« Spanking Stories

Charlotte saw a lot less of her town house these days. When she got home after her Friday List caning, she hunted down David. It wasn't difficult. He was in his study. Closing the door for a sense of privacy, she went around his desk and hugged him.

"What's that for?" he asked, grinning.

"To thank you in advance for what's coming next."

She stepped back, slipped off her suit jacket and placed it on the edge of his desk. Unzipping her skirt for the second time in a few hours, she placed it on top of her jacket, turned her bottom to him and pulled in the sides of her black string bikini panties.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I got a formal caning at work."

"Who did it?"

"Imogen."

"Why?"

She told him about her extreme failure of etiquette during the model's visit and how Imogen had picked her up on it. He knew about the Friday List at Girl Act, but his wife being on it was unexpected.

"She's given you a very severe caning. Were you embarrassed?"

"Yes. She made me bare my bottom in front of three of the girls, but I deserved it. Anything less would have been dishonest. Above all, I must not let the side down, and not in matters of etiquette."

"You know what this means, don't you?" he asked, his tone heavy.

Settling her panties back in place, she turned to face him. "That's what the hug was for. I let myself down at work so you have to thrash me for getting myself into such severe trouble. I mean, Imogen had to put me on the Friday List. It doesn't get much worse."

"A wife who is this disobedient must never expect to get away with it," he said, "but your bottom is very marked. I'm not prepared to punish you when you're this sore."

She'd wondered about this, but had steeled herself to accept her due. The reprieve, albeit temporary, was unexpected and almost unwelcome.

"When?" she asked.

"Next Friday, I expect. Your bottom will take about a week to recover."

Her shoulders slumped. She'd known it was unkind to punish her tonight, but a week was forever to wait.

He took her in his arms. "The long period of anticipation is part of your punishment. Bear it with grace. I know it would be easier to get this over with, but it shouldn't be easy for you and I cannot punish you when Imogen has done such a fine job. I'm proud of her. Those are harsh marks."

She smiled. The car seat on the way home had reminded her of Imogen's courageous strength with every mile.

She made it to halfway through the week on a balance of pride and respect. But by Wednesday her looming punishment played on her mind. She'd got herself into trouble at work. She wanted him to recognize it and needed him to. Looking at her phone to confirm it was still Wednesday, she cringed. Lingering discomfort, or a long period of anticipation, were both worse than a moment of acute pain. They'd always got punishment over soon after the event. This interminable wait was hell.

She couldn't snuggle into him. She'd erected a thin wall protecting herself from what she knew was coming. While his muscular arms were waiting to punish her, it didn't feel right to be wrapped in their protection. Loneliness crept in. He was right there, but somehow off limits to her mind. He hadn't denied her sex or affection, but she couldn't take either.

Applying Arnica gel became a ritual, morning and night. Her marks couldn't fade fast enough to satisfy her. She'd tried wearing her days-of-the-week panties to mark off the days, but they'd only emphasized the wait as she'd read the pink day name on her white cotton in the mirror each morning and evening.

At Girl Act, news of her severe caning had reached everyone. Even Mrs. Williams gave her a hug and asked if she was alright. As always, once the pain and shame had passed, she only had pride in her honest obedience. Kat had whispered how proud she was of her. It had been a gracious gesture. Bending bare before her girls had humbled her. Knowing it had helped others made it worthwhile.

On Friday night, when she got home, the marks had faded to a mere shadow of the previous week. Deep inside her bottom, she was still tender, but she'd never admit it, keen to get her guilt expunged. Meeting him in their bedroom, when she went to change, she said, "Please, David. The anticipation is hurting me. Please punish me and get it done. I can't feel close to you like I need to while I'm expecting the punishment you must give me."

"I can't go easy on you," he warned.

"That's okay. I got formal discipline at work, in front of people. Neither of us can consider that a minor misdemeanor."

"Strip naked. Face the wall with your hands on your head."

She didn't care how long she had to hold the stress position. She didn't care if he kept her there all night. All she cared about was it had begun. At last, she was under punishment and clearing her slate with him.

Removing all her clothes on his order felt submissive as hell and delighted her demanding brain. Placing her hands on her head, naked, she faced the wall. It made her feel young, innocent and in deep trouble. If anyone saw her, they couldn't mistake the situation. He'd ordered her to stand here naked. Even if someone arrived, she'd remain still, silent and obedient, no matter the shame she had to endure.

Calm overtook her. Time had its own counter. Without her phone, she didn't know how long she'd been in position. Only the ache in her arms counted, and it just got worse.

When he came in, he said, "Good girl. Come here."

Grateful for release, she let her arms fall and obeyed.

"Was that tough?"

"Yes."

"Did it feel right?"

She thought about it. The pain in her arms had marked her strict obedience to her husband. She'd brought shame on their relationship by having to be disciplined in public. It felt right as hell.

"Yes," she said. "My arms hurt, but it was reasonable. Only you know I had to suffer that humiliating punishment, but it makes it no less effective. However long you left me there, I wouldn't have moved an inch."

"Good," he said. "I don't want to compete with the caning Imogen gave you. It was a fitting formal punishment. I've planned something very personal for you tonight."

Love tore into her heart. His personal attention to her punishment meant everything to her. He was the one she'd let down.

He went to their wardrobe and took out a cardboard box. It was the size of a shoe box, maybe longer. He opened it and removed a black leather flogger. The woven grip was about five inches long, but she focused on the thirty leather tongues which hung from the handle. Maybe twelve inches long. It looked like a gentle duster.

"This will last ten years, even if I use it often," he said, smiling.

"Is it going to be terrible?" she asked, half hoping it would be.

"Yes and No. Each lash is not bad, but the accumulated pain from several will sting like hell. Also, I'm going to make this a very meaningful punishment between us. You're naked for a reason. I'm going to use very light strokes on your bare back before I beat your bottom."

She gasped. She'd wanted his punishment so much, but now faced with painful lashes to the soft skin on her bare back, she wasn't at all sure.

He saw the fear on her face, but offered her no relief. Fear would do her good.

"Go back to your spot at the wall, but this time place your hands above you on the wall and lean against it."

She glanced at the blouses in the open wardrobe in the hope one might magic itself onto her back. None did as she assumed the position, her entire naked body as his disposal.

As he teased her skin with the whispering leather, fear skittered down her spine.

"You got caned at work," he said, "in front of people."

The light leather strands went away and returned, biting her below her right shoulder blade with a brief flick of sharp sting. Gathering herself, she realized it had hurt less than she'd imagined and welcomed the soothing caresses of the stands before another flick of sharp sting awakened the other side of her back.

She held herself against the wall. Ashamed at deserving such serious discipline from her husband, she straightened her stinging back.

He noticed her acceptance and laid a row of stings down the right side of her back, followed by the same to her left.

The latticework of light sting felt delicious and disobedient. She shouldn't be enjoying this. He whipped her down the same paths again. This time the sting lingered. She panted in pleasurable shock rather than pain. Again he flogged her back with light strokes. Her whole back was one stinging zone.

"Your skin is thin on your back," he said. "It will keep stinging all night and on Monday morning when you put on a blouse, you won't notice it at all. But phantom stings will still remind you for a few days. Your back is a light red all over. Would you like to see?"

"Yes, please," she said, surprised by her keenness for the serious punishment.

She went to the bathroom and inspected her back over her shoulder in the mirror. The sea of little red marks patterned her in punishment. Wrapping her arm around her side, she touched one and sucked in her breath as fresh sting spread.

"Back you come. One more layer. Harder this time."

She returned to her husband and the wall. The fresh style of pain felt more punishing because it exposed her shameful embarrassment where others might see. The shame of having people know her husband had needed to flog her suffused her red skin. She let her arms hold her weight. He layered the leather over her back down each side, flicking it hard enough to hurt each time. She bore the pain with pride. It marked a serious event between them. He'd chosen to punish her where people might see. She'd carry his marks with pride. She pictured her most sheer blouse. The marks would show through it. On Monday, she'd risk wearing it. It would remind her of her flogging, if nothing else.

"That should hurt enough," he said.

It did. It stung like hell. Coupled with the shame, the light pain was heavy with meaning.

"Now, bend over the bed," he commanded.

She moved to the bed and bent over, grateful for the comfortable position, her back alive and sore as she stretched over the comforter.

The flogger flicked at her bare bottom. There was no let up. Light stings burned into her cheeks as the thirty lashes landed, covering places they'd already visited. She stayed still over the bed, wallowing in the shame of receiving a sound whipping from her hard husband. Fire built all over her buttocks. Each lash lit a dozen different pain points. The uneven pain became furious as it consumed her cheeks. Sore from her shoulders to her legs, she bore the rising fire as the lashes landed with a wide spread.

"Lie on your front," he ordered.

She slid onto the bed and aligned herself. He moved beside her, his strength towering over her. Light flicks on her soft thighs erupted into swift pain as the leather stung tender skin. She took her flogging while her thighs burned on the bed.

Letting the strands play a light concerto on her punished legs, he stared down at her redness. He'd wondered all last weekend how to avoid caning her hard for a second time on top of Imogen's diligent work. The flogger gave him superb control of how hard he punished her, and the fresh pain would make a light punishment feel fierce. The red result pleased him.

Dropping the flogger on the floor, he stripped off his slacks and shirt, went around the bed and climbed up beside her in his tight black shorts.

The long week had made her hang off every word from his lips. Now those same lips consumed her as she rolled over and felt fiery heat down the entire length of her body.

She was soaking wet as he ran his finger over her glistening slit. She arched her back to make him take her clitoris under control. His firm finger forcing her obedience, she complied with his every demand. Skimming her nipples, electricity flowed down her hot back and burst into her sex.

"I'm sorry," she said, unable to help herself. She needed to apologize to help the hurt.

"I'm glad," he said. "That's the point."

"I deserved that. Thank you for flogging me hard," she said.

He hadn't been that hard, but he bet the pain down her entire length told a different story to her brain.

He twisted out of his shorts. His huge manhood promised utter dominance. He rose over her and filled her sex. His strokes forced her compliance as her stinging back electrified the sheets. She pulled his solid chest into her lustrous nipples and scored her hardened buds against his solid torso.

"I've taken a flogging," she muttered.

He thrust deep into her. "It's made you humble."

"The most humble, ever," she panted.

She consumed his hardness, taking him deep inside her. He thrust her soreness all along the sheet. The heat in her back blended with the fire in her sex to inflame her mind. She reached over her head and grabbed the bedhead as he swept her up her soaring wall of desperation and balanced her on the very top.

He brought his own pleasure to a peak, risking her perilous poise with every stroke of his manhood. She squeezed herself tight, keeping her obedient orgasms on the edge of impossible. His last thrust of dominance swamped her brain, and she came hard, twisting her punished body to control the flow of escaping orgasms, cascading through wave after wave of delicious loving pleasure delivered by her trusted husband.

Collapsing with him, she yelled, "I love you, David."

He rolled onto the bed beside her, spent. "I love you too, Charlotte."