« Spanking Stories

Imogen took four Ginger Blip biscuits and put the familiar yellow and orange box back in the cupboard. Biting into the ginger biscuit and picking a crumb off the kitchen floor, she put the rest on a small plate. She mooched around Nick and Amelia's penthouse as she waited for her car to arrive, and let the fiendish little snacks delight her taste buds. They were fiendish; it was an excellent description, even if it was her own. Selling biscuits involved thousands of people, but she was on the inspiration team and her inspiration for the ginger blips had been fiendish.

She marveled at Nick. His penthouse didn't surprise her. It was how she would have pictured him. But Amelia was lovely. That she hadn't expected. Walking into the sunlit office, she saw letters aligned in a tray. The desk could only be Amelia's. It was far too neat to belong to a boy. A warm white card with peach border sat in front. It had an address for a Charlotte printed in gold letters and beautiful handwriting in a blue pen. She read it.

The Charlotte named above had signed the card in as elegant a manner as she'd penned the message. Placing the card back where it belonged, the wording went around in her head. 'Dealing with' was a very specific phrase, and it had a clear meaning to her. Maybe it did for Charlotte, too. By writing it to Amelia, Charlotte must have expected her to understand. She knew one way to find out. She went into the main open-plan lounge and over to the shelves. Feeling above the top shelf, her fingers encountered the cane she'd known would be there. It was where he'd first put it, and she doubted he'd forgotten about it.

Any girl worth her salt would have explored his apartment once it became hers, and Amelia couldn't have failed to encounter the cane. A smile spread across her face. No wonder she was so well mannered. She liked Amelia, and she liked the sound of Charlotte too.

Her apartment would be usable again in two weeks. The fire department had allowed her back to gather things. Nick had taken her, and she'd filled two suitcases with clothes and stuff. Being reunited with her phone and purse had been the most help. They'd finished inspecting the damage to the lower apartment and had moved on to renovations and repairs. She wasn't staying with Nick and Amelia any longer because Takisha was in town. Upon hearing of Imogen's diminished status, she'd booked the four-bedroom presidential suite at the Palace Hotel for her month-long stay.

Imogen had come home from work to immense luxury for two nights. She and Takisha had indulged in the spa and had enjoyed a chocolate ice-cream reunion in front of a movie.

On the third night of her stay, she closed her laptop after dealing with some minor work issues and looked at the hotel notepaper on the desk. Her heart thudded. A thank you note delivered late was better than no thank you note at all, but it wasn't great. She reached for a piece of the crisp white stationary and wrote what she felt.

It didn't need long prose. It needed to matter. And this thank you mattered more than any had in a long time. Taking an envelope, she looked up Nick and Amelia's address on her phone, wrote the envelope, sealed her brief message inside and took it in person down to the concierge for posting.

Takisha came into the sitting room from her bedroom. "Where have you been?" she asked.

"To post a thank you note to Amelia for her kindness."

"A bit late."

"I know," Imogen said. "I was so enjoying being in luxury that I didn't remember. Don't make me feel worse."

"How about better? Would you prefer that?" Takisha asked, her tone several grades tougher.

Imogen looked up. It wasn't a question, and it had been a long time. They lived in different countries, but when they got together, it sometimes came to this. One of them needed to relieve the guilt of the other. The last time her riding crop had got use, other than on horseback, had been a year ago in Venice, when Takisha's stress had boiled over and they'd had a stupid fight. Takisha had apologized and touched her toes overlooking the Grand Canal. It had closed the matter, and they'd move on, Takisha with a sore bottom for the rest of their visit.

She nodded. She'd had a serious lapse of etiquette.

Going to her bedroom, she took her riding crop from her empty case. Her clothes in drawers, the riding crop had remained tucked away in her case. When she'd packed her two suitcases, she'd slipped it in. She hadn't been sure when she'd be home again, and it had been a faithful partner on her travels ever since Villa Chavornay.

She emerged from the bedroom and handed over her riding crop. Her white-gold Cartier Baignoire watch and long sleeve white silk shirt accompanied her sexy short navy charmeuse-silk skirt. It was pure school girl imagery for a girl not at school. She enjoyed the way it played with men. The quality up close contradicted the pure innocence of the outfit, but it had grabbed the concierge's attention and got her letter posted right away.

Takisha took the familiar crop and swept her long black hair behind her. "Imogen, you're a good friend, but I must give you a sound flogging."

Takisha's terminology always enamored Imogen. A flogging sounded so much worse than getting caned or whipped.

"It's been a while and your appalling etiquette is unacceptable. Your new friend Amelia was kind and generous to you. The very least you should have done was send a thank you note by the next day."

"I know," Imogen said, stamping her foot in annoyance and sweeping her straight blond hair out of the way. Her friend's scolding was worse than the bite of the whip. But she must endure the tough telling-off. She knew every word to be true, and it rammed home her shame.

"Knowing makes it worse," Takisha said. "You have no excuse."

Imogen bowed her head in shame and studied her bare feet. She'd kicked off her nude heels as soon as she'd got back in. Her bare toes emphasized her innocence and drew her down to the disobedient girl she felt like.

"Lift your skirt and bend over the desk," Takisha said.

She hadn't given Imogen a flogging in some time. The last time she could remember was when she'd visited Imogen in her apartment over a year ago.

Imogen obeyed, lifting the navy silk to reveal plain white cotton bikini panties. They were the only suitable underwear for such a cute outfit. It had been more than a year since she'd bent in front of Takisha. She remembered it well. She'd sworn at a guy at work, and it had preyed on her mind. The matter had been closed, but every time she'd looked at him, she'd felt like a silly little girl. Her mature and painful flogging had made her feel better about herself. Next day, her bottom on fire, she'd looked at him again with respect, imagining it was him who'd done it to her.

The riding crop rested against her white cotton. Taut, it still left plenty of bare cheek. She thought of Amelia and her immense kindness that first night, the soft warm clothes after her shower, and the toasted cheese. Even the best the hotel could offer couldn't beat that toasted cheese.

Intense heat erupted across her panty-clad cheeks as fire burst in a thin line. Flames licked at her negligence as pain sunk deep into her behind. She steeled herself to face her shame. Fiery pain licked her bottom as lines of sharp agony whipped into her soft girlish behind. The intense pain of being punished was always a shock. She forced her arms down on the leather-topped desk and let her shame wash over her.

Takisha admired Imogen's whipped backside. Her friend was honest to a fault and fair to herself and everyone. There was no doubt she was due a serious flogging, and she respected her enough to deliver it hard, but it was tricky not to feel some sympathy for a friend in pain. She dismissed such thoughts and lined up the crop across the narrow part of Imogen's panties.

Imogen held her breath and let it out in stages, anticipating the worst at any moment. The leather wrapped shaft whipped into her bare flesh and continued without a break down her barest curves. As it landed in the crease at the top of her legs, it tapped against her virgin skin. She pictured Amelia's gaze. Although she'd once been Nick's lover, the kind girl had welcomed her into her home. It must have been tough to do, yet Amelia had been nothing but generous. She gripped the edge of the small desk.

"Are you sorry?" Takisha asked.

"Yes," she said. Even if she hadn't been, this flogging from her friend would have made her so.

"Sorry enough to ask me for these final cruel strokes?"

Imogen centered her mind. She deserved to take these for Amelia. In a clear voice, she said, "Please flog me the worst, where it will hurt the most."

"Good girl," Takisha said.

The crop bit deep and ripped agony into her taut skin, returning to repeat its reign of ruthless terror three more times in the same place. She bit her lip as scorching heat burned deep into her negligent bottom.

Takisha laid the riding crop on the desk beside her. "You'll know about that every time you sit down. You may stand up."

Imogen raised herself, the final reign of terror squeezing tight as she straightened. Her skirt fell down, and she leaned on the desk. "Thank you for whipping me. I feel better already."

It was true. As she faced her friend and thanked her, her disgust with herself fell away. She imagined Amelia seeing her punished. It wasn't such a stretch, given the cane she'd found, still in the same place. She imagined the generous girl would approve.

"Go to your room and think about your punishment. You may come back in an hour," Takisha said.

Imogen needed to assuage the heat building in her sex, and it was fitting to be sent to her room in disgrace. She appreciated her friend's kindness.

In only her panties, the one-thousand-thread-count cotton did nothing for her blazing bottom. She lifted her knees to raise her reign of terror from the unkind comforter. The punishment of being unable to lie in comfort hit home hard in her sex. Her friend had flogged her. She loved the phrase. A flogging from Takisha was something to treasure. She never let her off in the slightest. The burning pain in her punished behind confirmed her status as she slipped her hand into her white cotton panties.

She flicked her rosy buds in concert as she circled her clit. Her pleasure rose as her damp sex glistened under her touch. She squeezed herself tight to stay on the edge of release, not daring to touch her tender nipples again. Letting her pleasure retreat as her pain pulsed under her, she relaxed away. She was proud of her honest thrashing. The thought drove her finger hard around her sensitive clit again. It tipped her over the edge. Orgasms sped down her body. She thrust her pelvis down the bed as her self-respect triggered another cascade of glorious pleasure. She squeezed her curves tight and rode the endless flow of bliss.

As the pleasure departed, the pain returned. She rolled over, the heat in her bottom too much. Tracing the ridges through her panties, she lowered her hand to the severe strokes where she'd sit, and apologized to Amelia in her mind as her tender fingers touched the welts which adorned her.

The next night, Imogen's phone pinged while they were having dinner in their suite. 'Lovely note. Thank you. Would you and Takisha like to join my friend Charlotte and I for lunch on Saturday at Archers Cafe?'

Imogen passed her phone across the table to Takisha.

"I believe we very much would," her friend said, passing the phone back. "I'm interested to meet Amelia and Charlotte, given what you surmised. Do you think we can ask them about it?"

"Maybe." Imogen said.

Archer's Cafe was a city escape for luxury lunches, the menu a culinary world tour. Crispy caramel chicken, fresh seafood and wood-fired Angus steaks were all passed over by Amelia as she chose Fettuccini Alfredo with a rich parmesan cream sauce. The smoked bacon and peas tossed in her Pasta Carbonara had wooed Charlotte. For Takisha Salisbury Steak with onions, mushrooms and garlic delighted her and Imogen chose Chicken Enchiladas, drawn to them by the Salsa and Cilantro.

Seated around the white-clothed table, the accurate positioning of the cutlery and correct use of stemware thrilled each girl. Their food choices had covered the length and breadth of the menu, but the Sonoma Chardonnay had been an agreed choice.

Learning about each other took until dessert. Molten Chocolate Cake with cream accompanied Charlotte's description of her new talent agency. They all loved the name. Girl Act was more than just a vision. She had a spreadsheet and a project plan. What she didn't yet have were people. She described her idea for teaching etiquette alongside honing the talents of her students and launched an explosive conversation.

Opinions erupted on the crucial necessity of various rules and the order in which teaching should occur.

"You can't teach rules without consequences," Imogen said. Her bottom still carried the severe consequences of her recent lapse of etiquette.

Each of them looked at each other, nobody sure who was going to say what. Imogen broke first.

"Amelia, I read the thank-you card from Charlotte, which was on your desk. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. But since I did, might I presume to suggest that I know the sort of 'dealing with' Charlotte was referring to?"

"I don't mind that you read that card. It was lovely," Amelia said. "But if I did happen to mind, what you expect me to do about it?"

"Give me a sound whipping or ask Nick to do it," she said. There was no point in holding back. She'd opened the subject wide.

"Would the cane teach you a sound enough lesson?"

"Yes. It would do me good," Imogen said.

Charlotte entered the affray. "Are you suggesting I should punish my students?"

"Of course," Imogen said. "If they want to be stars, they need great manners. And I for one have benefited from effective reminders."

"Me too," Takisha chimed in to support her friend.

Charlotte asked, "Is there anyone at the table who hasn't received a sound whipping, caning, or serious punishment?"

Silence answered her.

"How about you?" Imogen asked Charlotte. "Was I right about your thank-you note?"

"Yes. I'd rather not say why, it's in the past. But both Amelia and my husband deserved a sincere apology, and I gave it that night. Twelve hard strokes of the punishment cane in front of them both, from my husband."

"Nick canes me," Amelia said. "But he didn't get his cane by random chance did he Imogen?"

"No. I bought it with him and a few other things as well."

"I've felt them all."

"You're a perfect match, you and Nick. I couldn't be more pleased to see him happy with a girl he can trust, and I can see why."

"Thank you," Amelia said. They were lovely words indeed.

"What's your marketing plan for Girl Act?" Imogen asked Charlotte.

"I need to find someone to help me with that."

"When do I start?"

"You?"

"Why not? I'm tired of selling biscuits, have lots of experience, and I don't need paying because I have family money."

"That's a compelling pitch."

Takisha saw a place she belonged, but didn't know how to say it. "I have musical experience."

"What kind?" Charlotte asked.

"In music promotion and marketing. I've been helping a few friends promote their music. I also don't need paying."

"Would you both be interesting in looking at my plan with me?"

"Yes," Imogen answered for them both. She'd never heard Takisha sound so interested in anything.

"My place, tomorrow. Are you good to work on a Sunday?"

"Of course. I still think you should give serious consideration to the matter of consequences. It will speed up our student's learning like crazy."

 "Maybe you didn't notice," Charlotte said, "but I never disagreed."