Baking Cookies...a “Little One” Story (M/ff)

(c) 2000 by Sampast and Don A. Landhill

 

It was a Saturday afternoon and my friend, Donna, was over.  We had played in my room for a bit but were getting bored.  We went downstairs and watched TV for a little while.  That was getting boring, too. 

 

I looked at her and said, “Hey, Donna, whatcha wanna do?”

 

She looked at me and then out the window.  “Well, it’s raining outside, and your mom is upstairs cleaning.  If we go up there, I bet she’ll find chores for us.  Do you have any cookies in the kitchen?”

 

My eyes lit up.  I loved cookies.  I looked at my friend and said, “Cookies? I don't think so, but let's go check.”

 

Donna followed me to the kitchen and I did a quick search but came up empty.  “Nope, nothing.  Just these boring healthy granola bars.”

 

Donna made a face and so did I.

 

I said, “Darnit too, ‘cuz now you make me want a cookie so bad.” 

 

Donna exclaimed, “Well, why don't we just make some?  I’ve watched my mom -- it isn't all that hard, I think.”

 

I looked at Donna and thought she was the smartest seven-year-old ever.  “Really? Yeah!  Okay.”  I started looking around the kitchen.  “Let's see; what do we need?”  I took out a couple of eggs and looked at my friend.  “What else?”

 

Donna started listing the things on her fingers.  “We need flour and sugar and a recipe.”

 

I thought about that.  I spied my Mommy’s cookbooks on the bookshelf and took one down.  I read the title.  Baking Treats.  “This should be good.”  I handed the book to Donna.  “Look in here, and find one, ok?”

 

Then I thought about where I’d seen Mommy keep the baking stuff.  I moved a kitchen chair over to the counter, and reached up to open the cupboard.  I saw the flour and grabbed it.  Unfortunately the bag had been left open part way, and it spilled on the floor.

 

“Ooops!”

 

Donna said, “Oh No!  Well there's plenty left, let’s just sweep it up.”

 

I sat on the counter and pointed out where the broom closet was.  She got the broom and tried to sweep the flour up.  It was not as easy as it looked.  It ended up in the corner and not very neat. 

 

I shrugged and said, “That’s good enough.”  I took down the sugar and put it on the counter next to the flour.  Then I got a big mixing bowl.  I was glad I had watched Mommy and knew where stuff was.  I looked at my friend and asked, “Did ya find a recipe?”

 

Donna nodded.  “Yep, this one is pretty easy, I think.  But we also need some chocolate chips and some brown sugar.”  She looked at me.  “Can you get that?  Oh, and baking powder, too.”

 

“Baking powder? Is that the stuff in the fridge?” I asked.  I always got confused with that and baking soda.  I told Donna to check the refrigerator.  I climbed back up to the cupboard and found the brown sugar and a small bag of chocolate chips.

 

Donna looked in the fridge.  “Nope, not here, this one says baking soda.”

 

I nodded.  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

 

I looked in the cabinet and found the baking powder.  “Here it is,” I said, handing it to her. 

 

She took it from me.  “Okay, we gotta put three cups of flour in a bowl with a spoonful of baking powder,” she told me.

 

I went to the drawer and pulled out mixing cups and spoons.  I handed them to Donna.  After all, she was the experienced one.  “What can I do? Wait, don't we gotta turn on the oven?” I asked.

 

Donna nodded and said, “Yeah, it says to preheat at 350° -- do you know how to turn it on?” 

 

I thought about that as I watched her scoop up three cups of flour and dump them in the bowl.  Neither of us knew we had to sift the flour.

 

I looked at the oven.  I knew I wasn’t supposed to touch it.  But then I also figured, it wasn’t gonna be hot to turn it on.  I would just have to get Mommy when we were ready to put our mix into the oven.  ‘Cuz then I know I would be in trouble if I opened a hot oven.

 

I looked at Donna as I turned the oven on and set it at 350°.  “My mommy will be so proud of us for doing this on our own,” I said, actually believing that.  Boy, was I dumb!

 

Donna put in the baking powder, putting in a tablespoon instead of a teaspoon.  She said, “I gotta mix this up, while you mix the sugar, the brown sugar, and a stick of butter, okay?”

 

I said, “Okay,” and looked in the fridge for butter.  I only found margarine and shrugged.  “I guess this’ll have to do.”  I never really understood the difference, anyhow.

 

I mixed in the amounts of sugar that Donna told me.  I got a big spoon and tried to mix it all up, but it was so thick.  When it was only roughly mixed, I stopped and showed her.  “You think that’s okay?”

 

She shrugged so I put it down and said, “Okay, what’s next?”

 

She pointed to the recipe and then at the eggs.  My eyes widened.  I loved cracking eggs.  This I knew how to do.  We each took one.  I managed to get the egg in the bowl without any shells.  Where was Mommy? She would be so proud of me. 

 

Donna cracked her egg in, and got a little bit of shell in, too.  We tried to get it out, but then it sunk into the sugar and we couldn’t find it. 

 

“Oh well,” I said, “so they’ll be a little crunchy.”  We both laughed.

 

Donna looked at the recipe again.  She read it out loud.  “Now it says we have to “beat” the eggs.  That means mix them hard, right?” she asked me.

 

I shrugged.  I really had no idea.  “You're the expert,” I said, watching her. 

 

Donna took the spoon and beat so vigorously that little drops of egg flew out of the bowl and onto the table and us.  We just giggled, not really noticing what kind of a mess we were making.

 

I looked into the bowl.  It looked kind of lumpy.  “Is it supposed to look like that?” I asked.

 

She nodded.  “Yeah, I think so.  Now measure the flour, Sammie,” she told me.

 

I measured out the flour carefully but then sort of dumped it in all at once.  We jumped as some of the mix splashed out and dropped onto the table, and us, nicely covering the eggs.

 

Donna started to mix it up and we watched in surprise as it all began to bubble.  Later we would find out that’s what happens when you add too much baking powder.

 

“Oooh, look!” I exclaimed, pointing to the bubbling.  Donna looked at me.  We were almost sure that that wasn’t supposed to happen.  Then I heard another noise.  Uh oh.

 

The next thing I knew Daddy had opened the door, calling out, “Hello everybody, I'm home.”  He stepped into the kitchen with a bag of groceries, and stopped.  I looked at him.  “Samantha, what is going on here?” he asked, putting down the bag on the kitchen table, which was still clean.

 

“Uh, hi Daddy.  Look, we're making cookies!” I said, stupidly, pointing them out.

 

Daddy gave me one of those “I don’t think so” faces that all grownups give.  “I see, and did you ask Mommy about this?”

 

I looked down at my feet and mumbled, “Um, no, sir.  We were gonna surprise her.”

 

Daddy didn’t look too happy.  “Samantha, you know that you aren't to mess with things in the kitchen without permission.  Get your nose in that corner while I look at things,” he said sternly.  He swatted my behind and pointed me to the corner.  “You, too, Donna,” he said, doing the same to her.

 

I looked at Donna and then at Daddy.  “But Daddy!” I cried.  “These gotta go in the oven; it's already preheating.”

 

Daddy turned on me and said real loud, “Samantha Karen!  You turned on the Oven?!  You know you aren't supposed to touch the stove.”

 

Then I felt a {smack} again.  Ouch.  That hurt.  I started to pout.  Looked like I was in trouble, AGAIN!

 

Daddy looked at the "cookies" and shook his head.  He called upstairs, “Honey, could you come down here and help me, please?"

 

I heard Mommy coming down the stairs.  She came into the kitchen and did a double take.  “Oh my god!  What is going on in here?” she asked in surprise.

 

Daddy pointed to the two of us.  I hadn’t moved, but Donna was standing obediently in one of the corners of the kitchen.  Daddy sighed.  “They were making cookies, or trying to, anyway.” 

 

He looked at me and said, “Samantha, I said in the corner, now.”  I ran to follow directions, thinking now would not be a good time to disobey.

 

Then Daddy said to Mommy, “Honey, can these be saved at all?”

 

Mommy looked in the mix and sighed.  “Oh, I guess we can bake it and see what happens.”

 

She walked over to turn on the oven and then realized it was already on.  She turned to me quickly and said, “Samantha, did you turn on the oven?”

 

I turned in my corner and nodded, the tears already slipping from my eyes.  Mommy glared at me and then looked at Daddy.  “Did you know this?” she asked him.

 

Daddy nodded.  “Yes, I already told her that was way out of line.  I think there are two girls in need of a good paddling here.  I will tend to them while you deal with the ‘cookies’, all right?” 

 

Mommy nodded, looking around.  I don’t think she knew what to do first.

 

“But Don?” she said, as Daddy started leading me and Donna from the room.  He stopped and looked at her.  “I want them back here to clean up this mess when you’re finished with them.”

 

Daddy smiled.  “Good idea, Denise.”  He turned to us.  “Let’s go!”

 

I looked at Donna in a sad way, and she nodded.  We had been in this kind of situation together before.  We often played at each other’s houses and our parents had an agreement that if we got in trouble, they could punish us however they saw fit.

 

When we got to Mommy and Daddy’s bedroom, I looked at Daddy.  I took a deep breath and asked, “Are you awfully mad, Daddy?”

 

He turned to look at us.  “I am not happy with you two.  You both know better than to make a big mess like that, much less turn on the oven by yourself.  The oven gets hot, and you could get burned.  What were you going to do if I hadn't come home, try to bake the cookies yourselves?”

 

“Well, I was gonna get Mommy to put them in the oven, Daddy.  Honest,” I insisted.  I looked at Donna and said, “Right?”  She nodded.  “I wasn't gonna touch the hot oven,” I cried.

 

“Well, that’s good, but you still shouldn't have turned it on, or started mixing things in the kitchen without permission.  Suppose Mommy didn't plan or want to bake cookies for you?  This was a very naughty thing to do, young ladies.  Do you understand that now?” Daddy asked in that stern ‘Daddy’ voice.

 

“I guess so, Daddy,” I said reluctantly. 

 

“We just wanted a snack,” Donna replied.

 

“Then you could have had an apple, or asked for something else.  Donna, do you want me to call your mommy or take your spanking here with Sammie?”

 

Donna looked at Daddy.  “I don't want a spanking,” she said, sniffling.

 

“You have earned a good spanking, both of you, and you will be getting one.  That is not in doubt.”  He paused and then said, “Donna, here or at home? And answer now.”

 

Donna sighed.  “Here, I guess.  My mommy'll be real mad, but she won't give it to me twice.”

 

“Very well.  Samantha, into the corner while I deal with Donna.  Donna, come here.”

 

I looked at Donna and then went straight to the corner.  As much as I hated getting a spanking, I hated hearing someone else get one, too.  Especially if it was partly my fault.  I stood there, covering my ears.

 

Daddy sat down, and pulled Donna to one side, pulling down her bottoms.  He took her over his lap and picked up a hairbrush.  I heard the sounds.  {Crack!} {Crack!} {Crack!} {Crack!} {Crack!}

 

“Owwwww, I’m sorry, sir!  Owwwww!” my friend cried.

 

{Crack!} {Crack!} “You will not {Crack!} misbehave {Crack!} in this house, {Crack!} Donna.  You will {Crack!} not try to cook {Crack!} without permission.” {Crack!} {Crack!}

 

“Owwww, yes!  I’m sorry!  I won’t do it again! Waaaaaah!”

 

{Crack!} {Crack!} “You know better {Crack!} than this.  {Crack!} I’m {Crack!} surprised at you.” {Crack!} {Crack!}

 

“Owwww, yes, Mr. Leonard, I’m sorrrrry!  Please stop!”

 

{Crack!} {Crack!} {Crack!} {Crack!} “All right, Donna, your spanking is over.  Go back to the corner while I deal with Sammie.”

 

I heard Donna sobbing as she walked to the corner, and knew it was my turn to face the music.  I looked at her.  She was rubbing her bottom.  She gave me a sympathetic look, knowing what was in store for me.

 

“Samantha, come here,” Daddy said.

 

I turned and walked slowly over to Daddy.  I wanted to beg and plead for him not to spank me so bad, but after Donna already got hers, I knew it wouldn’t work.

 

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” I said quietly, looking up at him.

 

“You should be, Samantha Karen.  You know much better than this.”

 

Daddy pulled down my shorts and my panties and laid me over his lap.  He started to spank me with that dreadful hairbrush.  {Crack!} {Crack!} {Crack!} {Crack!}

 

“Owww, DADDDY! Owwww, Stop! I’m sorrry!”

 

{Crack}{Crack} “You will be, young lady. {Crack} You are not to play in the kitchen {Crack} or try to cook, {Crack} particularly with a friend over. {Crack}{Crack} You are supposed to set a good example for your guest.” {Crack}{Crack}

 

“Owwww, okay, Daddy, I will next time, I'm sorry!” I cried.

 

{Crack}{Crack} “And you are not {Crack} ever {Crack} to turn on the stove or the oven. {Crack} Is that very, {Crack} very {Crack} clear, {Crack} young lady?” {Crack}{Crack}

 

“Yes, Daddy, it is,” I cried.  “But it wasn't hot.”  I sniffled.  I knew this wasn’t a good time to plead my case, but...I continued, “I wouldn't touch it if it were hot.”

 

{Crack} “Even so, {Crack} did you look to see if something was in it? {Crack} It is just safer {Crack} if you don't touch it at all, {Crack} unless Mommy or I are there {Crack} and give permission. {Crack}{Crack} So that is the rule {Crack} and no excuses.” {Crack}{Crack}

 

“Owwwwwwwww, okaaaaaaaaay, DADDDDDY, I sorrrrrrrrrrrry!”  I cried, sobbing.

 

{Crack}{Crack}{Crack}{Crack}{Crack} “All right, little one, your spanking is over.”

 

Daddy let me up then, and pulled me into his lap.  He held me for a few minutes, rubbing my back and bottom.  Then he set me on my feet and pulled up my panties and shorts.

 

“Donna, come here,” he said. 

 

When she came over, he pulled both of us back up onto his lap and we had a three-way hug.  This was the best part...the cuddling.

 

After a few minutes, Donna slid down and went to the bathroom to wash her face.  I looked up at Daddy.  “Daddy? Are you still mad at us?”

 

Daddy looked down at me, and wiped away one of my tears.  “No, you are forgiven.  But I want you to help Mommy with cleaning up, and I think it will be a few days before Donna can come over again.”

 

I nodded and said, “Yes, Daddy.” 

 

When Donna came back into the room, Daddy stood me up.  He took both our hands and led us back down to the kitchen.  It looked worse than I remembered it. 

 

We cleaned it up, though.  Mommy baked the cookies, but they came out awful.  Neither Donna nor I wanted to eat them, so we chucked them.  Donna’s mother came to pick her up soon after.  It would be a while before I would see her again.

 

And it would be a while before I got another spanking.  But not too long.

 

The end.