Annie Meets the Spatula

When Annie and I were first dating, we were trying to save some money, so we'd often eat in, at my apartment or hers. The general rule was that she'd cook, and I'd do the dishes. Occasionally, there'd be a role reversal, since I liked to try my hand at cooking now and then.

One evening, at my place, we'd just finished eating a chicken-and-pasta dinner I'd made. We were sitting on the couch having a drink, and Annie wanted to watch something on streaming TV. I suggested we watch later, as the kitchen was a mess. "You can do the dishes later," she assured me, which was odd given that it was her turn once I'd cooked dinner. She elbowed me gently in the ribs, which made me spill some of my beer onto my lap. She laughed.

"You're in trouble," I said, grumpily though my annoyance was mild.

"Do something about it!" she challenged, nudging with her elbow again, though this time stopping short of causing me to spill my beer.

That surprised me. What did she want me to do? I put my beer on the end-table and patted her thigh. Annie was wearing jeans. She pressed against me while still holding her drink, a margarita I'd mixed for her. She's rather petite, 5'3" to my 5'10." Her long brown hair hung over my arm. She pushed her weight against me a little more. And then her margarita spilled onto my lap.

"What are you doing?" I said, getting exasperated now.

"What a mess," she said, looking at me closely. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I'm going to get changed," I replied, taking her mostly empty glass from her hand and putting it on the end-table next to my half-filled beer mug. My tone grew a little sterner. "Meanwhile, you're going to clean up the kitchen, and only then are we going to watch the show you want."

"No," she said sweetly, putting her hand on my groin, which quickly started to bulge. "You're going to get changed, you're going to do the dishes, and I'm going to start watching the show now." She gave my bulge a stroke, as if that could program me to do whatever she wanted.

I was silent for a moment, contemplating the situation. I glanced over at the kitchen and saw a clean plastic spatula on the counter, next to some dirty dishes; I'd taken it out earlier but ended up not using it. A thought occurred to me. I looked at Annie quietly for a moment, then got up. I walked over to the counter and picked up the spatula.

"I have a different idea," I said, sitting back on the sofa, on her other side now, where there was plenty of space. I tapped the spatula once on my own thigh, then once on hers. She looked at me quizzically but with a smile forming. "And what's that?" she said, in a challenging tone.

I grabbed her arm and pulled her across my lap. Then I brought the spatula down on her gorgeous, denim-clad butt. She turned a bit toward me, looking startled but not displeased. I brought the spatula down again. She finally said something now. "What do you think you're doing?"

I brought the spatula down again. "That's 'what do you think you're doing, sir,'" I advised her.

"Bastard!" she yelled. But her tone had a mirthful quality. I brought the spatula down again.

"You can say anything you want," I said calmly. "You can even stop this with a safeword, if you're not ready to take your medicine. Your safeword is 'kitchen.'" Another spatula slap.

"Scumbag," she muttered, but mostly under her breath. She squirmed as if trying to get off my lap, but I reached over and grabbed her arm with my other hand. She wasn't going anywhere.

Two more smacks of the spatula. "You can call me whatever you want to," I said. "But you have to say 'sir.'" Another smack, a little harder. Annie gave a little groan but didn't say anything.

I lay the spatula down on the small of her back. "Now," I said, "we're going to take these jeans down. I expect cooperation. I haven't decided yet if the panties stay on."

She scoffed in response. But then, she raised her butt, making it easy for me to undo her jeans and pull them down to mid-thigh, revealing a pair of red panties. She rested back down on my lap, and I picked up the spatula again. I brought it down on her left cheek, then on her right, and then continued in that vein. Whereas my first smacks over her jeans had been somewhat random, now I targeted alternating cheeks. She squirmed across my lap and made some grunts.

I started slowing the pace of the spanks so there could be some discussion in between. "You understand that you'll be doing the dishes as soon as I let you up?" I asked.

"No," she replied. I brought the spatula down. "No, because I'm going to give you a blowjob first," she added sweetly.

I gave her a spank slightly harder than most. "No," I said, "you'll be doing the dishes first, young lady." Another spank, back to the normal intensity. "Don't try to use your feminine wiles to get out of household chores," I said. Another spank. "You're in no position to negotiate," I added. Spank. "Moreover," I said, "at times like this, call me sir." The spatula came down again.

"Yes, sir!" she said loudly.

With that, I let her up. Annie pulled up her jeans and marched over to the kitchen to begin doing the dishes. The beer and margarita spots on my lap had dried, but I changed pants anyway, and then sat on the sofa channel-surfing with my beer, as she scrubbed away in the kitchen. So diligent. After a few minutes, I got up and hung the spatula up on a wall hook near the sink, thinking it would be nice to have the thing visible and readily available.

There'd be future instances where it would come in handy. There'd be times when she'd be wearing a short skirt that I'd flip up as she lay across my lap. There'd be times when her panties wouldn't stay up, and the spatula would leave cute little marks on her bare ass. There'd be times she'd be grabbing her ankles or bent over the counter. But all that lay in the future.

"I'm sure I'll be putting this to good use," I said. She glanced over at the implement and then shot me a slightly scornful look, but with a smirk. "Yes, sir," she mouthed silently, turning back toward the dishes, which were almost done.

I walked back to the sofa and picked up the remote, setting up the show she'd wanted to watch. I wondered what else this evening had gone the way she'd planned it.