She was in position as He had instructed: her hands grasping the edge of the kitchen table, her feet wide apart. She was naked, naturally, He required that even in the dead of winter. The heating bills were atrocious, but well worth the expense to have her naked, available and eager at all times. He knew she hated the cold, so he made sure to keep the house nice and warm. He was, after all, a loving husband and Dominant. Tonight, though, He had plans for her. She' wouldn't like part of those plans, at least for a little while, but He knew her well enough to know she'd love the end result, besides, today was a special day and she deserved a special treat.
He had purposely ignored her sweet ass for a good week now. He wanted her desperate for what He was about to deliver. It had about killed Him, but he'd done it. God knew, nothing excited Him in quite the same way as seeing her ass red and feeling the heat of her skin after a good spanking. Her bottom was made for that. Perfect, round globes bent over his knee. He was getting hard just thinking about the last spanking he'd administered. But looking at her body stretched over the table, her ass wiggling in anticipation, He knew He'd made the right decision to deny them both for a week. Now, He practically giggled with glee. Yes, she certainly was desperate. So was he for that matter. First, He'd warm her up a bit with His hand. To do what He planned on doing, she'd need to be warmed up otherwise she'd bruise too badly. He knew she didn't mind bruising, but He hated the idea of actually harming her. Besides, He'd perfected His technique so that he could make her ass sore and tender for days but never leave a mark. He knew she liked that. She grinned and winced whenever she tried to sit after a good spanking. That's why He only allowed her to sit on hard wooden chairs. No cushions for her sweet ass.
He began his slow assault, cupping his hand to make the loudest possible sound but still not spanking with full force. She moaned. God He loved the sounds she made. The low throaty moans, the high pitched yips. She raised her hips slightly, anticipating and meeting each swat of His hand. After 40, her ass was a nice pink color and warm to the touch. He leaned over the table and pulled her hair a bit.
"Ready for the big guns, hon?" He asked.
"Yes, please," she answered, her voice full of passion and need.
He looked over the array of kitchen utensils He had assembled. What to use first? The wooden spoon? the pancake spatula? the small skillet? yard stick? Keeping a hand on her ass, He smiled as He made the decision. The yard stick. When applied with just the right force, it left a lovely red welt across her already pink bottom.
"What's today's date?" He asked.
"The 27th, Sir."
"The 27 it shall be."
By the time He had delivered all 27 stripes, his arm was aching and her ass and thighs were beautifully marked with bright red welts which would last for days. This, He knew, would please her. He listened to her panting and felt himself grow rock hard. She'd cried out, even screamed at one point, but had made no appeal to remove herself from the table. She was allowed to release her hold on the table only upon His command and she had, indeed, obeyed His rule. Now, she lay spent, weeping quietly. He noted with pride that her thighs glistened with sweet juice. She never looked so beautiful as when she was freshly spanked, ripe and wet.
"You're striped, my love, and weeping. But I you deserve more, don't you?" he asked.
"Oh, yes. Please, Sir. I do deserve more," she answered, sniffing daintily.
Chuckling, he picked up the wooden spoon. Grinning demonically, he held it in front of her face so she would know exactly what to expect. She gasped, closed her eyes and nodded. She hated the spoon. He knew that, of course, but she belonged to Him and would submit. He wanted to please her as well, naturally, but sometimes, she needed to be reminded that He was her Master. Today was that day. The last few days had brought with them a bit of brattiness which needed to be dealt with. Why only yesterday he'd come home from work and found her wearing a t-shirt. True, she had been frying potatoes for his dinner and explained that the grease was popping. Still, that was excuse. She was forbidden to wear clothing in the house unless given express permission. Graciously, he allowed her to wear an apron for protection while cooking, but a t-shirt? Never.
"You disobeyed a house rule yesterday," he reminded her.
