« Spanking Stories

The snow-covered mountains were a shock to Amy, as the plane banked over the Arctic Ocean on approach to Svalbard airport. It was the most northern airport on earth, part of Norway but over a thousand miles from Oslo. Several days ago she'd left super yacht Serena in crystal blue waters to join the owner's other super yacht, Vista. She'd been one of his stewardesses on Serena for many years, where she followed the sun around the world in a short skirt.

Vista was a rare super yacht. Its ice-class hull allowed it to venture right into the Arctic. Someone had chartered her, for many millions of dollars, for a week-long cruise through the most remote part of the world. Amy was looking forward to the experience of a lifetime, although the climate was already a severe shock.

Vista's Chief Stewardess had lost her father a few days ago. Nothing could ever disrupt the smooth flow of ultimate service on board a super yacht, but the owner was fair. Amy's own chief stew had informed her, the owner had suggested that she stand in for this charter. It was a temporary promotion, an enormous mark of respect.

"Welcome to Longyearbyen. It's one degree with clear skies," the flight attendant announced their safe landing.

So that's what one degree looks like, she thought, as the wingtips slowed past the rugged landscape.

Taxiing to the terminal, the flight attendant crouched beside her and checked her name. "Come with me, please. You're leaving the plane first. There's a car waiting for you."

She grabbed her wheelie from overhead. She was a professional stewardess, ready for anything. Passing the curious glances of other passengers, she waited by the main door. The flight attendant gave her thin jacket and tight blue skinny jeans a curious glance. Woeful clothing for the High Arctic.

The air was so cold it didn't feel it as the cabin door released her. It wasn't a luxury limousine which greeted her at the bottom of the steps, but a white van. She climbed in, lifting her wheelie onto her lap. She didn't know where she was going, but someone did. The clean-cut young man whisked her across the small airport. It was less than a minute to the Sikorsky 76. The silver helicopter crouched on its wheels, blades spinning.

The co-pilot opened her door and took her bag, "You're Amy?" he checked.

"Yes," she answered, her voice clipped by the sharp cold.

As they lifted, she saw Vista off the coast. It took under five minutes to land on her aft deck.

"Thanks," she called, as she got out.

"Quick," yelled the tall blond in a short crew skirt and bare legs, standing by the gangway. She escorted Amy, without ceremony, down to the warm crew mess. Once in the warmth, she said, "Hi, I'm Natalie. This is Valerie," pointing to another tall blond. "As of now, we work for you. You'll meet the others soon."

"Hi, nice to meet you," Amy replied and shook hands. "You're going to need to teach me how the hell to deal with this cold."

"Come. Let's start there," Valerie said. She took Amy to her cabin. It was a single cabin for herself. A rare delight. On the bed was a pile of thermal Arctic clothes.

"That's your uniform for outside," Valerie announced.

"Don't step outside in your crew skirt for any longer than Natalie did to collect you. There's nothing polite or sexy about goosebumps," she grinned. "Everything else is in your wardrobe. If the sizes are wrong, there are plenty more in the laundry room."

"Thank you," Amy said.

"We're cleaning the owner's deck, it's three up. If you don't mind, we'll carry on until you're ready for us."

"Of course," Amy said, and Valerie departed.

Coming out of her first shower in twenty-eight hours, Amy saw her six fading cane stripes in the mirror. Her boyfriend was the First Officer on Serena. He'd caned her the night before she left.

She'd let Dan down and had deserved her punishment. Each stroke had seared a painful reminder to behave on her soft bottom. She hadn't known she was going anywhere, but the soreness had kept her company on her initial flights. Painful discipline relieved her guilt. She held herself to account and bent over when she must. She expected high standards of everyone, but most of all herself.

Her dark gray crew skirt and light gray polo with M/Y Vista over her left breast felt odd, she was used to khaki and blue. It marked her temporary promotion in her mind. She had twenty-four hours to understand the layout and crew onboard before their guests arrived.

Alice and Harry were unpacking from Bora Bora. The Four Seasons resort had been paradise. Sleeping over the blue water and sliding in whenever she felt like it was a dream.

Harry had made love to her every time she looked at him. A quick float in the ocean, looking at the idyllic scenery, rebuilt her energies and she was back for more. Endless sex in paradise was a must, and it was paradise.

She had styled her unblemished bottom in ten different bikinis, a different one for each day. Harry had decided she wouldn't be subject to punishment while they were in paradise. She'd appreciated it, at first, but soon found she didn't like the freedom to behave how she liked.

She was used to life with discipline. The gentle threat of punishment gave her pleasure and certainty. She'd purchased a thicker cane for serious punishments. The constant stream of emails from her readers had given her a ton of knowledge. She'd recognized she might need much harder discipline. The punishment cane had occupied her thoughts on the way back from the South Pacific. She wanted him to put her back under punishment, good and hard.

Placing her pile of bikinis on the bed, she looked at him, adopted an angry tone, and almost shouted at him, "I don't want to be given a fucking free pass, ever again." Reaching into the wardrobe, she handed him the thick cane and said, "I've sworn at you and shown a lack of gratitude for your kindness. You have no choice but to cane me. A serious, heavy punishment for my attitude. Make it hurt."

He looked at her, saying nothing. Flexing the thick cane, he swept it through the air. The fierce sound made her shiver in gratitude.

"Drop your leggings," he ordered.

She pushed the black cotton down her sexy suntanned legs and faced her man in her black cotton bikini panties and a purple tee.

"I tried to be kind to you. It's obvious I failed in this. I won't give you a free pass again, ever," he said. "Swearing at me is unacceptable and has earned you a full six strokes. This is a serious cane, and a serious caning. You're going to be very sorry."

Her shoulders relaxed at the certain confirmation. Sorry was what she wanted to be. The more sorry, the better. Six heavy punishment strokes were well overdue. She'd been free of discipline for far too long. Paradise had conflicted her. Living in a bikini, her bottom patterned in punishment wouldn't have been discreet, but the freedom to know he wouldn't deal with her hadn't been enjoyable either.

"Thank you. I deserve it and I'm sorry," she said.

"Your lack of gratitude for my kindness is poor manners. We'll deal with that next," he warned. "Bend over." He pointed to the bed with the cane.

She bent over the bed, her panties stretching over her bottom. He tapped the thick cane against her taut black cotton.

Burning shame erupted in a thick line of torment across her bottom. Deeper, richer hurt than her normal cane, the struggle to take her discipline was a genuine challenge, and one she deserved. She'd got too used to their cane.

The heavy rattan scorched her again, lower on her bum. She pictured herself in each bikini. There were days on which she'd deserved to have a stinging behind. She was paying for them now. Six times he seared thick fire into her disobedient bottom. The soaring agony from each stroke drove pain into her bottom and respect into her heart. He'd planted six distinct tracks of fiery pain on her backside for her to contend with, a true and lasting punishment.

"Stand up," he commanded.

She stood contrite and well beaten. She hadn't felt this punished for a long time. "I'm sorry for swearing. Thank you for caning my attitude out of me."

"There's also your lack of gratitude for my kind gesture," he said.

"I'm sorry for that too. You were generous."

"Strip naked," he ordered.

The escalation blew respect and fear through her heart and mind. It wasn't over. She must face more of those devastating strokes. Her wisdom in serious question, she kicked off her leggings and dropped her panties. Bending to pick them up, the muscles in her bottom changed her fresh pain. Obliged to endure her agony, she tried not to wince as she stood and her muscles contracted. Her purple tee and black bra went on the bed.

"Touch your toes," he commanded.

This was bad. It always hurt more with her skin stretched tight. She faced the en-suite and bent from her hips, touching her fingertips to her bare toes. The burning fire in her already punished bottom questioned her sanity, but she'd provoked him, shown no gratitude for his kindness, and deserved thrashing.

The cane tapped where she'd known it would, just above her legs, on her sensitive skin. It roared into her soft skin, searing a thick line of agonizing pain where it would hurt the most. She panted and a small cry escaped her lips as the heat grew. Right when the pain peaked, another heavy stroke whipped into her taut skin, just above the previous one. The shocking band of thick hurt stole her breath and her mind.

She held her fingertips hard on her toes and took her punishment to heart. It had been worse than she'd wanted and everything she'd needed. She'd been an ungrateful bitch. Now, she was an ungrateful, beaten bitch, and back under punishment. Respect for him engulfed her as he allowed her to stand. She was home.

Alice looked around the cabin of the Bombardier 7500 jet. There was no conversation at the moment. The other two couples were asleep or resting with their eyes closed and Harry was reading his kindle. So she had the plane to herself.

They were inbound, with four friends, for a week-long cruise in the Arctic. She'd always wanted to go to the remote, quiet, stillness. The super yacht was an incredible luxury for the adventure. She'd never spent so much money in one go, and may never again.

The marks from her caning, on return from Bora Bora, had gone. They'd hurt for a day and lasted a full week. Her wonderful man had given her the firm return to discipline she'd needed.

She put down her iPad. It was full of emails from Modern Girls. She couldn't reply to all of them, but she read them whenever she had a moment because other people's lives were addictive reading. As always, her mind slid back to its default question - 'What am I going to do?'

The publicity over Blazing Trails had freed her to enjoy her wealth and success in public, but it wasn't a job. Harry had left his career as an investment manager to manage her wealth, and it was a full-time job. Her publisher wanted her to write more books, but she didn't have another book in her. Having sold more books than anyone in the world, she was rich beyond her desires, and unemployed. Maybe the utter silence of the Arctic would offer clues. She glanced at the screen beside her. The destination was Longyearbyen and the time to destination showed one hour.

Amy and her interior team of stewardesses had slipped into an efficient routine. They were all aware of what needed doing and invested in a perfect outcome. Natalie and Valerie had been stewardesses on board Vista since its launch a year ago.

She read the crew manual whenever she could. The rules differed because of the climate and their remote location. The bosun had given her a drill in Arctic rescue within hours of her arrival. He'd made her dress in her safety suit in under ten seconds. If immersed in the sea, it was her only chance of survival. She was familiar with safety systems and procedures, but welcomed his attention because her life, and others, might depend on it.

The captain met her, for the first time, in the crew mess, when he handed out the profiles of the arriving guests. He was German, crisp, clean, and very much in command. Just how she liked her men, although too old for her.

The chef suggested she should advise guests about drinking alcohol in high latitudes. The human body could only handle about half the alcohol it could in temperate climates. She took it on board, thinking of subtle ways to word it.

The profiles gave a headshot, so they could recognize the guests, and details of their backgrounds and preferences. She read the profiles of the primary couple first. They were the ones paying. The details of their backgrounds were scant. Hers said financial administrator and author. Her husband, Harry, was an investment manager. It must be his money paying for the trip.

The woman's picture felt familiar, but her full name meant nothing to her. As she read down the food preferences, the photo drew her eye again. Recognition cracked across her mind like a heavy punishment cane across her bare behind and brought the same rush of emotions.

The first name and picture meant everything to her. In an instant, she knew she was right, but had to check. There were few people who could afford a super yacht in the Arctic for a week. She rushed to her cabin, grabbed her laptop and searched for the millions of news stories with pictures. It had been epic global news for a time. She compared the pictures on her screen with the headshot on the paper in her hand. There was no doubt. There hadn't been in her mind. It wasn't his money paying for the trip; it was hers. She was Alice North, the bestselling mega author of Blazing Trails, and a girl who, like her, got caned by her man as a matter of course.

She'd read Blazing Trails. Everyone in the world had read Blazing Trails. For her it wasn't a manual, but pure entertainment. She felt superior reading it, knowing she already took the cane from her man, and had done for a long time. Never in her lifetime had she thought she might meet the famous Modern Girl. Now she would shake her hand in under an hour.