A Thanksgiving Tale

This fictional account is based on a 100-word "drabble" I wrote last year for a contest Thomas was having on his blog. I decided to expand it to a longer story. It's based on a true misadventure - I really did burn the sauce one year - but it's pure fantasy.


Alice sat at her dressing table, carefully applying eyeliner. She wanted to look her best, and had planned and worked hard to make this day perfect. She would proudly serve her first Thanksgiving dinner to their families and everyone would think she was a wonderful cook.

"What's going on down here?" Matt's angry shout broke into her thoughts. Alice jumped up, put down her brush and ran to the bedroom door, wondering what all the fuss was about. Then she remembered. She hurried down the stairs and into the kitchen, where she was greeted by clouds of black smoke and Matt's angry face.

"How many times have I told you not to walk away when you've got something boiling on the stove," he barked.

"Oh, I forgot. I only went upstairs for a minute, to put on my . . ."

"I don't care why you went upstairs. Look at this mess."


Alice looked. A pot sat on the stove. Thick red lava foamed and bubbled and spilled over the rim onto the stovetop, where it sizzled and blackened and hardened on the hot ceramic surface. The knob was turned to OFF but the heat would take a while to dissipate. The air smelled of burned sugar.

"My cranberry sauce!" she exclaimed. Then, "I'm sorry, Matt. I didn't mean to."

"You never mean to. But you always do it again. This time I'm going to teach you a lesson."

"What do you mean?"

Matt reached out and set the stove timer. "You have fifteen minutes to clean up this mess. Then I want you to go upstairs to my office, take off your skirt and panties, and bend over the desk." He gestured to the wooden spoon balanced on the spoon rest in a puddle of sauce. "And bring that with you."

"But your parents are due in half an hour. And I need to baste the turkey. Please, Matt . . ."

"Fourteen minutes."

Alice knew arguing would only fan the flames, and result in a harder spanking, so she set about trying to salvage some of the sauce. Her hands shook as she ran hot water on the wooden spoon then dried it carefully. She was not going to risk getting cranberry sauce on her new black velvet skirt as part of her punishment. As she scrubbed the stove in a frantic effort to remove the hardened sugar, she thought with some trepidation about her fate.

She would slowly climb the stairs to Matt's study, remove her panties and skirt, carefully place them on the back of the desk chair, and bend over the desk. The wooden spoon would lie waiting on the smooth surface just beside her elbow. Then she would listen for the sound of his footsteps on the stairs. She would not look at him. Head down, hands gripping the edge of the desk in front of her, she would hear him scold her again.


He would adjust her blouse so that it protected nothing, then place a hand on her back, pressing down so she knew there was no escape. lecture her, tell her how careless and irresponsible she had been again. She would agree and apologize. He would grasp the spoon by its handle and press the curved bowl against her curve. He would raise his arm. She would hold her breath and squeeze her eyes shut. He would spank her, hard and long. She would sob and beg; he would ignore her and continue until she had been sufficiently disciplined. She would promise to do better in future, and would be allowed to stand up, put on her clothing and return to the kitchen. The doorbell would ring before she had fully composed herself.

Alice was trembling and her eyes were filled with tears as she finally finished her tasks and glanced at the timer. One minute to go. How could she face their guests and get through the evening after this? She turned toward the stairs . . .

The front door burst open. "We're here, dear. Happy Thanksgiving!"

Carol and George, Matt's parents, stood in the front hall, smiling. Carol held a basket out to Alice.

"I brought you some home-made rolls. My, something smells . . . interesting."

Matt bounded up the stairs from the basement. He glanced at Alice, then at his parents.

"Hi Mom, Dad. Oh, that. Alice was experimenting in the kitchen." He looked at Alice meaningfully and she pleaded with her eyes. Please, don't make me go upstairs now.

Just then, Alice's brother Patrick and his fiancee Sharon appeared in the doorway. After a flurry of hugs and greetings, and exclamations over the pumpkin pie Sharon had brought, Matt said to Alice, "Don't you need to baste the turkey?"

Alice breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't going to spank her right now. "Yes, I do," she gasped gratefully and disappeared into the kitchen.


Dinner was delicious, and everyone enjoyed the traditional feast of roast turkey, gravy, vegetables, and even some of the cranberry sauce, which Alice had managed to salvage.

"Mmm, the sauce tastes unusual, but it's good," commented Sharon.

"I added a little marmalade to it. I, um, ran out of cranberries," Alice explained.

After everyone had enjoyed Sharon's pumpkin pie, topped with whipped cream, the group left the table. While the men disappeared in the direction of the football game on television, and the women discussed Sharon's upcoming wedding, Alice's mind was on the delayed punishment. Would Matt forgive her and cancel the spanking? Probably not. But at least he might wait for another day. If his team wins the game, he'll be too happy to spank me. If they lose . . . Why did that stupid stove have to be so hot anyway?

Eventually the guests took their leave, and Alice stared at the door as it shut behind them. Matt came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her.

"Dinner was fantastic. Everyone loved it. I'm so proud of you." He took her hand, led her to the couch, and together they sat down.

"I love you, Alice," and Matt kissed her gently, then more passionately. He held her tightly and stroked her hair, her arm, her back. His hand drifted down to her thighs, then reached for the hem of her skirt and pulled it up. He caressed her firm bottom, slipping his hand underneath her thin nylon panties. Gently he pulled her forward so that she was half sitting and half lying across his lap. Alice moaned. Matt uncovered her bottom cheeks and caressed them lovingly. He slapped first one, then the other, not gently, but not hard. The swats came in a steady rhythm and Alice squirmed into a better position to receive them fully. If this was her punishment, it certainly was an enjoyable one.

Matt's strong hand delivered stinging blows that soon had Alice writhing with pleasure. When he finally stopped, that same hand found its way into her intimate place while the other undid the button and zipper on his trousers. Soon they were on the rug, passionately enjoying one another's bodies in a very pleasurable way.

"Promise me one thing," Matt said later, as they lay entwined and sated.

"Anything," murmured Alice.

"Next time, buy canned cranberry sauce."




Happy Thanksgiving day to all my fellow Canadians.