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The Chili Cook-Off..a punishment scene
“…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 my husband, sitting next to me. I find his eyes already piercing a hole right through to my soul, and I know he already has a use in mind for my lovely new “prize”. My heart flutters at his expression, and I think back to my moment of error. The disappointment and anger in his eyes that I had committed our time for this event without asking him…again. This time, the mistake made worse by the fact that he had planned a romantic night out for the two of us. No kids…no pressure..and, unfortunately, no refunds on the show tickets. Being the gentleman that he is, he allowed me to save face and fulfill my commitment to the cook-off..knowing I would be embarrassed to leave the organizers short on food by pulling my entry 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 my Dominant husband’s eyes. My eyelashes naturally sweep contritely downward at his expression. I know there will be a price to pay tonight.
We pull into our driveway, and I follow him silently as he turns off the car and unlocks the back door. The house is dark and quiet, the kids had all been parceled out for the night, in keeping with the romantic evening that my Sir had planned. The plan I had ruined by making un-checked plans to enter the the chili cookoff. He turns to face me, his controlled, firm voice breaking my nervous silence with one simple command. “Kneel.” My heart pounding, I drop without hesitation to my knees before him….my back straight, chest 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 him when he is angry with me, but I know he prefers me to look at him for correction. My chin raised, my head straight, I lift my eyes to his….waiting. He smiles ever so slightly. “Good girl”, and I feel the warmth of his praise, even in my state of apprehension and nerves. He runs a finger along my jaw and then cups my chin in his hand so I can’t look away. I feel the butterflies, the confusing mixture of sadness at having disappointed him mix with the excitement and anticipation of kneeling at his feet. His expression serious, he sternly points out that we have something to take care of before we can go any further with our play tonight. “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? I have really messed up this time! I work through the moment of panic and softly answer, “Red, Sir…it is ‘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 stand, a little stiffly as I had not been offered my usual option to kneel on a soft, cushy blanket, and fetch the prettily carved wooden spoon from my purse. 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 with the make-shift paddle…not daring to pospone the inevitable by dragging my feet. My face is already hot and my cheeks are pink…self-concious at knowing I am about to be punished like an errant child, knowing I deserve every bit of it, my mind flipping back and forth between excitement and fear. 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. Are we clear, Doll? Do not speak. Do not not move. If you do, your time ends there.” 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. I hear the slight tremor in my own voice. “Yes, Sir.” 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. 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. What a spoiled submissive I am to always have a soft place to kneel for you! Thinking about how good you are to me helps me to calm down, and 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 wait anxiously to hear the verdict. How many minutes did I hold? I am surprised to hear that it was not as long as I thought. I had only lasted 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 released, even if I had failed the challenge. You have mercy on me and as soon as I raise my arms back to position, you release 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 belong to you, Sir.” You release my hair and a calming warmth flashes in your eyes..those 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. Obedient and wanting to please you, I push my bottom outward as far as I can, the 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 behind. I feel a tremble move up my legs in anticipation, but I am calm. I am yours, and I trust you to take me where I need to be in his 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 pained “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. 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. 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 our my sorrow at having disappointed you. “Shhh, my Angel. You are forgiven. We are fine. 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 my tears. I look 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. “No, Sir…”, I reply softly….though in the back of my mind, even I am not sure I believe it. -
2 Replies
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Angelica, thank you so much for sharing this. I am not sure why but reading you..you really spoke to me. I absolutely loved the dynamic between you two, the love that you guys clearly share, the way you trust him completely and the way he takes care of you. Just beautiful <3
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Thanks for commenting, Picolla. I am so happy you enjoyed it. 🙂
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