« Spanking Stories

Alice walked into the kitchen, on the phone to her sister. Her ruffle hem pink floral skirt sashayed with her fluid curves.

"Hang on a sec, I'm sure he's free. He's a kept man."

Harry looked up, stunned, from the kitchen table where he was going through a document on his laptop. He couldn't believe what he'd heard.

"Are you free for golf this afternoon? It's my sister."

"I'd love to," he said. He often played golf with her sister's boyfriend. They got on well, always had.

"He's up for it," she said into the phone as she swayed her sexy skirt and bare legs back out of the room.

Harry glanced at the investment proposal he'd been reading. He was not a kept man. He worked for his money, managing hers. It wasn't strenuous hours. They had far more time together than in the past. But he was not a kept man.

There were plenty of banks eager to invest the hard earned cash his wife piled up, but they all felt entitled to two percent for watching over it. Without a watchful eye, banks invented fees from thin air to steal money they could see. He'd negotiated deals to ensure nobody profited from her money unless they made more, and he took his own income on the same terms.

Under his care, her wealth was up twenty percent. He knew the world of finance. She didn't, and he expected respect. Not fawning gratitude or anything ridiculous, but basic respect for his talent and skill.

She wandered back into the kitchen without her phone to get orange juice from the fridge.

Pouring a tall glass, she said, "Talking to my sister is thirsty work."

It was clear she didn't know what she'd said, but he wasn't moving on. He must nip this in the bud. He never wanted to hear those words again.

"So, you think I'm a kept man?" he said, looking up.

"It's nice to be with you more of the time."

"That's not how you put it just now on the phone."

"It's only my sister. I can say anything to her." She took a long sip of her orange juice.

"She might repeat it, thinking it's okay because she heard you say it. It's disrespectful."

"I didn't think it was anything. She's my sister. I say lots of things to her."

"Alice, you're not getting the point."

"It's not that big a point," she said.

His use of her name should have warned her. He stood up. "It is, and you need to feel the error of your ways. Please fetch the cane."

His instruction stunned her. She'd been defending herself. She hadn't felt their conversation going in this direction. Glass in hand, conflict raged inside her. She did not believe she deserved to be punished. She could say what she liked to her family.

Placing her glass on the work top, one side of her conflict won out. He'd ordered her to fetch the cane. She had to comply. She'd never disobeyed a direct order and she would not do so now, however unfair. The journey upstairs would buy her time to think. She left the room without looking at him.

On the stairs, she hadn't resolved her conflict. Getting the cane from the wardrobe felt strange. She'd never fetched it without accepting she deserved it. It felt different in her hands. Not her trusty friend, but a stick to beat her.

Walking downstairs with the cane still felt obedient, more so because he had made her do it. There was no doubt he was about to use it. She handed him the thin rattan rod.

She could object now, but it didn't feel right. He'd asserted his authority, power she'd chosen to grant him. It was easy to bend over when you were wrong. This was a new challenge. Should she stop him and argue her case?

Her self-respect demanded she obey, no matter what. She stood facing him, still uncertain.

"Alice, I know you don't agree, but you need this and deserve it."

His strict tone brought her to order regardless of her opinion. Being obedient didn't come with a range of choices. You either were or you weren't. She didn't want to lose the structure they'd built into their lives.

"I disagree," she said, "but I've chosen to obey you and take my punishment without argument."

He pointed to the kitchen table with the cane. "Bend over."

She flipped up her skirt, exposing her cheeky pink panties covered in bright yellow bananas. They were playful. She'd intended him to see them, but not like this.

He laid the cane across her bright pink panties.

Holding herself still was hard. She didn't feel her usual natural compliance. Deep self-respect flooded her mind. Despite her disagreement, she'd bent over to be caned. She didn't want it or deserve it, but he'd demanded her obedience and she'd given it.

"I'm going to cane you low where it will sting when you sit'" he said. "You've been respectful in your disagreement and still obedient. I'm going to reflect our disagreement by giving you only two strokes."

Dignity and honor flowed through her. She'd done the right thing, and he'd met her half-way with a lesser punishment. Respect for him flooded her mind. He was a decent man. He hadn't backed down, but he'd respected her enough to take her objection into account.

Her tight panties gripped her bum. The cheeky cut and his promise to cane her low ensured she would get it bare.

The cane sliced into her exposed flesh. It stung like fury, the hurt worse because she didn't feel she deserved it. Her sex lapped up her obedience and pumped heat to help her take her pain. Pride pulsed through her as the cane seared her skin for a second time.

Swept up in a wave of self-respect, her sex approved of her. It pulsed pleasure, accepting her pain as necessary. He'd ordered her to bend over, therefore she'd deserved punishment, whether she agreed.

"Up you get," he said.

Her skirt dropped back down, and she fell into his arms, a storm of emotions consuming her. He picked her up and carried her upstairs, leaving the cane behind on the table.

Laid on the bed, her bum stinging against the comforter, she flipped up her skirt at the front this time and shoved her hand down her panties as she watched him undress. She respected her resolute man and knew where she stood. Her choice of words had offended him, and her bottom stung to remind her.

Her finger circled her wet clit with increasing fury. "You caned me anyway. You wouldn't back down," she said, breathless.

He climbed onto the bed naked and took over from her finger. She ripped off her tight white tee and bra to be bare with him.

"I thought I was okay," she whispered, "but I was disobedient and you had to punish me."

Grazing her hard nipples, her body fizzed with electricity. He made to untie the bow on the front of her skirt, but she batted his hand away and shoved hers into the waistband, pushing the skirt down her legs.

She shoved down her playful panties as his finger continued to lift her pleasure towards climax. She looked into his eyes. "There can only be one decision, yours. If you decide I need the cane, I need it."

"You needed it," he said. "I respect your obedience."

His manhood replaced his finger, entering her and taking deep control, demanding she take her pleasure and offering it over and again. His strokes drove her desperation to the edge. With a hard thrust he came as she orgasmed hard, pulsing her muscles against his as pleasure flowed through her.

In the calm after her storm, she said, "I disagreed on the seriousness of the issue, but I know where you stand. My bottom is making it clear."

"I felt it was necessary for you to take this seriously. I'm sorry I had to punish you."

"Don't be. I'd rather you caned me than argue. There can only be one of us in charge. It's your decision and I respect you for making it and carrying out my punishment, regardless. Thank you for making it only two strokes. It hurt more because I didn't want it."

"It didn't feel right to make it any harder since you didn't agree."

"While I disagree on the original point. I respect you for enforcing your decision. It's the nature of our relationship, and we both need it. It's my duty to accept my punishment with a respectful attitude and think about what I said."

Her attitude thrilled him. It was honest. It also appeared she had no rancor from having received the cane because when he left for golf an hour later, she delivered a passionate kiss as she saw him off at the front door.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked. He would have preferred to spend the afternoon with her, given their disagreement, but he'd committed to golf.

"I love you," she said. "If I disagree with you, I'll tell you. Then I'll bend over, no matter what."