« Spanking Stories

Amy tied the tails of Dan's uniform shirt around her midriff and gave him a sexy smile. She needed the warm sleeves; sometimes the air conditioning was a bit too good. The boss and his wife were arriving tomorrow. Dan's white shirt had been hanging ready in the wardrobe.

He sat at the top of his bunk, back against the side wall, admiring the cute view as she took off her crew skirt and tucked her bare legs under his comforter beside him.

They'd been playing Backgammon on his iPad. Now warm, she fought back with fire from her losing position and doubled the bet, confident of her chances. He accepted. She blocked his every move while sweeping her pieces off the virtual board.

"Ha! I only needed your shirt," she exclaimed.

From a Backgammon perspective, he regretted her wearing his shirt. Each time he glanced sideways, her softness wrapped in his enormous shirt distracted him.

"Now, who's the winner?" she crowed.

Winning made her so happy, it thrilled him to lose. She took a bathroom break. His eyes followed her white panties under his shirt, all the way.

She re-appeared looking chastened, a blue mark front and center on his white shirt.

"Sorry," she said, pointing at the stain, "I knocked your toothbrush off the shelf and it fell against me. Do you have another shirt for the morning?"

"No. The other two are in the laundry," he replied, a sense of urgency creeping into his voice.

"Right. Not the night we planned," she said. "I'll get this washed. It's only toothpaste, it will come off."

He checked the time on the iPad, it was after midnight. His tone toughened as he looked her in the eye. "Once it's washing, I will discipline you for your lack of care."

Suffused with guilt, she said, "I'm sorry, I accept."

It was fair. She'd been irresponsible with his uniform shirt. Sharp discipline was due.

"It will be warm in the laundry," she said, "and there's plenty of room to deal with me."

She did up her crew skirt and put her blue polo back on.

"I'll bring the cane," he said, grabbing the plain cardboard tube from the corner of his wardrobe.

None of the washing machines were running. Nobody would be on laundry duty until the morning.

She laid the shirt on the work surface and mixed detergent with water in a plastic beaker. Dampening her cloth, she dabbed at the toothpaste stain. She waited for it to penetrate the blue blot on the otherwise white landscape and repeated the exercise.

He looked on. It was always impressive to see her at work. She was unfazed by the crisis. He could only see a large wet patch. The blue had gone.

"See," she said, holding up the shirt for inspection.

"Not bad," he commented.

"Now we wash it, to ensure all the detergent is out, and dry it, then I'll iron it and it'll be perfect again," she promised, setting a machine in the middle row to wash and dry.

"It'll be an hour before that comes out," she said, turning to face him. "I'm sorry about your shirt. You should cane me and make sure it's quite painful. I should have checked you had a spare and taken more care in the bathroom."

"You've earned it tonight."

"Thank you, I feel guilty for messing up our quiet night. Apply it hard and set me straight."

She looked at her man. His crew shorts and blue polo were standard wear. She liked him in anything, as long as he was firm with her. She slid two gigantic bags of laundry across the floor to block the door. "It's unlikely anyone will come at this hour, but this will give us a couple of extra seconds. I'll keep my skirt on, if that's okay? I can hitch it up."

"That makes sense."

The laundry room was long, washers and dryers lined one wall, cupboards and a sink on the other. The ironing station in the middle left plenty of room at one end to fold sheets or bend over for the cane.

She stood in the middle of the space as he took the cane from its tube. "Face the side, hitch your skirt to your waist," he ordered.

It was his duty to punish her. It was how they both liked it. Seeing her stand, her white cotton panties revealed, made his shorts uncomfortable.

"Bend over and grip the edge of the work surface," he commanded.

She obeyed. Bending from the waist and reaching for the edge of the work surface, she spread her legs to steady herself.

The cane tapped against her panties, reminding her how thin they were. The pain would burn her guilt away. She should have moved with care in the enormous shirt, but its warmth and coverage had felt so lovely, she hadn't paid attention in the small space.

"I love you in my shirt. Please wear it again. But be more careful next time," he said, his voice kind, but strict.

"I will," she promised, proud to have her guilt laid out for her and proud to accept it.

The cane complimented her contrition with a searing line of pain across her cheeks. The sharp sting escalated as her hurt skin accepted its punishment and allowed the pain to develop. She took her pain to heart. She deserved it. A careless girl, she scolded herself as the cane slashed into her cotton panties and built a fire in her bottom.

"You'll be sore for a day or so, but this will keep you attentive."

"I'm sorry," she said, moved by the intensity of her punishment, and the depth of her guilt.

"I know you are," he replied, "let's get your punishment complete."

He contributed another hard stroke. It felt good to work on her correction with him. She let the pain deal with her, as the washing machine hummed in the background.

The outlet for her guilt hurt, but it needed to. She wanted it to. It had to match how she felt about herself. The cane burned lines down her bottom, each teaching her its own searing lesson to take more care in the future.

"The huge shirt in a small bathroom was a foreseeable problem."

She appreciated his scolding. His stern voice turned her on. She loved him being hard on her. His voice and his cane worked together to punish her with kindness. Her heart soared with respect and love for him as the cane scorched her bottom, turning up the intense heat. The pleasure of being able to repent hard and fast, drove her sex to join in and demand tougher strokes. She pushed her bottom out to welcome the cane.

He noticed the move and tapped the cane low, where it would light up her bottom each time she sat on her sensitive welts. She dipped her back and pushed out her behind, willing the cane to whip her hard. Low strokes came in fast, painful pairs. The double bursts of hurt drove deep into her guilt, poured through her sex, and flowed out through her body. Her sex consumed the raging fire in her bottom and expunged her guilt with decent distress.

"Harder," she cried.

He delivered her last burst of double discipline. The two strokes came seconds apart, right across the middle of her deserving bottom, and so did she. Orgasms burst free as she came with furious abandon, shuddering on her legs, orgasms cascading through her pain, delivering the most exquisite pleasure in waves of glorious bliss as her hands held on to the worktop.

The rich combination of remorse, deserved punishment and a powerful man had combined with the warm comfortable safety of the laundry room to deliver a deep and thrilling punishment, which as her bliss fell away, still hurt as it should.

His arms wrapped around her, pulling her up and into him, her orgasms still rocking her body in a steady rhythm.

"That's never happened before," she said, astonished, her mind somewhere between pleasure and shock.

"It was intense," he agreed.

His manhood pressed its agreement against her raging sex. He led her back to the only washing machine which was running and pressed her against it. The vibrations thrust themselves through her hot panties.

He undid his shorts, now focused on his own need. As he released his manhood from his tight white micro briefs, she felt her thin cotton protection slide aside, replaced by his total control. His manhood penetrated her depths, forcing her beaten bottom into the door of the warm machine, her own heat contributing to the washing of his shirt, while he thrust up into her.

Turned on by her climax from the cane, he took her hard, thrusting his admiration deep inside her. She pulled her polo up and undid her bra. Her rock hard nipples were desperate to join the game. She took responsibility for them as he took responsibility for her. He pushed her up against the machine, lifting her sore bottom with every thrust.

He delivered his full load, his arms holding her in place to receive his pleasure. Used as a vessel for his desire, she exploded her second stream of orgasms down over his manhood, thrusting her hips against him as she rode the stream of endless happiness until her legs gave way beneath her and he pulled her down onto the floor in his arms.

They played the last game of their backgammon tournament with the iPad balanced on the end of the ironing station.

His arms wrapped around her, his soft lips kissed the nape of her neck between moves.

She played with one finger, while being kissed and ironing his shirt. A professional stewardess, she was used to multi-tasking and had him at a distinct disadvantage. She could iron a shirt, take her punishment, accept kisses and play backgammon, all at the same time.

He only had to kiss her and play.

She cleared her last piece off the board, while he still had two stuck in the middle, a full backgammon.

Her winning score cascaded into tons of confetti on the screen with the message 'Amy Wins' emblazoned across the middle. She turned into his kiss, her right hand held high with his perfect shirt hanging from the tip of her finger.

"I think you'll find I've won," she whispered between kisses.

He smiled. "No, I did."