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"You'll do it now."

You'll Do It Now

I awaken to your hands rubbing my bottom, stroking in circles and squeezing lightly with thick, long fingers. From behind where you spoon me, protective like a cocoon, I feel your cock harden between the cleft where my upper thighs meet. Many days begin this way. You love fucking me in the morning.


Stirring, I whimper a bit. “Good morning, baby,” you whisper, kissing the nape of my neck with gentle lips.


“Morning,” I mumble. Truthfully, I’d like to sleep more, but you don’t tend to allow that. Early birds catch the worm, you say. Your ambition is attractive and I love that you always make time to be intimate with me in spite of your busy job, but ugh. I’d sleep all morning most days if I could.


The rubs and squeezes get a bit firmer. Your lips run a trail along my shoulder and fingers begin skirting the plump lips hugging my slit. You want to warm me up. Get me ready for you. You’re long and thick and need a generous coat of slick wetness to slide inside me smoothly.


“Baby,” you start, like you’ve got something important to say, “After we make love, I’m going to take you over my knee. There’s something we need to talk about.”


Frowning, I search my mind for what it could be. You usually spank me before sex, not after. The only time you fuck me first is before punishment, so you don’t go overboard in a frenzy or get distracted by arousal. Punishment, you say, is serious and pure and requires careful, well-grounded attention.


“What is it?” I ask, heartbeat kicking up a notch.


Your right hand slides under my neck, down and around my chest, finally settling to squeeze and trace circles around my left nipple. With your left hand, you search between my labia and find my entrance, checking for lubrication before working your middle finger inside, pumping slowly and gently. Just the mention of a spanking from you gets me wet and you know it. 


“After you went to bed last night, the internet stopped working. I logged into our account from my phone and it says we’re two months behind in payments.”


Fuck. You’re right. I forgot to pay the bill… again. This is literally the only financial chore you ask me to take care of in our marriage. I’m terrible with money, always have been, and you put this one task in my hands to help me get better about it. Unfortunately, your plan hasn’t worked thus far.


“Shit,” I say, squinting and rubbing my forehead. “I forgot. I’m sorry.”


“Mmhmm. I know.” You keep kissing my neck, slipping your finger out of my pussy and sliding it over my clit. “I reminded you a week ago, didn’t I?”


My pussy clenches at the kind pleasure you’re providing. I know I’m in trouble and you’d have every right to be mad if you wanted to be. 


“...yes, you did. I’ll pay it today.”


“You will, that’s right. You’re going to pay the late fee too.” Taking your cock in your hand, you wiggle the head the first inch or two inside me and reach up to wrap your fingers around my hip. With small, slow thrusts, you gradually make space for yourself, stretching my walls. Frayed gasps pour out of me. I love your size. Your shape. It’s the perfect fit, like the gods molded our bodies into interlocking puzzle pieces. Made for each other.


Breath deepening, you whisper in my ear. “What did we decide last time, if this happened again?”


“That’d you’d give me a spanking.”


“Mmhmm. A good one, too. I want you to do better, honey.”


You lift my leg up and back to wrap around your thigh to spread me open, hugging me tightly as you plunge deeper into my warm darkness. You wet your fingers in your mouth and return them to my clit. 


I want to feel guilty but you won’t let me self-loathe, hijacking my mood with your sensual attention. To bring me down is never your goal. You want me to improve and put my mind to the things we discuss. To make our marriage a priority. Hence, you make time for discipline. A space to stop and discuss. 


“I’ll start with my hand, but then you’ll get the paddle, and a caning. I might spank you again tonight, depending on how it goes this morning.” I try to bring my legs together, resisting the intensity brought on by your touch and your words, but you spread them back open before wetting your fingers again. Back to my clit, more firmly this time. “Think I’d like to use the bath brush on your wet bottom.”


Squirming in the immovable grip of your granite arms, lower lip jutting forward, I pout. “That seems like a lot.”


“Yes, baby. I want you sore so you’ll think about it next time. I don’t want this happening again. Understand?”






You pull out of me and turn my face toward yours for a long, slow kiss before rolling me onto my stomach and lifting my hips. Running your thumbs down along the sides of the space between my cheeks, you bring your lips to my sex, stopping finally at the hood of my clit, stretching the skin back on either side to make contact with your tongue. Its slippery, rolling heat rounds my pearl, polishing its surface. I whimper and try to slide forward but you reach up to pat my butt with a few light slaps—a prelude of what’s to come.


“Hold still, honey.”


Closing my eyes, I enter the void, softening as your ministrations unfold. You take your time to build intensity and my mind swims in visions of what you said you’d do to me. Your hand around my waist, holding me over your lap while you spank. The paddle smacking soundly. The slice of rattan cutting across the expanse of my already hot, swollen heiny. The bath brush swatting my wet, bruised cheeks. You holding me afterward while I cry. Over and over, the images flash by until I fall apart, melting into the sheets with a deep, desperate moan. You moan in return, humming vibration into my clit, latched on until I make my way through it and beg you to stop, panting to catch my breath.


“Please! Please…”


You grant my wish and let up, planting a few kisses over my folds before rising onto your knees to enter from behind. Still convulsing, my walls hug all angles of you while you penetrate. Caging my hips in your hands, pulling them higher, you begin with long, smooth thrusts, sighing at the pleasurable pressure of my squeeze on your cock.


“You gonna be a good girl while I spank you?” you ask, breathy and worked up, speeding up enough for your balls to slap lightly against the soaked apex of my pussy, making me twitch with every hit to the hood of my oversensitized nub.


“Y-yes… yes, I’ll be good…”


You tighten your grip, fucking me harder, lured toward the edge by the pull of your intentions for me. 


“I want you to call me ‘Sir’ while I punish you.”


“Okay. I… yes, Sir…”


“Good girl… we’re going to take care of this, baby...”


You’re close, pumping faster and faster while you harden even further, painfully stiff between my walls. I feel the pulsations start and you ram your cock all the way inside with a low grunt, spilling seed into the cleft of my cervix and holding there as you tumble down… down… through the depths of the abyss until you land back on earth, collapsing over me, heaving hot, wet breaths into the crevice behind the shell of my ear. 


We lay for a bit in silence, kissing and snuggling. I nuzzle your chest, inhaling the musk of your sweat and soaking in our intimacy, but nervousness blooms in my core, louder and brighter as the seconds tick by. I know what’s around the corner, just as soon as you’re ready to administer. When that moment finally comes, you stroke my temple with your thumb, looking into my eyes, light glinting off the warm, deep brown of your irises.


“Let’s get you spanked,” you whisper, searching my gaze.


I nod, scared of the pain but resigned to your discipline, awash in the love of your devotion to us.


“Yes, Sir.”


After a kiss between my brows, you rise, glistening with sweat in all your naked glory. My eyes study the contours of the muscles of your back while you turn and head to the dresser, donning a pair of black boxer-briefs and returning with a white pair of panties. Cotton, as expected. Traditional. It’s a symbol you savor while we move through this ritual.


“Put these on.”


They’ll come down eventually, I know, but coverage is not the point. You like the contrast, measuring the deepening shades of pink and red you create against the blank canvas of the fabric as you go, at least in the beginning. I pull them on and you sit, positioning yourself before wrapping your long fingers around my forearm and guiding to drape me over your thigh, torso resting on the bed, legs dangling in the space between yours.


“I love you, sweetheart,” you tell me, rubbing your right hand over the curves of my ass.


Tears spring to my eyes prematurely. Can’t believe we actually met. Never thought I’d find you. All those years. All that searching. All that fear when I first let you in.


“I love you too.”


It begins and my eyes clench shut, sending tears rolling down my cheeks. You’re consistent in your pacing and the target of your aim, striking at the thickest bits. The tops of my thighs, too. It hurts and I’m grateful. You could yell or call me an idiot, but haughty displays of intimidation have never been your style. Instead, you do this. 


Taking a moment to pause while I sniffle, you run your fingers up and down over the crotch of my panties. It’s saturated with a mingling mix of our juices, a sight you smile at every time you see it, commenting with a gravely rumble at the base of your throat. Through the drenched fabric, you massage my clit and I wince.


“Why didn’t you pay that bill after I reminded you?”


“I… I don’t know. I just thought I’d do it later, I guess.”


“You’re going to stop that, you hear me? No more putting things off until later.”


“Yes, Sir.”


Back to it. The sting grows, burning hotter with each swat. Wrinkling my nose, I whine and whimper into the sheets.


“Yup,” you affirm, listening for my discomfort. “That’s right, baby.”




Properly crying, I reach my hand back and you grab it with your left hand, holding it at the notch of my waist. My bottom wobbles over your knee and I start to kick limply, but not enough to throw you off. I want your forgiveness.


“Oww, ow! I’m sorry!”


“I know, honey. We’re just getting started though.”


A few more minutes of this and I’m crying hard, gripping your hand tightly. You pause and let go of our clasp, bringing your hands to each side of my waist to roll my panties down an inch at a time, adjusting them neatly at the middle of my thighs. Looking closely, you rub and pinch and squeeze, examining our progress.


“I can’t tell you how beautiful you look.”


Hiding my blushing face, I weep into the dark space between my crossed arms. Your definition of beauty has always added to the embarrassment of punishment. Angry red skin. Swollen marks. Tears. Cum dripping from my cunt, smeared throughout the fluff of my pubes. The dimpled cellulite of clenched cheeks. You love these things, and it makes me feel more naked than I already am.


Upon finishing up another procession of hard swats, skin on skin, you pat my behind, gingerly helping me rise. From the closet, you fetch the wooden paddle, dark brown with its shiny varnished veneer, custom made by you for the purpose of spanking me. I wipe my tears and stare at you expectantly as you approach our bed with a reassuring smile. Stacking our pillows into a pile, you lead me over it onto my belly with the crown of my bottom peaked, ready for you. The rolled panties still hug my thighs. 


Left hand splayed across my back, you lay down a few light swats to test your aim. As the glossy wood taps across the raw, teeming arc of my upturned rump, the hidden crux of my sex buried within me begins fluttering awake once more, quietly throbbing with renewed desire for you. I want you all the way inside, housed at the singularity around which the glittering galaxy of my being spins, permeating every cell and angle of my aura. You. You you you you you...


“What are you going to do next month, to help you remember?”


“I’ll just pay it,” I say, unable to focus through the blur of desire dripping in my heart.




Fuck. The strike is a harsh bite that wrenches me back to the moment. 


“Not good enough, honey,” you say, quiet and firm. “I want to hear a plan. You need a strategy.”


“Well… I don’t know.”


Your palm bears down, pressing my stomach tightly against the mattress. I squeeze my aching cheeks in anticipation.




I yelp at the pain, clutching the sheets in my fists, but this is why we do this. Discipline is a space for focus—a journey toward solutions for the equilibrium of our home—and you are a patient guide. One step at a time.


“Oww! Okay! I’ll think about it. I’ll come up with something.”


“Yes, you will, and not later. You’ll do it now.”




It’s a fierce sensation edging me toward a precipice not unfamiliar to me—one you’ve never pushed me over. I don’t know what would happen if I fell, and I don’t want to. You wouldn’t do that. Not when you love me as you do.


Weeping, I sort through my options. “I’ll… set up the account to charge the card automatically. Then I won’t be able to forget.”




Wailing, I devolve into sobs while you rub my back and chastise. 


“You’re missing the point of why we’re here, young lady. I want you to pay attention to our finances. I want you to look at the bill, check the amount, take the time to make the payment, and follow up to see that it’s gone through. This isn’t about putting this out of sight or mind. Quite the opposite.”


“Y-yes, Sir. Okay.” 




“I find it very naughty,” you say, voice low and intentional, “that you look for the easy way out with money all the time. It’s a lazy attitude. We don’t do that in this house with anything else, do we?”


“Noo-o-o! I’m sorryyyy…”




The final blow lands and I scream against the backs of my forearms, feeling the swell of my ass threatening to burst from its skin. Your weapon lands beside me and you kneel behind my propped-up hips, straddling my calves and leaning down to kiss my paddled fanny, running your hands along every curve and crease. Soft lips smooch the raised, hardened stretches of flesh.


Caressing, you whisper. “What are you going to do, honey?”


“I’ll put it in my phone. A reminder on a certain day or something, so I can check.”


“Theeeere we go. That’s more like it.” Your teeth nibble at one of my cheeks and I flinch while you chuckle. “What I’d like is a shared calendar. I want to know which day you’ll be taking care of this. And if I don’t see you do it that day, you’re gonna end up with a red rear-end all over again. Does that sound fair?”


It’s a sensible plan. God, I feel fucking dumb. There’s really nothing hard about paying a bill. I make every tiny pain-in-the-ass task so much bigger than it has to be. Takes ten minutes max to do most of the shit I put off until the last minute when it can’t possibly be ignored any longer. Lazy, just like you said.


“...okay. That sounds smart.”


“Okay what?”


“Okay, Sir.”


“Mmm, my good girl. We’ll make sure you stay on track from now on, don’t you worry.”


The cane is next as promised, providing a simple, straightforward follow-up to our discussion. No more words or questions or lecturing. You bring me to the middle of our room, wobbly as I stand, and have me bend over to grab my ankles just above where my panties pool around them at the floor. The stance pulls my skin taut, stretching it painfully while the strokes land harsh and sharp. I sob through it and sink to the floor here and there, grabbing my blistered cheeks and blubbering through additional apologies but you’re patient, allowing me time to resume the position, soothing me with praise and encouragement. Finally, we make it to 50.


Cuddles. Kisses. Rueful tears cried against your chest. Caresses. Pinches. Squeezes. Pats. Pet names. “Good girl”s. Whispers. Smiles. Consolation. Forgiveness. Quiet, settled moments of mesmerizing contentment. Fluffy warmth encapsulating my heart. Tranquilizing, swimmy trails of dreaminess. Drowsy travels in and out of sleep, safe in your arms through each leg of the journey. 


Awakening later though, you’re gone. Blearily I take stock, rubbing at my butt. You’ve pulled my panties back up and are off in the kitchen cooking. The smell of coffee lures me to you and you turn to kiss my forehead, denying me as I reach out to pour myself a cup. Turning me back around, you send me forth with a swat.


“Get your phone and come right back here. You’ve got something to take care of.”


I resist the urge to fly into a rage and attack you, dying for that first holy sip of morning heaven. I do as you ask and return to the kitchen with my phone. A wooden chair awaits me next to where you’re cooking, seat covered with a layer of uncooked rice. You pull the back of my panties tightly up into my crack and sit me down with a smile. The hard grains burrow into my punished skin and I fidget fussily, desperate to relieve the discomfort. Itchy. 


“I don’t like this at all,” I pout with a grimace.


Laughing, grin resplendent, you hand me a cup of coffee and kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss before turning back to your sizzling potatoes on the stove. 


“Pay it. Now. No breakfast until it’s done.”


Hmph. I sip my hot bean juice, log into our account from my phone, and take the five minutes I should’ve taken to pay the bill a month ago.


“Done,” I say, placing the phone on the counter. “Can I get up now?”


“Five more minutes.”


I scowl so hard you feel it and turn around, eyebrows raised. Leaning down, you look straight into my eyes, nose an inch from my own.


“Bratty girls who pout get the bath brush at bedtime.”


Looking away, I cross my arms, cursing all the horrible assholes who invented things like paddles and rice farming. You smile and turn your back to me once more, reaching to sprinkle grated cheddar with those strict, sinister, affectionate hands. 

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