Chapter 3: A Spoonful of Punishment

Nick moved away from Candy, walking toward the oven. He took down a long wooden spoon from the rack above the range, its worn surface stained from years of use. The handle was thick and sturdy.

“What ... what are you going to do?” she asked, her voice small, barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he swung the spoon through the air a few times, holding it by the bowl, the handle slicing through the air with a sharp hiss.

Candy flinched, her eyes widening with understanding. “Are you going to beat me?”

“I’m going to cane you,” he said, his voice oddly gentle. “It’s not a beating.”

Her stomach did a nervous flip. “Oh.” She was confused by the mixture of dread and excitement that filled her.

“You don’t get a choice,” he reminded her.

“I know,” she whispered, biting her lip. “I’m just ... scared.”

“It’s okay to be scared,” he reassured her, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “But I know you’re brave.”

His words sent a warm, tingling sensation through her. She didn’t want to be caned, but his confidence in her bravery brought a strange sense of comfort.

Nick gently took her hand and led her toward the long wooden table by the large arched window. Sunlight poured in, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow. Candy stared at the worn, scarred wood of the table, still dusted with flour and sugar from where she had rolled out dough earlier that morning.

“Take off your clothes,” Nick ordered.

Candy hesitated, her gaze drifting to the large window. The back of the shop faced a quiet residential street, where anyone walking by could easily see inside. The trees outside were tinged with autumn colors, their beauty contrasting her anxiety. “But ... someone might see us,” she protested softly.

“Clothes off,” he repeated, his tone firm and unwavering.

Candy shivered, her stomach knotting with nerves. “Nick, please—”

“Strip,” he ordered.

Her heart raced as she nodded, hands trembling as she began to undress. She slipped off her apron and set it aside, then pulled her pale pink sweater over her head, followed by the tank top underneath. Her black lace bra was sheer, showing the dusky pink of her hardened nipples. With a deep breath, she unclasped it, letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts hung full and heavy over the slight rise of her belly, her skin creamy and pale.

Nick let out a low whistle. “Maybe a few extra pounds are worth it for the tits alone.”

Candy’s face flushed, her nipples tightening further at his comment.

“Pants,” he ordered, nodding to her jeans.

With slow, hesitant hands, Candy unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down her legs. She kicked them aside, leaving only her matching black lace panties—delicate, high-cut, and sheer. They were also a sodden, soaked-through mess.

Nick let out a low growl. “Those are nice”

Candy managed a shaky smile. “They’re my favorite,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing. She’d worn them for him. Not consciously, maybe, but even in her determination to confront him and push him away, she’d put on her nicest, prettiest panties, hoping that he might see them.

“Take them off,” he ordered.

Her breath caught in her throat. She glanced outside and saw Mrs. Garrison, their neighbor, and her late mother’s best friend, out for a morning walk. Mrs. Garrison had been a lifeline after their mom died, checking in on her and Chrissy, and even lending them the money to keep the shop open during that first difficult year. The thought of the sweet middle-aged woman seeing her naked and bent over the table was horrifying.

“Nick, please, I can’t—”

“Do it.” His tone was stern, brooking no argument.

Candy’s heart pounded, but she forced herself to obey. She hooked her fingers into the sides of her panties, the thin lace sliding easily over her generous hips. With a deep breath, she drew them down her legs, bending as she stepped out of them.

She felt a sudden coolness of air against her naked sex, her clit, swollen and sensitive, peeking out from between her soft, plump folds.

“Now get on the table,” he commanded.

Her eyes widened. “On the table?”

He nodded. “Up on the table and on all fours. Now.”

Reluctantly, Candy climbed onto the table, facing the window. She settled onto her knees and elbows, her hands gripping the far edge of the table. Her heavy, pendulous breasts hung beneath her, her nipples brushing against the wood and flour. The pose left her ass and genitals exposed to Nick, making her acutely aware of her vulnerability.

“Please,” she begged, her voice trembling. “Can we do this later? Maybe after we close?”

Nick ran his fingers through her hair, his touch almost affectionate. “No.”

She turned to look at him over her shoulder, her eyes pleading.

“Eyes forward,” he ordered.

Candy’s cheeks burned with humiliation as she obeyed, staring out the window. The leaves outside were a riot of autumn colors—red, orange, and gold. Mrs. Garrison, thankfully, had moved on. A few cars drove past the shop, but no one seemed to notice what was unfolding in the kitchen of the candy shop.

Nick pressed the handle of the wooden spoon against the back of her neck. “Head down, ass up,” he corrected, using the handle to gently ease her upper body closer to the table.

Candy let out a whimper, the humiliation burning her cheeks, but she complied, lowering her torso so that her ass stuck up, her pussy and asshole even more on display.

“Good girl,” he said.

His praise washed over her, settling the nervous tension in her stomach. Just hearing him call her a good girl made her feel warm and tingly.

She felt the smooth handle of the wooden spoon slide between her thighs, brushing against her labia. A moan escaped her as the hard wood pressed against her drippy folds, its smooth shaft rubbing the sensitive nub of her clit.

“Please,” she whimpered.

“Shhh,” he soothed, and she felt his free hand on her ass, spreading her, exposing Candy’s tight puckered asshole. He used the tip of the spoon’s handle to trace a line from her labia and the opening of her sex, along her perineum and to her anus. He paused there, the handle’s hard tip pressing firmly against the snug ring of her rosebud.

Candy let out a gasp, her ass clenching with sudden fear. “I don’t ... that’s not ... please no,” she stammered.

“Hush,” he reassured her. “Not now. But eventually, I’m going to destroy that tight, little hole.”

She shuddered at the thought. The idea of his hard, thick cock forcing her delicate asshole open was terrifying. But even worse, a part of her was eager to feel him take her there.

The pressure on her asshole eased, and the spoon resumed its path, tracing a soft line that followed the curve of her ass, ending at the small of her back.

Candy felt his hand on her ass again, spreading her. She could imagine what he was seeing—her fat, fleshy pussy lips spread wide, her cunt wet and inviting, her asshole winking with nervous anticipation. He let out a thoughtful hum, as if carefully reconsidering his options.

“Tempting,” he muttered. “But this is a punishment. We’ll save sodomy for when you’ve been extra good.”

She let out a small sigh of relief, though part of her was strangely disappointed.

“Eyes forward,” he ordered.

Candy turned her head, staring out the window. Mrs. Garrison was back, now accompanied by a young mother and her toddler. They were less than twenty feet away, and Candy could hear them chatting, their voices carrying through the glass. Mrs. Garrison, thirty-nine and with no children of her own, bent down to the toddler’s level, her face lighting up with a warm smile. “Oh, look at you! Aren’t you just the cutest little pumpkin?” she cooed, gently ruffling the child’s hair. The little boy giggled, a delighted sound that made Mrs. Garrison chuckle in response.

The sudden swish of the spoon cutting through the air was all the warning Candy got before the impact. The smooth, polished wood made contact with her bare skin, delivering a loud crack.

She cried out, her body jerking involuntarily as her hands gripped the table for support. Tears welled in her eyes as pain rippled through her, but alongside the hurt came a fierce urgency—she had to remain quiet. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention from Mrs. Garrison and the young mother. She glanced back at the women; they were still engrossed in conversation, completely oblivious to her distress.

Behind her, Nick spoke in a surprisingly gentle tone. “Count,” he instructed, his voice low.

Candy swallowed hard. “One,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Another swish of the spoon followed, and she felt it connect again, a sharp slap against her ass.

“Two,” she gasped, the heat radiating through her, but she fought to keep her voice steady and low.

Crack!

“Three!” she yelped, biting down on her lower lip in an attempt to contain her sound.

Crack!

“Four!” she cried, the tears spilling down her cheeks.

Again, he swung, the spoon striking her ass with another sharp crack.

“F-five!” she moaned, her knuckles white, her body shaking, her focus divided between the pain and the risk of being overheard.

As the strikes continued, each subsequent hit began to blur together. By the time she cried “Nine,” the sharpness of the pain had started shifting into something deeper—a warm glow that spread through her body, wrapping around her like a comforting embrace. Each crack of the spoon felt like an invitation into a realm where pain and pleasure intertwined, and she found herself letting go of her apprehensions.