« Spanking Stories

« Alison, Sam and Nina


17. Taken in Hand

Spanking Story


A girlfriend's hands are strapped for poor dinner party etiquette

«Beginning Part 18»

"Come here," Adam said.

His tone familiar, Alison complied.

Sat on their dark silver couch, far larger than the one they used to have, he put down the magazine he'd been studying.

She stood in front of him, her feet together and her hands in front of her. His strict tone did this to her. There was no doubt she was in trouble, it just wasn't yet clear why.

Her gaze fell to the strap, lying on the cushion beside him. She'd never felt it. They'd bought it a few weeks ago. A discussion about education and degrees had taken her back to college and how Nina had strapped her hands whenever she'd deserved it. They'd researched and together chosen a perfect strap online. It had arrived within days, although she hadn't been sure when they would ever use it. Two feet of ominous supple brown leather attached to a rigid, stitched handle. Its presence showed she was about to feel it.

"Were you pleased with your manners at dinner last night?"

She thought back to the dinner party at a friend's house. She couldn't think of anything she'd done wrong. "I think so," she said.

"Do you remember crushing that girl's opinion about women bosses?"

She did, she'd put her in her place. Success came to those who worked for it, not just because of their gender. She'd made her thoughts on the subject plain.

"I just made my opinion clear."

"You didn't, Alison. You crushed her. She wanted to elicit an interesting conversation, but you came down heavy on her and shut it down."

"I was right."

"That isn't up for debate. It was a civil dinner party. Engrossing conversation was the order of the evening, not being right."

Her behavior hadn't encouraged engrossing conversation.

"What about that discussion on noisy neighbors?" he asked next.

She remembered that. She'd claimed noisy neighbors weren't that big of a problem. In fairness, she'd never had noisy neighbors. At their first house, she'd made friends with all of them. In this house, they couldn't hear a neighbor if they wanted to.

"There are plenty of people who experience the problem and can't run away from it. The way you put down their concerns was arrogant and entitled. We're lucky to have no problems, but plenty of people aren't so fortunate."

She thought back. She hadn't listened to their stories of grief or shown the slightest hint of compassion.

"Are you going to strap my hands?" she asked.

"Yes. Do you understand why?"

"I think so." She thought back over the conversations from last night. She hadn't considered how she'd come across, but looking back at herself now, she wasn't at all sure she liked what she saw.

"Tell me."

"I was a bitch. I think I might have been a major bitch. The discussion about women bosses, I remember. It wasn't a discussion at all. I didn't give anybody else a chance to share their viewpoint."

Her shoulders slumped as she recognized the hard truth.

"And the neighbor situation?"

"I'm sorry. I was a total bitch." It wasn't the view of herself she'd imagined. Indeed, she'd never thought of herself as arrogant before. Looking him in the eye, she said, "You're right. I was arrogant, and in the worst of ways."

"A phone call to apologize might not go amiss. Word of it will spread. You'll be glad you did."

"I'm sorry. I'll do that."

"With sore hands," he said.

Her eyes locked back on the strap. "Yes, with sore hands."

"Good. You embarrassed us both last night."

"I'm sorry. I never want to let you down."

"You let yourself down," he said.

"I know. At least, I do now."

"Do you know why you've become like this in the past few weeks?"

"My book?"

"Yes, I think so."

Her book, 'Clear Lines', was at number one. She hadn't written it, but it was all about her. Alice North's debut novel 'Blazing Trails', about taking the cane from her boyfriend, had sold more than any book in history. Keeping identities out of it, Alice now wrote other girls' stories.

She'd emailed Alice. It had felt wonderful to share her thoughts and experiences. Something in what she'd written had sparked Alice's interest. She'd enjoyed being questioned about her life. Soaked in memories, the lengthy phone calls had prompted furious action in her panties.

Sam had also contributed, which had led to other people as well. Alongside Sam, she'd watched the New York Times book chart, as Clear Lines had leaped to number one, even though it had been a foregone conclusion, given Alice's previous success.

Adam got up and picked up the strap, "Stand there," he said, pointing to a spot on the carpet in front of the couch.

Facing him in her leggings and white tee, she was contrite. Being made to stand this way always guaranteed deep humility.

"Hold out your hand."

She held her right hand out at shoulder height, supported by her left. He measured the strap against her hand to ensure the end would land square across her palm. He'd been listening when she'd described how Nina had strapped her.

"Three strokes on each palm," he warned.

She looked up at him. "I'm scared. I haven't done this in a long time and I feel dreadful about last night."

"As you should. Keep your behavior in mind while I strap you."

Having to hold her hand still and watch the pain approach had always been tough. Time hadn't made it any easier.

The strap cracked across her soft skin. She yelled and snapped her hand between her legs, squeezing the life out of it. It did little to mitigate the riot raging in her palm.

After a couple of moments, she brought her hand back to its previous position.

"Do that again and you'll get extra."

To toughen her mind against the onslaught of agony, she replayed last night's conversations. The strap struck as she put the advocate for women leaders in her place. Red fury accompanied her crude manners.

The strap scorched her palm again, leaving a livid reminder of her arrogance.

"Swap hands," he commanded.

Her blazing hand supported her unscathed one. The burn intensified as she waited, her virgin palm presented for pain.

"Your attitude last night was abysmal. Having strapped hands should bring you down a peg or two."

"I'm ashamed of my attitude and I'm sorry I embarrassed you. Thank you for showing no mercy."

The strap rested on her fresh palm as he checked his position.

She watched it go back over his shoulder, accelerate and slam into her soft skin. Fire leaped through her palm. Holding herself in place had turned her sex to putty, molten with pleasure at the sheer humiliation of her obedience.

The strap blitzed her soft palm. She kept it still, accepting her painful punishment with dignity. But it took all her strength to keep her hand steady in position.

He didn't make her wait for the last stroke. The strap lashed her skin, marking her arrogance for anyone to see. She clasped her hands to her chest and looked up at the ceiling, trying to handle the agony. Bringing her gaze down to meet his, she knew she'd failed.

"Two extra," he said.

She'd expected better of herself. She was lucky it was only two. At college, she and Nina had graduated to a strict rule. Any lack of respect resulted in starting again. They'd each broken the rule only once.

"Present the hand you were so keen to whip away just now."

She brought her left hand back into position, and said, "Sorry."

He thrashed her swollen palm, ordered her to swap and tested her resilience with the hardest impact she'd ever felt.

She forced her hand to burn in place, her hurting palm stilled in respect while she struggled with the fresh pain.

His eyes demanded hers, and he said, "Well done."

She clasped her hands in her armpits, attempting to squeeze the hurt out of them. The unusual pain helped her remember her manners. She forced her fiery palms down by her sides, and said, "Thank you for strapping my hands. I'm a very sorry girl and I deserve to be."

Studying her swollen palms, she asked, "Please may I run my hands under the tap."

"Okay, just this once."

She rushed to the kitchen and let the cool water soothe her blazing palms. It gave relief, but as soon as she pulled them away, they burned more. She must re-learn to tolerate this punishment with grace.

"You've got a call to make," he said.

Standing where he'd strapped her, she called last night's hostess.

With a sore palm wrapped around her phone, her apology moved her friend. Her hand throbbed as she showed she was aware of her various breaches of manners. She made no excuses and promised perfect behavior in the future. Ending the call on a friendly note, she dropped her phone on the couch and flexed her fingers, trying to ease the stiffening hurt.

"Good girl. It's over."

She smiled, good humor returning. She reached for him and pulled him down onto the couch. Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him, her tongue delivering her sincere thanks for his strictness.

Feeling his pleasure pushing against her, she reached down to undo his belt.

He kneeled up and started doing it himself. "My hands will be quicker."

She grinned. While he got his jeans and his cream cashmere sweater off, she shoved her leggings down, ripped her tee over her head and bared her breasts.

Sliding in beside her in his black trunks, he delved his punishing hand into her purple panties. Pleasure blossomed through her body at his deft control. He'd been masterful in every way, and right. Her apology had gone down well.

"You made me behave," she panted, as he held her against the edge of her need.

"You needed it."

"I did," she said. "My behavior was horrible, I deserved to be disciplined in front of everyone last night."

"Be careful what you wish for," he whispered.

"I don't care," she cried, desperate to come, "I deserved to have my attitude knocked out of me in front of everyone."

Pleasure shot through her as she scraped her rock hard nipples with burning palms, every glancing graze a thrilling reminder her clit was under his firm control.

He grabbed a cushion and gasped, "Roll," shoving the cushion under her hips as she obeyed. He grabbed another, raised her further and ripped down her panties.

Kicking off her purple panties, she spread her knees while he stood, removed his trunks and kneeled behind her.

Her palms burned into the arm of the couch as she rammed her sex onto his hardness, forcing him deeper into her with every thrust. She gripped him, reminded of his dominance by the pain in her tender palms against the couch. She tilted her hips, thrust up to bury him deeper and burst her delicate hold, swallowed by her stunning surge of pleasure.

Crashing flat on the couch, she flung the cushions from under her and rolled into his arms.

His tight grip held her safe as spasms of pleasure traveled through her sex. "I'm still coming," she whispered.

"You deserve it."

She did. She'd taken her punishment well, in the end. "Thank you for punishing me and thank you for the extras. You must never let me off."

"I won't," he promised. "How bad is it?"

She looked at her fiery hands. Already swollen, they might even bruise a little. For the next few hours, they'd hurt like heck.

"They'll hurt for the rest of the day and be red. For a day or so they'll be tender. Thanks for reining me in."

"Would you ever want it again?"

She'd forgotten the flaming intensity of punished hands. "Yes, sometimes. It's very embarrassing. I needed it today. I'm sorry I've been silly over my book."

"You're forgiven," he gave her a squeeze.

"It's embarrassing to be sporting such obvious punishment."

"Are you going anywhere?"

"Only to Sam's. I want to show her my hands."

Alice's story is told in Blazing Trails