« Spanking Stories

Hannah didn't want her neighbors to know Tom was going to whip her, but she deserved the shame.

She'd risked her job and received a caning at work for her behavior. He should not let it go. She wanted him to deal with her. She wanted to be whipped hard by him. Her punishment had to include some embarrassment and shame. She'd caused her co-worker plenty.

She stepped back onto the fairway with a nervous glance each way and returned across the golf course to her own rear lawn. Two hundred yards of potential embarrassment. The trees on her boundary would block the neighbors' view of her shame for a moment as she got close to her house, but she was in the most part exposed.

Visible in her white vest top and maroon skater skirt, her flat white champion sneakers carried her across the grass. In her right hand, she held two fresh switches. She'd stripped the firm and flexible three-foot saplings according to his instructions. There was no doubt they would hurt her tender flesh.

A disciplinarian had caned her for slapping another girl at work. Tom had to be hard on her. It couldn't go unrecognized between them. He'd made her wait until Sunday afternoon to ensure her caning had worn off. Now, she had to submit her tender behind to be whipped. It was her duty as a good girlfriend to accept his punishment.

Her upcoming embarrassment had been on her mind for days. If she bumped into a neighbor carrying her switches, she'd admit she needed to be whipped. It would embarrass her and continue to do so well into the future, but her co-worker's shame wouldn't have dissipated fast, even with their public reconciliation.

She'd imagined lying to a neighbor, but it wasn't in her nature. Her potential embarrassment was the point of her punishing parade. If it had to be, she'd accept it with grace and hold her head high. It was the least she deserved. She'd given Wendy no choice, so Tom had cut her no slack.

Walking to her fate, she kept her head down. She preferred not to know. One of her neighbors could have their eye on her right now, imagining her bottom being whipped with the switches she carried. A man would take pleasure in it, a woman would understand.

Reaching the landscaped trees and bushes near her house, she glanced left and saw her older neighbor on his deck, leaning against the railing. He waved. She waved back with her left hand, keeping her right hand still, hoping her bare legs were attention grabbing enough he wouldn't notice the switches she held on the other side.

She glanced again as she reached the stairs to her deck. He'd gone back inside. She breathed a sign of relief; Luck had spared her.

Tom had tilted the blinds in their lounge for privacy. The sun still streamed across the light wood floor.

"Thank you," she shuddered with gratitude and remorse, as he closed the door behind her.

"Was it tough?"

"The toughest. I didn't want to be seen, I don't think I was. I felt ashamed and exposed all the way. Thank you for being so hard on me. I'll be a lot more thoughtful about embarrassing others."

"Good," he said.

His blue jeans and black tee were tight over his muscles. Her powerful man was going to hurt her, but she trusted him to do it right. Handing over the switches she'd made, she lowered her gaze.

"You risked your job and had to be punished at work. I must whip you. You understand I can't let you get away with it?"

"Yes. I understand. You're right. I wouldn't want to escape your punishment. I deserve it. Please whip me hard."

Wallowing in her abject surrender, she asked, "Where do you want me?"

"Over the arm of the couch," he pointed.

The white chenille couch had plush inviting arms with deep cushions laying along them. She bent over the arm, letting its soft cushion settle under her hips, and rested her forearms on the seat.

He lifted her maroon skater skirt over her back, exposing her white string bikini panties. She settled in pleasant shame. It was how it had to be.

The cool switch touched her skimpy white cotton. She'd never had a whipping. Fear rushed through her.

Pain burst in a tight line across her bottom. The hurt was instant, the pain vicious and sharp, but the fresh sting settled fast.

He repeated the light stroke.

The flexible stick flicked firm pain. The nodules along its length hit her bottom ahead of the shaft, doubling the hurt at points as her skin bounced back against the incoming rod. It was fast, efficient punishment. She kept her arms on the seat and the toes of her sneakers gripped the wooden floor.

"How would we have afforded that couch, if you'd lost your job?"

"I put everything at risk. I'm sorry." She was sincere as her painful bottom willed her heart to apologize.

He kept up a gentle rhythm of stinging flicks, the natural rods intensifying her pain with each application.

"This will hurt a great deal. It's meant to," he warned.

He whipped her hard with fast strokes. Each line caused pure agony in a constant application of hurt. The build up of sting tested her resolve. These were meaningful strokes, not the warm up she'd had so far. She willed herself to take the relentless punishment.

"Without a good reference, how would you have got another job?"

"I'm stupid," she said.

He paused her punishment. "Not stupid. Careless," he said. "But you were smart and acted to fix it. Getting yourself caned in front of Wendy was an inspired idea. I'm proud of you. It was mature, thoughtful, and respectful."

His approval wrapped her in comfort. She wanted him to respect her decision. Once she'd gone through with her plan, all she'd been able to think about was his reaction.

The switch whipped her with fury, concentrating low where her skimpy panties let it hurt. She welcomed each fiery lick. The biting pain built as he delivered her punishment.

"What were you?" he demanded without warning as she assimilated her strokes.

"Mature, thoughtful and respectful. But first I was careless with my job and I'm being whipped for it."

"Have you been punished enough?" he asked.

"No," she hissed. "It needs to be more than I can cope with."

"Good answer," he said.

The compliment infused her. She needed to cry. The pressure from the moment she'd realized what she'd done in the office to now over their couch had been too much. She'd held it together and recovered the situation, but it had made the week intense.

He swapped the switches, the first having lost some of its flexibility.

The second switch lashed into her cheeks, rushing pain through her bottom to fill her mind. It bit sharp pain across her behind as she contended with the fast rate of hurt. Pressing down hard on the seat cushion, she held it together and welcomed her whipping.

After the cane at work, she'd expected the hurt at home to be profound. The switch continued to scorch her bottom and pile up pain in her mind. Furious, fiery heat whipped her where she'd sit until he paused for a moment.

She felt a light tap on her sensitive thighs. A warning. He'd never punished her there before.

"I have to hurt you," he warned. "You need it."

She did. A severe mark of pain had to be made on their relationship. She'd risked their solid foundation of two good jobs. The switch seared lines of savage fire across her soft bare thighs. Excruciating pain marched down the tops of her legs, burning agony and shame into her sensitive skin.

A professional girl, she should never have had to submit to the cane at work. She'd abused a co-worker. There was nothing worse.

She burst into tears, unable to hold back. The way she'd let herself down, the way she'd let them both down, hurt beyond words. Her tears fell as the switch traveled down her thighs, ensuring her full dose. His application of intense heat and hurt stopped. Her tears didn't.

He stroked her back and sat on the floor beside the couch, his head near hers.

"Have I whipped you enough?" he asked, his position giving away his opinion.

"Yes," she whispered through her tears. She slid off the couch arm, straight into his. Sweeping her skirt under her burning thighs, she sat on his legs, shocking heat burning through her pleated skirt as she leaned into his shoulder.

He held her tight. It was all she wanted.

"I love you," he whispered into her hair.

"I love you too and I needed that," she said, pulling her head back, her smile drying her tears.

He moved his hand under the back of her vest top and undid her bra. Sliding to the front, he slid his warm hand under her bra cup and shielded her left breast, hardening her willing nipple beneath his palm. Shifting to the other nipple in need, he shielded it too. It hardened under his touch.

She ripped her vest top and bra over her head, freeing her breasts for his enjoyment, offering herself to him in every way, riven with natural and total submission to the man who had just punished her.

Understanding her half-naked need, he commanded, "Lie on your front."

The white sheepskin rug covered most of the floor. She nestled her bare breasts into it, accepting his utter control of her.

He unzipped the back of her skater skirt. She raised her hips as he slid it down over her whipped bottom and thighs. Lifting her legs as he eased each sneaker off, her panties followed.

"Roll over and play with yourself," he commanded.

She lay naked, circling her hard clit, staring up at her man. He pushed down his blue jeans, kicking them away. His black tee went over his head and he stepped from his white trunks.

Six splendid feet of hard man stood over her. Six hard inches of manhood admired her. She rubbed her clit with gorgeous fury at his utter dominance.

He lay beside her, cupped her bare sex with his firm hand and assumed control. His finger locked onto her desire as her face described her pleasure.

She spread her thighs, willing him to take her. He thrust his ready manhood deep into her sex, holding himself over her, watching her face as she rubbed the nipples he'd made rock hard.

Her sex accepted his repeated length. His thrusts pushed her pain into the rug. The man who pulled her back from every precipice, pushed her onto the one she needed, the one she deserved. She claimed her pleasure, taking every ounce he offered. Every thrust rebuilt her self-respect.

He exploded into her, releasing her pressure. Her glut of orgasms burst. Vicious pleasure rushed through her sore behind and swept down her burning legs. The surge of incandescent joy relaxed the pressure of her entire week as bliss and pain tore every ounce of stress from her body.

She lay splayed on the rug, her hard man right beside her.

"Would you like some cool cream lathered on your sore thighs?" he asked.

"No. It's good hurt. I'm sore because I deserve it. I'll wear only panties this evening. You can admire my sore thighs and be proud of doing your duty. Thank you for whipping me."

She rolled against him as the last remnants of sun trickled through the window.

He said, "We never argue."

"I don't allow it, even if I'm right," she said, looking him in the eye. "It takes two to argue and I respect your discipline too much to disobey you. I'd always rather you thrashed me than we argued."

He held her tight. "I respect you. It takes guts to be an obedient girl."

She smiled. "It's in my nature."