« Spanking Stories

« Alice, Hannah and Ella


3. Good to Hurt

Spanking Story


When her spanking doesn't hurt enough, a dutiful girl asks for the cane

«Beginning Part 4»

Alice came out of the bathroom naked and selected pink cotton bikini panties for bed.

"Your bottom isn't red anymore," Harry said. "Does it still hurt?"

"No," she said, pulling on her panties and climbing into bed beside him. "I expected to be sore for two or three days."

After their hasty tempestuous coupling with her sore bottom rubbing the carpet, last night's sex had been beautiful. They'd needed a long session in bed to heal their damage. As her bottom had rubbed against the sheets, it hadn't stung anymore.

"How was today at work?"

"Nothing much. I was looking forward to the potential embarrassment of having received a spanking. I expected to endure at least a little difficulty through the day."

He grinned.

"I know. It's crazy," she said. "I felt a few twinges at work, but nothing much. I don't mean to sound ungrateful. It hurt like hell when you were spanking me. But when I got the gym shoe at camp, the marks were still obvious the next morning, and my bum ached when I stood in front of you."

"Does it need to hurt for days?" he asked, opening his arms for her to snuggle in.

She nestled close to his warm body. "No, I suppose not. But I put you through three days of misery. A few days of discomfort and a little embarrassment would have been a fair punishment."

He held her close and stroked her butt. "I must punish you harder in the future."

Pleased by his commitment, she nuzzled into his neck, "You must."

"You're sure?" he asked, shifting to study her face.

"I've been researching online this evening," she said. "I've found things you can use to punish me."

"Tell me," he said. It seemed he was miles behind.

"Bending over your knee was appropriate for my brattish behavior, but I'm an adult and I'd prefer to bend over the bed or a table to take my punishment. You know?"

He smiled, "I understand. It means more to stay in position and choose to obey."

His casual use of the word 'obey' flung heat into her sex. "I found tons of different leather straps I got lost in the choice. A wooden paddle is painful according to the reviews, but I've bought a cane."

"You've bought one?"

"Yes. Dozens of reviews said it was quiet, but caused intense pain. I hadn't thought of that, but with hard slaps or blistering swats we risk sharing my punishment with the neighbors and I want this to be our thing."

"Did the reviews say how much it hurts?"

"Yes. The pain and marks last for days. I didn't choose the worst cane. They come in different thicknesses. I only chose a thin one. It will sting rather than cause dense pain."

He stroked her face and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You might not like it."

"I'm not meant to. In several countries, girls used to get it at school. I'm an adult. If I need to be caned, it should hurt for a while. This way the marks will last and remain uncomfortable for several days, longer if you cane me hard."

She moved his hand from her cheek and placed it on the pillow. "I need to know it will hurt. The threat alone should bring me into line. When you must cane me, lay it on hard."

"Okay," he said. Since he'd spanked her, she'd been soft and compliant, snuggling into him at every opportunity. She'd got a plan and didn't appear to be backing down. "Let's see when it comes."

"It'll arrive tomorrow, I paid extra for express delivery. I want to test it."

Saturday was a good day for a cane to arrive. She'd be in all day to receive it, and there'd be time to recover before Monday if it was worse than expected.

The UPS truck arrived around noon while Harry was putting up a shelf in the garage. He walked back into the kitchen to wash his hands and said, "It's here, I left in on the hood of your car."

She was up like a shot, glad he'd left the cane behind when she saw the state of his hands.

The garage had got more use with her new car. It stayed clean longer. Admiring her cute car, she picked up the cardboard cylinder resting on the hood. To the delivery man, the innocuous cardboard tube could have held a poster, but knowing it contained a cane to punish her made her sex throb with excitement and fear.

Taking it to the kitchen, she used scissors to cut away the packaging on one end of the cylinder and ripped off the white plastic end. Tipping the tube, the cane slid into her hand.

Harry, now clean, came over and took the tube from her, placing it on the kitchen table.

"Wow," he said. "That's serious."

She handed him the straight, golden rattan rod. Holding it by its black grip, he ran his fingers along its length, feeling the bumps and imperfections. Looking her in the eye, he swished it hard down through the air.

The sharp whistle drove a quiver down her spine and she stiffened to defeat her fear. She'd chosen this. She must maintain her self-respect and take her punishment.

"We have to try it," she said, her voice weaker than she'd intended.


She nodded.

"I've punished you for your recent behavior, but your suffering was brief."

She moved to face him, her hands clasped in front of her, hoping to convey absolute obedience.

"Good girl," he said, noticing her stance. "One hard stroke across your panties, bending over the bed."

Fear coursed through her body, and her legs turned to jelly. She toughened up. It was only one stroke.

"First, I need to practice. I want to do it right," he said.

On firm ground, she said, "I read how to use a pillow. I'll show you."

He followed her, enjoying the sight of her bum in tight black skinny jeans as she climbed the stairs. In the bedroom, she took his pillow and balanced it on the edge of the bed. "Imagine it's my bottom," she said. Plumping the pillow, she marked a line across the middle with her finger. She'd paid close attention to the review, which had explained how best to use the cane.

He flexed the rod between his hands and her sex tightened as she watched his natural dominance. He whipped it through the air. The whistle drove fear into her and thrilled the hell out of her.

He saw both reactions cross her face. This was important. He had to get it right.

"Land the cane as close as possible to the line," she said. "All you need to do is flick your wrist, not use your entire arm. Someone suggested gripping a magazine with your elbow to prevent you from using too much force."

"Great idea," he said, grabbing her copy of Marie Claire from the bedside. His idea of moderate might be too hard. Not hurting her, while hurting her had concerned him since she'd told him about the cane last night. Placing the glossy magazine against his side, he gripped it with his right elbow and lined up the cane against the mark on the pillow.

He'd read advice online this morning to ensure he wouldn't let her down. The crucial detail he'd taken away was to place the tip of the cane in the middle of her farthest cheek and no further. He shifted his position back to leave the tip three-quarters of the way across the pillow. Keeping his eye on the line, he lifted the cane away and gave his wrist a sharp flick.

Even deadened by the pillow, the impact stung her senses. The rattan landed almost on the line she'd drawn across her imaginary bottom.

He flicked his wrist again and landed the cane dead on target. Meeting her eye, he said, "You're due one hard stroke. Are you ready to take it?"

She didn't think she'd ever be ready, but like he said, it was due. There was no escape. She nodded, unbuttoning her black skinny jeans as she approached the bed. She plumped the pillow, smoothing out the firm lines he'd made, and put it back in place.

"Drop your jeans. Right down."

Grateful for the command, she accepted his control. Pushing her denim to her ankles, she stood facing the bed in her black cotton bikini panties. The sharp cut of her underwear left most of her cheeks bare. In front of the cane, her scant protection felt like a brave choice. Imagining the severity of her punishment made her sex hot.

"Bend over," he commanded.

She leaned forward, lowered her weight onto her forearms and bent over the bed.

The warm rattan tapped against her taut cotton. She'd seen and heard the impact on the pillow. Compared to his hand, the cane would be brutal on her bottom. It had to be. She needed serious punishment. She steeled herself to take the pain.

"I've forgiven you for your behavior," he said, "but imagine I haven't. Think about the three long days you made me feel like I'd done something wrong."

Shame poured through her. He was right, she'd been awful. Her behavior justified a hard stroke of the cane. "I deserve it," she said.

"You do."

The cane snapped into her soft cheeks and cracked around the room. For an instant the hard impact didn't hurt, then blazing fury erupted from the line seared through her thin panties.

She leaped up and clutched her bottom. "Fuck that hurts."

He dumped the magazine and cane on the bed and held her tight as she wriggled in his arms and rubbed her behind.

The thin line burned with fury, pulsing meaningful pain through her bottom. As the sting became bearable, the shock of being caned dissipated. The fuss she'd made and her lack of respect disappointed her. She'd asked for it and should have taken it better.

She escaped his hug and stood back. "I'm sorry. I'm disappointed in myself. You should be too. I didn't take that at all well."

Looking him in the eye, so he'd know she meant every word, she said, "Please order me back over the bed, give me a good scolding for not taking it with respect and then give me two strokes to teach me a lesson. I promise to take them with dignity, no matter how much they hurt."

He gave her time to change her mind, but she stood her ground in front of him. He retrieved the magazine and cane. Tapping the bed with the tip of the cane, he said, "Bend over."

She obeyed, proud of her courage.

"You asked to be caned. It's your responsibility to bear the pain with grace and respect."

His scolding showered her in shame. It was her duty to take her punishment and she would not let herself down. His strokes should hurt.

"Two extra strokes for disrespecting your punishment. I don't expect it to happen again."

It wouldn't. She wouldn't tolerate such disobedience from herself. A good girl bent and took her punishment with grace.

The cane slashed into her bottom. Intense heat burned across her disobedient cheeks. Punishing pain pulsed against her sex. She absorbed it. Stirred with a healthy dose of pride, the pleasurable cocktail suffused her body. She'd take the cane. She'd held position and taken it well. Her self-respect soared and settled. She must still prove she could do it again. She spread her fingers on the comforter and held her burning bottom dead still.

The cane scorched low on her cheeks. Burn blossomed into fiery agony deep in her backside. Her pride rose to meet the pain, wrapped it in a blanket of delicious obedience and delivered a torrent of hot liquid pleasure into her sex.

"Stand," he ordered.

She obeyed and turned to face him, letting her hands fall to her sides. "Thank you," she said. "I deserved it. I love you."

He wrapped her in his arms and she buried her face in his chest. The same arm that had hurt her now held her tight. Her backside throbbed as her mind and heart calmed.

"Let's look," she said, escaping his hug and rushing to the ensuite bathroom. He followed. Shoving down her panties, she looked over her shoulder in the mirror and touched the three distinct red lines already forming into ridges.

"You'll carry those marks and be sore for days," he said, admiring his handiwork.

"I deserve it," she said. Her sex throbbed its approval. She would feel it every time she sat down, when she bent to take off her shoes or put them on, and when she drove. Each time she sat at her desk on Monday, a fresh bite of pain would remind her she'd been taught a much-needed lesson by her firm, forgiving man.

She kicked down her panties, left them on the bathroom floor and climbed onto the bed. Laying back, she teased her hard clit as he propped the cane in the back corner of their wardrobe.

The thought of the cane waiting there to discipline her drove her finger harder. She was a Modern Girl. Modern Girls took the cane. She'd asked for it, and he'd caned her.

His jeans were off by the time he reached the bed. In their place, his manhood saluted her courage. She pulled her black tee over her head and discarded her bra. The sight of her strong naked man flooded her already desperate sex with molten respect. He'd caned her without compromise.

He moved her hand and placed it on his backside as he lifted over her and slid deep inside her. Her blossoming weals hurt as he rubbed her striped bottom against the sheet. Grabbing his bum, she lifted her breasts to rub her nipples against his solid chest.

"You caned me," she panted.

"I will again," he breathed between ever deeper thrusts.

"Being obedient turns me on."

"I know," he grunted.

"I need to be kept in check."

Every stroke of his manhood demanded her obedience. She gave it, gripping him and flooding him with her juices as he held her against her fervent edge.

"Don't stop," she begged. "Don't stop."

His pleasure burst through her. She cried out. Orgasms crashed through her sex and pulsated the length of her as he rolled onto his back, pulling her into his arms.

"My spanking was wonderful, but this was the real thing. You delivered exquisite pain and stunning pleasure. You were perfect."

His fingers trailed the delicious, but painful, ridges on her bare bottom.

"I love you," she said. "Thank you for being hard on me."

"Will you be able to sleep later?" he asked.

"I'll be fine. It's good to hurt."