« Spanking Stories

Rays of early morning sunshine bounced off the convoy of black Mercedes vans, as it snaked its way up the farm drive from the distant main road. Tatiana watched from the kitchen window. Inside would be a film crew, photographer, makeup artists, an actual genuine model, a catering team, dozens of other people, and her sister.

Today, a model, armed to the teeth in skimpy shorts, would star in the middle of their field of wheat. BattleWeek needed a tantalizing game trailer, video ads, and stunning brand photos. After six weeks without her, the sight of her sister's crazy convoy on their farm was an event, but nothing could compare to being up close to an actual proper model all day.

Nina lifted her head from the window, coming awake in the backseat of the Mercedes van at 6am, three hours east of Bucharest in Romania. Their convoy of ten similar vans was turning into her family's driveway. To her, it was home, but to the 250 people who made their 50,000 acres deliver 400,000 tons of grain to countries around Europe in their own fleet of trucks, it was big business.

She, Adam, the film crew, makeup artists, the photographer and all their support teams had flown into Bucharest yesterday from various countries. They'd spent the evening planning together and had set off in the early hours to grab every moment of daylight from their one day on the farm.

She'd left her three developers back in her leased city center office, thirty minutes from Alison's house. The three girls had taken over the bulk of the programming work, modularizing code for efficient re-use as they built extra game levels without her. It had been a shock to see additional parts of BattleWeek not created by her. She hadn't quite known how to take it at first, but she had an entire company, not just a game to worry about.

Adam had helped her hire a finance team and two weeks ago he'd introduced her to a pretty redhead. The redhead had described a vision for the BattleWeek brand so close to her own, including things she'd never revealed, that she'd hired Maggie on the spot. Today, she'd discover if the new Creative Director could turn her vision into results.

Stepping out of the van behind Nina and stretching his long legs, Adam said, "So this is where BattleWeek was born?"

"Hell yes," Tatiana grinned, grabbing her sister and stealing her away.

Adam grinned. It was a good sign. The day would not lack passion. He watched as Maggie checked in with the photographer about the light, and the forty-strong crew mingled around awaiting their instructions.

Tatiana had sent hundred of photos from around the farm to help choose the location. Now, keen to see the event she'd been expecting for the last ten days, she led the way to their two quad bikes, which she'd parked outside the front door last night.

"Come on," she called to her sister.

"Follow us," Nina yelled back to Adam. Everyone got back in the vans as Nina swung her tight blue jeans over the green bike and hit the start button. This was how she and her sister had always traversed the farm.

The quad bikes handled the rough tracks better than the ten vans following them. Pulling to the side, Tatiana climbed off and directed the convoy to park along the edge of the chosen field of wheat.

Maggie stepped out of her van and said, "Wow." The photos hadn't done the vista justice. Turning from gold to white in the distance, the wheat went on forever, which in the game it did for real, if you didn't get out in your first week.

Coming from the opposite direction, Nina's father parked his new Land Rover Defender facing the unusual convoy on the edge of his field. His daughter had offered to pay for the small amount of inevitable damage to his crop, but he'd declined, thrilled her natural home would deliver one last service.

Seeing the shiny Land Rover, Nina broke away from the group at a run.

"You look like you're making a movie," he said with a huge grin, opening his arms.

She snuggling into him. "We sort of are. Part of this is a cinematic trailer for the game, just like a movie trailer."

"Ah," he said, not sure what his daughter was doing, but certain she knew. "And you can afford all this with the investment?"

"Many times over. We're going all out, dad. It will work. But I need to get back and make sure it happens how I want," she said.

"Of course, go," he said, giving her an extra tight squeeze. He watched with pride as she hurried back to her team. When she hadn't come home by the third week, he'd known she never would. His girls were fleeing the nest. Soon it would be Tatiana, too.

What he didn't know, because no one did, was that soon was less than a day away.

Tatiana watched as the model struck another aggressive pose. The streaks of war-paint on her face didn't make her any more fierce than the angle of her hips or her stance. Ready to be blown away by a bona fide model, she was fast losing respect for the beautiful girl as the photographer yelled commands with increasing frustration. The hallmark passion and aggression of BattleWeek seemed to defeat the beautiful girl.

After four hours, Nina pulled Maggie aside. "It's not working."

"I know."

One of the film crew's drones swept overhead, taking soaring scenery shots while the action remained underwhelming.

"Let me have a go," Nina asked.

"Be my guest, but I think we may have chosen the wrong model."

"We can't come back again," Nina said, her tone revealing the pressure she was under. "This entire operation is expensive already and they'll harvest the field next week. This has to work."

She began giving orders to the photographer. They shifted angles to avoid a power pole miles in the distance, and he crouched to get vertical shots up the model's bare legs against the blue sky.

"Imagine I've punched you in the face," Nina yelled at the model, desperate to engender some much needed attitude. The model didn't answer, and her expression became more sulky than aggressive.

A young catering guy passed Nina with a tray of four coffees while she was describing the shot she wanted. As she spun around, he ducked under her arm and kept the coffees on his tray. It didn't save him from her wrath. "Get out of the fucking way," she shouted.

Adam whispered to Maggie. She stepped forward, passed his message to Nina and took over the shoot again.

Nina went to Adam. The message had been 'come here', innocuous to Maggie, but not to her.

"However annoying this day gets," he said, "that guy didn't spill a drop, while you dumped your anger and frustration all over him."

"Sorry," she said, glancing behind her at the guy coming back with an empty tray. She felt horrible. About herself, and about how the day was going.

He looked down at her, his face stern. "You're a professional now, and the head of this company. Your emotions must stay in check, even when it's hardest. Set an example for your team. We both know you have a well-worn strap down at the house. You need to feel it where it will do the most good."

She never argued about punishment. He'd caned her twice and belted her after a brief spurt of attitude. It hurt like hell, but she respected him and appreciated it.

"I won't tolerate that sort of unprofessionalism. You need strapping. We'll take the quad bikes back to the house."

Glancing again at the retreating catering guy, she said, "I'm sorry. I deserve it."

Stepping away from the disappointing activity in the field, they started the bikes and rode back to the house.

"Is anyone about?" he asked, as they dismounted.

She put her head into the kitchen. Only their cook might have been, but she'd left already. "Doesn't look like it," she said, leading him into the lounge. Standing in front of him in her skinny jeans and black tee, she felt small.

"Fetch the strap," he commanded.

She stepped to the side table, lifted the familiar leather from the drawer and handed it over.

"No wonder you're so sweet," he said, smoothing the strap between his hands. Gripping it by its handle, he took a hard-backed chair from beside the door and placed it in the middle of the room.

"Stand here," he pointed to a spot behind the chair.

She obeyed, her palms tingling, even though they weren't in the firing line.

"Drop your jeans," he ordered.

Being forced to strip to her panties chastened her. For the rest of the day, he would know the underwear she was wearing. She undid her light-blue belt, unsnapped her blue skinny jeans, lowered the zip and pushed them to her knees, revealing her pale-blue boy shorts. Under her jeans, they made her feel feminine and sexy. Exposed, they boosted her shame.

"Frustrated or not, you must not take your emotions out on the people helping you."

His scolding hurt. "I'm ashamed of myself," she said.

"You should be. Bend over."

She leaned forward, placed her hands on the seat of the chair, then lowered them right down to grip the bar between the front legs, her bottom positioned for maximum pain and embarrassment. One evening a couple of weeks ago, she'd earned a brief belting in front of Alison. Tall, she'd bent with ease over the dining chair, so he'd made her reach for this much more punishing position.

"Good girl," he said.

It impressed him how well she cooperated with her punishments. He'd commented on it to Alison, who'd just said, 'She was always that way.'

He measured the worn leather against her tight cotton.

"Keeping forty people fed and watered all day is hard work, without getting yelled at by the boss."

Heat ravaged her bottom. Red hot pain stung through her cotton. She gripped the low bar of the chair tight, grateful for the humiliation of being stripped and strapped in the middle of her family lounge. As she imagined carrying a tray back and forth to people who didn't even notice her, the strap struck below her panty line. She bit her lip. Intense pain penetrated her bare cheeks, forcing a deep groan.

"How professional do you feel?" he asked.

"Right now, not at all. I deserve this strapping. I've let myself down. If you'd invited the guy I yelled at to watch me being strapped, it would have been fair."

"That's a respectful attitude, but we'll keep your shame private and your success public. When we return to the shoot, apologize and make sure people see you do it."

"I will," she said.

With a burning bottom in her tight jeans, her apology would be heartfelt. The strap scorched heat back up her bottom, layering her lesson on hard, before two furious strokes penetrated deep pain and ensured she'd hurt for hours.

"You'll still feel that on the drive back tonight. Stand up when you're ready."

Turning to face him, she said, "Thank you for calling me out and thank you for strapping me."

She pulled her tight jeans back up over her swollen butt and returned the strap to the drawer. Climbing onto her quad bike again, she bore the fierce pain with grace, fired up the engine and led the way back to their field of wheat.

Leaving the bikes near the vans, they approached the photoshoot through the thigh-high wheat. The scene crackled with energy and frantic action.

Adam glanced at Nina. "Sometimes you have to do nothing," he grinned.

The photographer bounded from one place to another, feeding off the model's responses. In the tiniest camouflage shorts, she strutted through the wheat, weapons strapped to her long bare legs, a machine gun in each hand and war-paint decorating her fierce face.

Two drones darted towards the model, scissor-crossing as they skimmed the wheat and soared back into the sky, capturing the scene from every angle.

The model flicked her hips with major attitude, turned and tore back through the wheat towards the photographer. A monstrous battle cry ripped through the air and the photographer went insane, dropping into a slide through the wheat, snapping every emotion as it flew off her face.

Nina ran to join Maggie. "Isn't she perfect?" Maggie exclaimed, her eyes glued to the action.

"That's my sister," Nina cried.

"No," Maggie said. "That's the face of BattleWeek."

Surrounded by the team who'd made it happen, Nina watched, stunned, as her imagination came to life in the original field of her dreams.

"What happened?" she asked.

"The photographer asked who she was," Maggie said. "She'd been in his eye line all day. I think he'd reached the point of biblical frustration."

"He wasn't the only one," Nina said.

"No," Maggie agreed, "but the only one to see the solution. He's worth every cent. Look at her. Isn't she awesome?"

"She's everything I ever dreamed of," Nina said.

Maggie grinned from ear to ear at her boss's pleasure.

Losing the light, the photographer called, "I'm done." He looked to his left at the film director crouched in the wheat. Raising his white megaphone, the director called, "Cut. It's a wrap."

Praise and adoration surrounded Tatiana in an instant.

Nina found the catering guy while her bottom hurt the worst and apologized in front of his co-workers. Duty done, she felt better and ran over to her sister, nudging others aside and hugged her tight.

War-paint now plastered on both their faces, Nina said, "Thank you. You were out of this world."

Free from the demanded aggression, Tatiana couldn't stop grinning.

When Nina released her sister, the photographer approached her. "Are you happy?"

"Yes, more than. Thank you so much for recovering us from this nightmare."

"It's not my first rodeo," he grinned. "Tatiana is fantastic and beautiful beyond words. A total natural. She's electric when she moves. So graceful. Her eyes penetrate the camera and demand your attention. She just must become a model. I know the owners of all the top agencies. She's your younger sister, can I ask her?"

Nina looked over at Tatiana, now posing for the crew snapping shots with their phones. She turned back and said, "Of course, I'm not my sister's keeper."  

She bowed her head as tears welled in her eyes. Her job was complete. It had been tough on them both, but she'd looked after her sister. Her mom would be proud of them both. Wiping her eyes, she looked up. Tatiana was on the phone, the photographer standing in front of her, gesticulating.

While the crew packed equipment and themselves into the vans, one thousand six hundred miles away in Paris, a woman on the phone smiled at the fierce photos on the laptop in front of her. There was always that one, the one who had the magic. Giving an impromptu performance for one of the world's greatest photographers, this one had it.

In the soon to be famous field of wheat, all business - and in desperate need of a shower - Tatiana agreed to be in Paris in two days time for an interview and full-day photoshoot.

Standing by her van, Nina looked up. Tatiana swamped her. Arriving at speed, her sister knocked her into the van, hugged her and jumped up and down with a squeal. "I'm a model. NPM just hired me. N-P-M! That was the owner on the phone. She's lovely."

"Oh my god," Nina cried. "I'm so happy for you."

"I'm getting paid a fortune to spend three days in Paris. If I'm good enough, a contract will follow."

"You will be," Nina said, "everyone here knows it. Thank you so much. You saved my day."

"You've made my life."

Tatiana's impassioned cry burst Nina's heart. Tears streaming down her face, she said, "No, Tatiana. You did that."