Candy was lounging in the parlor in her ministry-given devotion teddy, watching the Gilded Gaggle from the settee in the living room. This week's topic was literature, a literary society of the cone, she mused. As the theme music died down, the title gave way to a view of Sylvie, grinning, tapping her quill on the table. “Alright everyone, tonight is a special kind of scandal… we’re talking literature from across the cone!”
Marionette, swooning dramatically, placed a delicate hand over her chest. “Oh, divine! The written word is so much more delicious than a fleeting scandal.”
“Sometimes,” Fiona said, while flipping through notes, unimpressed.
Sylvie laughed while gesturing toward Penny. “And we must start with our dear Penny! Sweetheart, you brought in something from Paddlewick’s highly refined literary culture,” she said. “Do tell.”
Penny was blushing furiously, clutching the book like a lifeline. “O-Oh! U-Um! W-Well! I-I brought, u-uh, The Taming of Lacey Croplee?”
Marionette gasped, eyes gleaming with delight. "Oh! A classic! I heard it was on the Paddlewick bestseller list for three months straight!”
Sylvie raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, was it?”
Fiona read the title in a deadpan tone, “…Isn’t that just a spanking romance?”
Penny turned bright red and flapped her hands nervously. “I - IT’S A LOVE STORY!!!” she managed to spit out the words quickly and loudly.
Marjean faked a soft gasp, pressing a hand to her chest, voice dripping with honeyed amusement. “Oh, Sug, we’re not judging, a good ol’ spanking romance should be savored,” she paused, smirked, then snapped her fan shut, “Like a perfectly baked soufflé, firm, but delicate.”
Sylvie laughed and tossed her hair back. “Oh, I have to hear this, Penny, sweetheart, what’s it about?”
Penny, still so red but determined now, gripping the book tighter. “O-Oh! U-Um! It’s about L-Lady Lacey, a stubborn noblewoman who, u-uh, d-doesn’t w-want to marry, b-but then she, u-uh… gets matched with Duke Whiplee and,” she paused and let out a little squeak “—h-he tames her through discipline and devotion and reward!” she managed to spit out in one quick breath.
Marionette, swooning, pressed a hand to her heart. “Oh, divine! A strong duke! A willful lady! A battle of wits and wills! I’d read that.”
Fiona pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering. “…So, it’s a spanking romance.”
Sylvie, grinning, nudged Penny. “And how does he ‘tame’ her, exactly? You mentioned… discipline?”
Penny, shrieked and hid behind the book, too red to answer.
Marjean, chuckled while taking another bite of her seemingly endless supply of scones. “Oh, sweetheart, let’s not embarrass our dear Penny too much. Here, crumpet,” she said to Penny, “have a scone.”
Sylvie, turned to Marionette, smirking, her soft cow ears flicking, “Alright, hotstuff, what highly refined literature does Bellefemme bring to the table?”
Marionette, in a dramatically staged action, placed a gloved hand over her heart, looking deeply moved. “Oh, darlings, Bellefemme is the land of passion, fashion, and intrigue! So, naturally, I bring you a tale of deception, romance, and stunning couture!” She lifted a book delicately, facing it toward the scry mirror. “The Silk of Deception!”
Fiona flipped through notes, unimpressed, “…That’s just a romance novel with fashion espionage.”
Marionette gasped in horror. “JUST?! Fiona!” she spat, clutching the book to her chest, “It is a riveting tale of a mysterious seamstress who must seduce xers rival to uncover the secrets of his enchanted tailoring!”
“Ohhh, so fashion-based seduction?” Sylvie asked.
Marionette nodded enthusiastically, flipping a curl over her shoulder. “Naturally! If one cannot conquer their lover through wit, then one must do it through flawless tailoring and strategic décolletage.”
“Alright, cupcake, tell us about it. What’s the lead character like?” Marjean asks.
“Well, xe’s a spy for the royal court, who gets an assignment from the Order of the Prince, but what xe doesn’t know is -”
That’s when the scry feed cut out. The mirror went static, then flashed the words “DO YOUR CHORES”
She froze.
“…How the hells does it know?”
She hadn’t done the laundry. She hadn’t dusted. She definitely hadn’t touched the dishes. She’d intended to, sure, but she’d also intended to be tall and still male, so clearly intent didn’t count for much.
Muttering curses, she opened the household logbook and hesitated. Maybe if she wrote that she’d done them, the system would… believe her. Or forgive her. Or just go away.
“Laundry. Dishes. Dusting.”
The moment she lifted the quill after writing “dusting” the crystal on the mantel turned red; bright, condemning, loud in its silence.
“GLUDGE!”
Candy stumbled backward, nearly knocking over the stool, eyes locked on the crystal like it might shoot lasers. “No, no, no, no, no! That’s not fair!”
She sprinted to the kitchen, yanked open the dish cabinet, and started hurling plates into the sink with theatrical speed. “I am doing them! I was always going to do them!”
The water blasted on. Suds flew. Forks clattered. She scrubbed like a woman possessed.
“See?! See?! Misfire! Clerical error!” she shouted at the crystal, which just glowed quietly like a very annoyed librarian.
“System’s obviously broken,” she muttered, dropping a soap-slicked bowl with a clang. “The surveillance rune must’ve been occluded. It’s done now, okay?”
She zipped to the laundry hamper next. Tossed everything into the washer charm. Slammed it. “Boom. Done. Laundry!”
She darted to the sitting room, grabbed the dusting wand, and frantically waved it at every flat surface she could reach. “Dusting accomplished! Domestic goddess mode! I am flawlessly compliant!”
The crystal didn’t budge. Still red. Still glowing. Still broadcasting her failure across the local scry-grid. She stopped cold. Breathing hard. One sock was clinging to her shoulder. Dust in her hair.
“…Maybe if I unplug it and plug it back in,” she whispered, staring at the crystal like it owed her money.
Then she heard the latch on the front door click.
Marcus was home. She froze. She could tell from the heavy quiet of his entrance that he already knew. She ran into the parlor, grabbed a book, and tried to act casual. He found her there a few minutes later. He didn’t speak right away. Just took off his coat, hung up his sash, and stood there holding the correction paddle in one hand like it was a fact of life.
“I got the alert,” he said finally.
“Oh, yes, that was odd. Don’t know why it went off that way.”
“Because you lied on the chore log.”
“I did them, I swear!”
“But not until after you logged it, claiming you’d already done them.”
“I was gonna do them—”
“You logged that you had. That’s misreporting. The system counted it.”
“You weren’t even home,” she snapped. “Back when I was Cameron, I didn’t have to report to anyone!”
“Sorry, but you’re not Cameron anymore,” he said with quite remorse, “at least not to the state, and this is Paddlewick. That means correction.”
She wanted to scream. Instead, she sat stiffly, arms crossed, glaring at the corner of the rug like it had betrayed her. “So what is it? 20 swats?”
“Ten,” he said. “And twenty minutes in the corner. Standard penalty.”
She snorted. “Let me guess. That’s what the Book of Order says. I have boobs now,” she snapped. “Isn’t that enough punishment?”
“That’s a body part, not a correction.”
She glared. “Are you enjoying this?”
“I’m really not,” he said. “I don’t like punishing you. I like coming home to peace.” He sighed. “Look, if you want more freedom, you’ve got to earn it. Right now, you’ve got corner time and a paddle with your name on it.”
Her eyes widened. “Wait, the paddle? Not the hand?”
“You lied in writing. It escalates.”
“No, Marcus, please. Just use your hand like normal!”
“I wish I could. This is ministry-sanctioned. I have to. I don’t know of any loopholes. Believe me, I looked before I left work, and pondered it the whole way home. This is straightforward. I can’t imagine there’s a loophole this time.”
“But…”
He held up the paddle. “Candy, please.”
She moved to protest, then sighed, stood, shoulders dropped in defeat. “Fine.”
She walked to the bench, bent over the back of it before he even had to say another word. Her dress was folded up with grim dignity, panties . She had never been paddled before. She suspected it was far worse than the hand. At least there would be fewer swats than with the hand.
SMACK.
“Owwww! One, sir.”
SMACK.
“Two, sir! Oh gludge it!”
SMACK.
“Three, sir! That one was too hard!”
“I’m going as light as I’m allowed Candy.”
“Oh come on-”
SMACK.
“Four sir! Four—siiir—!”
Her legs twitched involuntarily, and she gritted her teeth. Every part of her smarted. It wasn’t just physical. It was the principle. She used to pen important documents and write for the ministry. Now she was counting her own spankings like a scolded schoolgirl.
By the tenth, her eyes were glossy. She didn’t cry. She wouldn’t. However, her eyes were moist.
“Ten, sir!” she whimpered. “I hate this!”
“I know,” Marcus said, sadly. “Do you need to be held?”
“No! But I want a tea and biscuit later.”
“Sure thing, but now, on to corner time. Twenty minutes.”
She trudged over to the all too familiar corner and stood, nose to the wall, arms folded behind her, trying not to think about the sting or the humiliation or the little glowing log-crystal that had doomed her.
Then… knock knock knock.
Marcus opened the door.
“Heya, neighbor!” said Mr. Bindlewhack, the retiree two doors down. Candy had never actually met the man, but she’d heard he was the neighborhood busybody. “Saw your crystal flare earlier. Everything alright?”
Marcus nodded. “Just a correction. She logged false chores,” he said, pointing toward Candy.
“Oofda! Well, classic slip-up. Lotta wives pull that at some point. Anywho, just thought I’d check in.”
Then he saw her where Marcus had pointed. Candy. In the corner. Bloomers on display. Silent as death.
“Ohhh. Well. You’re handling it. Looks thorough.” He gave a little thumbs-up. “She’ll remember next time!”
“She sure will,” Marcus said, with a plastered smile and a sarcastic little cross-body fist pump. He shut the door slowly.
Candy groaned into the wallpaper. “Can we move?”
“Come on now. No talking in corner time.” The words were not said in anger or aggression, and they landed with clipped finality, just Paddlewick enough to sound official.
Candy muttered under her breath. “Fine. I’m definitely going to the bathhouse tomorrow... soak this whole event off me.”
Silence.
Her bottom stung. Her pride was ruined. But all her mind wanted to do was finish the episode that got cut off. What book did Marjean Honeydrip, the Plumpudding representative, bring to the Gilded Gaggle book talk? The scry had flared red before Marionette teased had finished telling them all about her book. They’d never even gotten to Marjean. Candy exhaled slowly, pressing her head to the wall.
Knowing Plumpudding it was probably something warm. Rich. Maybe a little spicy. Something food-themed with a pun...
Maybe...
The Fifty Flavors of Earl Grey.
She huffed a tiny, involuntary laugh. Just once. Then resumed her silence, cheeks burning. Both pairs.