« Spanking Stories

Sam arrived at the Riverside Club early. The hired gym was private, clean and, this morning, under her exclusive control. For some clients, she hired only the women's section, but today it was the entire gym. Personal trainer to the stars, she took on new clients only on rare occasions, and only ever by referral.

It was the first outing for her angel blue Sweaty Betty sports bra. The cool, authoritative color suited her new idea. Only able to try a gray one in the department store, which stocked the comfortable London brand, she'd gone online and bought five of each available color.

Her bright sports bras and black shorts were a crowd-pleaser, and she did everything she could to please her high-end clientele. Her staple look projected her enthusiasm to sweat hard alongside her clients. It was this keenness which had driven them to her. They paid five figures a month to workout. Their managers paid her billing company. She'd devised the simple system in the early days as soon as she'd realized celebrities didn't deal with money themselves.

It cost enormous sums to hire the gyms for exclusive use. She'd approached three quality gyms, and her accountant had hammered out the terms. He received the funds from the billing company and paid the gyms. At the beginning, he'd suggested a paycheck for her. It came every four weeks, covered her mortgage and she always had money in the bank, but it hadn't been enough to turn her garage into a home gym.

Fifteen years her senior, he was a partner in a local accountancy firm. They'd met, by chance, in the gym. Inexperienced in business but brimming with work, she'd leaned on him to get her systems established.

She was still reeling from their conversation a month ago, when she'd asked if she could afford a home gym. He'd informed her she had several million in the bank. It had taken half a day to calm her down and go over how the money had amassed. She'd been a millionaire for at least two years. Every night since, she'd worried about what to do. She'd told nobody, not even Josh. She needed time to figure things out.

Switching on the treadmills in the Riverside Club's main gym, she checked the settings matched her USB stick and hummed 'If you love someone'.

Catching herself, she went to the control room, plugged in her iPod and kicked Carrie's playlist into life. She had one for every client.

The gym filled with anything except the song she'd been humming.

'If You Love Someone' had been playing on the radio in the car and had lodged in her mind. Topping the charts, it had lodged itself in everyone's mind. The girl who knew the words best would arrive in thirty seconds. She didn't need Sam humming it, she needed Sam's A-game.

Ignoring her, men in black suits had checked the gym and retreated to the building perimeters. Carrie was present.

Radiating energy as she bounced from the changing room, Carrie called, "Hi Sam."

Blonde, twenty-one, and gracing the cover of shiny magazines, she had platinum albums and dozens of hits to her name. She was the voice of this generation.

Familiar with their routine, they flowed into stretches together. Carrie's trademark blonde bob swayed as she moved. Her skin tight white Reebok shorts and pink sports bra were on-brand. Pink and white were her colors, dominating her stage sets and costumes.

Ninety minutes later they were resting after the cross-trainer. Carrie grabbed her white steel drinking bottle, raised it in recognition, and said, "Only water, pure water."

"I owe you an apology," Sam said, "I was rude and judgmental last week over your drink. I stand by what I said, but grabbing it and pouring it away was unreasonable behavior." Looking Carrie in the eye, she said, "I want to tell you something private. I don't let myself get away with mistakes like that. It was unprofessional. When I let myself down, I ask my boyfriend to punish me. Last week he caned me. I deserved it and felt a lot better for being punished. I decided my penance would be to admit to you he'd disciplined me for my judgmental behavior."

"Wow," Carrie said. "You were right, though." She paused and looked around the gym. "I can see your point. It wasn't professional, but I forgive you. In fact, I double forgive you because it's gutsy to be caned. I respect that."

"Thank you," Sam said, grateful and encouraged by Carrie's respect.

"Did it hurt?"

"Yes. It was proper pain, but it brought me into line. He did something new. He caned me during my ten push-ups at the end."

Carrie nodded. They always did ten push-ups at the end of a workout.

"Each time I rose, I received a hard cane stroke. I could control the pain, but never escape it. The choice of sore arms versus a sore bum was a challenge. It hurt like hell and punished me, but was also a hell of a rush. I'm thinking of offering it as a service to clients. A higher level workout challenge with punishment included if you feel you need it."

"Are you serious?" Carrie asked, her voice rising.

"It worked for me."

"Yesterday, I yelled at my manager. If anyone deserves to be disciplined for their behavior, it's me," Carrie said. "And we both know I shouldn't have had that energy drink either."

"Do you want the cane during your ten at the end?" Sam asked.

"I've never had it," Carrie said. "It might be good for me. There's nobody to hold me accountable. You're the only one who ever stands up to me. It didn't upset me when you poured my drink away, I felt guilty, and ashamed."

"Two emotions eviscerated by fair punishment."

"I think I'd like to try it," Carrie said.

"You understand, it hurts. You'll be in acute pain for a few minutes and your bottom will sting with decent hurt for several hours afterwards."

"I understand. That's the point, isn't it? It needs to hurt to work."

"Are you ready to move on to weights?"

"No. Let's skip straight to my ten at the end. Now I've agreed, I don't want a chance to chicken out. I might need longer to recover before anyone sees me."

"Okay, give me a minute," Sam said. The cane was in her locker, ready in case.

Standing beside the mat, Carrie watched Sam approach, holding the thin stick in her hand. She said, "It's going to hurt me, isn't it?"

"It's a proper punishment. Think about yelling at your manager, that sugary energy drink you shouldn't have had and things you're ashamed of. It will help you accept it. The pain will go straight to work on your guilt, crushing it with pride. When it's over, you'll feel exhilarated and sore."

A panicked look crossed Carrie's face.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"I'm wearing skimpy pink hot pants tonight for the awards ceremony."

"That's okay. The marks will be short and high on your bum in a tight band. Even skimpy bikini panties will cover them." She had Alison to thank for that useful bit of feedback.

"Okay then," Carrie said, relieved.

"If you say stop, I'll stop. If you need to pause, hold yourself low for a bit, but the sting intensifies, rather than abates, so I'd recommend getting it over with." Giving Carrie no time to reconsider, she said, "Assume the position."

She studied Carrie's bum in tight white shorts. Alison had reminded her to hurt rather than disappoint. It took courage to accept punishment, courage she respected.

Drenched in drama, Carrie was in position for the cane. She'd agreed to be punished.

"Begin," Sam ordered.

Excitement thrust through Carrie as she sank. She couldn't escape punishment. When she rose, she would get caned. She felt herself yelling at her manager and pushed up hard. The cane scorched her bottom. She held still as shock consumed her. Sam wasn't lying. The ferocious burning sting was proper punishment.

The hurt spread, demanding her acceptance as necessary pain ripped away her arrogance. She pictured her manager's disappointed face when she'd yelled at him. It felt right to be punished. She lowered herself and shot back up to take her due.

The cane seared a line next to the last, intensifying the band of burn. It felt good to hurt. She wouldn't yell at anyone. Down she went, giving herself a moment to cope with the fire in her bum. Her arms argued against the delay. The burn blossomed. She lifted into the hurt.

Her stomach muscles kept her rigid while her mind focused on the push-ups, accepting the pain. The searing strokes burned agony in sharp lines through her thin shorts. With her white cotton string, she was getting the full dose.

Deep feelings of responsibility flowed through her veins, demanding she account for her actions. Her energy drink had to be paid for. Her arms delivered honest push-ups, her bottom accepted honest pain. She took her punishment with pride. It was tough love, the best kind.

"You're taking it very well. Are you good and sore?" Sam asked, kind but stern.

"Yes. Thank you," she panted. Her nipples were hard as pebbles and her panties damp. Being made to take her punishment for destructive behavior had turned her on. She was a good girl. Rich pleasure pulsed through her middle and delivered satisfying warmth.

Low on her arms, she remembered her sister's call yesterday. She still hadn't called back. She thrust for the last stroke. The cane slashed her rudeness out of her. She dropped to the mat as heat from her sex and butt consumed her.

Standing with care, she rubbed her bum, "That was hard."

"Too hard?" Sam asked, concerned.

"No. Working my arms while you worked my butt was a tough test. Look, my arms are shaking. My bum is throbbing. It's almost pleasant. Boy, did I need it," she exclaimed.

Sam smiled, pleased Carrie was feeling it.

After showering, Carrie put on red bikini panties and pulled up each side in front of the mirror to check they provided privacy. Happy they protected her, she pulled them down for a good look, "It's accurate. You know how to make a girl sore."

"Thanks for trying it," Sam said.

"That's okay. I hurt, but I feel phenomenal," she smiled. Turning to face Sam, she said, "Thank you for caning me."

"The pleasure was all mine."

Carrie knew it wasn't true. Thanking Sam had turned her on again. All she wanted to do was ram her hand in her panties and bring herself off hard.

Minutes later, her burning black skinny jeans hit the rear seat of her SUV beside her manager. Showered, turned on and sexy sore, she'd have the marks she deserved for three or four days.

Packed with power, her spirits raised to a whole new level, she discussed her upcoming tour. She didn't apologize for yesterday. It would be a sign of weakness. But Sam had punished her for it. Her bottom ached and stung as she spoke. She was eloquent, kind and polite.

"You're in a good mood," he commented.

"It was a great workout," she said, giving nothing away as her bum throbbed against the seat.

Sam had assured her this level of hurt would only last a few hours. She'd make the most of it. She twisted in her seat to tease herself.

The awards emcee cued Carrie's band. The stage flooded in pink and white light. Offstage, she counted the beats. Her pride soared. She was Carrie.

Throwing her left hand down onto the designated spot, she executed an exhilarating double cartwheel, rising center stage. As her hands peeled off the floor, she hit the right note. "If you love someone," her voice exploded through the famous theater.

Her high-powered performance drove passion into every heart. She wanted to sing, and her global TV audience knew it. A standing ovation erupted as she led her dancers from the stage.

Her motorcade swept out of the theater, speeding through the gates of her mansion while the show was still airing. In her pink hot pants and sequined white crop top, she left her people behind and closed the bedroom door.

On her bed in tight white trunks, the rock hard abs were everything she deserved. He'd used his security pass on the side gate. Their privacy wouldn't last, but she'd keep him while it did.

She leaped on the bed, desperate beyond belief. As soon as Sam had caned her this morning, she'd needed an orgasm. She'd almost given in and masturbated, but she never had sex of any kind before a performance. It sapped her energies.

He couldn't fit his hand into her tight pink hot pants. He ripped them down, leaving her to kick them off, his finger in control of her clit.

She struggled out of her tight top and the even tighter strapless bra, "Don't stop," she cried as he helped her. Flinging them on the floor, she fingered her nipples, remembering how hard they'd been during her punishment.

The cane had brought her into line for her attitude. It had made her suffer and accept it. The discomfort in her bottom transformed back into exquisite pain in her mind. She pressed him to the bed and climbed on top, impaling herself on his manhood. She rode him, torturing her sensitive sex as she beat a hard rhythm over her nipples.

He gripped her bum, driving delicious discomfort through her, and delivered his desperation deep inside her. She came with fury, her pulsating pile of orgasms surrendering her on to his hard stomach.

"Oh my god," she cried. "That's the best sex ever!"

She slid off him and lay on her front.

He studied and felt the raised ridges on her bottom. "You've had a caning," he said.

"Yes. I have someone who disciplines me when I need it. It's private." She tapped his heart. "Keep it in here."

"It's nobody's business," he said. "You were on fire tonight, your performance was out of this world, not just on stage," he grinned.

She gazed across at the white sequined top on the floor. The source of her stunning energy was crystal clear. Sam had awakened a deep need in her.

Next morning, a photo of Carrie mid-cartwheel dominated the news. Rave reviews of her generous performance stole the headlines.

'Carrie's cosmic force radiated off the stage. She was everyone's award last night. A genuine gift.' Sam read the news article and rushed to watch it on YouTube. Even the vast flatscreen in her home gym wasn't big enough for Carrie. High octane energy pumped at Sam as she watched Carrie gyrate and thrill, her cute pink hot pants perfect cover for the ten tight cane lines beneath.

Carrie called while she was grabbing a salad on the way to her next client. "Sam, I've been deadly nice to people yesterday and this morning."

"It's a hazard," Sam laughed.

"Promise me you'll provide the service," Carrie begged.

"It's twenty percent more a month," she said, deciding the price on the spot.

"Done. Sort it with Neil. You'd better tell him it's for meditation."