Chester was at his wits' end. No matter what he said, he couldn't seem to get through to his wife Maude that having tea ready when Chester got home from work was Maude's responsibility, and that Chester, coming as he did from a traditional household, was unable to tolerate such a failure in his wife.
He hesitated a very long time before he finally decided he would have to use his cane upon her bottom, but when he had at last made up his mind that he must, his voice made his resolve plain. "Maude," he said, "it is time you understood that I will not tolerate this failure to fulfill your duty to me. I am going to cane you, now."
"What?!" Maude cried.
"Go into my study. I have put the desk chair in the corner, and you are to spread your legs, and get over it, and lay yourself over the back. I will come and raise your dress and give you your caning in a little while."
Chester raised her dress, as he had promised, but then he went to return a phone call, while Maude looked desperately behind her, blushing furiously at the way Chester was looking at her bottom, clad in her satin knickers, and even at the private place between her spread thighs, barely covered by the sheer fabric.
"Alright," Chester said when he had returned, with his cane in hand, "perhaps twelve strokes will help you remember to have my tea on the table in good time tomorrow."
He laid his hand on Maude's shoulder, and gave her the first stroke; she cried out, and, with her eyes closed in pain and humiliation, turned her face back over her shoulder, perhaps hoping for clemency.
Sadly, though, the sight only inflamed Chester more, and made him think that Maude should perhaps feel a great deal of his cane in future.
(Picture via Keith solley)
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