyes flicked downward. Her lap looked impossibly small, her legs slim but firm, and the tightness of her jeans made the situation feel even more surreal. He could see the faint stitching along the seams, the slight curve where her thighs pressed against the chair. His stomach churned at the thought of his exposed genitals coming into direct contact with the fabric.

This is unbearable, he thought, shifting nervously on his feet. How can I face her after this? How can I even look at her?

“Dad,” Grace said, her tone growing sharper, “you’re stalling. What’s the problem? You didn’t seem to hesitate when you pulled me over your knee. Feeling shy now that it’s your turn?”

Mark flinched, her words hitting him harder than he expected. His gaze darted to the floor, unable to meet her eyes. “Grace, please…” he began, his voice barely audible, but he didn’t know how to finish the sentence. Please don’t make me do this? Please show mercy? He knew neither was an option.

Carol’s voice cut through the air, calm but commanding. “Mark, get over her knee. Now. Unless you’d prefer I take the hairbrush to you again first?”

“Carol, please, she’s just a kid—”

“Mark,” Carol said sharply, her tone brooking no argument. “Get over her lap. Now.”

Grace patted her lap playfully, her grin widening. “Come on, Dad. Let’s not keep Mom waiting.”

“Over her lap,” Carol instructed.

Mark tried to muster one last bit of defiance. “Carol, this really isn’t—”

“Over. Her. Lap,” she repeated, her tone making it clear there would be no further discussion.

Mark groaned softly, the memory of Carol’s hairbrush still fresh in his mind. The sting on his backside was a constant reminder of what disobedience would bring. With a shaky breath, he took the remaining step forward, his feet dragging slightly as he positioned himself beside Grace.

Grace sat up straighter, adjusting her position slightly. The movement made her jeans stretch and shift against her legs, and Mark’s stomach twisted. How can this be happening? he thought miserably, his chest tightening as he paused beside her.

“Good boy,” Grace said teasingly, her smirk growing as she looked up at him. “Now, over you go.”

Mark hesitated, his legs trembling as his hands slowly dropped from his head. His heart pounded as he bent forward, his body stiff and awkward. The moment his chest touched her thighs, the cool, rough texture of the denim against his bare skin sent a fresh wave of humiliation through him.

As he lowered himself fully over her lap, his reddened bottom raised and vulnerable, he felt his genitals brush against the firm fabric of her jeans. The tightness of the denim pressed against him uncomfortably, the texture abrasive against his most sensitive areas. He clenched his jaw, his face burning as he squeezed his eyes shut.

I can’t believe this is happening, he thought, his hands gripping the edges of the chair for support. I’m over my daughter’s knee. Bare. Exposed. My… everything touching her legs. How am I supposed to live this down?

Grace shifted slightly, adjusting his position with surprising ease. Her hand pressed firmly on the small of his back, holding him in place. “There,” she said with a faint laugh. “Perfect. You’re exactly where you belong, Dad.”

Mark whimpered softly, unable to respond. The humiliation of the moment was too overwhelming, and he bit his lip to keep from making another sound.

“Don’t worry, Dad,” Grace continued, her tone light and mocking. “I’ll make sure you learn your lesson. After all, I learned mine earlier, didn’t I? Not!”

Before Mark could even process her words, the first sharp crack of the hairbrush echoed through the room, making him yelp as a fresh sting blossomed across his already tender skin. Grace chuckled softly, her grip on him tightening as she raised the brush for another swat.

This can’t be real, Mark thought desperately, his humiliation reaching new depths as Grace’s laughter filled the air. How did it come to this?

“Grace, please—” Mark began, but his words were cut off by the sharp crack of the hairbrush landing squarely on his backside.

Mark let out a yelp, his body jerking in response. Grace giggled, clearly enjoying herself. “That’s teo,” she said, raising the brush again. “Let’s see how many it takes before you really start learning.”

The next few swats came fast and hard, each one landing with an audible crack that echoed through the room. Grace’s enthusiasm was unmistakable—she brought the brush down with far more energy than either Mark or Carol had expected.

“Grace!” Carol said, though her voice held a note of amusement. “Pace yourself. You’ll wear him out too quickly.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Mom,” Grace replied with a grin, landing another sharp smack on the underside of Mark’s bottom, then deliberately misunderstanding her mom as she said, “I’ve got plenty of energy.”

Mark howled, kicking his legs in a futile attempt to escape the relentless assault. “Grace! That’s enough! Ow! Please!”

“Not even close, Dad,” Grace said cheerfully, focusing her attention on the tender spots Carol had already softened up. “You’ve got a lot to answer for.”

Her strokes grew faster and harder, the hairbrush leaving vivid new marks on Mark’s already-throbbing skin. His yelps turned into full-throated cries as Grace seemed to find her rhythm, her enthusiasm undeterred by his protests.

“How do you like it, Dad?” Grace asked, her voice sharp and taunting as she landed another resounding swat. Crack! “Doesn’t feel so great, does it?”

Mark groaned, his legs twitching with each smack. “Grace, please—this isn’t—ow! This isn’t the same!”

“Oh, it’s not?” Grace shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She raised the hairbrush high and brought it down with a loud crack, focusing on the tender underside of his cheeks. “Because it feels pretty similar to me. Except, you didn’t even bother to listen to me before dragging me over your lap!”

“I thought—ah!—I thought you were lying!” Mark whimpered, his voice muffled against his hands.

“Well, I wasn’t,” Grace replied sternly, delivering another sharp swat that made him howl. Crack! “And maybe if you’d checked your phone instead of assuming the worst, we wouldn’t be here right now, would we?”

Mark groaned, his body slumping over her lap as the relentless spanking continued. “I’m sorry! I was wrong, okay? Please, Grace!”

“Oh, now you’re sorry,” Grace said, pausing for a moment to adjust her grip on the hairbrush. She tapped it lightly against his already-reddened skin, making him flinch. “Funny, you didn’t seem sorry when you pulled my pants down and gave me the same treatment.”

Mark whimpered, his legs shifting slightly in discomfort. “I didn’t—ow!—I didn’t know—”

“Exactly,” Grace interrupted, landing a particularly sharp smack that made him cry out. “You didn’t know, but you still humiliated me. So now you get to feel what it’s like. Fair’s fair, right?”

Mark’s response was a muffled groan, his body trembling as the spanking continued. Grace, fueled by a mix of righteous indignation and newfound authority, showed no signs of letting up.

“Next time,” she said, punctuating her words with another volley of sharp swats, crack, crack, crack!, “maybe you’ll think twice before assuming the worst about me. How does it feel, huh? Not so fun being on this end, is it?”

Mark shook his head frantically, his voice cracking as he choked out, “No! It’s not! Please, Grace, I’ve learned my lesson!”

The sting was intense, but it was nothing compared to the suffocating weight of his humiliation. His legs dangled helplessly off the side of her lap, his arms braced awkwardly on the floor for balance, and every sharp swat of the brush drove home just how powerless he was.

This is unreal, he thought, his face burning with shame. I’m supposed to be the father. I’m supposed to be in charge. Instead, I’m here, across my daughter’s lap, getting spanked like a naughty little boy.

The sensation of Grace’s denim-clad thighs beneath him only deepened his humiliation. The rough texture of her tight jeans pressed firmly against his bare genitals, an uncomfortable contrast to his raw, stinging backside. Every slight shift of her lap reminded him of his vulnerable position, his exposed body completely at her mercy.

I feel like a child, Mark thought bitterly, squeezing his eyes shut as another sharp smack landed. His legs kicked involuntarily, the motion making him feel even more like an overgrown toddler being chastised by a babysitter. The thought was mortifying, but the reality was worse: he wasn’t just being treated like a child—he was acting like one.

“You’re really squirmy, Dad,” Grace said mockingly, her voice carrying a gleeful edge. “What’s the matter? Not used to being on the receiving end?”

Her words stung almost as much as the brush, and Mark groaned softly, his voice muffled by the floor. She’s right, he admitted miserably. I’m squirming and kicking like a brat. She’s treating me like a child because that’s exactly how I’ve been acting.

The hairbrush cracked down again, the sharp sound echoing in the room, and Mark whimpered despite himself. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes—not from the pain, but from the overwhelming sense of shame. She must think I’m pathetic, he thought, his chest tightening. How could she respect me after this? How could anyone respect me?

Grace shifted slightly, adjusting her grip on him to hold him more firmly in place. The movement pressed her lap more snugly against his bare midsection, and Mark’s humiliation deepened further. I’m completely helpless, he realized, his stomach twisting. She’s the one in control now. I can’t stop her. I can’t do anything but lie here and take it.

The thought made him feel smaller, weaker, and more childlike than ever. Each swat of the hairbrush sent a fresh wave of heat through his already tender skin.

Grace smirked, pausing for a moment to survey her work. His backside was a deep shade of red, crisscrossed with marks from the hairbrush, and his yelps and whimpers told her he was well and truly humbled.

Grace laughed, pausing for a moment to admire her work. “I didn’t realize how much stress this would get out.” She landed another particularly sharp smack, making Mark yelp again. “This is kind of therapeutic.”

Mark groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Carol, please, make her stop!”

Carol tilted her head, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. Grace, what do you think? Has he had enough?”

Grace tapped the hairbrush against her chin, her expression mock-thoughtful. “Not quite yet. I think a few more will really drive the lesson home.”

With that, she delivered a final volley of swats, each one harder than the last, until Mark was practically sobbing over her lap. When she finally stopped, his bottom was a deep shade of crimson, the marks crisscrossing in angry lines.

“All right, Daddy,” Grace said, setting the hairbrush down with a satisfied sigh. “Lesson learned?” she asked, tilting her head with a smirk.

“Yes,” Mark whimpered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, Grace, I’ve learned…”

“Good,” Grace said, patting his bare bottom mockingly. “Let’s hope it sticks.”

Mark nodded frantically, his voice shaky. “Yes! Yes, I’ve learned my lesson!”

Mark slumped over her lap, his body heaving with exhaustion and humiliation. Grace set the hairbrush down with a satisfied sigh, brushing her hands off theatrically.

“Good,” Grace said, helping him to his feet. She gave his marked backside another playful pat, making him flinch. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before pulling someone else’s pants down.”

Mark stood trembling. His backside was burning, a deep, angry red from the spanking his daughter had delivered with far more enthusiasm than he could have ever anticipated. He groaned softly, his hands itching to soothe the sting but knowing better than to risk Carol’s wrath by rubbing.

The humiliation was suffocating—his daughter seated comfortably in the chair, her expression smug and composed, while he stood bare before her, his marked backside throbbing and his genitals dangling right at her eye level. He felt smaller and more ashamed than he ever thought possible. His hands inched towards his crotch almost unconsciously seeking some modesty.

“Don’t you dare!” Carol said, making him snap his hands back to his sides.

Grace tilted her head, her smirk growing as she leaned back slightly in the chair, her arms resting casually on her lap. Her eyes flicked over him, her gaze deliberate, as though taking in every inch of his humiliation. Mark wanted to look away, to turn and flee, but he knew better. He couldn’t move until she allowed it.

“Do you get it now, Dad?” Grace said, her voice calm but pointed. “Do you understand how humiliating it is for someone to see you like this? Because I certainly hope you do.”

Mark’s breath hitched, and he swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on a spot on the floor as he nodded meekly. “Yes, Grace,” he mumbled. “I—I understand.”

“No,” Grace said sharply, leaning forward, her tone cutting through him. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Mark’s head snapped up, his face blazing as he met her gaze. The intensity in her eyes made his stomach churn, and he felt even more exposed under her scrutiny.

“That’s better,” Grace said, crossing her legs casually, the motion making the chair creak slightly. “Now, let me explain something to you. When you pulled me over your lap earlier and yanked down my pants, you didn’t care how humiliating it was for me, did you?”

Mark opened his mouth to respond, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t answer that,” she said quickly. “Because if you had cared, you would’ve at least checked to see if I was telling the truth. Instead, you decided I was lying and embarrassed me without a second thought.”

Her eyes flicked downward for a moment, and Mark followed her gaze, his face growing impossibly redder as he realized where her attention was focused. His hands twitched at his sides, but he didn’t dare move them.

“Well, Dad,” Grace continued, her voice softening into something almost mocking, “I hope you’re starting to understand what that feels like. Because right now, your private parts are on full display for me, and you don’t get a say in the matter, do you?”

Mark’s entire body tensed, his chest tightening as her words sank in. He could feel the weight of her gaze, the way her eyes lingered, and it made his humiliation feel unbearable.

“It’s embarrassing, isn’t it?” Grace said, leaning forward slightly, her smirk widening. “It makes you feel small, powerless—like a little kid who has no control. Well, now you’ll never put me in that position again, will you?”

Mark nodded frantically, his voice trembling as he stammered, “Yes, Grace, I—I get it. I won’t do it again.”

Grace tilted her head, her smirk softening into something almost thoughtful. “You can’t do it again. Mom said so.” She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she leaned back again, her hands resting on her lap. 

“Yes, Grace,” Mark said quickly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I understand.”

——

Without waiting for instruction, Mark put his hands back on his head and shuffled awkwardly toward the corner, his pants and boxers still tangled around his ankles. His head hung low, and his movements were slow and stiff, each step reminding him of the punishment he’d just endured. It was instinctive now—he’d spent so much time in that corner tonight that returning there felt like the only option.

Carol watched him shuffle away with amusement. A sudden laugh escaped her, drawing both Mark’s and Grace’s attention.

“Mark,” she said, her tone light but laced with a teasing edge, “I didn’t even tell you to go back to the corner. That’s adorable—thinking you need more time to reflect after what Grace just gave you.”

Mark froze mid-shuffle, his face turning even redder as he realized what he’d done. “I just… I thought…”

Carol waved a hand dismissively, standing and crossing her arms. “Relax. Your corner time is officially over.” She glanced at the clock on the wall, then back at him. “And so is your time in this room. Go get yourself ready for bed.”

Mark blinked, his expression turning confused. “Ready for bed?”

“Yes,” Carol said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “You’ll have a bath, then you’ll be sleeping in the guest room tonight. I think it’s important you have some alone time to reflect on your behavior—and I’d like to sleep soundly without listening to you groan and whimper every time you roll over.”

Mark groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Carol, is that really necessary?”

“Do you want to argue with me right now?” Carol asked, raising an eyebrow and gesturing toward the hairbrush on the floor beside the spanking chair.

Mark shook his head quickly. “No, ma’am.”

“Good,” Carol said firmly.

Defeated, Mark bent down with great difficulty to start pulling up his pants and boxers.

“Stop right there, Mark.”

He froze, glancing up at her with a mix of dread and confusion. “What now?” he asked hesitantly.

Carol smirked faintly, crossing her arms. “You’re going upstairs to take a bath, aren’t you? There’s no sense in pulling your pants back on just to take them off again. In fact,” she added, her tone sharpening, “take everything off.”

Mark’s face burned with fresh embarrassment. “Everything?” he echoed, glancing nervously at Grace, who was now lounging on the couch, watching the exchange with undisguised glee.

“Yes, everything,” Carol said firmly. “And don’t just throw it in a pile—fold it neatly and carry it upstairs.”

Mark sighed heavily, bending down to awkwardly kick off his pants and boxers, still tangled around his ankles. He stepped out of them gingerly, his reddened bottom and his genitals totally exposed, and set them aside. His hands hesitated near the hem of his shirt, but Carol’s expectant stare left him no choice. With a deep sigh, he tugged the shirt over his head, exposing his chest, then bent to remove his socks. He then folded his clothes as neatly as he could manage with trembling hands. His face burned brighter with every piece he folded, aware of Grace’s eyes on him the entire time. By the time he’d finished, he stood stark naked in the center of the room, his folded clothes in a neat stack in his arms.

“Good,” Carol said, nodding in approval. “Now take those upstairs, put them where they belong, and start the bath. I’ll be along shortly to make sure you’re properly cleaned.”

Mark’s jaw dropped. “Carol, you don’t mean—”

“I do,” Carol said sharply, cutting him off. “You’ve acted like a child all evening, so you’ll be treated like one now. Now get moving.”

Grace burst out laughing, clapping her hands. “This is priceless. Are you really going to bathe him, Mom?”

“Not exactly,” Carol said, her tone as calm as ever. “We are. And you,” she added, looking at Mark with a pointed glare, “will not argue unless you want another trip over my lap.”

Defeated, Mark turned and shuffled toward the stairs, his clothes balanced awkwardly in his arms. His bare bottom, still a deep red from the spankings, swayed slightly with each step, and Grace couldn’t help but laugh again.

Mark gritted his teeth, his humiliation complete, as he ascended the stairs. The thought of Carol and Grace arriving to bathe him was almost too much to bear, but he knew better than to argue. Tonight, his pride was as stripped away as his clothes—and there was no escaping it.

——

Carol waited until she heard his footsteps upstairs before turning to Grace, who was lounging on the couch with an expression of gleeful satisfaction.

“Well,” Grace said with a smirk, crossing her arms, “I can’t say I expected tonight to go like this, but it’s been… entertaining.”

Carol sat down in the chair Mark had so recently been draped over, picking up the hairbrush left on the floor next to it, her expression thoughtful. She tapped the hairbrush against her palm absentmindedly, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“That spanking he gave you,” Carol said, her voice calm but firm, “was the last straw, Grace. He knew better—or at least, he should have. He would never have dared to do something like that if I’d been here.”

Grace raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “You think so? He seemed pretty confident when he dragged me over his lap.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Carol replied, her eyes narrowing. “He thought he could get away with it because I wasn’t around to stop him. That stops tonight.”

Grace tilted her head, a small smirk playing on her lips. “So, what’s the plan, Mom? What’s next?”

Carol leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and fixing Grace with a steady gaze. “The next step is making sure he understands, in no uncertain terms, that the script has flipped. You, Grace, are far more mature than your father at this point, and it’s high time he realizes that. Tonight isn’t just about punishing him—it’s about resetting the pecking order in this house.”

Grace blinked, her smirk fading slightly. “The pecking order?”

“That’s right,” Carol said, nodding firmly. “He’s no longer the authority figure he thinks he is. From now on, he’ll understand exactly where he stands in this household. Below me—and below you.”

Grace leaned back on the couch, her smirk returning as the words sank in. “Below me, huh? I like the sound of that. So, what’s the plan for the rest of this? Because I feel like you’ve got something brewing.”

Carol turned to her daughter, her lips curling into a faint, knowing smile. “Oh, Grace, I’ve been pursuing a very clear plan for tonight. For too long, he’s been coasting on a sense of authority he hasn’t earned. By the time this evening is over, Mark will understand, on a subconscious level, that you and I are in charge. Not him. Humiliating him isn’t just about punishment—it’s about reprogramming him. The more powerless and infantilized he feels tonight, the more that understanding will take root. I’m not going to stop until he accepts, without question, the new pecking order.”

Grace blinked, her smirk shifting into an almost impressed grin. “Wow, Mom. That’s… intense. Not that I’m complaining. Watching him squirm has been hilarious.”

Carol chuckled softly, walking to the bottom of the stairs and glancing upward. “This bath is just the beginning. I’m going to strip away every shred of his dignity tonight, and you’re going to be there to see it and help. I want him to feel so completely dependent on us that he doesn’t even think to challenge the new dynamic. By the time he goes to bed, he’ll understand who holds the authority in this house—and it won’t be him.”

Grace grinned, following her mom to the stairs. “You know, Mom, I never thought I’d say this, but you’re kind of a genius. Dad’s never going to live this down.”

“That’s the point,” Carol said, starting up the stairs with Grace in tow. “Tonight isn’t just a punishment—it’s a reset. And by the time I’m done with him, he won’t dare forget it.”

Grace couldn’t help but laugh as they ascended, her anticipation building with each step. “Well, I’m all in. Let’s make sure Dad gets the message loud and clear.”

Carol smiled faintly, her calm authority unwavering. “Oh, he will, Grace. Trust me—he will.”

——

When Carol and Grace ascended the stairs and entered the bathroom, they were greeted by the sight of Mark huddled in the tub. He sat in a crouched position, his knees drawn up to his chest, trying in vain to shield himself with his arms. His face was flushed red with shame, and the warm water lapping at his thighs did little to conceal his vulnerability.

Carol smiled faintly, an air of calm authority about her as she stepped into the bathroom. Grace followed closely behind, her grin widening as she took in the sight of her father, utterly humbled and exposed.

Mark looked up at Carol, his expression pleading. “Carol, please… Can’t I just handle this myself?”

Grace snorted, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Yeah, right, Dad. After the way you acted tonight? I don’t think so,” she said, playing her part brilliantly.

Carol nodded in agreement, rolling up her sleeves. “Grace is right. You’ve made it abundantly clear that you’re immature and in need of close supervision. Now, let’s get started.”

Mark groaned, his shoulders slumping in defeat as Carol knelt by the tub. She reached for a washcloth and a bar of soap, her movements deliberate and precise. Grace moved closer, her curiosity evident as she perched herself on the edge of the counter, watching with barely contained amusement.

“Sit up straight, Mark,” Carol instructed. “I can’t clean you properly if you’re all hunched over like that.”

Mark hesitated, his arms tightening around his knees. “Do I really have to—?”

“Now, Mark,” Carol said sharply, her tone leaving no room for argument.

With a soft groan, Mark slowly unfolded himself, his hands twitching nervously as he lowered them to his sides. The water did little to conceal him as he straightened, and Grace let out a soft laugh as she caught sight of his most private areas now fully exposed.

Mark turned his head away, his face burning with humiliation as Carol dipped the washcloth into the soapy water and began scrubbing his shoulders and back. Her movements were firm but thorough, leaving no inch of skin untouched.

“Grace, grab the shampoo,” Carol said, nodding toward the bottle on the counter.

Grace eagerly complied, handing it over with a grin. “Here you go, Mom. Don’t forget to get behind his ears.”

“Oh, I won’t,” Carol replied, squeezing a generous amount of shampoo into her hand before working it into Mark’s hair. She scrubbed vigorously, her fingers massaging his scalp as soapy suds dripped down his face and chest.

Mark winced, squirming slightly under her firm touch. “Carol, you don’t have to—”

“Be still, Mark,” Carol said, rinsing his hair with a cup of warm water. “We’re just getting started.”

Grace leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she held out another washcloth.

Carol smirked, taking the washcloth and lathering it with soap. Mark’s eyes widened in alarm as Carol moved the washcloth lower, scrubbing his chest and arms before making her way to his stomach. He squirmed uncomfortably, his hands instinctively moving to shield himself.

“Hands at your sides, Mark,” Carol ordered. “If you try to block me, I’ll call this bath unfinished and take you back over my lap. Do you understand?”

Mark’s shoulders sagged, his arms falling limply to his sides as he nodded. “Yes, ma’am…”

“Stand up, Mark,” Carol commanded, her tone calm but firm.

Mark’s eyes darted nervously between his wife and daughter. “Carol, please,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do I really have to—?”

“Yes,” Carol cut him off sharply. “You’re not a child, but you’ve certainly acted like one tonight, and now you’ll be treated accordingly. Stand up. Now.”

Grace crossed her arms, clearly enjoying the moment. “Come on, Dad. You’re just making this more awkward for yourself.”

Mark groaned softly, his shoulders slumping as he slowly rose to his feet. Water cascaded down his body, and though he tried to angle himself to shield his most private areas, there was no way to avoid being fully exposed. His hands instinctively moved to cover himself, but Carol’s sharp voice stopped him.

“Hands at your sides, Mark,” she said. “If you try to cover yourself again, I’ll make sure this takes twice as long.”

Mark hesitated, his hands trembling before he finally let them drop to his sides. Grace’s smirk widened as her eyes flicked downward.

Carol lowered the washcloth, scrubbing his hips and thighs with the same deliberate care. Grace tilted her head, watching intently as Carol worked closer to his most private areas.

“Now,” Carol said, her tone turning sharper, “spread your legs.”

Mark’s face turned crimson, and he stammered, “Carol, no—”

“Now, Mark,” Carol repeated, cutting him off. “Or would you prefer we take you back over my lap first?”

Grace let out a delighted laugh. “Dad, just do it. You’re not exactly in a position to argue.”

Defeated, Mark slowly spread his legs, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as his full front was exposed. Carol wasted no time, moving the soapy washcloth to his genitals and beginning to scrub them firmly. Mark flinched and whimpered as she cleaned him, her touch brisk and unrelenting.

“Hold still,” she said, her voice firm. “This needs to be done properly.”

Mark stood trembling in the tub, water dripping down his body as Carol scrubbed him with a soapy washcloth. His face was bright crimson, and his fists were clenched at his sides as he endured the humiliating process, with Grace watching intently from her perch on the bathroom counter.

“Carol, please—this is so humiliating,” Mark stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Humiliation is part of the lesson,” Carol replied without missing a beat. “You didn’t think twice about embarrassing Grace earlier, so now you’re learning how it feels.”

Grace leaned forward, her grin widening as she watched her father squirm under her mom’s firm hand. “You’re doing great, Dad,” she teased, her tone dripping with mockery. “Mom’s really making sure you’re squeaky clean.”

Carol glanced at Grace and held out her hand. “Hand me the loofah. The washcloth isn’t thorough enough.”

Grace’s eyes lit up, and she eagerly grabbed the loofah from the counter, handing it to her mom with a delighted smirk. “Here you go, Mom. Make sure to get all the nooks and crannies.”

“Oh, I will,” Carol said calmly, lathering the loofah with soap. She set the washcloth aside and began scrubbing Mark’s privates more vigorously, the rough texture of the loofah making him flinch and yelp.

“Carol! Please—this is—”

“Stop squirming,” Carol interrupted, her tone cold and firm. “You’re getting cleaned properly. I don’t want to hear another complaint.”

Mark whimpered softly, his body trembling as she continued to scrub every inch of his penis and testicles with the loofah. Grace laughed openly now, her delight at her father’s discomfort obvious.

With a swift, practiced motion, Carol grasped the base of his shaft, her fingers encircling him tightly. Mark let out a strangled gasp, his body tensing as she held him in place. The loofah, still soapy and rough, was now poised at the tip of his penis.

"This is for Grace," Carol said, her voice steady and resolute. "This is so you remember who holds the power in this family."

Before Mark could utter a word of protest, Carol began to loofah the tip of his penis with firm, circular motions. The combination of the soapy water and the abrasive material was excruciating, and Mark couldn't help but howl in pain.

The sound bounced off the bathroom tiles, a testament to his punishment and his wife's dominance. Grace sat motionless, her eyes wide as she witnessed her father's utter and complete humiliation.

Carol continued her ministrations until she was satisfied that the punishment had been adequately delivered. She released her grip on Mark's shaft as he stood there, breathless and defeated, the sting of the loofah lingering on his skin as a reminder of his transgression.

Carol stepped back slightly and gave Mark a sharp command: “Turn around and bend over.”

Mark froze, his eyes wide with alarm. “Carol, no—please—”

“Turn. Around. Now,” she said sharply, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Grace giggled, leaning forward with a gleeful expression.

With a soft groan of defeat, Mark slowly turned around, his face burning as he bent forward. His reddened backside, already marked from the earlier spankings, was fully exposed, the curve of his bottom glistening with water. His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides, trembling as he bent low enough for Carol to access every part of him.

Carol adjusted her stance, her movements calm and methodical. Then, with her free hand, she placed a firm grip on one cheek and spread it to the side, fully exposing his bottom hole.

Mark let out a mortified whimper, his entire body stiffening as he felt the cool air on his bare bum hole. “Carol, please—this is too much—”

“Be quiet, Mark,” Carol said curtly. “This needs to be cleaned thoroughly.”

“Carol, please—don’t!” Mark whimpered, his voice cracking as he tried to twist away.

“Hold still, Mark,” Carol said sharply, tightening her grip on his cheek. “You’re not making this any easier on yourself, and we’re not skipping this part.”

Mark yelped the moment the rough texture of the loofah touched the sensitive skin around his bum hole. His entire body jolted, and he let out a howl that echoed through the bathroom.

“Ahh! Carol, it’s too much! Please!” he cried, his voice growing louder with each pass of the loofah.

Grace burst into laughter, clutching her sides as she watched her father squirm. “Oh my God, Dad, you’re acting like a toddler! Stay still, or Mom’s going to keep going!”

Mark wailed, his hips shimmying as he tried to escape the loofah’s relentless scrubbing. His movements only made the situation more absurd, his bare cheeks wiggling as he struggled to hold still under Carol’s firm hand.

“Mark,” Carol said sternly, pressing him back into position with her free hand, “if you don’t stop squirming, I’ll add another round of scrubbing. Now stay still.”

Mark whimpered pitifully, his legs twitching as Carol resumed her work. Each stroke of the loofah against his exposed bum hole made him yelp anew, his voice a mix of indignation and genuine discomfort. He shimmied involuntarily, his hips jerking from side to side as he let out a series of high-pitched howls.

“Ah! Carol! Ow! Please, enough—ahh!” he cried, his hands gripping the edge of the tub for support as his knees buckled slightly.

Grace was doubled over with laughter now, tears streaming down her face. “This is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen! Mom, you’re killing him!”

Carol’s expression remained calm and focused, though there was a faint twitch at the corner of her mouth. “He’s fine,” she replied, her tone unyielding as she continued her thorough scrubbing. “This wouldn’t be so difficult if he’d just hold still.”

Mark’s howls grew louder as Carol scrubbed even more firmly, ensuring no spot was missed. His shimmying hips only made the scene more ridiculous, and Grace’s laughter echoed loudly through the bathroom.

When Carol finally finished, she released his cheek and stepped back, rinsing the loofah in the soapy water. Mark immediately straightened, his hands flying to clutch at his well-scrubbed anus and cleft as he turned his beet-red face toward Carol.

“Are we done?” he asked in a trembling voice, his body still quivering from the ordeal.

“For now,” Carol said firmly.

Mark stood trembling in the tub, rinsing off the suds with shaky hands. His face was a deep crimson, his eyes unable to meet either Carol’s or Grace’s gaze. The sting of the loofah still lingered on his most sensitive areas, a constant reminder of the humiliation he had just endured.

When he finished rinsing, Mark reached for the towel Carol handed him, his hands shaking as he dried himself off. He tried to work quickly, desperate to cover himself and escape the bathroom.

Carol crossed her arms, her expression calm but commanding. “Before you head to bed, do you need to pee, Mark?”

Mark blinked, startled by the question. He hesitated, glancing toward Grace, who leaned casually against the doorway, her smirk growing wider.

“I… I guess I do,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

Carol nodded, stepping over to the toilet. With deliberate motions, she lifted both the lid and the seat, letting them rest against the tank. Then, turning back to Mark, she pointed to the toilet. “Lie sideways across the bowl, Mark. Position your hips over the edge.”

Mark’s mouth fell open, his face turning crimson. “Carol, what? No—there’s no way I can—”

“Do it,” Carol interrupted firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “If you can’t follow instructions, I’ll be happy to remind you with the hairbrush. Now, get into position.”

Grace burst out laughing, her voice echoing in the small bathroom. “Oh my God, Mom, you’re really doing this. Dad, you better listen. You don’t want to make it worse!”

Mark groaned, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he shuffled toward the toilet. Slowly, awkwardly, he bent down and positioned himself sideways over the bowl, his bare hips resting on the edge. His legs dangled off one side, while his arms supported him awkwardly on the other. The position left his genitals dangling into the bowl.

“Good,” Carol said, stepping behind him. “Now relax and go ahead.”

Mark stiffened, his face burning as he glanced back at her. “Carol, I can’t—this is too humiliating!”

“You weren’t worried about humiliation earlier when you spanked Grace unfairly,” Carol replied, her voice calm but unyielding. “Now, stop stalling. Relax and let it happen.”

Grace was nearly doubled over with laughter, her arms wrapped around her stomach. “Dad, you look ridiculous! You’re like a toddler who doesn’t know how to use the toilet. This is priceless!”

Mark groaned, his body trembling as he tried to obey. But the sheer humiliation of the position, combined with Grace’s laughter and Carol’s steady presence, made it nearly impossible.

Carol sighed, stepping closer. “You need a little encouragement, do you?” she said. Without waiting for a response, she raised her hand and delivered a few light but firm spanks to his already-tender backside. The smacks echoed in the bathroom, making Mark yelp in surprise.

“Ow! Carol!” he whined, squirming slightly over the bowl.

“Relax, Mark,” Carol said sharply, delivering another light smack. “This isn’t complicated. Just let it happen.”

Grace laughed harder, tears streaming down her face. “Oh my God, this is the best thing I’ve ever seen! Dad, just go already—you’re only making it worse!”

Mark whimpered softly, his body trembling as he finally gave in. The sound of his pee echoed embarrassingly in the small bathroom, making his face burn even hotter. He buried his face in his hands, wishing desperately for the floor to swallow him.

“There we go,” Carol said, her tone almost teasing. She gave his bottom a final light pat. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Grace wiped a tear from her eye, still giggling.

When Mark finished, Carol gestured for him to stand up. “Clean your penis tip, flush the toilet, and wash your hands,” she said briskly. “And don’t even think about arguing. You’ve done enough of that tonight.”

Mark stood shakily, his face a deep crimson as he moved to obey, his body slumping in defeat. As he washed his hands, Grace leaned against the doorframe, her grin impossibly wide.

Once he was done, he reached for the towel he had used earlier and wrapped it tightly around his waist, clutching it like a lifeline.

“I’ll just… head to the guest room now,” he mumbled, shuffling toward the door.

But Carol reached out and, with one quick tug, pulled the towel away, leaving him completely bare once more. Mark gasped, his hands instinctively flying to cover himself as Grace burst into laughter behind him.

“You won’t be needing this,” Carol said, folding the towel neatly and setting it aside. “Get to the guest room. As you are. Now.”

Mark sputtered, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. “Carol, come on—can’t I at least—”

“No,” Carol interrupted, her tone firm. “You’ll go as you are. You didn’t give Grace any privacy earlier, so you don’t get any now. Hands at your sides, Mark.”

Mark hesitated, his hands still hovering protectively in front of him. Carol raised an eyebrow, her expression daring him to disobey.

“Do you need another trip over my lap to help you follow instructions?” she asked coolly.

Grace giggled, perched on the counter with her legs swinging. “You should probably listen, Dad. Mom’s not messing around.”

“Please… honey…” Mark begged.

Carol’s lips pressed into a thin line, her patience clearly wearing thin. “Fine. Since you want to complain, we’ll make this even more humiliating for you.”

Mark’s eyes widened as Carol crossed her arms and pointed at him. “Take your hands away. Then clutch a testicle in each hand. You can walk to the guest room like that.”

Mark’s jaw dropped, and he shook his head slowly. “Carol, no. You can’t be serious—”

“Do you want me to put you back over my lap right now?” Carol interrupted sharply. “Because if you don’t do as you’re told this instant, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

Mark groaned, his humiliation reaching new depths as he reluctantly lowered his hands from his front. Then, moving as though in a daze, he reached down and gingerly cupped a testicle in each hand, holding them as instructed.

Grace was doubled over with laughter now, her legs kicking against the counter. “This is amazing! Dad, you look ridiculous!”

Mark stood frozen in the middle of the bathroom, his entire body trembling with shame. His face was a deep, almost glowing red, the flush spreading down his neck and chest as he stared at the floor, unable to meet Grace’s delighted gaze. His hands, trembling with hesitation and humiliation, gingerly cupped one testicle in each hand as instructed, leaving his penis hanging freely in the cool air.

Grace, perched on the counter, leaned forward with wide, gleeful eyes, taking in every mortifying detail. The awkwardness of Mark’s position only made the scene more absurd—his hunched shoulders and bowed head, the way his hands clumsily held his most sensitive areas, and the sheer vulnerability of his exposed body.

Mark flinched at her giggles, his grip tightening slightly on himself as if that could somehow shield him from her piercing gaze. His penis swayed slightly as he shifted uncomfortably, the movement drawing more audible giggles from Grace. He groaned softly, his shoulders slumping further as he tried to make himself smaller. His entire body radiated shame, the heat of his blushing skin evident even from where Grace sat.

Carol, standing calmly beside him, pointed toward the door. “Mark, get moving. The longer you stand there, the more embarrassing this becomes.”

Grace let out another delighted giggle. “I don’t know, Mom. I think this is pretty perfect as it is.”

Mark let out a soft groan, shuffling toward the door with slow, awkward steps, his exposed backside swaying and his dangling penis bobbing slightly with each movement. Grace’s laughter followed him out of the room, her grin impossibly wide as she leaned back against the counter, savoring the moment.

Carol stepped aside, gesturing toward the hallway. “Get moving, Mark. And keep your hands in place.”

Mark shuffled forward, his head hanging low and his face burning as he moved toward the guest room. His reddened backside swayed with each step, and his awkward grip on his privates made the walk even more absurd. Grace followed him out, laughing so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes, her giggles echoing through the hallway as Mark disappeared from view.

——

As Mark stood in the center of the guest room, still gripping one testicle in each hand as Carol had instructed. His face was a deep crimson, his gaze fixed on the bed in front of him, but his mortification had left him frozen in place. He shifted awkwardly, his exposed backside twitching slightly as he tried to work up the courage to pull back the sheets—though with his hands occupied, he had no idea how to manage it.

He stared at the bed, his heart sinking as he realized the predicament he was in. He needed to pull the covers back to get in, but the thought of moving his hands from his testicles filled him with dread. He could still hear Carol’s sharp voice in his head, her unyielding authority leaving him too terrified to disobey.

Mark squirmed where he stood, his legs shifting awkwardly as he tried to think of a solution. His bare backside clenched instinctively as his discomfort grew, and he let out a soft, frustrated whimper. What am I supposed to do? he thought, his gaze flicking to the doorway, half-expecting Carol to walk in at any moment and catch him hesitating.

He considered calling out to her, but the idea of asking for permission to move his hands felt even more humiliating than standing there clutching himself. Instead, he remained frozen, his hands trembling slightly as he held himself tightly, his mind racing with indecision.

Just then, he heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching. His heart sank, and his grip on himself tightened reflexively. Carol entered the room, her expression calm and commanding as always. Grace lingered in the doorway behind her, smirking as she took in the sight of her father’s pathetic stance.

“Well,” Carol said, her tone cutting through the silence like a blade. “What exactly are you doing, Mark?”

Mark stammered, his face flushing even deeper. “I… I didn’t know if I could—if I should—move my hands to pull the covers back,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Carol raised an eyebrow, stepping closer to him with deliberate calm. “So instead of using your brain, you decided to just stand here like this? Clutching yourself and squirming like a nervous child?”

Grace burst into laughter, leaning against the doorframe for support. “Oh my God, Dad, you really are hopeless! This is amazing.”

Mark hung his head, his entire body slumping with shame as Carol shook her head in mock disappointment. “You really don’t know how to handle yourself without being told exactly what to do, do you?”

“No, ma’am,” Mark mumbled, his voice trembling.

Carol sighed, stepping toward the bed. “Fine. Since you clearly need guidance, let’s make this easier for you. If you can’t use your hands, then you’ll have to use your teeth. Pull the sheets back with your mouth.”

Mark’s jaw dropped, and he turned fully toward her, his expression one of utter disbelief. “Carol, you can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” she replied, her tone as cold as steel. “You have your instructions. Now do it, or I’ll decide that you need another trip over my lap before bed.”

Mark groaned audibly, his entire body sagging in defeat. Slowly, he shuffled closer to the bed, his bare bottom swaying awkwardly as he moved. Once he reached the edge, he bent down stiffly, still clutching himself, and lowered his face toward the neatly made sheets. His ears burned with humiliation as he opened his mouth and gripped the edge of the top sheet between his teeth.

Carol and Grace watched with unrestrained amusement as he tugged the sheet awkwardly, trying to pull it back without letting go of himself. The effort made him twist and shift uncomfortably, his movements exaggerated and absurd.

Grace laughed so hard she had to lean against the wall for support. “Oh my God, Dad, you look like some kind of weird bird trying to nest. This is priceless!”

Mark growled softly under his breath, his teeth clenching around the sheet as he yanked it further. The fabric barely budged, and his awkward position made the task almost impossible.

Carol stepped closer, shaking her head with a faint smirk. “You’re not trying hard enough, Mark. Pull it all the way back.”

Mark let out a muffled whimper, his body trembling with shame as he twisted his neck and tugged harder. Finally, the sheet came loose, but not before Mark nearly lost his balance, his exposed body wobbling as he struggled to stay upright.

When he straightened, panting slightly from the effort, Grace wiped a tear from her eye. “That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen. Thanks for the entertainment, Dad.”

“Now get in it,” Carol said. Mark complied, tucking his feet under the pulled back covers. His hands were still cupping his testicles, just as Carol had ordered, and the covers remained folded at the foot of the bed. The cool air of the room made his exposed body feel even more vulnerable, and his face burned with embarrassment.

——

Carol pulled a small bottle out of her pocket. Grace peeked around the doorway, her smirk firmly in place as she leaned casually against the frame.

“Carol,” Mark began hesitantly, his voice low and pleading, “can I pull the covers up now? Please?”

Carol didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stepped closer to the bed, unscrewing the cap of the bottle she was holding. Mark squinted at it, his heart sinking as he realized what it was: baby oil.

“Not yet,” Carol said finally, her tone calm but firm. “There’s something else you need to take care of first.”

Mark’s eyes widened, and his body stiffened as she squirted a generous amount of baby oil onto his exposed penis. The cool sensation made him flinch, and he let out a soft whimper, his face turning crimson.

“Carol, what are you doing?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“Helping you relax,” Carol replied matter-of-factly, setting the bottle down on the nightstand. “Clearly, you’ve had a stressful evening, and I think it’s best if you… relieve yourself before bed.”

Grace burst out laughing, clutching her stomach as she doubled over. “Oh my God, Mom, you’re making him—this is too much!”

“Quiet, Grace,” Carol said sharply, though there was a faint smirk on her lips. “Mark, go ahead. Get busy.”

Mark’s mouth opened and closed, his voice caught somewhere between a protest and a plea. “Carol, I can’t—I mean, not with Grace here!”

“Well, you should’ve thought about your dignity earlier in the evening,” Carol replied curtly. “And Grace already saw everything during your spankings and bath. What’s the difference now?”

Grace wiped a tear from her eye, shaking her head. “Dad, just get it over with. You’re only making it more awkward by stalling.”

Mark groaned, his hands trembling as he hesitated. “Carol, please, don’t make me—”

“Do you need me to help?” Carol asked coolly, raising an eyebrow. “Because if you keep refusing, I’ll be more than happy to assist. But I promise you, that will be far more humiliating and involve something very large and unpleasant up your back passage…”

Mark let out a defeated sigh, his body sagging into the mattress as his face burned with fresh humiliation. Slowly, reluctantly, he moved his hands from his testicles, his oiled-up manhood glistening under the soft light of the room. His movements were stiff and hesitant as he obeyed Carol’s command, his shame overwhelming.

Carol crossed her arms, her expression calm but firm as she watched Mark. “I want this done properly, Mark. No half-hearted efforts. We’ll be here as long as it takes.”

Mark’s hands trembled as he hesitantly began obeying Carol’s humiliating command. His entire body burned with shame, his movements awkward and stilted. The slick baby oil made his task easier physically, but mentally, it was unbearable—especially with Grace perched by the doorway, her smirk growing with every passing second.

“Oh my God, Dad,” Grace said, leaning against the doorframe and clutching her stomach as laughter bubbled out of her. “You look so ridiculous! I mean, seriously, this is next-level awkward. I didn’t think you could embarrass yourself more after the bath, but here we are.”

Mark groaned, his head turning away from her as he tried to focus, but it was impossible with her laughter filling the room. His oiled-up hands moved hesitantly, his motions jerky and uncoordinated, and his deep discomfort was painfully obvious.

“Grace,” Carol said sharply, though there was a faint hint of amusement in her voice. “Let him focus. He needs to finish this.”

Grace wiped a tear from her eye, grinning. “Mom, how can I not laugh? Look at him! He’s so uncomfortable, and the way he’s moving—it’s like he doesn’t even know what he’s doing.”

Mark winced at her words, his face glowing crimson. “Grace, please,” he mumbled, his voice shaky. “Just… stop.”

“Stop?” Grace teased, raising an eyebrow. “Why would I stop? This is the best entertainment I’ve had in years.”

Carol nodded, her expression still calm. “You’re right, Grace. It is amusing, but it’s also a necessary lesson. Mark, you’re not stopping until I say so. Keep going.”

Mark whimpered softly, his hands continuing their humiliating work as Grace leaned closer, watching intently. “Dad, I can’t believe this is actually happening. I’m enjoying every second of it.”

Mark groaned, his movements faltering as he let out a soft, defeated whimper. “Carol, can this please just be over?”

“It’ll be over when you’ve finished,” Carol replied, her tone unyielding. “And not a moment sooner.”

Grace laughed outright, shaking her head. “Well, Dad, you better get on with it, because I’m not going anywhere.”

Mark’s trembling hands continued their humiliating work, his body betraying him despite his best efforts to block out the mocking laughter from Grace and the unyielding gaze of Carol. His breathing was ragged, and his face burned with shame as the situation headed towards its unbearable climax.

Grace leaned against the doorframe, her smirk growing with every awkward movement her father made. “You know, Dad,” she said, stifling another giggle, “you look just like one of those little monkeys I saw on YouTube the other day. You know the ones—they sit there all hunched over, playing with themselves in front of everyone without a care in the world.”

“Grace,” Carol said sharply, though her voice carried a faint undertone of amusement. “That’s enough.”

“No, seriously!” Grace continued, her laughter bubbling out. “He even makes the same little faces! It’s uncanny.”

Mark groaned, his entire body stiffening as Grace’s words drove his humiliation to new depths. Despite the overwhelming embarrassment, his body continued to respond, and he felt the inevitable building. His hands moved awkwardly, the slick baby oil making his task both easier and infinitely more humiliating.

Carol remained silent, standing with her arms crossed and her expression calm, as though supervising a chore. Grace, on the other hand, was nearly in tears from laughter, barely able to stand straight.

As Grace watched, her father’s penis became more and more erect. “Oh, Daddy! I’ve never seen anything like this before!”

Finally, Mark’s body reached its breaking point. With a shuddering gasp, he erupted, spurting onto his stomach. He froze, his hands hovering uselessly as the room fell into stunned silence for a brief moment.

And then Grace lost it. She doubled over, her laughter echoing through the room. “Oh my God, Dad! That was—it was just like the monkey! I can’t—this is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!”

Mark’s face turned an impossible shade of red as he buried it in his hands, unable to respond. His body trembled with a mix of shame and exhaustion, wishing desperately for the night to end.

Carol, however, remained composed. She stepped forward, grabbing a package of baby wipes from the nightstand. “Lie back, Mark,” she said firmly.

Mark looked up at her, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Carol, no—please, I can clean myself—”

“Lie back,” Carol repeated, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You’ve lost the privilege of handling this yourself.”

Defeated, Mark lay back on the bed, his face still burning. Carol pulled a baby wipe from the package and began cleaning him efficiently, her movements brisk and matter-of-fact.

Grace leaned against the doorframe, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “This just keeps getting better. Dad, you’re like a helpless little baby. Are you going to let Mom diaper you next?”

Mark whimpered softly as Carol worked, her hands firm as she wiped away the evidence of his release. Then, for added humiliation, she reached down and lifted his legs, raising his hips slightly off the bed as she cleaned the sensitive areas beneath him.

Grace burst into fresh laughter, doubling over again. “Oh my God! She’s even lifting your legs like you’re a toddler! This is priceless.”

Mark groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Carol, please…”

Carol ignored his protests, finishing her work with calm efficiency. Once she was satisfied, she dropped the soiled wipe into the trash and straightened, her expression neutral.

——

As Mark lay on the bed, his face still buried in his hands from the ultimate humiliation of his public release then being wiped clean by Carol, he heard the soft creak of the guest room closet door opening. He peeked out hesitantly between his fingers, his stomach twisting with unease as Carol rummaged through the shelves. Grace, still perched near the doorway, tilted her head curiously.

“Mom, what are you looking for?” Grace asked, her tone laced with amusement.

Carol straightened, holding a familiar package in her hands—a half-used pack of adult diapers. Mark’s heart sank as he recognized them immediately. They were left over from Aunt Jean’s stay in the guest room before she passed, and the sight of them made his humiliation spike anew.

“Carol,” Mark croaked, sitting up slightly on the bed, his voice trembling. “You’re not serious…”

“Oh, I’m very serious,” Carol replied calmly, holding up the package for emphasis. “Since you’re clearly incapable of handling yourself tonight, this seems like an appropriate next step. These were meant for Aunt Jean, but they’ll work just fine for you.”

Grace burst into laughter, clutching her sides as she leaned against the wall. “Oh my God, Mom, that’s perfect! He already looks like a giant toddler—this’ll complete the look.”

Mark’s face turned an impossible shade of red as he stammered, “Carol, please, you can’t—I don’t need those!”

Carol turned to him with a raised eyebrow, her calm composure unshaken. “After tonight’s behavior? I’m not so sure about that, Mark. If you’re going to act like a child, you’ll be treated like one.”

She walked over to the bed and placed the package on the nightstand. Pulling out a diaper, she unfolded it with practiced efficiency and looked down at him sternly. “Lie back, legs up.”

Mark’s eyes widened, and he shook his head frantically. “No, no, Carol, come on. This is going too far—”

“Mark,” Carol interrupted sharply, her tone brooking no argument. “We can do this the easy way, or we can go back to the hairbrush first. Your choice.”

Groaning in defeat, Mark slowly lay back on the bed, his legs trembling as he lifted them awkwardly into the air. The position left him completely exposed, and the indignity of having Grace in the room made his entire body flush with heat.

Carol placed the unfolded diaper beside him and turned to Grace. “Grace, please run to the bathroom and fetch the talcum powder,” she said calmly. “We’re going to make sure he’s properly prepared.”

Grace’s eyes lit up, and she clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, this just keeps getting better!” She darted out of the room, returning moments later with the bottle of powder in hand. She handed it to her mom with a grin, then moved to stand beside the bed, her arms crossed as she watched the scene unfold.

“Lift his legs higher, Grace,” Carol said as she shook some powder into her hand. “I need access to all the right places.”

Mark let out a strangled groan, his hands twitching uselessly at his sides as Grace eagerly stepped forward, grabbing his ankles to help position him. “Don’t fight it, Dad,” Grace teased, her voice dripping with mockery. “Mom’s just trying to make sure you don’t get a rash in your little diaper.”

“Grace, please,” Mark whimpered, his voice muffled by his hands.

Carol ignored him, dusting the powder over his exposed bottom and groin with clinical precision. “Stay still, Mark,” she said firmly, her tone brisk. “We don’t want to miss any spots.”

The light scent of the powder filled the air as Carol worked, patting and smoothing it across his skin with practiced efficiency. Grace’s laughter bubbled up again as she leaned closer to watch, her grin stretching from ear to ear.

“This is amazing,” Grace said, shaking her head. “Dad, you look so ridiculous. Like a little baby.”

Mark squirmed slightly, the crinkling of the diaper beneath him adding to his shame. “Carol, please, just get this over with,” he muttered, his face buried in his hands.

“Stop complaining,” Carol replied, sliding the diaper into position beneath him. “You’re the one who put yourself in this situation.”

Grace stood at the side of the bed, still smirking from the absurdity of the situation as she gripped her father’s ankles firmly in her hands. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing—her dad, the man who had always lorded it over her, lying on his back like an overgrown baby, his legs raised awkwardly in the air.

Her grin widened as she looked down at him. From her vantage point, she could see everything: his bare, reddened backside—still marked from the spankings earlier—completely exposed, along with his genitals dangling vulnerably above the open diaper Carol had positioned beneath him. The faint tremble in his legs and the deep flush of his skin made his embarrassment even more apparent.

“Higher, Grace,” Carol instructed calmly, shaking a generous amount of talcum powder into her hand. “We need him properly positioned.”

Grace adjusted her grip, lifting his legs higher and spreading them slightly for better access. The motion caused his cheeks to part even more, fully exposing the sensitive, powder-ready skin and dark bum hole between them. Grace let out a soft laugh as she noticed how much he was squirming, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he tried to endure the humiliating ordeal.

“Mom, this is just too much,” Grace said, her voice tinged with amusement as she glanced at Carol. “He looks so… helpless.”

“That’s the point,” Carol replied matter-of-factly, leaning in to begin her work. “He needs to understand exactly who’s in charge here.”

As Carol reached forward and began patting the talcum powder onto his bottom, Grace couldn’t help but watch every detail. The white powder spread across his reddened skin in soft, even strokes, contrasting starkly against the angry pink marks from his earlier punishment. Carol’s hands moved with practiced efficiency, ensuring no area was missed as she worked the powder into the tender creases around his backside. 

Mark let out a soft, muffled groan, his face buried in his hands. The sound only made Grace’s smirk grow wider.

“Oh my God, Dad,” she teased, tilting her head to get a better view. “I can see everything. This is like a full-on toddler diaper change. Are you going to spit up next?”

“Grace, that’s enough,” Carol said, her tone firm but not unkind as she continued her work. However, there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips, as if even she couldn’t entirely ignore the ridiculousness of the situation.

Grace adjusted her grip on Mark’s legs, making sure to hold them steady as Carol moved on to the more sensitive areas. Her eyes widened slightly as Carol’s fingers gently worked the powder into the folds of his skin, ensuring every inch was properly covered. From her vantage point, Grace could see how utterly exposed her dad was—his reddened cheeks parted completely, with the powder dusting the curve of his bottom and the sensitive creases near his tailbone. His genitals swayed slightly with every subtle movement, adding to the surreal image before her.

“You’re being so thorough, Mom,” Grace said with a giggle. “I mean, I don’t think Dad’s going to get a rash after this, that’s for sure.”

Carol gave a slight nod, her expression calm and businesslike. “I don’t do things halfway, Grace. If we’re going to treat him like the child he’s behaved as, then we’re going to do it properly.”

Mark whimpered softly, his legs trembling slightly in Grace’s grasp. “Carol, please… this is so humiliating…”

“That’s the point, Mark,” Carol replied, not missing a beat as she dusted more powder across his inner thighs and worked it gently into his skin. “You embarrassed Grace earlier without a second thought. Now, you’re getting a taste of your own medicine.”

Grace couldn’t hold back her laughter, her grip on his legs tightening slightly as she steadied herself. “A taste? This is, like, the whole buffet. Dad, you’ve officially hit rock bottom.”

Mark groaned, his hands moving to cover his face entirely as Carol reached the final stage of her work. She applied one last puff of powder around his genitals, lifting and spreading wherever necessary to ensure complete coverage. The faint scent of talcum filled the air, mingling with the crinkling sound of the diaper below him.

“Alright,” Carol said at last, standing back to admire her work. “Lower his legs, Grace.”

Grace smirked as she carefully let his legs down, watching as Mark’s body shifted slightly on the bed. The crisp white of the powder on his backside contrasted sharply with the deep red of his earlier spanking marks, making him look even more absurdly infantilized.

“There,” Carol said, reaching for the diaper and pulling it snugly over his hips. She fastened the tapes with precision, smoothing the front and adjusting it to fit perfectly. “He’s all set.”

Grace leaned over to get a better look, her laughter bubbling up again. “Wow, Dad, you really pull off the whole ‘giant baby’ thing. Are you comfy?”

Mark groaned softly, his hands still covering his face as his body sagged in defeat.

——

Mark lay on the bed, his body tense with humiliation, the crinkling of the diaper beneath him a constant reminder of just how far his dignity had fallen. He barely moved, his face still flushed as Carol stood over him, her commanding presence making it clear that she wasn’t done with him yet. Grace, meanwhile, was still grinning ear to ear, thoroughly enjoying every moment of her father’s embarrassment.

“Grace,” Carol said suddenly, turning to her daughter, “go fetch one of your old stuffed animals for your father. Something fitting.”

Grace’s eyes lit up with delight. “Oh, this just keeps getting better!” she said, darting out of the room.

Mark groaned softly, peeking out from behind his hands. “Carol… do we really have to keep this up? Can’t we just—”

“Quiet,” Carol said sharply, cutting him off. “You’ll speak when spoken to. Until then, you’ll stay right there and wait for further instructions.”

Mark let out a soft whimper and fell silent, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he fought the urge to protest further. Moments later, Grace returned, holding a plush teddy bear with a pink bow around its neck.

“Here you go, Mom,” Grace said, handing the stuffed animal to Carol. She glanced down at her father, her grin widening. “Oh, this is perfect.”

Carol took the teddy bear and turned back to Mark, holding it out toward him. “Here,” she said firmly. “This is yours for the night.”

Mark blinked at her, his face twisting in disbelief. “Carol, come on—this is too much—”

“Take it, Mark,” she interrupted, her tone brooking no argument. “And put your thumb in your mouth while you’re at it.”

Mark’s entire body burned with shame, but the memory of Carol’s earlier warnings kept him from protesting further. Reluctantly, he reached out to take the teddy bear, clutching it tightly against his chest. Then, with trembling hands, he raised his thumb to his mouth and slid it between his lips, his face glowing with humiliation.

Carol stepped closer to the bed, her arms crossed as she looked down at Mark. Her expression was calm but unyielding, her tone measured and authoritative as she began to speak.

“Mark, tonight has been about more than just punishment,” she said firmly. “It’s been about resetting the balance in this household. For too long, you’ve acted as though you hold all the authority here, but your behavior has proven otherwise. From this point forward, there’s a new pecking order, and you need to understand exactly where you stand.”

Mark squirmed slightly, the teddy bear cradled in his arms as he sucked nervously on his thumb. The weight of Carol’s words was sinking in, but the humiliation of the moment made it hard to focus on anything else.

“First,” Carol continued, “I am the head of this household. My word is final, and you will obey me without question. Is that clear?”

Mark nodded weakly, his muffled voice barely audible around his thumb. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” Carol said with a nod. “Second, Grace is now your superior in this household. She has shown more maturity and responsibility than you, and she will be treated with the respect she deserves. If she sees fit to discipline you, she has my full permission to do so.”

Grace’s grin widened, and she crossed her arms, looking down at her father with barely contained glee. “Hear that, Dad? You’d better behave, or I’ll be the one giving you the spankings!”

Mark whimpered softly, his face buried against the teddy bear as he nodded again. “Yes, miss,” he mumbled.

“Thirdly,” Carol said, her tone sharpening, “you will not raise a hand to your daughter again. The only people allowed to administer discipline in this house are myself and Grace. Do you understand?”

Mark nodded a third time, his voice trembling. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And finally, now that we’ve established the new pecking order,” Carol continued, her voice calm but commanding, “there’s one more thing to discuss—chores.”

Mark’s eyes widened slightly above his thumb, but he didn’t dare remove it to protest. Grace perked up, clearly intrigued by where this was heading.

“From this moment on,” Carol continued, “all of the household chores that were previously Grace’s responsibility are now yours, Mark. Every last one.”

Grace let out a delighted laugh, her grin widening. “Oh, this just keeps getting better! Dad, you’re going to do my chores now?”

“That’s correct,” Carol replied with a faint smile. She turned back to Mark, her expression firm. “You will be responsible for cleaning, dishes, laundry, and anything else that Grace used to handle. And you will do them properly and in a timely manner.”

Mark whimpered softly, his cheeks flushing deeper as the weight of her words sank in. His thumb slipped out of his mouth, and he stammered, “Carol, please—this isn’t fair—”

“Get that thumb back in your mouth!” Carol interrupted sharply, raising an eyebrow. “Do you think it was fair when you punished Grace without even listening to her? Do you think it was fair for you to humiliate her in front of me? No, Mark, this is more than fair—it’s what you deserve.”

Grace nodded eagerly, crossing her arms as she looked down at her father with a gleeful expression. “Yeah, Dad. Don’t complain—you’ve got plenty of time to handle a few chores.”

Carol nodded in agreement. “And to ensure the chores are done correctly, Grace will be supervising you. If she finds anything lacking—if something isn’t cleaned to her satisfaction or isn’t done on time—she has my full permission to discipline you as she sees fit.”

Mark groaned softly, his arms tightening around the teddy bear as he buried his face in the crook of his elbow.

“Grace is in charge,” Carol said firmly. “If you want to avoid further punishment, I suggest you do as you’re told. Is that understood?”

Mark sighed, his body trembling with shame as he mumbled, “yes, ma’am” through his thumb.

“Good,” Carol said with a faint smile. She turned to Grace and added, “You’ll take over his former responsibilities, Grace. From now on, your focus will be on your studies and anything else you want to prioritize. Mark will handle everything else.”

Grace clapped her hands, practically bouncing with excitement. “This is the best thing ever. Don’t worry, Mom—I’ll make sure he stays on top of everything. Right, Dad?”

Mark mumbled something unintelligible, his voice muffled by the teddy bear as he curled into himself further. The crinkling of the diaper beneath him seemed louder in the silence, a constant reminder of his new role in the household.

Grace stepped closer, her arms crossed and her smirk firmly in place. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and she seemed to be enjoying his humiliation more with each passing second.

“Dad,” she said, her tone sweet but mocking, “let’s talk about how this is going to work. Mom said I’m in charge of making sure you do your chores properly, and I’ve got some ideas on how to make sure you stay motivated.”

Mark glanced up at her nervously, his face still flushed.

“Here’s the deal: starting tomorrow, you’re going to be wearing ladies’ panties instead of your regular underwear.”

Mark’s eyes widened in horror, and he sat up slightly, the stuffed animal still clutched to his chest. “Mmmmm!” he uttered, shaking his head no.

“Yes, I can,” Grace said sharply, leaning in closer. “And you know why? Because Mom put me in charge, and you’re going to follow my rules. If you work hard, do all your chores perfectly, and keep a good attitude, maybe—maybe—you’ll earn your way back to your regular underwear. But if you slack off, complain, or mess up…”

She paused for dramatic effect, her grin widening as she crossed her arms. “It’s not just panties anymore. You’ll get a spanking and then I’ll put you in a bra to match. And believe me, Dad, I’ll make sure you wear it properly—with padding, straps adjusted, and everything.”

Mark groaned, burying his face in the stuffed animal.

“Life’s not fair, Dad,” Grace said with a shrug. “You should’ve thought about that before you treated me the way you did. Now it’s my turn to make sure you stay in line.”

Carol, who had been standing nearby with her arms crossed, gave a small nod of approval. “I like your initiative, Grace,” she said calmly. “You’re showing real leadership here. It’s about time Mark had some structure and accountability, and I trust you to enforce it.”

Grace turned to her mom with a grin. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll make sure he doesn’t forget his place.”

Mark let out a defeated sigh, his body slumping back onto the bed as Grace looked back at him with a triumphant expression.

“Sweet dreams, Dad,” Grace said mockingly, giving him a little wave. “Tomorrow’s a big day for you. I’ll have your panties ready first thing in the morning.”

Mark whimpered softly, his cheeks burning as he clutched the teddy bear tighter. The sound of the women’s footsteps leaving the room echoed in his ears, leaving him alone to stew in his humiliation—and dread the new reality that awaited him.