Angela’s story: overcooked rump

16Dec09

Angela’s story continues.

The next morning I had a little of the customary stiffness and sitting was not at the top of my list of fun things to do. But otherwise, I felt fine. The prospect of another spanking that evening filled me with curiosity rather than anxiety, I had never experienced such a large heavy brush as the one David intended to use. However, after the previous night in the corner I was not looking forward to that part of the proceedings.

David had some work to do and as I could not face sitting at a desk to do my holiday studies I decided to go for a walk.

Walking on your own in a London street or park frees the mind to ponder the great questions of the universe and your own personal set of ethics. I got to wondering what would happen if I misbehaved while I was out. Should I write it down in my new book and face the just consequences or should I keep quiet because my bottom had all too recently been spanked? I realised that I would have to write any failing down because David would see in my face at once that I had cheated.

It is strange, but rather than be dismayed at the new discipline he had placed on me, I felt comforted by the knowledge that I could not escape David’s protection and firm hand. It sounds corny if you say it out loud but I did feel a warm glow that actually manifested itself in a pleasant tickling sensation on my skin.

The other thing that occurred to me was that apart from a bit of housework, I let David do everything. One of the reasons I was being spanked was because I had not offered to help my mother at Christmas. I realised that I had to learn my lesson and take some responsibility for our relationship.

I concluded that I would prepare the evening meal. A reckless decision, one might think, as I had no idea how to cook, but then how hard could it be?

I had great fun planning my first foray into the culinary world. After extensive thinking over several minutes, I hit upon beef, as we had probably eaten enough birds in the last week or so, that we would probably grow wings.

The more I thought about it, the better I liked the idea, but what kind of beef, a casserole or a joint? What vegetables should I get? It took most of the afternoon and several miles of walking before I ended up with two steaks.

“Guess what?” I announced when I arrived home. “I am going to cook tonight.”

“Are you trying to soften me up?” David asked.

“Oh you cynic. No I am just trying to prove I have learned my lesson.” I said smugly.

“For a girl who is going to get another sound spanking on her already tender tail later, you sound very chipper.” He observed dryly.

“No need to rub it in.” I pouted. “Not until after anyway.”

As David returned to his work, I set about setting things up in the kitchen.

“Are you sure you can cook steak?” David called from the other room.

“Of course.” I replied. “How do you like yours done, boiled or baked?”

David came rushing into the kitchen, almost at a run. I was ready for him frying pan in hand and a smirk on my face.

“Very funny.” He pulled a face. “You could always have that spanking now.”

“How do you like your steak?” I asked seriously.

“I’ll settle for cooked, if it is even slightly pink I will be happy, but if you can leave a hint of blood, that would be fab.” He put is arms around me and kissed my hair.

“Fab.” I jeered. “What kind of old git’s expression is that?”

He smacked my bottom hard and I yelped and stuck out my tongue at him.

In the end I forgot the onions, under cooked the potatoes, over cooked the peas and the less said about the steaks could only improve the story. David tried not to laugh and just sat there wearing his interesting face. Then I did.

“Better than my first effort.” David said joining me.

“Sorry.” I grimaced. “The steaks caught fire while I was peeling the potatoes.”

David burst into huge guffaws, hardly able to speak.

“You are supposed to have the vegetables ready before you start cooking the steak.” He could not get the words out for laughing. “Timing is the secret to cooking.”

“That pan will take days to clean.” I wailed once we finally stopped laughing.

“Never mind you can make a start tonight before you go to the corner.”

“Yes Sir.” I said gloomily.

In the end it took two hours to do the washing up standing at the sink in just my pyjama tops with my still bruised bare bottom on display. By the time I was finished I would have happily traded my chore for the corner.

I didn’t bother to report my qualified success with the pan to David; I just went to the corner to await my spanking.

Spanking time did not come soon, but it came hard. I was ready to shout the place down before he was finished with me. The clothes brush hurt far worse than the hairbrush and I was suddenly very worried about my next appointment with the bath brush.

To be continued.



One Response to “Angela’s story: overcooked rump”


  1. 1 The Spanking Spot » Blog Archive » Voting for the Spanking Blog of the Year 2009 is OPEN!

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