« Spanking Stories

Sam flicked off the TV, got up from the couch and walked over to her dining table. It was smaller than Alison's. She loved her small modern home and, right now, her dining table in particular.

Facing the solid oak table, she let her mind settle. The stern voice in her head said, 'Drop your jeans.' She obeyed, standing in her white cotton bikini panties. Her laundry bin was full of them. 'Bend over,' the strict voice commanded. She obeyed, placing her arms on the smooth oak and presenting her panties for punishment. In her mind, the cane was real. It had been. The whole week after Adam had caned her, she'd felt its effect.

She held herself still over the table, her sex screaming to be touched. Her hands flat, she denied herself pleasure. In her mind, she was here to be caned. She hadn't washed up straight after dinner yesterday. That was reason enough. After denying herself for a long and tantalizing time, she'd aggravated her sex to a fervor. Ramming her hand into her panties, she ravaged her soaking wet clit.

She drove her hard nub as the pain from each punishing stroke burned hot in her mind. Her skin sizzled with sorrow as she forced herself to remain obedient. She stayed bent over while her finger brought her off good and hard. Crashing her hips against the table, hot damp pleasure coursed through her sex and soaked another pair of panties.

It had begun in Alison's guest room. The sound of her friend being spanked had carried through the house. She didn't know what Alison had done to deserve the extra punishment, but had brought herself off to the exquisite sound of the fierce sting on her friend's bare bottom. Caressing her fresh cane welts, she'd played with herself for the entire hour, exhausted and excited at the same time.

Every evening that week, and at least three times a week since, she'd played the same dining table game, her orgasms thorough and wonderful, but never enough.

She'd overhauled her taste in men since that night. Discussing it with Alison at length, her friend had advised, 'Push their buttons and see what they do.'

Easier said than done.

Twice she'd spilled her drink on her date and apologized. Both times their response had been far too tolerant. It wasn't an exact science, but a frisson of fear in her spine, however momentary, might have counted for something.

She'd upped her game to confessing a recent minor sin. Stealing someone else's parking space had been her favorite fault. That, she'd found, annoyed the hell out of men. She read their reactions. Crashing disappointment followed as most of them wouldn't do anything concrete about it.

Most.

She hadn't expected them to promise to turn her over their knee in the parking lot and spank her, but being held to account and given a firm telling off wasn't much to ask.

Josh had won, hands down. He'd said, "If you were my girlfriend, I'd never let you get away with it." He'd offered no other words or explanation, but his steely tone and tough stare had screamed stern strictness.

She'd kept his voice in her head, 'I'd never let you get away with it' played on constant repeat. At home, she'd bent over her bed in her little black dress, hitched it up and imagined him taking his belt to her. Nobody had ever belted her, but her imagination had delivered singeing pain to her bared behind as she'd brought herself off hard.

Hot from her orgasm, her phone had demanded her attention. Swiping the notification, she read:

She'd counted the commands. 'Tomorrow 8pm' it was a definitive order, not a question. 'I'll pick you up' Again, not a question but a firm instruction. 'Wear the same dress' - a thrilling command. He'd liked her dress. She'd taken it off and hung it on the wardrobe, not done counting his instructions. 'Message me your address.'

Four deliberate demands and no doubt she would obey.  

'Yes, sir. Of course, sir' would have been too much, so she'd messaged her address, added 'See you at 8pm.' and gone to bed with visions of his firm hand on her bare bottom for being late.

Their second date had lasted all night. She'd stayed at his place. He hadn't spanked her, but his command of her body spoke volumes. He'd held her in exquisite agony on the edge of orgasm longer than any other man ever had.

When he'd whispered in her ear, 'Don't come.' She'd obeyed. The sweet torturous suffering had been delicious agony. When he'd permitted her, they'd both exploded in harmonious pleasure.

Since her caning with Alison, she'd been on a journey to tonight. In bed this morning, she'd invited Josh to bring some of his things over and stay a while. She hoped their closeness would provide plenty of opportunities for him to discipline her.

Her games over her dining table were just that: games. It had to happen for real. She needed to feel the pain of the cane again.

She'd woken up next to Josh every morning last week, but this morning his man-stuff was in her bathroom. She rolled over and nudged her nose to his.

He grinned. "I like you, Sam."

"Good," she said. "I had a hunch." She climbed out of bed and stretched tall in her white cotton panties, her bare breasts soaked in sunlight, her long blonde hair astray.

On her return from the bathroom, he smiled and said, "You're always wearing white cotton panties."

In the months since her first caning, they'd become an ingrained habit, their innocence delivering a sense of strict obedience.

"Do you like them?"

"Very much. They're innocent and beautiful. I hope you'll keep wearing them."

Standing before the bed, infused with confidence by his choice of words, she stared at him, and asked, "Is that an order?"

Blood roared through her brain as she realized she'd put herself out there. She could turn it into a joke if she had to, but it would be the end of them.

He appraised her. There had been many clues that she liked firm treatment. This was an obvious challenge. He grew hard at the thought of her crisp panties advertising her strict obedience.

Under his gaze, a shiver ran down her spine. The moment had come. It was sooner than she'd expected and everything was on the line. If he ordered her obedience, he'd get it. If he didn't, he'd lose her for good.

Strict and unequivocal, he said, "Yes. It's an order. You're to wear white cotton panties at all times. Disobey me and there will be consequences."

She leaped on the bed, crawled up and kissed him hard. "I will obey you. If I fail, I'll take the consequences, whatever you decide."

Sliding under the covers, she took his hardness from his shorts. She'd done this to him with only her panties. She felt hot wetness pool as he cupped her and gasped as his solid digit powered her clit through her white cotton. He kneeled, whisked off her panties and spread her thighs. Consumed by his hardness, her pleasure nudged against the precipice. She passed her fingers over her nipples, and breathed, "My panties are off."

"It's okay. I took them off. You're allowed to be naked."

Disappointed to find herself in compliance, she panted, "I have plenty of colored panties."

"And I'll enjoy them at the right time, but it isn't now. If you wear them, I'll punish you."

Her sex clamped his manhood and pulsed electricity to her nipples. "How bad will it be?" she gasped.

"You'll be sore for more than a day." He exploded with a deep groan of release.

Her fragile control burst, sending waves of cascading pleasure through her body, layering bliss on top of glory at her stunning achievement.

Exhausted and happy, she lay beside him, smiling under his strict authority.

He turned to her, "I don't make idle threats."

"And I don't make idle promises."

While he was in the shower, she messaged Alison. It was overdue. She'd kept her budding relationship quiet for too long. A message couldn't do it justice, but she could tease her friend. She'd eke it out for all it was worth. Alison would be on tenterhooks waiting for more details.

She grabbed her phone from beside the bed, scrolled her messages to her chat with Alison and typed, 'I pushed the right button.'

He'd only been in her house for fourteen hours and she'd got everything she wanted. Well, almost. Now it was only a matter of time.

So long as she wore white cotton panties, she would remain in compliance. It would be sheer joy to pull on her panties and display her obedience every day. She wanted him to admire it, get used to it and expect it, so when she disobeyed it would provoke a severe penalty.

She'd make him wait, let him watch for it. It was a game of patience. A game she'd enjoy. It was more delicious than playing with herself over her dining table. This game had real consequences.