Give Me Half An Hour

And I’ll write a bit of fiction.

Click through to the meat of this post wherein you’ll find a cheerful little fable which I give the working title, “The Foot Comes Down”.

The Foot Comes Down

“Please look at the clock”, I say. “Notice the time?”

“I just have a couple of more things to do before I shut down for the night”.

I get up out of my seat and give you my best glare. Angry yet not furious but conveying as much seriousness as I can inject into the conversation.

“You said that ten minutes ago. Those couple of things have turned into five more things rather quickly. Now shut down your computer and get ready for bed”.

I count to thirty in my head before walking over to your side, taking the mouse out of your hand and beginning the process of closing down your laptop.

“OK, OK — I’ll shut it down”.

I watch as you close down window after window on the desktop in a defiantly slow manner. The air of annoyance is obvious from your body language but you comply. Rules are rules and you were caught pushing against the edges, testing their breaking point — and mine as well. The computer fan finally winds down and the screen goes dark. You turn in your chair and give me a look that I know says, “Happy that I did what you wanted?”

“Stand up, go to the bedroom and take out the cane that you hate the most”.

“What”, you say. “I did what I was told. I shut it down”.

I fold my arms and look you right in the eyes. “After you were reminded more than twice”.

“So…”

“That’s not the rule”, I say. “You are supposed to honor the bed time agreement by yourself without prompting. One reminder is all you get before we go to the harder way of doing things”.

You shift in your seat knowing that the inevitable is coming whether you like it or not. However, the defiance has yet to leave you which is obvious from the look on your face.

“But I did what I was told”, you plead. “I don’t want a caning before bed”.

“You’d get a spanking before bed but it’s too late for that kind of noise in this apartment so the cane it is. Now go get it and get ready”.

You get out of your chair and slowly walk to the bedroom. I go to the kitchen and wash the remaining dishes in the sink before turning off all the lights and going into the bedroom. I see you by the bed side, naked from the waist down, bent over with your palms flat on the mattress. The cane is leaning against the bed beside you. I pick it up and wave it through the air a few times making that swishing noise which I know causes flutters inside you.

“You’re getting a dozen hard strokes before bed. You know why?”

“Because I had to be told more than once to go to bed”.

“That’s right. Now we’ll get this done quickly and then you can get ready to go to sleep”.

I move to the side and place the tip of the cane half way across your bottom, measuring the distance I need for the full stroke. I reach back with the cane and let it fly towards its target. It connects directly across the center and you let our a stifled yelp, conscious of the fact that the neighbors can hear any unusually loud noise. I give you another two strokes in quick succession, one above the first line, one below it. I know that you like a caning slow which allows the effect of each blow to register across your bottom before the next one. However, this is punishment and the way that you might want it to be is not my concern. Nine more strokes of the cane land, each of them with equal force and meant to cause as much pain as I think you deserve. It ends and watch you collapse on the bed, your hands reaching back to rub across the red lines and welts.

I wipe the cane and put it away. I set the alarm, undress and get into bed.

“You have five minutes to get back here and get under the covers starting now”.

I watch you rush off to comply and settle my head down on the pillow for the night.

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13 Responses to “Give Me Half An Hour”

  1. kernalgeneral Says:

    fabulous! just fabulous!
    thanks for the early post
    loretta

  2. Oh, well written btw. Nicely done. Simple, realistic, but it really made me squirm.

  3. Excellent, Rad. Marie, I expect your first comment might be because you anticipate visiting this scene at a party in the future? 😉 (I know, from both of your blogs, that you and Rad are friends).

    Mike P

  4. I don’t really have friends, only people who hate me less.

  5. What a perfect story!

    Although it’s weird for *me* to read about you doing the dishes in the story. In our household, my Master ain’t doin’ no dishes! He’d read a book, or pull down a Janus for added inspiration, leaving me to do the dishes next morning! But of course, not many people have our kind of relationship, so I think that detail adds a very effective realism to the story.

    What with real-life punishments on my brain these days, this post just really struck home. Hah hah. 😉

    • Doing the dishes is one of the most relaxing tasks I can do other than taking a shower. The task is so mindless that it allows my brain to wander — some of my most creative ideas spring up during dish washing.

  6. Interesting Zille, Max does dishes a lot here too. It’d never fly that I always did them, not now and not ever lol.

    It’s interesting how I am so drawn to most ‘traditional’ gender roles (cooking, cleaning, and things) but if they were forced, or expected, or required, it would be less about me wanting to do them and enjoying it.

    As for real life punishments…ahhh 😦

  7. Oooooooo …! Nice! Well, not nice but you know what I mean. I love the idea of someone putting a foot down with/for me. Ah the drawbacks of being a good, reliable girl.

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