« Spanking Stories

Francesca lurched over the side of the cushioned seating on the sky deck and puked on the teak. Her friends sitting nearby recoiled. One of her girlfriends came to help and held her hair out of the way.

Francesca's eight friends, three guys and five girls, were on board for a long weekend.

From inside the sky lounge, Amy saw Francesca's move. She held all her instincts, counted to five and hit her radio switch.

'Deck crew, Deck crew, Amy. Guest has been sick on the sky deck. Situation under control. Deck needs cleaning.'

She didn't need to explain how much damage it could do to teak.

She rushed to the stricken girl with a small towel. While Francesca wiped her face, Amy removed the bright blue special cocktail she'd made for the boss's daughter and ushered her away from her friends, down the starboard stairs to the deck below.

"Ugh, that tasted awful," Francesca said, the towel still held close to her mouth in case there was more to come.

Amy accompanied her to her stateroom. "I'll be back in a bit with a recovery drink."

"Thanks," Francesca muttered.

Amy returned to the sun deck. The deckhands had already cleaned the teak.

It was crucial plans went ahead as normal. Crucial to Francesca, and Amy would serve her in any way she could. She looked around at Francesca's guests. "Francesca says to go swimming without her."

With the deck clean, the deckhands had returned to erecting the blow up slide. She could see the floating toys moored off the swim-deck over the aft railing. It wasn't hard to encourage Francesca's friends to hit the water. As they headed down to the swim-deck, she tidied away the glasses and plates.

Twenty minutes earlier, she'd been serving drinks when Francesca had pulled her aside. Her friends had suggested swimming. This soon in their long weekend aboard, the prospect had alarmed Francesca while her friends had been all for it.

She'd whispered in Amy's ear, "I can't swim with my friends. I had the cane four days ago. I still have slight marks."

Amy had understood. Francesca was eighteen. There was no way she wanted her friends to know her father still caned her. Amy had suggested the idea months ago to solve a problem. It was now obvious Francesca had gone through with it.

She'd continued serving the drinks before returning to Francesca. She'd whispered, "Ask me in a loud voice for a Blue Nightmare. It's a cocktail. Drink it quick. It will make you sick. Trust me."

The plan had worked. She'd had to make a genuine cocktail as well and color it blue, because one of the other girls thought it sounded too good to miss out on. Francesca hadn't needed to act. She'd turned white and, moments later, been sick all over the deck.

Amy peered down over the railing to the swim deck. The guests were all enjoying the floating toys, watched over by a couple of deckhands. Collecting the last of the glasses, she took them to the galley, grabbed two frosty glass Coke bottles from the fridge and headed to Francesca's stateroom.

Francesca opened the door, her face scrubbed clean but still pale. "Did it work?" she asked, closing the door behind Amy.

"They're all swimming. We'll take care of them tonight. I doubt they'll expect to see you again until tomorrow morning."

Francesca sat in her olive green Patagonia shorts and white tee on the edge of her bed, her toned legs dangling.

"That was crazy. You mix a mean cocktail," she said with a strained grin.

Mustard stirred into water and blue food coloring to make it look special had done the trick. To make the one for her friend look the same, she'd blended in some Kahlua.

Amy handed Francesca the Coke. "This is to help fix you. Something to do with the bubbles, I think."

"Thanks," Francesca said, taking a tentative sip. "I wear jeans and keep my sore bum to myself when I've had a caning. That's the first time I've had a problem."

"Are your marks bad?"

"No. They're almost gone, but almost and gone are two different things. I can't imagine the boys wouldn't notice my bum in a bikini."

"Or the girls," Amy said. "Anyway, it's a great bum. You can't blame them."

"Thanks," Francesca smiled. "And thank you for doing that crazy drink trick for me. It was kind."

"No worries. I've brought you this," Amy took her tube of arnica cream out of her tight crew skirt pocket.

"It doesn't hurt now."

"This won't help the hurt. It will clear the marks fast."

"Oh good," Francesca grabbed the tube and went into the bathroom.

Amy stood by the window and waited.

Francesca returned a few minutes later. "Thanks for that. There are only a few telltale signs. I had hoped to get away with not swimming until at least tomorrow. I was due a caning, so I asked for it earlier this week in the hope the marks would go in time."

"What did you do?"

"Two weeks ago, I started working for our executive car company as a chauffeur for the summer. My boss told me off for being late on duty twice during the first week. I knew my father would hear about it and it would be better coming from me. I admitted to him I'd been told off and asked him to cane me. He'd got me the job, and I'd disrespected it. Not only was I annoyed with myself, but I'd let him down, so it called for a sound thrashing."

"Ouch," Amy said.

"Yes, ouch. Six strokes of the cane, plus two extra hard ones, so I'd be sore when I was driving. They're the marks which remain."

"Do you find it easy to ask for it?" Amy asked.

"No," Francesca shuddered, "just asking is humbling. Then I still have to strip to my panties and bend over the desk."

"Is that awkward?"

"No, just embarrassing. We had an open conversation when I first asked him to cane me. I told him to make me undress down to my panties because it's shameful and more painful."

"I'm glad it's working out for you," Amy said.

Francesca looked at Amy. The pretty stewardess had been in her thoughts every time her bum hurt. "Thanks for setting me on the right path. My relationship with my father is the best it's ever been. He respects me. I don't mind being punished. It shows I'm sorry and I respect myself. But you know all this, don't you?" She looked Amy in the eye. "Level with me."

Amy had nowhere to hide. She'd brought it on herself. She'd done her best to help Francesca, but in the process the truth was obvious. Francesca wasn't stupid.

"Yes. Dan gives me the cane. I appreciate it and need it. I know what it's like to bend over and take your punishment. It's embarrassing, and it hurts like hell, but I'm proud to obey him and take my strokes. It makes me a better, and kinder girl. I thought it might help you too."

"It has. Thank you for telling me. I've been wondering because it was such an easy suggestion for you. After father caned me the first time, I lay in bed in a lot of pain but satisfied with myself. I felt good, and I felt forgiven, not least by myself. I was pretty sure someone had to be punishing you."

Amy reached for Francesca and hugged her. It wasn't appropriate etiquette, but the situation required it. Francesca squeezed her tight, returning the intimacy.

"Did I embarrass you?" Francesca asked.

"Yes. No. It was fair. I'm pleased that you know. It's nice to talk about it."

"Same here," Francesca said.

"Right. I've got to get back to work. Enjoy your quiet time and call if you need anything."

Francesca took Amy's suggestion to heart. She stripped and changed into her black cotton bikini panties. She'd chosen black bikini panties for her first caning and every time since. They felt adult, simple and suitable for dealing with her disobedience.

She admired her backside in the mirror. The shape of her panties complimented her smooth curves. The marks low on her bum were very feint. In her mind they were still sharp and fresh. She climbed under the crisp white comforter and remembered her caning.

In her mind, it was her new boss dealing with her. He'd been commanding when he'd told her off. He'd cut her no slack for being the owner's daughter and chewed her out. She pictured herself bent over his desk. The black high-street skirt suit she'd bought for her job flattered her. She'd worn it for her caning. It had felt appropriate. She remembered being ordered out of her skirt. The shame of having to unzip it and step out of it. The humility of standing in her black cotton bikini panties for a harsh scolding.

Her shame rammed her hand into her black cotton. She rubbed her clit hard. The words played in her head. Her boss had said, "I can't have unreliable people. Customers expect reliability. Be on time or I'll fire you. Pull your socks up, young lady."

The scolding had hurt, but was fair. Her finger circled, rhythmic. She'd accepted her failing, and her father had caned her for it.

She imagined her boss doing it. "Bend over," he commanded her.

In her mind, he swept aside the papers on his desk. She bent in her black bikini panties and he thrashed her panty clad rear, searing painful cane marks on her soft skin, disciplining her disobedience. She willed each stroke to hurt more and rubbed herself harder.

Pride in accepting just punishment swamped her. A slew of orgasms followed, plunging through her sex, and she writhed with pleasure at her honest submission.

She'd come to terms with her arousal after reflecting on it. She'd had time while waiting for clients. It didn't matter who gave her the cane as long as it was someone in authority over her. Forced to take her punishment, the cane made her feel better when she'd been bad. It hurt and tested her strength, but she took it and accepted her behavior had been lacking.

It was afterwards, when the heat permeated through her body and her pride soared at her success. That was when she got turned on. Success should turn her on, even if it was painful.

She'd resolved to enjoy herself every time, but first she would bend with honesty in her heart and make sure it hurt.

Amy and her teammates served dinner on the aft deck. Several of the girls asked after Francesca. She reported Francesca was doing fine and expected to be at breakfast.

Dan asked after Francesca as he was going on duty. He was working all night. Amy used his private cabin when he was working. The privacy was beneficial tonight.

She felt bad lying to her boyfriend. It wasn't how they operated. Alone in his cabin for the night, her dilemma was stressing her. Torn between the privacy of the family and honesty with her boyfriend, she could have told Dan it was all a ploy, but then she'd have had to tell him why. And Francesca's discipline was her own business.

She lay on Dan's bunk feeling disobedient. There was no solution to the problem. At least, not one which involved anyone else. Only she could know she'd lied. She had to live with it. It was her duty as a stewardess, as a girlfriend, and as a girl, to deal with it on her own.

She decided not to let her lying go unaddressed, but to punish herself and accept it was something unavoidable. It was a compromise, but a fair one. The dutiful and honest idea warmed her.

She stripped naked and found the white cotton string bikini panties she kept in her drawer. Dan had allocated her one tiny drawer in his cabin. A guy could afford the space. She and Bianca had every inch of their cabin allocated and filled.

Laying the panties out on the bed, she set the timer on her iPhone for eleven minutes and lay it on the bed beside her fresh panties.

Naked, she faced the door and put her hands on her head; her elbows out straight. She was giving herself ten minutes in this uncomfortable and exposed position to think about her lying. There was no resolution, but ten minutes of thinking about how much pain lying could cause would do her good. The countdown set to eleven minutes to give her time to get into position, she'd endure the full ten minute punishment and think of nothing else.

Her arms ached with her hands on her head. The closeness of the door forced her elbows out straight. With only the wood in front of her nose, it was a punishment, and it felt like it.

The pain in her arms was appropriate. She thought of her conversation with Francesca. The gutsy girl had called her out. She was a punished girl and proud of it, and Francesca understood her. It was disappointing her bare backside wasn't stinging like fury, but she was proud of herself for being obedient and punishing herself this way.

She didn't look around to see how many minutes she had left. She must endure the hardship and suffer with grace. Nobody would know if she cheated, but she would. You couldn't fake self-respect. You had to earn it.

She decided the next time she deserved a caning, she would take it bare and ask for double the strokes. It would punish her without having to admit anything to Dan.

The countdown timer beeped. She relaxed her arms and allowed herself to step away from the door. Taking her panties from the bed, she put them on. They were a suitable prize for a good and obedient girl. She'd taken her punishment and deserved to wear her panties.

She slipped into his bed, feeling virtuous. Her hand stretched her panties. The elastic over the back of her hand reminded her she was wearing crisp white cotton. They felt good. She felt good. Her wet clit demanded her finger.

She'd stood and taken her punishment. It had hurt. By the end, a deep ache had penetrated her arms. She'd lied and dealt with herself. Her other hand strayed over her hard nipples, shocking her body with desire. She imagined Francesca bending over. God, that girl was beautiful. She imagined them both bending side by side, being caned over the dining table on the aft deck. Bent together, taking their punishment as obedient and responsible girls should. She flung her head sideways into the pillow to muffle her scream as she came hard and fast, pumping her juices into her panties.

The next afternoon, Amy watched Francesca climb out of the ocean onto the swim deck, her toned body dripping wet. What a difference a day makes, she thought, observing Francesca's white triangle bikini revealing plenty of her bottom as she bent to reach her towel. Amy admired the beautiful and kind girl. She respected her. It took guts to be a good girl, and Francesca was a good girl.

Francesca flicked out her long dark hair, spraying a stunning arc across the swim deck.

Amy took her a chilled bottle of Fiji water.

"Thanks," Francesca said, turning around to face her. "I mean, total thanks."

"You're welcome," Amy smiled. "We girls have to stick together."