« Spanking Stories

"Left or right?" Tom asked, at the wheel of Hannah's dark green Mini convertible.

She'd dropped the roof the second he'd backed out of the driveway. It was a beautiful spring day for a picnic and they'd never been to Clear Springs Park, only an hour away. The Summit Trail promised long views back to the city.

She'd made peanut butter sandwiches, his favorite. Strawberries and pink lemonade were in the backpack already. She'd added a packet of organic chocolate chip cookies, just in case.

The sun demanded her car, but she'd wanted him to drive. So far it hadn't appeared to make her happy. She'd advised him when to change gear with the paddles, but he'd preferred to let the automatic gearbox take the strain.

She'd just reminded him which lane to be in, even though she hadn't answered his question. In his Audi, she was a good passenger.

"We'll go right," he declared. A decision had to be made. There were cars behind them.

Moments later he spotted the sign for 'Franklin' and followed it onto the interstate. It wasn't the scenic route she'd expected.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"In the right direction, but not the route you promised," he said.

"Sorry. I wasn't sure which way the directions meant us to go."

"And yet you're the one with them."

They made it to Clear Springs Park sooner than planned. His dark blue shirt looked rugged and worn, his tight jeans hard and manly as he slipped the rucksack on his back. Other people saw him as strong. Only she knew he was also tough, when she needed it.

The wooden bridge took them over a fast-moving stream, and they headed up the start of the trail. Her navy stretch cotton miniskirt gave her bare legs fresh air. It was a flattering tight fit. The clean lines of her white cotton string bikini panties showed under the tight skirt, marking her out as a well-dressed, clean girl. Her pale pink tight tee and worn white sneakers completed an attractive package.

He must have thought so. He'd commented more than once on her miniskirt. Her bare legs on display in the car had kept being warmed by his gaze.

The looped trail would bring them back to where they started. It was three miles to the summit, climbing at a gentle pace most of the way. They talked about life, changes to the kitchen decor she wanted to make, friends and family. By the time the trail deposited them on the summit, they were in-sync.

The distant city was a speck on the horizon. The rolling hills and fields in between a reminder of the scenic route they should have come. They found a patch of grass for their picnic. The green and white checked blanket stopped her skirt staining and provided a perfect place to enjoy the peaceful spot.

He seemed to like the sandwiches. He wasn't a hard man to please. She popped a strawberry in her mouth and gave him a fresh strawberry kiss. His lips were the only soft bit of him. She played with his tongue, reminding him she was his.

"You're gorgeous," he said, when they broke apart.

It pleased her. She wanted to be gorgeous. She'd dressed to be gorgeous.

"You're not half bad yourself," she said, pulling him in for another prolonged kiss.

They returned on an old logging trail, the journey down faster, passing the clear springs which gave the park its name. He looked at her directions and inverted them to determine the way back via the scenic route.

It took five minutes to find the brown signs for the scenic route to the city, and two long hours to get there. Late in the day, the traffic was slow with recreational vehicles taking their sweet time. It wasn't the calm joy it would have been earlier.

She was quiet, thinking. She'd had a train of thought going since the summit. It had been a pleasant time together. The scenic route would have been better in the morning, and she shouldn't have nagged at him about how to drive.

He had put her in charge of directions. Failing to follow the scenic route was on her. As for giving advice on how to drive, a girl should know better. They were little things, but they'd dulled her perfect day.

She wondered what Alice would do. She considered the author of Blazing Trails a mentor. The book didn't say, 'Get your boyfriend to punish you,' but it was so compelling she'd recognized herself in Alice's words. So had millions of other girls. It was a bestseller and being talked about everywhere. She'd overheard a conversation at the hairdressers. It surprised her that so many people considered it a sex book. For her, it was a manual, not that she needed one anymore.

"Hannah," he said.

She looked across at him as the traffic freed up.

"Little things matter," he said. "We're in this snarl because you didn't give decent directions this morning. Maybe because you were too busy telling me how to drive your car. When we get home, I'm going to punish you."

His words thudded into her heart. Even if she hadn't been in total agreement, she'd have accepted his decision, but his firm words thrilled every inch of her.

"You're right," she said. "The directions are on me and if I haven't learned not to tell a man how to drive by now, my bottom deserves a sound lesson. I don't think Alice would let little things fester."

The mention of Alice gave him an idea how to deal with her.

"I agree. You'll have a sore evening."

She smiled. "I'll feel better that way."

The sunroom looked out over their main deck to the gold course beyond. She tilted the blinds for privacy, leaving plenty of sunlight cascading over the white-tiled floor.

She'd removed her sneakers and socks while he got the cane from their wardrobe. He stood, flexing it between his hands as he spoke.

"Either you didn't research the directions well enough or you didn't pay enough attention to them. We were already on the wrong road when I asked left or right."

His scolding matched her mind. She'd not followed them well enough.

"Face the end wall," he commanded.

She obeyed, studying the plain cream paintwork.

"Bend over and put your hands against the wall."

She bent over and placed her hands on the smooth plaster. Leaning against the wall, her bare feet gripping the white tiles and her navy miniskirt stretched drum tight over her bent bottom.

"Now you know the position, stand up, pull up your miniskirt and bend again," he ordered.

She let the jersey bunch around her waist and bent over again, putting her white cotton string bikini panties on display.

He touched the cane against her taut cotton.

"Two strokes for failing to navigate," he announced.

She deserved a good sharp sting and some lasting pain. It pleased her to be bent over at his command.

The cane burned fierce heat across the middle of her bottom. She didn't regret it, but had to deepen her determination to deal with the surge in pain. Being caned hurt.

"Your failure impacted our day," he reminded her, as the cane sliced livid fury into her soft bottom with another thin delivery of sharp sting.

She held herself still and absorbed the hurt. She needed it and wanted it. Letting them both down with little things added up to a storm of hurt, and it should.

"Thank you," she said from her obedient position.

"Your constant advice this morning, was unnecessary and irritating," he scolded.

"I'm sorry," she said. She regretted it. He could drive however he wanted. He hadn't been doing anything wrong. If she liked to tap the paddles and roar ahead that was fine, but when he was behind the wheel, he must drive how he wanted.

"Stand up and take two steps back from the wall," he ordered.

She obeyed.

"Drop your panties," he commanded, his voice stern.

It was tough to surrender her panties, but she slipped them down to pool at her ankles, her obedience never in question.

"Touch your toes."

She remembered Alice having to do it in the book. She knew why. It was a humiliating position to be made to adopt. She deserved it.

He was going to cane her low where it would hurt her to sit. Her respect soared as she bent forward from the hips, keeping her legs straight and landing her fingers right on her bare toes.

"Don't let your fingers leave your toes, even for a second," he cautioned. "You let yourself down by bugging me about how to drive. One stroke. Hard."

The cane touched her soft skin, just above her legs. In this position, her skin stretched tight, a ready canvas for the cane.

The rattan flexed in the air and lashed into her sensitive skin, branding a fierce weal of furious pain. It took everything she had to process it, and her fingers lifted as she attempted to ease the hurt in her bare bottom. It was only for a moment briefest of moments.

"Your fingers stay on your toes," he said. "I'll repeat that stroke and give you one extra."

She'd disobeyed him. She'd get everything he'd promised. It was the worst deceit. At his mercy, she forced her fingers hard against her toes, her fingertips turning white where she pressed.

The crash echoed around the sunroom as fury erupted in the soft crease of her skin where her bottom met her legs. This time, he branded every inch of her disobedience where it hurt her the most. As the fire built to a full blaze, he landed the cane right beside it, widening her band of pain. She forced her fingers into her toes and took her punishment. Her disobedience dismayed her more than the distress in her bottom. For disobedience during punishment, there could be no leniency.

"Stand up," he said.

She stood, trying to deal with the blazing pain lodged low in her sensitive bottom..

"Thank you," she said. "I'm sorry I failed. Thank you for thrashing me for my disobedience. It will be uncomfortable to sit this evening."

She reached down and pulled up her panties and wriggling her miniskirt down.

After eating baked potatoes with bacon, cheese, sour cream and chives, they watched TV. She lay on the couch with her legs draped over his lap to lift her lower bottom and ease the hurt.

She loved being together. The pleasant pain made her feel good about herself. She'd ended up more sore than she'd wanted, but no less than she deserved.

He rubbed her feet, which were in easy reach. His kind hands made her feel loved. The pain in her bottom did the same. He'd condemned her to the cane and delivered a tough punishment, but she'd earned it. He'd taken command and issued her punishment without discussion.

She wasn't watching the TV. Her foot rub, sore bottom and hot thoughts had urged her hand into her panties. The navy cotton of her miniskirt stretched over her wrist as she touched herself. He left her feet and stroked her thighs, right up under her miniskirt, pausing just long enough to power the TV off and resume his mission.

She wrenched out her hand and hitched her miniskirt to her waist. He beat her to her panties and took over her pleasure, circling her soaking clit with his firm finger. She rucked up her pink tee, undid her bra and pulled the lot off, over her head, to get to her nipples. Her rosy buds begged for attention as he held her on the crest.

"You thrashed me for disobedience," she panted.

"I had to," he said, giving her the pleasure of his strict voice. "When you're told to touch your toes, there are consequences if you disobey."

"Consequences, Thrashed," she panted between skims of her nipples.

She came hard and writhed under his finger, twisting her orgasms down a slalom of her curves, knocking his finger out of the way to grab every drop of urgent pleasure.

When she calmed, she rolled off the couch and got to her shaking feet. Wriggling her bunched miniskirt off, she said, "Bed."

He was right with her, his jeans advertising his enjoyment of her show.

As they left the lounge, she looked at his bulging manhood, then up to his eyes. A daring smile broke out across her face. "Little things matter," she teased.

He landed a hard spank on her white cotton bottom.