In the Kitchen
Flash fiction by
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Published by Dylan Cross
You're standing in front of your kitchen sink, gripping the countertop. You're also blindfolded and the door has been left unlocked per my instructions. You hear me come in but as ordered, you don't move, not even when you feel me lifting your skirt and draping it over your back. You're bare-assed beneath the skirt, and you sigh as the cool air hits you.
I select a Teflon spatula from the rack next to the stove and begin rubbing it against your ass. One cheek, then the other. Your heart is beating quickly and your breathing is heavy. You know what is coming.
Without warning, I bring the spatula down across your ass. You cry out, but before you can suck in your next breath, you feel the harsh sting again. And again, and again. The sound of the spatula cracking against your ass fills the room... fills your entire existence. Tears are flowing now. You grip the countertop, consciously willing your hands not to move to protect your backside from the incredible pain. Because I have previously told you that if you do that, it will be used on your tits instead.
“Please...” you sob. It's the only word that will be spoken here this afternoon, by either of us. “Please,” you beg over and over as I continue nailing each of your ass cheeks.