« Spanking Stories

« Alice, Hannah and Ella


8. Itching for It

Spanking Story


Itching for it, a willing girlfriend solicits a tough caning from her boyfriend

«Beginning Part 9»

Hannah sighed at Tom. "If I have to."

He'd asked her to grab his phone from the lounge. He was ready for bed, already in his tight black trunks, heading into the bathroom.

She went through to the lounge. It wasn't such a big ordeal. She wondered at her reaction. It had been dramatic by any standards. Everything he wanted seemed to be stressful at the moment. It was nothing to wander into the lounge, pick up his phone and bring it back to the bedroom. She didn't even have to climb the stairs. Built over an incline beside a golf course, their bedroom was on the extensive ground floor of their house. She picked up his phone from the couch and padded back to the bedroom, placing it on his bedside.

He studied himself in the bathroom mirror, seeing nothing. His Philips Sonicare toothbrush did the work, while his brain processed the problem. She'd been answering back, just like that, for a couple of days. It was odd. It wasn't like her. Wiping his mouth on his towel, he caught sight of her behind him in the mirror.

In the instant before she noticed him looking, he saw stress on her face. She'd been staring at his bum with a distant look.

She arrived beside him at the double sink, unaware of the realization he'd gained. He didn't know if he was right, but it had been two weeks since he'd caned her for the first time and he wondered if it might be relevant.

Ready for bed, he didn't leave the bathroom. Instead, he leaned against the side wall. Her butt, still in tight blue skinny jeans, swayed as she washed her hands. In every world he would ever live, she had the greatest butt. Firm, gorgeous, addictive. He could watch her move forever.

Feeling his gaze on her, she watched him in the mirror. Was this it? He'd been hard on her. Very hard. He'd bent her over the kitchen table and caned her. It had been only three strokes, but he hadn't let her down, they'd all been sincere. The pain had lasted through the night and she'd been sore for a day or so. The marks had lasted for four days. She'd studied them in the mirror daily, almost regretting their steady fade.

As she'd pumped cleanser into her hand, she realized she'd hit on the truth. She'd been baiting him. It had been a pathetic attempt to see if he would do it again.

"You've been acting out in the past few days," he said, watching her face in the mirror as she washed it. "Like just then, when I asked you to grab my phone, you said 'if I have to'. It's not like you."

She washed away the cleanser from her face, wiped her hands on the cream towel and turned to face him, leaning against the sink unit.

"I hadn't realized I was doing it. I feel antagonistic. Sorry," she said.

"It's okay. Is your mind itching for punishment? Maybe you're asking for it in a roundabout way?"

Relieved, she said, "Maybe."

She'd only just worked it out. He was ahead of her. She wanted time to think about it and study the question in her mind.

"I punished you. It was an emotional experience. Maybe you crave those intense emotions again."

She turned back to the sink to hide her face while she thought. There was no hiding from her man. He was looking at her in the mirror. She splashed water on her face to buy time. She'd always been obedient, but now she thought of it as natural and punishment as a routine part of her life. But it hadn't become routine, at least not yet.

"You might be right," she said, scooping another handful of water and releasing it over her face.

She relaxed for the first time in days. When he'd been firm with her, it had released her pent up angst and delivered calm, certain authority. She liked his authority very much and wanted to feel it again.

Pushing himself off the wall, he said, "Do you have pink panties in your drawer?"

"I'm pretty sure I do," she said.

His demand to know the contents of her intimate drawer thrust hot pleasure into her sex.

"Good. Wear pink panties to bed tonight and sleep in them."

"Okay," she said.

Agreeing with him was her default position. There was nothing unreasonable about his demand. If he wanted to see her in pink, it would be her pleasure to comply.

"If you disobey, I'll cane you," he said, leaving her alone in the bathroom.

She deliberated as she went through the rest of her bedtime routine. He'd given her an instruction. She liked it. He'd been fair and given her a logical choice. She could go to bed a good girl, but her naughty mind kicked over that house of cards. She'd been acting out. He'd said so. She hadn't realized what she'd been doing, but it was true. She wanted him to punish her.

Her attitude had been combative. She deserved a caning. She needed it. It would be so easy to slip on different panties. The wrong cotton would feel so much more. It would be blatant disobedience. He would never let her get away with it. It wasn't the color of her panties, but her attitude which he would cane out of her. The thought pleased her. Angst dissolved as she thanked him in her mind for his kind choice. He'd put it all in her hands. All she had to do was slip on the wrong color and he'd take care of her.

Did she want to be made to hurt like that again?

In front of her underwear drawer, she asked herself the same question. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him laying on the bed. He was reading his book on his phone, at least she thought it was his book. He wasn't watching her standing naked in front of her underwear drawer. It was her choice. He was staying out of it.

She didn't like being ignored. In a fit of pique, she reached into her drawer and removed a pair of Victoria's Secret cotton string bikini panties. With a soft band of elastic around her hips, they were a comfortable fit.

Even here and now, she'd had an attitude. He was leaving her to her choice, but she'd taken it as a personal affront and reacted with attitude. She needed caning. She slid her hands down over her bottom, feeling the pleasant cut of the dark gray cotton, and smoothed the elastic around her hips. It was a choice she'd needed to make, and she appreciated him forcing it upon her.

She walked over to him. "I'm sorry I've been difficult. I deserve to be punished. You're right, I need it," she said. "Cane me hard. My attitude has even annoyed me."

He stood and wrapped his girlfriend in the safety she deserved. "I adore you. You're a good girl, but you haven't been in the last few days and your panties aren't pink."

Letting her go, he went to the wardrobe. The cane had found its natural home on top. She'd told him about her drunken climb to find the cane in the hotel. He didn't need a chair to reach it.

As he came back and faced her, his tight black trunks revealed she'd turned him on. He flexed the cane between his hands and swished it once. It held her attention and made her moist. Her sex approved of the certainty. He was going to cane her and there was no way out. The disobedience on her hips was clear for them both to see.

"Your side of the bed, please," he pointed with the cane.

She went to her own side and waited in only her short white cotton vest top and tight dark gray panties.

"What color are your panties?"

She welcomed the harsh return of his strict, scolding tone. Being made to answer for her behavior was delicious and tough. Her eyes sank to the floor, and she said, "Dark gray."

"What color should they be?"

His ruthless questioning drove her disobedience deep inside her where it burned in agony. "Pink," she replied, still not looking at him.

"Do you think it's funny to be disobedient?" he demanded.

God, no. She didn't think it was the slightest bit funny. It was wrong in every way. She'd been full of pure petulant disobedience when she'd chosen her panties. There had been pink ones in her drawer, both pale pink and hot pink. She could have delighted him with either.

"No. I'm sorry," she said, lifting her eyes to his.

"I'm going to cane you," he said.

She'd known the outcome all along, but hearing it declared thrust strength down into her core. It hadn't been a one-off. He intended to keep this part of their life going. She was so relieved, gratitude flooded her.

"Thank you. I'm sorry," she said, her voice packed with genuine contrition.

"Two strokes of the cane. Hard ones."

She nodded.

"Bend over," he commanded.

She lowered her arms on to the white covers. Shame at her recent behavior flowed from her mind, suffusing her body with willingness to suffer. She registered his touch as his fingers slipped into the waistband of her panties. He stripped them down to her ankles before her mind could catch up.

"You chose disobedience. You don't deserve your panties."

Her sex soaked itself in shame, lapping up the humiliation. Bared and bent, her body blared her vulnerability as the thin rattan tapped her exposed skin.

He didn't need the magazine. He kept his elbow tight to his side and flicked his wrist. The sharp crack thrilled her for the briefest second before vicious sting burst into incandescent fire across her bare cheeks. She pushed her arms into the bed, letting her mind transcend the pain.

Humble and sorry. Her attitude dispersed in the face of her wake up call. He'd caned her with mercy, but it had still been a hard stroke. Sting pulsed along the thin line as ache drummed into her bottom. She'd tested him, and he'd reined her in, hard. Her petulance could have turned to rudeness, if he hadn't tackled it tonight. She'd needed to know he'd hold her to account. It hadn't been a conscious plan, but she'd needed to find out. She turned her head to the side.

"I'm sorry, Tom. Show me no mercy. Thrash me."

Fiery fury erupted, burning no mercy into her bare bottom as she cried out in anguish, accommodating the escalating pain. Moaning, she panted over the bed as the heat he'd scorched into her skin reached its peak and settled into serious suffering.

As the pain spread, it punished her truculent disobedience and sealed his promise into her heart. He would discipline her whenever he decided. Maybe she wouldn't always agree, but she would always bend. She would never fail the trust he'd placed in her to obey him. He was her man, and she'd show him only love.

"Stand up," he said, his voice gentle.

She stood and turned, steeped in respect. "I'm sorry for my recent behavior and I'm sorry for disobeying you tonight. Thank you for caning me. I needed it."

"You're forgiven. I love you," he said, pulling her into his arms. "I admire your courage and self-respect," he whispered into her hair. "You can rub your bottom, if you want to."

"No, I'm letting it hurt. I deserve it. It's good to hurt again."

He swept her into his arms. She looped hers around his neck. She loved the effortless way he lifted her. He pressed her back against the bedroom wall. Supported by his strength, she wrapped her legs around his waist.

Freeing his manhood from his trunks, he entered her, his power pushing her caned bare bottom up the cool wall. She stole his lips, delivering the passion invading her to his hot lips as she took his length deep inside her and skimmed her nipples through her thin cotton against his hard chest.

His power radiated against every inch of her, inside and out. She squeezed her legs tight around him, forcing him deeper. His strokes brought her close to climax.

The pleasure played out on her face as he watched her take his firm strokes.

Teetering on the edge of her private volcano, she erupted as he exploded into her. Pinned in place by him, she twisted back and forth as a torrent descended through her, squeezing every ouch of pleasure out of her body. Still rocking with unexpected mini orgasms, he carried her to the bed.

"Can I sleep in my naughty panties?" she asked, as he placed her on the covers.

"Of course. You've paid the price," he grinned.

She grabbed her panties from the floor and settled into soft comfort under the covers. He joined her. She kissed him again, soft and certain. His lips held her safe against her pillow, reminding her of his strength to love her and deal with her.

"I was testing my limits," she whispered. "I didn't know it, but thank you for not letting me down. You were right, I was itching for it."