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The Chili Cook-Off
“…And to thank you all for your participation in our annual chili cookoff….”, the announcer smiles as she holds up a personalized wooden spoon for each contestant, the date and name of the cookoff engraved on the back. My glance slides casually over to you, my Dominant husband, sitting next to me. I find your piercing blue eyes looking at me with ironic amusement and I know you already have a use in mind for my lovely new “prize”. My heart flutters at your expression, and I think back to my moment of error… The disappointment in your eyes that I had committed our time for this event without asking you…again. This time, the mistake made worse by the fact that you had planned a romantic night out for the two of us. No kids…no pressure..and, unfortunately, no refunds on the show tickets that were now wasted. Being the gentleman that you are, you had allowed me to save face and fulfill my commitment to the cook-off committee, knowing I would be embarrassed to leave the choir short on food and understaffed by cancelling my entry and volunteer services at the last minute.
My thoughts return the present and my eyes fall on the custom made wooden spoon that the emcee is shoving in my hand…no doubt wondering about my distracted state as I accept the reward. I smile through the lump in my throat and stammer a polite thank-you. The hard, slick wood feels heavy in my hand as I return to my seat. I feel the warm blush rising in my cheeks as I catch the look in your eyes. My eyelashes automatically sweep contritely downward at the expression I find there. You exude a dominance that pierces straight through to the submissive within me, and I know there will be a price to pay tonight for my misbehavior.
We pull into our driveway, and I follow you silently into our house. It had been a quiet ride, the butterflies fluttering around in my stomach making it hard to speak. The house is dark and quiet because the kids had all been parceled out for the night, in keeping with the romantic evening that you had so thoughtfully planned. The evening I had ruined by making unchecked plans to enter the the chili cook-off. You turn to face me, with a controlled, firm voice that breaks through my nervous silence with one simple command. “Kneel.” My heart pounding, I drop without hesitation to my knees before you. The strength of your voice immediately brings me to a place in which my will is no longer my own, and my desire to please you overcomes any trepidation I may feel. My back is straight, my chest is out and my hands cross automatically behind my back, just the way I had practiced so many times before. I am tempted to drop my eyes because it is hard to look at you when you are angry with me, but I know you prefer me to look at you for correction. My chin raised, my head straight, I push through my insecurity and raise my eyes to yours…waiting. A loving smile reaches your eyes, knowing it had been a struggle for me to look at you. “Good girl.” I feel the warmth of your praise, even in my state of nervous apprehension. You reach down and lightly run a finger along my jaw and then cup my chin in your strong hand so I can’t look away. I feel the butterflies, the confusing mixture of sadness at having disappointed you mix with the excitement and anticipation of kneeling at your feet. Your expression serious, you sternly point out that we have something to take care of before we can go any further with our play for tonight. I take hope in your words. The evening is not completely destroyed. You will find a way to make it all right, to stop the mental spiral that my disobedience had started, and re-direct our night to what you want it to be. “You know why I am disappointed, my Angel, and this is not the first time. I am going to have to discipline you harshly tonight. What is your safeword?” My eyes widen. Safeword? We’ll need my safeword?!? I have really messed up this time! I work through the moment of panic and softly answer, “Red, Sir…it’s ‘red.” “Good.” You release my chin and firmly confirm my suspicions of what is to come. “Stand and go get your lovely chili cook-off prize.” I obey, a little stiffly, as my usual cushion for the kneel had not been offered. I fetch the prettily carved wooden spoon from my purse, the irony of the situation not lost on me. Cursed thing, I think, as I see my name sprawled right across the front of it. If only the event organizers knew how this “prize” was being put to use tonight.
My hands shake lightly as I return quickly to you with the make-shift paddle…not daring to postpone the inevitable by dragging my feet. My face is already hot and my cheeks are pink…self-conscious at knowing I am about to be punished like an errant child and knowing I deserve every bit of it. My mind darts back and forth between excitement and fear, a cacophony of warring emotions already rising up within me. I offer the dreaded object out to you and frown, confused, when you shake your head “No” at me. “Remove your skirt and blouse, leave your panties and bra, and then “Surrender”. You have 1 minute.” Before my mind fully deciphers the meaning of the command, I realize the time is already clicking away. I quickly scramble to obey you…dropping my skirt and blouse unceremoniously on the couch and sliding with practiced ease into the position you had commanded. My knees are wide apart, my head bowed submissively, and the dreaded wooden spoon is offered delicately up to you over my head, lightly gripped in in my upwardly turned, outward extended palms. “Your count is 12 minutes. For every minute you fall short, you will receive 2 swats. Do not speak. Do not not move. If you do, your time ends there. Are we clear, Doll?” I answer softly, “Yes, Sir”, the tremor in my voice making my emotional state obvious. 12 minutes?!?! I have practiced 10, and have never even made it the full 10 minutes without adjusting my position. I know I am not going to make it, and my eyes already begin to tear with the realization. You settle in your chair behind me. I feel your eyes on me and I take a deep breath…trying to hold perfectly still. I have no idea how you are counting the time, but I know it will be precise.
The seconds turn to minutes that feel like hours to my tortured mind…my thoughts reeling with the lack of control I am feeling. Your silence is deafening…leaving me only with my own thoughts and emotions to deal with as my body begins to shake. Is he still in the chair? Is he watching me? I feel the heat rising in my cheeks at the embarrassment of it all. Having no idea how much time has passed is almost too much for me. I want to ask, but I don’t dare. A thin film of sweat coats my body with the effort, and I fight to hold my composure. Surely at least 20 minutes have passed! My shoulders start to burn, and I suddenly am keenly aware of how very different it is to kneel on the floor rather than on a cushy blanket. My knees ache and I consider the option of begging for mercy. I know you don’t like to punish me. Maybe you would let me off easy if I ask….No. I resolve myself to focus and endure. I want you to be proud of me. Thinking about how good you are to me and how much you love my submission to you helps me to calm down. The panic starts to ebb away for the moment. I am your submissive…Your Angel. I take deep, controlled breaths, and focus on my submission to you..trying to push the increasing discomfort in my knees, arms, shoulders and neck aside. I am his. I am his. I repeat this mantra over and over again until finally, my muscles screaming, I can no longer hold out and I drop my arms, the wooden spoon clattering to the floor beside me. I close my eyes, disappointed. How many minutes did I hold? I am disappointed to hear that it was not as long as I thought. I had only lasted 7 minutes. 7 minutes?!? I quickly count in my head….10 swats. I swallow and return to my “Surrender” position, knowing you would expect me to stay where you commanded me to be until you release me, even if I had failed the challenge. You are a kind Dominant, and as soon as I raise my arms back to position, you tell me to stand. You offer a hand to help me get up, and I gratefully accept the help. I want to kneel and bury my face in your lap, so humbled and contrite am I, but I know that it is not the time. My punishment is not over yet, and you will not be swayed from the course you have laid out.
Gently, but firmly, you command me to “Bend”. Self preservation wells up in me and I take a step back…starting to feel panicked about what is about to come. I look at you and whimper, “Please, Sir? I won’t do it again!” Your expression hardens, and before I can think, your hand is tangled in the hair at the nape of my neck and you pull my head up to look at you. “Who do you belong to?” I feel my knees go wobbly and the flame in my belly that burns to please you leaps to life again…the temporary moment of defiance forgotten as you humble me once again at your hand. I answer breathlessly, “I am yours, Sir.” You release my hair and a calming warmth flashes in your eyes..those blue eyes…. as you repeat, “Bend, Doll. Now.” I obey, bending forward at the waist, my hands slide down my smooth, freshly shaven legs to rest just above my ankles. Humbled and wanting to please you, I push my bottom outward as far as I can, trying to hold this position as precisely as I can, even though that leaves the more sensitive “sit spot” even more exposed to your punishment. My long hair falls down over my face and I close my eyes….thankful for once for the mass of frizzy curls that I can now hide my flushed face behind. My breath is coming faster, and I feel a tremble move up my legs in anticipation. Though I feel a sort of fearful excitement, I am calm. I am yours, and I trust you to take me where I need to be in this moment. You remind me that this is a punishment, so I will be expected to count. I groan. I hate counting. No escape to subspace for me this time! Goosebumps rise across my flesh as you gently run your fingers along the soft edges of my soft lace panties, hook your thumbs on both sides and slide them down to my knees. Your hand slowly teases back up the inside of my thighs, and just barely grazes the dampness between my legs before abruptly moving away to retrieve the wooden spoon. A small whimper escapes my lips as I feel you move away from me. I long for more of your touch, and bite my lip to keep from begging already. I hear the amusement in your voice as you chide, “Not yet, my Love. You have a price to pay first.”
The swift and unexpected hardness of the first swat landing on my upturned bottom tears a loud yelp from my lips, which I quickly follow with a gasped, “One, Sir”. The next swat falls quickly, and I count again. As the third swat falls, the pain is already radiating across my backside and I can’t imagine how I will stay in place for all ten. Tears start to well up, and I am lost in my own inward battle to stay in place as the wooden spoon falls mercilessly again. I am jolted from my thoughts as your voice sternly reaches in and reminds me that I didn’t count. “Oh, Doll. Now we have to start again.” I moan, and start the count over..the next punishing swat taking me up on my toes. I wiggle and dance my feet, but I don’t stand up. I don’t want to start over again! You talk to me as you finish the spanking…reminding me with each painful swat that I am your submissive…your wife…. and you expect to be obeyed. Finally overcome, my tears find their full release and I feel the dam of pent up stress and emotion break as I count the last swat. You are not afraid of my tears, and I have learned over time that it is okay to let them fall. They are an important part of the cleansing and renewing process of being spanked. You take a seat on the bench in our room and pull me over to you. I drop to my knees and bury my face in your lap at the gentle command, “Relax”. You pet my hair and allow me to cry out my sorrow at having disappointed you. “Shhh, my Angel. You are forgiven. Everything is okay. You won’t make the same mistake again, now, will you?” My eyes are red, and my hair is a tangled mess around my face…sticking to the tears that had flowed unchecked down my cheeks. I glance to the well-purposed wooden spoon and up at you, adoration and gratitude for your strength and love for me shining in my eyes. I feel the throbbing heat of my well-spanked bottom meld deliciously with the dampness and heat of my arousal, the throbbing need for you between my legs almost too much to bear. “No, Sir…”, I reply softly….though in the back of my mind, even I am not sure I believe it. I look up at you again and smile contentedly, ready now to see what the rest of our romantic evening alone will hold. -
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