Claudia stopped in the middle of the room, her eyes flashing like embers in a fire I knew all too well. The air between us crackled with tension, and the sour smell of my alcoholic breath only made things worse. She crossed her arms, her chest rising and falling with repressed fury, and for a second I thought she would explode in a scream. But no. Claudia wasn't one for empty sermons; she was one for actions that left a mark.
"Oh, a sermon? No, Mario, that would be too kind for you tonight." Her voice was low, sharp as a knife blade, and she took a step forward, forcing me to back up against the wall. "You think you're clever, huh? With this provocative habit, coming home late, reeking of beer and cheap whiskey, as if I were your maid to clean up your mess. You know what I hate? It's not just the alcohol, it's the lack of respect. It's you thinking you can trample on our agreement and get away with it." She lifted her chin
Her lips curving into a smile that was pure, sweet poison. "But I'm going to teach you what happens to cunning husbands. It's going to hurt, Mario. It's going to really hurt. Undress, take everything off, and lean over the arm of the sofa. Now. Sixty lashes with the cane – no warm-up, no mercy. You're going to count each one, loud and clear: 'One, thank you Claudia. Two, thank you Claudia.' And if you move or fail to count... well, I'll add another dozen with the Dragon cane, the one that leaves you on your knees for days."
I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest, a mixture of fear and something darker, warmer, that always betrayed me in these moments. "Claudia, wait... it was just one night, I swear that—"
I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest, a mixture of fear and something darker, warmer, that always betrayed me in these moments. "Claudia, wait... it was just one night, I swear that—" "Shut up and obey." She was already turning to the hallway closet where we kept the "utensils"—the collection we had built up over the years, each piece a reminder of our rules. The flexible rattan cane came out first, thin and whispering, promising stripes that would burn like fire. "Lean over. Hands on the sofa seat, legs apart. And remember: this is punishment, not a game. If you cry before the end, it's because you deserve it."
The first blow whistled through the air before I could prepare myself, cutting through the silence like a whip. "One!" I screamed, my voice faltering, the impact exploding on my bare skin like lightning. Pure pain, without mercy, and Claudia didn't stop. Each stroke was precise, rhythmic, marking the rhythm of my regret. At twenty, my backside was already throbbing, hot and swollen; at forty, tears stung my eyes, and I bit my lip to keep from pleading.
"Forty-one, thank you Claudia," I gasped, my body trembling, but maintaining the position as she had ordered. She paused for a second, her breathing also accelerated – not from effort, but from absolute control. "Good boy. But there are still nineteen to go. And if you fail the last one... ah, Mario, you'll wish you'd stayed at the bar."
She managed everything without hesitation, the cane dancing like an extension of her arm, until I collapsed, sobs tearing at my chest, my body a map of welts and lessons burned into my skin. When she finished, she dropped the cane and knelt beside me, a firm hand on my trembling shoulder. "Get up slowly, love. Look at me."
I raised my eyes, my face wet, and saw in them not anger, but possession. "Tell me what you learned."
"That... that I'll never drink like that again. That you're in charge, Claudia. That it hurts, but... but I deserve it." The words came out broken, true...
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