« Spanking Stories

Amy slid into the spare large white leather chair, guiding her short crew skirt beneath her. Her motion was so elegant, nothing revealed she'd received six severe strokes of the cane moments ago. The deckhand having his hair cut wouldn't realize her bottom was punishing her. The hairdresser finishing his cut also remained clueless. Sometimes spankings needed publicity, greater awareness adding necessary humiliation. Often, their pure pain was adequate, their hidden presence punishing enough.

There were two chairs in the salon on super yacht Serena. The onboard stylist delighted guests with perfect hair and kept the crew flawless.

It was an incredible luxury to have her hair styled by a world class stylist. She had to schedule it, and never when guests were aboard.

As her hot bottom met the luxury leather chair, the mirror reflected her smile. A loose thread hanging from the white woven logo on her blue polo shirt had got her caned. Dan held her to strict presentation standards. It was how she wanted their relationship. The slightest imperfection got swift punishment. The loose thread was unacceptable. She was glad he'd called her out for it. Yesterday she'd had a slight oil stain on the side of her crew skirt. He'd seen it and noted down two strokes of the cane in their notebook. She'd been busy serving, and he'd been on watch.

The loose thread incident had happened only thirty minutes ago. Today they'd both been free to deal with it. His scolding had pleased her mind. She replayed it. 'Two infractions in two days has earned you four strokes of the cane. I'm adding another two for lack of attention to detail.'

Thrilled he was so hard on her carelessness, she'd bent over his bunk on his command, hitched her crew skirt to her waist and offered her white cotton string bikini panties for punishment. He knew how to cane a girl. She'd experienced it light, hard, and punishing from him. This had been light. The cane hurt. It always hurt. But these marks would only sting for a few hours and fade by the morning. She should have noticed and corrected both the stain and the loose thread before reporting for duty. In silence, each of her six strokes had delivered a light but necessary line on her bottom. She studied herself in the salon mirror - a proud, spanked girl.

As the stylist turned to her, she wriggled in the chair to get comfortable. Her sex was counting the hours until she could get substantial relief. He'd punished her, but there had been no time for sex. Her hair appointment was a priority.

She leaned back, letting her long brunette hair fall into the moveable basin.

While the stylist washed, conditioned and massaged, Amy's mind wandered to Christina and their messages. They'd kept in touch since their secluded day on the beach. Weeks went by between messages as they both traveled and worked. The friendship was undemanding. She'd mentioned how the yacht would be in the shipyard for maintenance during the winter months this year, which allowed her some time-off.

During the maintenance, the crew lived in a hotel but still worked on the yacht, protecting the carpets and furnishings from workers, monitoring updates to fixtures and fittings, replacing crockery. The job of a stewardess was never ending.

Christina had invited her to her family's English country home. She'd accepted and agreed they'd choose the date nearer the time. A warm, thick towel encased her hair and her thoughts, leaving Christina's last message running around inside: 'Do you want to bend over with me?'

She'd forgotten her friend's stunning confidence. Christina's message had been blunt. Their conversation on the beach had revealed her friend's secret pleasure. She liked to re-visit her old headmaster and receive motivational discipline, as she called it.

Six strokes of the cane was motivating, as her own bottom testified against the soft leather chair. Did she want to go to school? Did she want to get caned by Christina's headmaster? The formality of it heated her keen sex.

"What are you smiling about?" the stylist asked, breaking into Amy's thoughts, as she combed through her wet tangled hair  

She couldn't admit she'd just committed to getting six strokes of the cane from her friend's headmaster. Her sex had decided for her. "I was thinking about a girlfriend I'm going to see over the winter," she admitted.

"Are you good friends?"

"Yes, I think we are, even though we only met a short time ago. It's funny how sometimes it's like that," Amy said, smiling. "What are you doing for the winter, since we're not following the sun this year?"

"I'll return to Paris and work in my old salon for a while. It will be nice to live ashore, but I'll be ready to return here, when it's time," the stylist said. "Guests here are lovely. I like those who aren't used to it. They always want advice. I tell them to let the luxury reward them. People ashore aren't like us."

Amy agreed. They lived an unusual lifestyle. She wouldn't give it up for the world, but it would be nice to play for a while.

She returned to her cabin, her long, shining hair flowing behind her. She rubbed her bottom through her skirt, her recent carelessness close to mind.

Grabbing her phone, she sent, 'Yes, please. I'll need a uniform to match yours. I'm looking forward to some motivation.' knowing it would delight Christina.

She sent a further message with all her sizes. She kept a note with them, needing them often for work or hiring a dress.

Her sore bottom should have cautioned her, but her sex egged her on. She would be well-motivated when she stayed with Christina. It would be fun to bend over together. She'd always received her punishments alone.

She'd tormented herself for an hour during her hair appointment. The visions of herself bent over the headmaster's desk in school uniform had done nothing to calm her.

She found Dan on the sundeck, inspecting the teak surface.

"Laundry room," she whispered.

"Prepare yourself," he commanded.

She knew what he wanted. It wasn't the first time.

Deep in the bowels of the boat, the noise welcomed her. The dryers and washers were going full tilt. There were cupboards and a work surface on one wall, and machines stretched the length of the other. In the middle of the room, the ironing station faced a flat screen. She often watched rubbish while ironing. It was relaxing.

The dry heat was pleasant, and the noise of the machines provided useful cover.

She leaned against the stack of warm dryers, feeling the vibration as they circled fast and slow and fast again. Hitching her skirt to her waist, she put her hand in her white panties.

She circled her clit with her finger and spread her legs. Opposite, she could see the automated roller. It pressed anything to perfection. Whoever came in next would see her masturbating. If it wasn't Dan, it would embarrass her, but he'd commanded her to do so.

If someone caught her, at least she'd look good in her neat white cotton string bikinis.

The door opened. It was him.

"Don't stop," he said as he took off his shorts and polo. His tight black underpants showed his pleasure. He pushed them down, sliding his manhood up into her in one graceful maneuver as he pushed her white cotton aside to meet his urgent need.

He held her tight, her back against the front of the hot dryer. Her hands now redundant, she held his neck and hooked her legs around his waist as he pushed her hard into the dryer, keeping her where he wanted.

She felt him high inside her. Each thrust delivering on the promise their cane had begun. She rubbed her breasts against his hard chest to please her nipples, but her bra and polo got in the way.

"You're a good, obedient girl," he whispered in her ear. "You prepared yourself well."

"What would you have done, if my hand wasn't in my panties?"

"Given you my belt on your bare bum," he panted as he thrust hard into her.

The certainty in his voice sent her sex into overdrive. Obedience meant nothing without consequences. She didn't doubt his promise for a moment, savoring his threat, a severe belt spanking teasing her mind.

"Thank you for caning me earlier," she gasped. "I'm going to work harder at my appearance."

"Good girl," he said.

The dryer behind her sped up again, and she went with it. Driven to the brink by his desire, she resisted release as long as she could, but it was a hopeless goal. She came, flooding her pleasure over his hardness. He responded with a last thrust, which held her high against the machine, her sex throbbing, as his pleasure pulsed into her.

When it was over, he lowered her, holding her in his arms as they both caught their breath and relaxed for a moment.

He carried her over to the counter where the clean clothes got folded and sat her on it, her sexy toned legs dangling over the side as she watched him get dressed.

He leaned in to kiss her, her head knocking the empty plastic coat hangers on the rail above. His desire heated right through her core. She broke off their kiss and smiled at him. "I'm sitting on six sore welts from the cane, with perfect hair, being kissed by the perfect boyfriend."