Sunday, September 9, 2012

Kitchen Chairs

I wrote this story a number of years ago when I was trying to find my "voice". I hope you enjoy!

Kitchen Chairs

In hindsight it was probably not the best plan but he was busy playing a computer game that had recently come out. Star something or other with explosions, guns, and violence which, I'll admit, had a pretty interesting storyline but I held no interest whatsoever in games such as this.

I was hungry. The snack food had been placed on the very top shelf of our very tiny galley kitchen. Obviously he had not been thinking clearly when placing the delectable and completely nutrition-lacking chips and cookies on the unreachable shelf high above my head, mocking me.

Knowing his dislike for my habitual use of chairs as ladders, I glanced over at the computer and saw to my satisfaction that he was distracted by an onslaught of bug-like creatures. Grabbing a kitchen chair from the "dining room" which was little more than a juice box, I lifted it up from the ground and placed it quietly underneath the offending high cupboard. I stepped gingerly onto the chair and was so distracted momentarily by the close proximity of my ultimate goal, Zesty Doritos, that I did not hear the rolling of the computer chair.

I did, however, hear the “what the hell do you think you are doing?”

I froze precariously on the rickety chair. I have never been good at coming up with quick explanations in a pinch and unfortunately this time was no exception. The most I could stammer out was a childish “ummm...” I thought it was pretty obvious that I wanted food but the way he was glaring at me made me think twice about going down that route.

Two steps into the kitchen had his arm around my thighs in his shoulder against my hipbone. “Turn this way.”

I knew where this was going. “I can get down myself.”

“I have” he glanced over at the computer than back at me, “three minutes and 42 seconds to deal with you or you could wait up after the match after which I will have hours upon hours.” I took the hint and turned. Over his shoulder I went.

"Why three minutes and 42 seconds?” I asked on the way to the bedroom where I was unceremoniously dumped on the bed. I glanced at the clock.

"Because I died and I will be regenerated in that amount of time.” He was rummaging in the top drawer of his dresser. “ Unbutton your jeans.”

I tried my best to pout and saw it brought a smile to his face which he tried to hide. This was still new to him and while he liked to pretend this was my “thing,” I knew he enjoyed this playful exchange.

Two minutes and 90 seconds.

"Over you go” There was something hidden behind his back. This was never a good sign.

I crawled over the bed and lay upon his lap. Pants were pulled down and his hand was promptly applied with gusto.

"I assume you know why you are here?” It was barely a question as he quickly peppered my backside with rapid sharp spanks.

I arched my back and pointed my toes. “Yep!” I stated in between caught breaths. I propped myself up on my elbows.

One minute 30 seconds.

My panties were stripped and I felt something cool with a smooth side resting on my already warmed cheeks.

"What have you got back there?” I asked, beginning to turn around. “Shit!”The word came out of my mouth before I could stop it when plastic connected with flesh.

"Excuse me?”

“Umm...ouch?” I shrugged and tried to look cute and cuddly. “Wait, is that my missing hair brush?”

An evil grin had crept across his face. “You had two, I thought I could put this one to better use.”

“Now wait a...ow!”I tried to get up but was pushed down and another swat applied to the other side. I wasn’t going anywhere but I still liked to try. I thought about putting my hands back to offer my poor bottom some ounce of protection but the thought of having my hands swatted didn’t appeal to me. His aim, while improving, still had some way to go.

“Ten for swearing.”

“Are the first ones included?”

“The previous two?”

“Glad you can still count,” I muttered quietly, taking the moment to rub some of the sting out of my behind.

“Let’s make it fifteen!” He stated cheerfully.

“Oh goodie...”

One minute.

“Count from three.”

“Please would be nice...Three!” I sucked in air through my teeth and braced for the next. “Four. Five. Dam...rn. Six.” There was a pause. He began to rub his hand lightly over my reddened bottom and I began to relax. Maybe he wasn’t that heartless...

The seventh landed quickly and with precision. “Seven oooh you are evil!”

“And you almost swore. Would you like me to add five more on or just keep to the fact that I am a loving husband who doesn’t like the idea of taking you to the hospital with another concussion?”

“Keep to the facts”

“Good choice”

30 seconds.

The next seven landed on target but sporadically. I was never quite sure where they would end up but I managed to keep the words going through my head in my head.

There was a pause before the last and final stinging smack reverberated off the walls. I grunted than breathed a sigh of relief as he put the hairbrush down.

“Going to do that again?”

“No sir.” Spoken more than a little sarcastically.

“Did you enjoy that?”

I smirked a little and didn’t answer. I got up and he stormed off to his computer, feet thumping as he stepped. By the time I had pulled up my pants and made myself semi-presentable, he was already back to squishing bugs. He grinned at me and turned back to the screen.

A thought occurred to me. “But what about my chips?!?”

© Felicia Nemo 2010


  1. LOL! Very cute story. Cute blog title.

    I like your humor.

    And I *always* use a chair when I can't reach something in the kitchen.

    1. Thank you! I will neither confirm nor deny the use of chairs as ladders in my home but they do add for fun little story senarios. Seriously, who puts food in the top shelf anyways? ;)



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