It's been a long day for you, it's Saturday, and you've put in a full twelve hours. You come home to find that your house is a mess. As you look around, you see clothes everywhere, the dishes are still stacked in the sink from breakfast, and there are some from a certain someone who ate lunch and dinner in the house as well. "Lacey!" you shout, "Get out here, NOW!" I'm in the computer room, surfing the internet. I hear the anger in your voice and I scurry out.
"Yes, Master?" I squeak as I wring my hands together, as though suddenly noticing the mess I've left around the house.
"Didn't I leave you a list of chores to do while I am at work?" you ask softly, your eyes glinting. I nod and look at the floor.
"Yes sir, you did..." I say softly.
"Why have you not done them?"
"I-I um..." I stammer, looking for an excuse or a lie. You grab my arm and drag me over to the nearest chair, unzipping my jeans and pulling down my panties; you pull me over your knees and apply your hand to my ass, setting it on fire. I cry out and squirm over your lap. You let me up after about five minutes of spanking me. I sniffle and look at you through my tears.
"You will now complete your chores while I get cleaned up. I will inspect your work and if it is not to my liking, you will do it over again, and you will receive a harsher punishment than what you will receive if I find everything to my liking. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes Sir, may I pull up my pants and panties?" I choke. You nod and head upstairs. I fix myself and scurry to complete my chores, picking up the laundry, cleaning the cat boxes, and doing the dishes. When you return I am drying the dishes, ready to put them away.
"Wait," you instruct and I jump, nearly dropping a plate. You raise an eyebrow and take the plate from me, inspecting it while I nervously watch. Satisfied, you hand it back to me, but you frown as you pick up a glass. I bite my bottom lip as you show me a smudge. I take the glass from you and start to clean it again, my back toward you. I hear you go into a drawer and pull something out. I know it is the dreaded wooden spoon and sure enough you grab the nape of my neck as I put the glass on the drying rack and bend me forward, my face in the sink. You pull my jeans and panties down once more and apply the spoon to my backside at a brisk pace. I screech, spewing apologies as I wiggle under the wrath of the spoon, putting my hands back to shield myself, but you continue, applying more force to my hands. You let me up after 35 to each cheek. You release me and I remain in position, still sobbing. "Did you clean the counters and the stove?" you ask, I nod and you point out quite a few spots I've missed. I bite my bottom lip again, caught in a lie.
"I was trying to finish in a hurry," I lie quickly. You can tell I am lying by how badly I am shaking.
"You were trying to finish in a hurry...?" You ask softly, a hint of warning in your voice.
"I was trying to finish in a hurry, Sir!" I correct myself, but this was not just an issue of address and I realize that all too late. You were giving me a chance to tell you the truth, and still I lied. You sigh and point to the "game room". My eyes grow wide and I try to redeem myself, but it is too late, I have done one of the worst things I could have done. I have lied to you, to my Master. Trembling violently, I retreat to the "game room", a multipurpose room meant for entertainment as well as correction. We have a futon, a house warming gift given to us by my father, in this room, and I know what I am to do. It is currently a couch so I strip completely and drape myself over the back of it, my bottom in the air, fully exposed and ready for punishment. You do not come in right away, since you know that waiting for my punishment makes me feel worse. By the time you come in, about ten minutes later, I am squirming, my arms are supporting me and they are shaking. My eyes remain forward. I watch you go into the closet and pull out a plastic hanger. The tears spring into my eyes and I am feeling very remorseful now. You stand in front of me for a moment, holding the hanger in one hand and smacking the palm of your other hand with it. My eyes are staring at the hanger, but you are speaking to me now, and I must listen to what it is that you are saying. I look up at you.
"Do you know why you are in this position?" you ask me calmly.
