Attitude in the Kitchen

 Attitude in the Kitchen

A Humbling Afternoon at Jack and Emma’s

Fiction Story by Jack and Lisa

(MM/FF, Bare, hand, spanking, domestic discipline, Consent)

Tom and I arrived at Jack and Emma’s house right as the pre-game commentary was starting. The guys were already settled on the couch, and Emma was putting out chips and salsa. It should have been a relaxed Sunday afternoon, but I was carrying a bad attitude like luggage I refused to set down.

Tom gave my arm a gentle squeeze as we stepped inside. “Let’s keep it respectful today, okay?”

I didn’t respond. I just brushed past him and dropped into a chair at the counter with a heavy sigh.

Emma tried to lighten the mood. “Long morning?” Dhe meant well, but irritation was already simmering. “It’s fine,” I snapped, sharper than necessary. Tom looked over from the living room. “Lisa. Tone.”

I ignored him. A few minutes later, Emma asked me if I wanted help arranging the veggie tray. Somehow that innocent question rubbed me wrong, and I muttered something snippy under my breath. Emma froze, surprised—not hurt yet, just startled.

This time Tom’s warning was firmer. “Lisa, last chance. Fix the attitude.” Instead of correcting myself, I folded my arms and stared at the counter, jaw tight. I didn’t want to be rude, but I also wasn’t ready to stop being angry. Pride can be stubborn like that.

Tom stood up immediately. He didn’t sigh. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t ask again. “Lisa. Dining room. Now.” Jack and Emma had a formal dining room round the corner from the living room. 

The sudden silence in the kitchen was thick. Emma’s eyes widened. Jack looked over at Tom with a knowing, approving nod. But before I could move, Emma stepped forward protectively. “Tom, she’s clearly upset. You don’t need to drag her off and correct her here. She’s fine.”

Jack’s head turned sharply. I’d never seen him go from relaxed to stern so fast. Tom’s voice was calm but absolute. “She’s not fine. And I warned her three times. I’m not letting this continue.”

Emma planted her hands on her hips. “Well, I’m not okay with you taking her off like that. She doesn’t deserve—” Jack rose from the couch so quickly Emma startled backward. “Emma. That’s enough.”

His tone was low, controlled, and unmistakably final. Emma flushed instantly, her bravado evaporating. She looked at me, then at Tom, then at Jack—as if realizing she’d crossed a very solid line in another couple’s relationship.

Tom didn’t wait for more arguments. He simply pointed again. “Dinning room. Now.” My legs moved before my pride could argue. Jack guided Emma toward their room as well. Her protests were softer this time, more embarrassed than stubborn.

As Tom grabbed the straight back chair from the table and turned it around, I heard Jack’s muffled voice as he was lecturing Emma. As Tom adjusted me in front of him and looked up at me, I could hear the smacks of a spanking on a bare bottom followed by yelps and cries coming down the hallway. My eyes got huge and I thought, “Did he not close the bedroom door?”

My shorts and panties were coming down and I felt my cheeks redden with embarrassment. One swift tug and I was over his knee and his hand was landing over and over on my bottom. I was stoic for a while then I was crying and twisting. He hooked his leg over my legs and my kicking was restricted and at that point all I could do was endure his heavy hand on my poor bottom.  

Both corrections were firmer, faster, and left no ambiguity about responsibility or respect. There was no drawn-out lecturing—just swift consequences delivered the moment they were earned.

When I emerged, cheeks warm and eyes glassy, Emma stepped out at the same time from the opposite hall. She looked just as humbled. Just as sore. Just as quiet. We stood there for a moment, both of us running out of excuses for our behavior.

Jack and Tom were already seated again, the game back on as if nothing unusual had happened. Tom didn’t even look away from the screen as he said, “Ladies? Beers.”

Emma and I answered in unison. “Yes, sir.” We walked gingerly into the kitchen, our steps small and our pride significantly softened. Emma whispered, “Remind me never to interfere again.”

I whispered back, “Remind me to drop the attitude faster.”

We carried the beers to the guys, set them on the coffee table, and then took our places—quiet, respectful, and very aware of the earlier discipline. Tom rested his arm behind me and finally glanced down with a small nod of approval.

The rest of the afternoon went smoothly. Because nothing clears a bad attitude—or misdirected bravery—quite like firm consequences delivered promptly and witnessed by someone who made the same mistake.

Follow-Up: "A Private Conversation Between Emma and Me" - tomorrow