Eyes of Dominance

You are getting out of the shower when my voice unexpectedly sounds throughout the house. “Princess, kitchen! Now!” Your voice answers back at me, questioningly. “What is it? I’m getting out of the shower.”

“You have 15 seconds to get your butt out here, or so help me…” I leave the threat dangling in the air. It works, as within seconds you hurry into the room, hair still dripping lightly, loose towel barely covering your glistening skin, not yet dried from the water. I’m standing cross armed, eyes narrowed as I take you in. I’m clearly not happy.

I don’t say anything immediately, content to let my stance speak my feelings for me. After a few seconds you speak up. “What’s up? You’re home early…” you trail off nervously. I look up at the clock, as if to verify your statement. In truth I’m only about five minutes ahead of schedule. I nod my head, eyes still glowering at you.

“Mind explaining this?” I gesture behind me, at the various pots and plates lining the sink. Your face drops as you just now realize why I’m mad. “I thought I asked you to clean all this up after breakfast this morning? Why is it still in the exact same state as when I left?” The look on your face tells me all I need to know. “Really, again with this? How many times is this now?”

You protests finally kick in. “It’s not my fault, I was out earlier too, you know! Then you texted me about going out, and I got in the shower. I was going to do it when I got out! It’s not even a big deal, I’ll do it now.”

“I asked you specifically to make sure this was clean when I walked through the door. You knew I was on my way home, and yet it’s still not done. You’ve been home plenty today; you could even have cleaned up before your shower. This is the third time in as many weeks that you failed to do what’s been asked of you. This has gotten ridiculous!”

I rub my temples. Then, with a sigh of resolution, I speak. “I can’t believe I have to do this again this month. I imagined you’ve learned the consequences by now. You know the drill. Hands on head, in front of the couch.” You start to protest, but I cut you off. “No, I don’t want to hear it. One word out of place and this gets much worse.”

You throw your towel on the ground in anger, before stomping to the couch with a sour expression. I glare at you the whole way, before following behind and grabbing the towel off the floor, placing it on the counter. I then walk up to you and grab your chin, meeting your gaze. “You are really asking for it today.” I note, before starting with the lecture.

“What did I ask you to do this morning?” I start in with a stern tone. You stomp your foot. “Do we really have to do this? Just get it over with so I can get dressed and we can fucking leave!”

“You’ve just earned extra for that outburst, young lady. Answer the question now. What did I ask you to do?”

“……. Put the dishes away, sir.”

“Did it get done?”

“No, sir.”

“What’s happens to girls that don’t follow orders?”

A pause, before your response. “They get punished.”

“Yes they do. It doesn’t matter how many times I have to do it, you will suffer the consequences of not following instructions. I am extremely disappointed that it’s the third time in a month we’ve had to go over this. I didn’t expect to have to do this today, but I will do it all the same.” I place my foot on the couch, creating an arch with my leg. “Over my knee, now!”

You lower yourself down, groaning as I readjust your weight across my leg, forcing your feet off the ground. As you dangle over my leg, completely suspended in the air, I start the punishment, bringing my hand down hard on your right cheek. I waste no time, leading off fast and relentless, targeting your sit spots. You gasp and groan as you squirm under the onslaught, as the pain blossoms under my targeted strikes.

I watch the clock, determined to give you five minutes of uninterrupted discipline. As the last minute approaches, I slow the pace and deliver hard, powerful spanks, garnering the first sobs and protests. I stop with a heavy smack to both cheeks, before assessing your condition. Two splotchy pink cheeks stare back at me, as your chest rises and falls quickly with suppressed tears. I stand you up, and point back towards the kitchen. “Bring me the heavy wooden spoon from the top drawer, now. You have 10 seconds.”

“Come on, I -”

“10, 9…” I count off. You shoot me a dirty look that will no doubt cost you, before walking quickly to the kitchen to retrieve the implement. You return as my count nears the end.

“Good. This will do nicely.” I comment, before dragging you back over my leg, wasting no time starting the second phase of your punishment. I begin again with the same accelerated pace as before, now eliciting cries as the tears flow freely. I use the wooden surface to paint a sea of red across your cheeks, pausing to focus on areas not yet fully punished. In five minutes time, I’m satisfied with the uniform shade of red covering your ass.

I bend you farther forward, and place the spoon against your upper thighs, untouched by my wrath. “You would have been done by now, but you just had to push your luck. These are a reminder to be respectful.” I smack down as hard as I can with the spoon, feeling you buck as the pain surprises you. I make it quick, thirty seconds on each thigh, but by your dancing and kicking, I have no doubt of it’s effect.

I stand you back up, wiping a thumb under each of your eyes to clear the tear streaks. “You need to learn to follow instructions. I don’t care how many times I have to do this. Now go to the corner, and stand perfectly still and think about this lesson. I’ll call you when you’re finished.”

As you make your way to the corner, I go to the bedroom to change my clothes. As I return and turn the corner, I catch the flash of your hand retreating back to it’s place at your head.

“Princess, what was that? Were you just rubbing?”

You shift slightly, hesitant to answer. “No sir. I wasn’t.”

I walk to the counter, reprising the spoon, before walking to your position. “Don’t lie to me, I just saw your hand move. Did I say you can break position?”

No response. I sigh, then cock back and bring the spoon down hard, three times on each cheek. Accompanying each smack is a satisfying yelp of pain. I then grab a handful of hair between my fingers, whispering into your ear. “You’ve just doubled your time. You’re up to an hour now. One more slip up, and you will regret it.” I then return the implement to its place, and sit down to use my laptop. I take note of the clock, and go about my leisure while keeping an eye on you. According to my original plan, we are slated to leave in an hour and fifteen minutes. Cutting it close, no doubt, but I’m determined for you to learn this lesson.

The minutes pass by, and though you held strong through the first half, your form is degrading fast through the latter. It’s with twenty minutes left that it becomes unacceptable, your arms sagging from their spot on your head, your knees noticeably bent. I stand, aggravated, before making my way to the kitchen. I grab a bag of rice from the freezer, before opening it and scattering the contents across the hard floor. I then return to the living room, where you are fidgeting, likely anxious at hearing my movements. Without a word, I grasp your arm and lead you behind me, stopping in front of the pile.

“You can’t seem to follow a single direction today. Can’t put away the dishes, can’t stay in position. Perhaps we need to up the intensity.” I point, explaining the situation. “You will do the rest of your corner time on that pile of rice. You’ve got 20 minutes. You get up, we restart. You complain, we restart. I’d rather not be late, but your discipline takes priority, and we will do this as long as it takes.” Without waiting for your protest, I gently but forcefully push you to your knees, restraining you as they come in contact with the floor and the pain blossoms. I position you as I see fit, straightening your back, and moving your hands behind your back, grasping your elbows.

“Twenty minutes.” I restate, then sit at the kitchen table, keeping my eyes firmly on you. The first few minutes past fairly uneventfully. As time drags on though, the building pain is starting to take its toll. I watch your reactions as the discomfort drags on, with no way for you to alleviate it. At the ten minute mark the slight fidgets begin, which I put to an end with a single threat to redouble the time. As the fifteen minute mark approaches, I make my way into your field of vision, and upturn your face to meet me.

“I hope you’re learning your lesson, sweetheart. You’ve got five minutes left to go. After that, I want you to pick up this mess and throw it away. If I find even one spare rice grain, we will do this again tomorrow. Do you hear me?”

Through watering eyes, you answer. “Yes sir…”

“Are you learning your lesson?”

“Yes sir, I’m sorry.”

“Good girl. When this is all picked up, I want you to go put on some clothes. I will pick the set, and then we will leave. Do you understand?”

You nod, and I lean down to ghost a hug over your shoulders. “You could have avoided all this by simply following orders. I hope in the future you remember that.”

The last five minutes are torturous, with your gasps and whimpers audibly filling the room as the rice digs into your skin. To your credit, you hold your position admirably, perhaps finally accepting the consequence of your actions. Finally, the last minute passes, and slowly I help hoist you to your feet, noting your grimace of pain as you rise.

I gently swipe my hand across your knees, knocking loose the stray grains still stuck to your skin. I quickly inspect your knees, finding no marks that require immediate attention. I nod, contented, before pulling out the trash bin. “No broom. I want it all picked up by hand. I’ll meet you in our room.”

Roughly five minutes later, you walk through the bedroom door, your work completed. I stop you to take a passing glance over your body, taking inventory of each punished area, before directing you to the clothes I’ve chosen. As we walk out the door to our evening, you give me a tight hug of apology and appreciation, before you smile softly and enter the car. I get in the drivers seat, take your hand in mine, and begin our drive to a wonderful evening.