« Spanking Stories

Up three levels of stairs and then one more, Imogen and Takisha followed Charlotte into the attic room of her townhouse. They'd met David downstairs. Impressed by their new friend's hot husband, they'd powered up to the room to inspect Charlotte's business plan.

The eggshell blue walls drew their eyes down the thin length of the room to the window overlooking the rear garden cast in afternoon sunlight. Along one wall was a printed Gantt chart with tasteful blue bars outlining each task and showing where they overlapped.

On the other wall was a spreadsheet blown up with Profits and Earnings, Cash flow and Costs. Next to the numbers were four photos, again blown up, showing the exterior and interior of a country house.

"Wow. You said you had a plan. I'm sorry, I underestimated you, Charlotte," Takisha said. "I thought it might be twee. Never did I imagine you'd done all this. It's excellent," she said, running her finger along the cash flow line.

Charlotte smiled. It was clear she'd impressed the honey skinned girl.

"How will we meet this funding requirement?" Takisha asked, her finger on the lowest point of the three-year cash flow.

"David and I have the funds to support that," Charlotte said.

Takisha squeezed her lips and nodded. "I wouldn't want to come along for the ride. If you take your three-year position and extrapolate, assuming we produce world-class talent, the profits from this business would be prodigious."

"What are you saying?" Charlotte asked.

"I want to be an equal partner in the business."

"You haven't seen it yet."

"No. But I believe in good etiquette and the success of girls. If the last few years globetrotting through my family's businesses has taught me anything, it's to seize what you see and believe in."

"Why an old house?" Imogen asked.

"Acoustics," Charlotte said, taking one of the four white leather recliners. "For acting or singing, the high ceilings will be wonderful and I want to get a grand piano in there, along with a full band if we require it. In the main lounge we should build a low stage. It's big enough."

Imogen ran her finger along the project plan, landing on the marketing sections. "These are unclear. What about PR? I don't see it on the plan."

"So are you going to sort it?" Charlotte asked.

The only one still standing, Imogen took a recliner next to Charlotte. "Equal partners. I'll bring the marketing, Takisha the business experience, and you, the skill and drama. But we all lend a hand in that."

"Who'll deliver the discipline?" Charlotte asked.

"All of us," Imogen said. "Takisha is ruthless with the riding crop, and she'll testify that I know what I'm doing. How about you?"

"I'm more used to receiving it."

"But you could cane a student, if it was necessary."

"Yes," Charlotte said, thinking she'd better get some experience.

"One rule between us," Imogen said. "If we're to stay together through thick and thin, we have to play by the rules. If any of us breaks a rule we've set for our student's we're subject to the same painful sanctions they are, however embarrassing it is."

"Wow," Charlotte said. "That's tough. But it will breed incredible respect among them. I can't imagine having to take a caning in front of one of them."

"It's unlikely," Imogen said. "I'd expect most punishments to be in private. But the possibility exists, and we'd better all be okay with it."

Charlotte leaned forward. Girl Act had been her dream, but in only a few minutes it had come alive on a level way above just her imagination. It was already sparking her creative juices.

She placed her right hand flat on the coffee table between the four chairs. "I'm in."

Imogen leaned forward and placed hers on top. "I'm in."

Takisha got up from her chair on the other side, came forward, kneeled on the soft cream carpet and added her small hand on top of the pile, fusing her heart to the plan. "I'm in." She'd never felt more part of something in all her life. She'd been visiting for a month between duties for her family's companies, but now she'd better buy somewhere to live because she was a co-founder of Girl Act.

The atmosphere was hot for action as they all leaped back and looked at each other.

"Right," Charlotte said. "This wasn't how I saw today going, but welcome aboard."

"Where do we start, boss?" Imogen asked.

"Am I?" Charlotte asked.

"Yes," Takisha interjected. "Someone must be. A chain of command is essential. It began as your dream, so when decisions flow up the tree unresolved, it's your desk they land on."

"Let me start by sharing something I found a while ago. This girl is a star already. I'm not suggesting, we take her on. In fact, I have a candidate in mind who sparked my whole thinking. But this girl is huge on YouTube."

She put her iPad on the table and checked the bluetooth connection to the speakers in the corners of the room. Bringing up YouTube, she selected the Saffron channel.

"This girl has amassed hundreds of millions of likes and subscribers, and you can't even see her face. That's a testament to the power of her music. Listen."

She hit the top song in English and let the powerful ballad do her talking for her.

As the notes flowed into Takisha and out again, her heart blew her mind. In her apartment, she'd made her videos in Arabic and in English, and had sung her heart out.

Released under her assumed brand Saffron with no questionable imagery, the authorities lacked any power to ban her words. She'd sung of freedoms she desired and had. She'd sung of places she'd been and thoughts she'd jotted down.

Most months she'd set up her microphones around her bedroom for a 'performance' and given it her every passion with her backing music playing in her ears. She always recorded her backing music first and using her computer fitted the vocals over the top.

Singing in front of millions in her mind, each performance sounded like the star she imagined she was. Only ever using the Tor network, she uploaded her performances to a male friend whom she'd met on a music forum but never seen. He made the videos now playing on Charlotte's screen and put her songs on YouTube.

When the music finished, Imogen said, "Well, hell, I like it. She drove passion into my heart. Getting that many fans is a hell of an achievement. I'll have to research more about how she did it."

Takisha leaned forward in her chair, "I told you I'd helped some friends promote their music. I lied. But I don't think either of you is going to give me a spanking for it, because I lied to protect my safety."

They both looked at her. The serious depth of her tone held their attention.

"You won't be doing any research, Imogen. The knowledge you desire is already in our midst. I am Saffron."

"No," Imogen exclaimed. "I've never heard you sing."

Takisha rose and turned to the corner of the room to take a breath. As she turned back, she launched into a perfect vocal match of the song they'd just heard.

Astonished, Imogen and Charlotte looked on as the beautiful Arab girl surrounded them with her voice, again.

Finishing, she sat and smiled. "Can you use all my talents?"

"Every single one," Charlotte said, still stunned.

They had spent hours allocating responsibilities big and small. Takisha had reveled in the deep pleasure of being in a room for the very first time with two people who knew she sang. Imogen kept returning to her revelation, amazed she could have been in the dark so long. But it had added wonderful zest to their project. They'd had dinner at Charlotte's house and then taken their leave, both too exhausted to do anything except flop on their beds.

Before they'd parted to their separate bedrooms, Imogen had given her a tight hug in the sitting room of the Presidential Suite and forgiven her for her secret. Her friend had met her family on a visit to her four hundred room home in the desert. If anyone could understand her need for secrecy, it was Imogen.

Shedding all her clothes, she'd gone to bed naked, feeling more free than she ever had. She hadn't just revealed her singing to friends she could trust; she was part of something, and Girl Act was going to be something.

Running her finger over her glistening slit, pleasure in her day ran rife. Her revelation had been instinct. She couldn't have gone into business with people hiding under a lie. It would have come out some day. She wouldn't have been able to avoid revealing her expertise in growing a brand on YouTube. Sliding her finger the length of her pleasure source, she landed on her hard clit with a jolt.

She'd often imagined what might happen if she got caught. She had no illusions about her father's opinion. He would think it quite unsuitable and ban it. Her punishment wouldn't stop there either. She didn't want to imagine how bad it would be, but his leather lash left marks which took weeks to heal and he applied it without mercy. It had never upset her to be beaten. When she'd let him down, she'd given herself without rancor to the painful punishment she must endure.

She'd never been in doubt that hard correction worked for her. When it hurt the worst, she always lost herself in the pain and felt deep remorse for whatever she'd done.

Her music brand would have earned her severe punishment. In their house, her father carried out punishments in a room dedicated to the purpose. It wasn't a dark cellar, but on the ground floor and bathed in sunlight through high windows. The stone walls were bare and the plain floor tiles cold under her feet. She always had to prepare herself the same way. When ordered to the punishment room, she arrived in a robe, only string panties underneath, her breast bare.

Ordered against the wall, she'd stand two feet back, remove the robe, pass it back and bend forward, her hands against the stone. Her black cotton string provided modesty, but her breasts had to be bare, so nothing obscured her back. The strokes against her bare back were light, but with such thin skin, they hurt the most and took the longest to heal. They came first. Ten lashes against her soft bareness. They were tough to take, but interference was unheard of.

Visualizing herself in the correct position, she remembered the stark pain of those light strokes. Each made her an obedient girl in an instant. The combination guaranteed a sincere apology from her lips. She always gave it and always meant it.

Challenging her clit to deny she was against the wall right now, she imagined the wrath of her revelation reaching her family's ears. As the lash landed on her bare backside, she wished for it harder and her mind delivered as her clit begged for the same. Her gorgeous music was none the less disobedient, and she must pay for it. The whip whistled through the air and bit into her skin. The burn of the lash seared her flesh with ever greater intensity. Gasping as the soft leather lashed her, she came hard, a heavy bout of forced humility plunging pleasure into her serious-minded sex.

Laying back in naked glory, she decided her success in music was enough. She'd dedicate herself to Girl Act now. Her music could never go commercial, but she could turn others into the stars they deserved to become.

She replayed Imogen's words. 'If any of us breaks a rule, we're subject to the same painful sanctions, however embarrassing it is.' She wouldn't mind. Not at all. She imagined having a man, dark, Arab and strong, in charge of their business affairs. In her mind she pictured him standing over her, disappointed in her inaccurate projections. The pictures of the old house in her mind, she leaned against the plaster wall in only her black string, while his leather lash punished her bottom. He forgave the light flogging on her bare back for her obedient acceptance of her mistake. She took hard lashes on her bare cheeks in front of a group of students nearby.

Their gaze on her submission, she accepted each crack of the leather with respect and held still for the next. Submitting to the man she respected was hotter and softer than a flogging at home. Her finger took on the vision as her clit demanded more. Her bare bottom beaten, she had to dress again in her skirt and blouse and face the student's who'd seen her shame.

In her mind they were all pumped with respect, admiring her obedience. Word of her flogging spread, and nobody who saw her that day was in any doubt that under her light black skirt were twelve thick welts from the leather lash. She burst all over her hand as shame filled orgasms thundered down her body in deep respect.

Wiping her fingers on a tissue, she went to her bathroom to wash. Returning to her sumptuous bed, she resolved to put more effort into finding a man. She wanted an Arab man. It was who she was, and her culture mattered to her, despite dreaming of more in her music. Whoever he was, he'd still have to flog her. That was a must.