Clara Does The Dishes 
Story by
HandPrince
Artwork by
"Ann" & "MK"
A few days after my
niece Clara moved in and had settled into
her new room, I began to assign her a few
chores around the house. Among these,
was doing the dinner dishes on alternate
evenings. On her first turn, she and I
did the dishes together, she washing, me
drying. I showed her where to put
everything away, explained why kitchen
scraps went onto the compost pile in the
garden rather than into the trash, and so
forth. She was a pleasant, cheerful
little helper throughout.
Indeed, earlier
that afternoon she had vacuumed the entire
house without being asked, and even shamed
me into straightening up my bedroom a bit by
standing in the doorway and crinkling her
nose distastefully at my mess. Hence I
was surprised when, two evenings later,
after we had just finished dinner and I had
reminded her that it was her night to do the
dishes, to hear her whine, "Aw, Uncle Mark,
I don't wanna."
"It doesn't matter
whether you 'wanna' or not, Clara," I chided
gently, "Dishes don't clean
themselves. A person has to do
the job for them. And I am afraid
tonight is your turn to be that person."
She made a face and
looked down at her plate.
"Do them now,
Clara. Otherwise they will dry out and
be harder to get clean."
"Ohhh... OK," she
sighed, resignedly.
"Good girl, I said,
patting her on the shoulder as I walked past
her chair and into the living room. I
settled into the big armchair to read the
newspaper. Clara must have come in and
turned on the TV at some point although I
was too engrossed at the moment to
notice. After finishing a long
feature article, I looked up from my paper
to see her stretched out on her tummy on the
living room rug in her favorite TV viewing
position: shoes off, chin on fists, legs
from the knees down bent back again over her
thighs, ankles crossed, toes pointing
ceiling ward. I wished I'd had a
camera just then. She looked awfully
cute lying there, her golden brown hair tied
in a white satin bow, dressed in a navy blue
sweater, a blue and white plaid pleated
skirt, and pale blue knee socks.
I have always adored my
two little nieces. Ever since Clara
and her sister Ginny were very small I was
their doting Uncle Mark, playing with them,
taking them places, buying them gifts, and
generally spoiling them, all to their
considerable delight. Never had I
imagined that I would wind up raising one of
them someday. The auto accident which
killed my sister and brother-in-law came as
a complete thunderbolt, of course, and
having a little girl to raise has certainly
changed my lifestyle. Not that I
object, mind you. The alternative for
Clara would have been an institution or
foster care, and I couldn't allow that. Her
only other available relative, a paternal
grandmother living on a fixed income, could
only manage one of the girls but not both of
them. Clara's sister is quieter and
would be easier for an elderly lady to take
care of, so I agreed to take Clara.
The formal adoption process continues with
glacial slowness, but eventually the current
arrangement will become official.
Clara is smart, bright
as a whip, with a sunny disposition.
Her presence can brighten up any room she
sets her mind to brightening. She is
inquisitive, loves to learn, and is an avid
reader. Her keen little mind is full
of questions about everything, many of which
send me scurrying to the encyclopedia in
refuge from my ignorance. She is very
affectionate and knows how to charm me into
near helplessness when she wants something
from me. She can be moody, though, and
she definitely has a will of her own.
Put bluntly, she can be a real handful at
times. Of course, I suppose that is
not at all uncommon in a girl her age.
At any rate, it has taken a major effort on
my part to shift roles from indulgent Uncle
to primary parent figure, with the increased
need for authority which that shift implies.
"Clara?"
"Ummm," she replied
absently, eyes still glued to the TV screen.
"Did you finish washing
the dishes?"
"I will."
I laid my paper
aside. "The dishes are to be done
immediately after supper, Clara. You
know that. I want you to go into the
kitchen and wash them at once."
She suddenly turned her
gaze from the screen for the first time,
fixing me with her most beguiling pout,
"Please Uncle Mark! Please just let me
finish watching this show!
Please? Oh ple-e-ease?!"
"Well..." I paused,
frowning. "Well... all right.
But after your show ends, no more TV until
you have finished the dishes. Is that
understood.?"
"Uh huh," she said,
staring at the screen once more.
I retreated behind my
paper again, a little cross with myself for
my lack of firmness. I have a real
difficulty saying 'no' to her
sometimes, a habit born from years of
avuncular indulgence.
A good bit of time
passed while I read the rest of the
features, the editorials, the funnies, and
scanned the help-wanteds for a part-time job
to help meet the added expenses of sudden
step parenthood. When I set the paper
down and glanced at my watch I knew that
Clara's show had ended 19 minutes ago and
she hadn't budged from her place.
"Clara," I said
sharply, determined to assert myself this
time, "turn off the television and do the
dishes at once."
"In a minute," she said
absently, without looking away from the
screen.
` "No. Not
'in a minute.' Right now!" I
walked over and turned off the TV, provoking
a wail of indignation from my niece.
"Do as you're told," I commanded, pointing
towards the kitchen.
"NO FAIR!" cried Clara
sullenly, springing to her feet and
glowering up at me, arms folded across her
chest.
"Clara," I rumbled
ominously, feeling my temper begin to rise,
"Do you want a spanking?" I
waited. I had already spanked her once
before, the first night she moved in.
So she knew I meant it. Pouting, she
lowered her gaze but said nothing.
"Answer me!" I snapped. A moment
passed. Then, sulkily, she murmured
the word "no" almost under her breath.
"Clara, I am not going to ask you
again. You have two choices. You
can do the dishes this instant.
Or if you prefer, I can take you over my
knee right now and spank you.
And then you can do the
dishes. Which would you prefer?"
With a petulant glance
over her shoulder, she stomped off into the
kitchen without a word, slamming the door
behind her. I took a deep breath and
counted to ten. I wish it weren't
necessary to lay down the law that way, but
sometimes I just don't know what else to do
with that child. The clatter of plates
being angrily scraped and stacked into the
sink receded as I mounted the stairs to my
bedroom.
For a couple of hours,
I sat in front of the computer, trying to
make some headway with the novel, but things
just weren't coming together. The
feeling of financial pressure, the sense
that I had to hurry up and publish
the darned thing, wasn't doing wonders for
my creative powers. Difficult though
she can be on occasions, I love Clara with
all my heart, as much as any father could
love a daughter, I think. She is so
deserving - I really want the very best for
her. But the very best costs
money. I inherited her unpaid dental
bills. She needs a new soccer uniform,
school supplies, new shoes. Then
there's her dancing lessons; they are
expensive but I'd just hate to have to ask
her to give them up, knowing how much they
mean to her.
When I realized I had
been staring at the flashing cursor on the
screen for over ten minutes, thinking about
expenses, and hadn't written a word, I knew
it was time for a coffee break. I hit
the 'Save' command and walked to the door as
the disk drive softly crunched my latest
efforts onto vinyl.
The hallway, like the
rest of the house, was dark except for a
flood of light across the hallway from
Clara's room. Clara turns off lights
assiduously. She is concerned about
helping the environment by saving energy,
and her chidings have prodded me to be a bit
less careless about such things
myself. I paused by her door and
quietly looked in on her, curled up on her
bed, absorbed in her Judy Blume novel.
I felt an upwelling of protective tenderness
for my little girl as I watched her.
She didn't notice my presence, and I thought
it best not to interrupt her with the
kiss-and-a-hug I felt like giving all of a
sudden. It was almost her
bedtime. I would save it for when I
tucked her in.
Quietly, I descended
the stairs and made my way through the dim
living room into the kitchen. A slight
movement caught my eye as I turned on the
kitchen light - a roach scurring for cover
under the pile of unwashed dishes in the
sink. Clara still hadn't
finished the dishes, even after the scene
we'd had earlier! I was suddenly
furious and in an abrupt change of mood, had
the impulse to charge upstairs and give her
the spanking I had promised her right then
and there. But I remembered what my
dear mother, rest her soul, used to say,
"Never spank a child in anger," and the
memory of Mom's cooler head prevailed over
my own.
So I poured myself a
cup from the coffee maker, sat down at the
table, sipped, and thought. I was
mighty steamed at Clara. Here I was
knocking myself out to try and support her
and I couldn't even get that girl to do the
dishes once in awhile! Clara had
disobeyed me three times over those dishes,
first at the table, then in the living room,
and now this - strike three. I took
several long sips of my coffee, which was
starting to cool off some. Clearly
Clara needed to be spanked. I wished
it weren't necessary, but the child had, in
effect, thrown down the gauntlet,
challenging my authority head-on. She
wanted to see exactly where her limits
were. Once I finished my coffee, I
would show her.
I took my time drinking
the lukewarm dregs of my cup, steeling
myself to properly discipline my
stepchild. At length, I set down the
empty cup, took a deep breath, rose and
walked into the living room, flicking on the
light as I entered.
"Clara!?! Come down
here! Now!" I bellowed from the foot
of the stairs. I heard her bedsprings
creak and the scampering of small,
stockinged feet in the upstairs
hallway. My tone of voice had left no
doubt in her mind that she was in trouble.
As she hurried down the
steps toward me she said, a little too
cheerily, "Hi, Uncle Mark, I was just...
uh... gonna... um, do the dishes now!"
"Not so fast, young
lady," I replied, taking hold of her
sweatered arm as she tried to slip past me
toward the kitchen. I turned her to
face me. "Did I or did I not tell you
over two hours ago to do the dishes right
away?" I inquired, sternly.
"Clara... look at me when I am speaking to
you!"
"Yes, Uncle Mark," she
said, hesitantly, still not quite meeting my
gaze.
"And what did I say was
going to happen if you didn't do as
you were told?"
She bit her lip and
shifted position uncomfortably, eyes darting
from side to side looking in every direction
except mine, as she tried to think her way
out of her predicament. I repeated the
question, but Clara merely swallowed hard
and shrugged her shoulders as if she
couldn't remember.
"When I tell you to do
something, Clara, I expect prompt obedience
the first time I ask. Not 'in a
minute' or three hours later. Dinner
was over three hours ago and the dishes
still haven't been done. You've been a
very bad girl!" Keeping a firm hold on
her arm I lead her across the room to the
sofa. She followed reluctantly by my
side, wide brown eyes gazing up at me, face
etched with anxious concern. "Well?" I
demanded as I seated myself on the edge of
the sofa, and stood her in front of
me, "What do you have to say for
yourself, young lady?"
"I-I'm sorry, Uncle
Mark, honest I am! I-I didn't
mean to! I just...um...
forgot... I guess..." Her voice
trailed off. She looked at me, then
down at my lap, then back at me again.
Suddenly, unable to contain herself any
longer, out popped the question foremost in
her mind. "Uncle Mark a-are you..."
she paused and swallowed, "...are you
g-gonna spank me?!?"
I allowed the question
to hang in the air for several seconds while
she fidgeted anxiously. Then, softly
but with great finality, I answered her
question. "Yes Clara. I am going
to spank you."
"NOOOO!!" squealed
Clara in alarm as I drew her firmly down
across my left leg. All at once I had
a frantically kicking bundle of resistance
on my hands as my little girl strove to
squirm into any position except the one she
knew I intended. I made a mental note
to do something about this defiant behavior
of hers, but for the moment I concentrated
on bringing her under control. After just a
few moments her two thighs were
securely pinned between my own and her
wrists held tightly in my left hand.
Clara's feet were touching the floor, but
her face and chest were on the sofa.
The little plaid seat of her skirt was
centered across my left thigh.
"So, you say you are
sorry and you forgot," I intoned, lightly
patting her rump as I spoke. "Well,
young lady, I promise you will feel an awful
lot sorrier in a minute. Uncle Mark is going
to give you something you won't forget for a
very long time."
Helpless across my lap,
Clara looked back imploringly over her right
shoulder. As I tucked her skirt and
slip up above her waist, exposing the seat
of her pale blue panties, she tried
desperately to negotiate a bargain of some
sort. I couldn't help smiling just a
bit as I noticed that her little cotton
briefs, covered with small blue floral
designs, perfectly matched her light blue
knee socks. When Clara decides to
dress in matching colors, she goes all the
way!
I paid no heed to her
pleas for second chances or proposals for
alternative punishments. She had
already had three chances, and I was
determined to give her the spanking she
deserved. Her entreaties took on a new
timbre of urgency as I took hold of the
waistband of her panties. She
frantically offered to do the dishes every
night for a month as she felt me pull them
across the summits of her buttocks and down,
well past her little rounded backside.
I felt a pang of regret as I tugged the
small garment as far as it would go, baring
her from her waist to the middle of her
thighs. Her soft, clear skin looked so
very sensitive, framed between her lowered
panties and the disheveled blue and white
heap of her raised skirts. My poor
dear, little Clara. I was really and
truly about to spank her! How I wished
it weren't necessary! But
unfortunately, her conduct had left me with
no alternative.
"Young lady, you were
told to do the dishes and you disobeyed
me. I am afraid I am going to have to
give you a good old-fashioned spanking on
your-" Clara, her eyes moistening with
tears, broke in at this moment with wailing
pleas and entreaties of redoubled
urgency. "Clara, hush! And don't
interrupt when I am speaking to you!" I
admonished sharply, "As I was saying, you
are going to be spanked on your bare bottom
for not doing the dishes. However, it
was also very naughty of you to try and
resist me just now when I took you over my
lap. From now on, when it is time for
a spanking, I expect you to lie down over my
lap like a good girl. Do you
understand?" Miserably, she nodded
assent. "For struggling, you will
receive a separate spanking on your thighs."

Before she could
protest, I raised my hand high and gave my
stepchild a good, solid swat squarely across
the spot she sits on. I was startled
when she let out a piercing shriek, as if
she were being murdered. I knew it
must have hurt. A faint pink outline
of my hand was already starting to appear
across the surfaces of her two bottom
cheeks. But it couldn't have hurt that
much. Then, my hand still frozen in
mid-air, I remembered my late sister,
Clara's mother, jokingly telling me about
her eldest daughter's technique of screaming
loudly at the onset of a spanking in the
hope of earning less punishment. Clara
was up to her old tricks. Ignoring her
racket, I began to administer steady, hard
wallops with my palm, always to the same
spot, so that the sensation she experienced
would grow with each spank. After just
a few of these, her voice cracked and the
fakey screams vanished as she burst into
tears. All at once, she no longer
sounded like a murder victim, but like a
dearly loved but rather naughty young child,
receiving a well deserved spanking across
her parent's knee.

As each swat landed
upon the sobbing little girl's smarting
posterior, her wails of discomfort grew in
urgency, and the pink hue of her bottom grew
more noticeable. Still, I did not ease
up, but continued spanking my child as
emphatically as before, and ignoring the
nagging unpleasant sensations from my own
palm. I didn't want to have to
do this in the future any more often than I
could avoid. So there would be no half
measures for Clara now, only a
thoroughly sound spanking. This needed
to be a punishment which would leave a
lasting impression on my child. I
simply had to impress upon her that in this
house willful disobedience carried a heavy
price. Perhaps in the future she would
do as she was told the first time, and not
force me to bring matters to this juncture;
but only if I steeled my heart against her
cries, poignant though they were, and
resisted the impulse to let her off lightly.

Clara turned her head
to one side on the sofa and continued to
bawl as I continued to smack her bottom
in a steady, measured rhythm.
Moist strands of hair which had come loose
from her hair ribbon were pasted across her
flushed, tear moistened cheeks. I
paused for a minute to give my smarting palm
a rest while Clara continued to cry as hard
as before. There was nothing the least
bit fakey about her tears. Her bottom was by
now a sore looking shade of pink. I
decided she had been sufficiently punished
on that part of her anatomy for not doing
the dishes, and I wished my paternal
disciplinary duty were over. But Clara
had also misbehaved in another way that
evening. So I began to give crisp,
stinging slaps across the backs of her
thighs, just below the base of her
buttocks, first one thigh, then the other,
and back again. She howled from
surprise as much as from pain as her
punishment resumed in this new and
unfamiliar way - kicking her legs from
the knees down and wriggling and squirming
over my knee from the sting as I gave her
about a dozen on each plump little
thigh. In fact, as I administered the
last half dozen smacks, I noticed that she
had kicked one of her knee socks half
off, it's lower half flailing up and down in
the air with each kick.

At last, Clara's
punishment was truly over, although I
continued to hold her in position. As
my well spanked little niece lay bawling
across my knee, I gingerly raised her
flowery blue panties until they were snugly
in place once again over the hot, smarting
cheeks of her bottom. Then I smoothed
Clara's slip and skirt back into place
around her legs and released her wrists,
permitting her to rub her hind parts while
her tears, sobs and sniffles gradually
diminished. But I kept my hand resting
lightly on her back to indicate that she did
not yet have permission to get up.
When I felt that she
had regained enough composure to listen to
directions, I gently guided her to her
feet. A thoroughly chastened,
submissive little girl stood before me
then. Red, puffy eyes downcast, still
blubbering weepily, she kept both hands over
her backside, except to briefly wipe each
side of her tear soaked face on a fuzzy
sleeve of her sweater.
"Clara, it is your turn
to do the dishes tonight," I said, in a
soft, calm tone of voice. "Please wash
the dishes at once. When you are
finished, come tell me and I will check to
make sure you did a good job. Is
that understood?"

Meekly, she nodded her
head, stammered "Y-yes, Uncle M-M-Mark," and
walked straight to the kitchen without
another word, stopping only to pull up her
loose sock.
Standing on a small
stool, Clara promptly washed everything in
the sink, pausing at intervals to rub the
seat of her skirt with her knuckles.
When she was finished, I praised her warmly
for the excellent job she had done.
Then I instructed her to go upstairs, wash,
brush, and get ready for bed. After
this, I added, she was to come back
downstairs to have a little talk with
me. Again, she obeyed immediately
without a hint of protest.

Awhile later, Clara
reappeared clad in her nightie, and sat down
gingerly on the sofa beside me, regarding me
with soft brown eyes opened wide. I
spoke gently to her, explaining that I was
sorry I'd had to give her a spanking, but
that she simply must learn to do as
she was told. Her obedience to my word
was essential if I was to nurture her,
protect her, and guide her on the path to
womanhood. I would expect obedience
from her always, whether it meant doing the
dishes the first time she was asked, or
lying down properly across my lap when it
was time for a spanking.

And although I hoped it would never become
necessary again, she must expect to be
spanked each and every time she
disobeyed. Her eyes moistened and her
lower lip quivered as she apologized for not
doing the dishes and for resisting her
discipline, and she promised to be a better
behaved girl from now on. Although I
had planned to lecture her further, I could
see she was on the verge of tears, and that
she had learned her lesson. My heart
melted and I put my arms around my child and
drew her onto my lap. I rocked and
cuddled her and smoothed her hair as I told
her how much I would always treasure her,
and that she would always be Uncle Mark's
very special little girl. Clara
relaxed and nestled her head against my
chest. I held my precious cargo
closely while she closed her eyes and
drifted contentedly towards sleep.
After a good quarter of
an hour in my arms, I patted her bottom
lightly and whispered. "It's past your
bedtime, Pumpkin... and it's a
school night. So off you go now."
But instead of obeying,
she just held on tighter than before,
looking up at me with a giggly impish
smile. "Carry me!" she chirped.
So I carried her in my arms all the way up
the steps, down the hall, right up to her
bedside. After she had said her
prayers, I tenderly tucked her under the
covers and gave her a goodnight kiss before
bidding her pleasant dreams.
(c) Handprince 2001
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