« Spanking Stories

"Spill the beans, babe," Amelia said, putting down her coffee on Charlotte's kitchen table. "Is the sex good?"

"Like you'd never believe." Charlotte grinned. Growing up, they'd admitted to each other the pleasure a sore bottom brought.

Amelia's heart raced. Last night, she'd imagined an indistinct hunk scolding her while he gave her a sound thrashing. Ever-increasing pain had powered rounds of orgasms. "Maybe I've been looking for the wrong type of man."

Charlotte smiled. It was a huge admission from her untamed, free-wheeling friend. "David is strict with me. You don't have to hold yourself to my standards, but there are benefits."

"Start at the beginning, the unedited version. How in hell did it ever come up in conversation on your first date?"

"When I bumped into David in the coffee shop and spilled his coffee, he thought my apology and gift of a fresh coffee was gracious, so he asked me out. I didn't mind having my manners recognized. And he was hot."

"And he took you to Le Ciel," Amelia said. "But how did you end up talking about punishments in the middle of a fine dining restaurant?"

"I wore a black silk-chiffon print dress with fluted sleeves and a tiered hem."

"Tasteful."

"As I enjoyed my steak, I put my knife down too hard on my plate and flicked peppercorn steak sauce onto the front of my dress."

"Ouch," Amelia grimaced. She was well aware such poor etiquette would have earned her friend a sharp lesson from the cane in earlier years.

"I was so dismayed, out loud, I said, 'Now, I'm for it'."

"Oh, no." Amelia's eyes went wide. "How did you get out of that?"

"He kept looking at me, like he already knew the answer. There wasn't a way to explain it."

"What did you do?"

"Told him. Everything. The high standards of etiquette required of me and how I had my manners caned into me. I already knew he respected my etiquette."

Amelia gasped. "What did he say?"

"He asked what the punishment would have been for flicking streak sauce on my dress. I told him four strokes of the cane because it was a fine dress in a fine restaurant."

Amelia leaned forward, captivated, "And."

Charlotte grinned. "He said I'd had a proper upbringing."

"You'd have loved that," Amelia grinned. "He had you."

"He so did. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed strict discipline. For years nobody had punished me and, in that moment, it was all I wanted, the hard pain of knowing my mistakes mattered and I must account for them."

"I can so picture it," Amelia said. "He carries himself with calm authority."

"I didn't have to picture it," Charlotte whispered.

"No!" Amelia exclaimed. "He dealt with you? In the restaurant?"

"No, silly. Later. First we talked politics, money, business and investment. We agreed on almost everything."

"But you couldn't ignore what you'd both said."

"No, we couldn't. He warned me that if we were to proceed, he wouldn't hesitate to punish me for disobedience. He thinks too many women are self absorbed and selfish. That's why my gracious apology in the coffee shop had got his attention."

"You were so hooked," Amelia grinned.

"I was," Charlotte smiled, "and I wasn't wrong."

"How did it happen?"

"He was awesome. He admitted punishing me would turn him on, but still be effective and demanded to know if it was the same for me."

Amelia slammed down her coffee mug, "On your first date?"

"Yes," Charlotte grinned. "He looked me in the eye. I couldn't lie. He already knew. I nodded, but it didn't satisfy him. He made me admit it out loud. He was firm as hell. It was dangerous and hot."

She didn't admit she'd been clenching her thighs to keep herself from coming. Being forced to admit punishment turned her on, had sent satisfying shivers down her spine and thrust hot, wet heat into her already excited sex.

"I made him wait while I savored my coffee and ate every mint, folding the green foil wrappers in a neat square each time. I tormented him with utter calmness."

"Tormented yourself more likely," Amelia snorted.

Charlotte grinned. She'd been desperate to bring herself off at the table. Being spoken to so hard had electrified her brain and poured hot, wet pleasure into her black satin panties.

"I was so fed up with making mistakes, noticing them, and not being able to do anything about it. Here was a man offering to cane me for my inelegant etiquette. I couldn't walk away. The thought of getting away with it hurt far more than knowing I was about to be punished. Before we left the table, he offered me the chance to leave. I didn't. We walked to his place and took care of matters the hard way."

"You slept with him on your first date, didn't you?" Amelia grinned. "Dirty girl."

Charlotte smiled. "Who said anything about sleeping? He caned me that night and he didn't hold back." Her sex clenched as she remembered that first night with David.

She entered the lounge of his townhouse, kicked off her three-inch heels and admired the polished wood floor covered with a flora patterned gray and white rug. She took a seat on the couch while he excused himself for a moment. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined being here tonight. She could still leave, but it didn't feel like things would go awry. He'd understood her on an intimate level.

When he returned, concealed lights in the ceiling bounced off the golden rattan cane in his hand. Rising, she moved to stand in front of him.

"Steak sauce on your dress isn't elegant. You should have paid close attention to where you placed your knife. It was careless."

Grateful for his tough tone, she straightened her back as his scolding whipped her. She'd failed. Her grace and style should have been natural.

"Will that stain come out of your dress?"

It was silk chiffon. The stain was likely fatal. "I don't think so," she said.

"Costly and careless. Take it off."

Obedience thrust through her at his hard command. She reached behind her, loosened the zip and stepped out of the demure dress. It wasn't how she'd imagined revealing her black lace bra and matching string panties, but it was right. Laying the dress over the back of one of his armchairs, she returned to stand in front of him.

As he looked her up and down, she was glad she'd moisturized this evening. She pictured her ash blonde shoulder length hair contrasting with her smooth skin and black underwear.

"You're beautiful," he said, "but I must cane you."

Standing so close, his hard kindness radiated into sultry heat in her avid sex. She looked up into his eyes. "I deserve it."

He pointed to the low coffee table in front of the couch. "Place your hands on the table. Bend over."

She bent forward and placed her hands flat on the surface of the low table. Lowering her weight onto them, her string panties, subtle under her dress, bared her bottom to the cane.

As the flexible rattan tapped her unblemished skin, he said, "Four strokes. Hard."

An awesome crack filled the room as the cane met her waiting flesh. Pain soared through her bare backside as an intense line of fire burned across her cheeks. She'd forgotten how painful it was to be caned. Scorching heat rose to acute agony as the pain worked on her. She held still, accepting her suffering while it peaked and settled into a furious sting and deep ache.

It went to work on her guilt. She'd let herself down. Such a shortcoming should never have occurred. Her parents had thrashed her lack of grace out of her long ago. Far too long, it seemed. A refresher was well overdue.

The cane tapped again, warning of the next stroke. She stilled her mind and relaxed her cheeks. It seared a ferocious line below the last, extending her area of agony. She panted hard as the burn from the stroke intensified the effect of the previous. He laid them on at thirty-second intervals, each a blistering stroke designed to punish. The escalation in pain was necessary for a girl who hadn't learned. She pictured the stain on her dress. It would never come out.

The last stroke lashed into her soft flesh where it would ensure sitting hurt. She bore her punishment with good grace. As her bottom burned, her dismay disappeared and her guilt dispersed. She'd let herself down and got punished for it.

"You may stand."

She obeyed, her hands clasped in front of her, her bare bottom burning as it should. Facing him, she said, "My lapse in etiquette was beneath me. Thank you for caning me. I've needed it for a long time."

He reached for her and took her in his arms. "You took it well."

She pushed her body against him, revealing his state of need. Hot liquid flung itself into her sex and she pressed hard against his manhood.

"Thanks for being hard on me," she whispered. "I think you enjoyed it."

"I did," he growled.

"So it seems," she said.

"I want you."

"Take me to bed," she whispered.

He lifted her into his arms and carried her upstairs.

As her bottom burned into the soft white comforter, she admired his bedroom. She'd spotted the made bed from his arms. The blue curtains and cream carpet fitted with the dark wood bed. She nestled into the comforter and slipped her hand into her panties. Her clit begged for her finger as she watched him undress. His dark suit and white shirt had given off a powerful aura all evening. His bare torso and tight white trunks forced her finger harder.

He climbed onto the bed and kissed her. His tongue took command of hers while his lips promised to control her. His fingers released her bra and dismissed it from the bed. She broke away and groaned as his fingers skimmed over her nipples. Her finger kept up its rhythm in her panties, unable to stop. He shucked his shorts and lifted over her. He slid her string aside and took her, demanding her obedience as he plunged his hardness deep. She gripped him, stealing pleasure from every thrust.

"You caned me. Hard." she panted.

"You deserved it," he growled.

"I needed it and you punished me. Oh god," she gasped, her sex perched on the precipice of utter bliss, "If I let you down, thrash me."

He powered into her, releasing his pleasure with a ferocious groan as she exploded a litany of orgasms over his hardness. Waves of pleasure cascaded through her core as he held her tight in his arms, her hips twisting to contain her glory as she lost the battle with abandon.

Lying beside each other, exhausted, she said, "I've never slept with a man on a first date."

"I've never caned a girl on a first date," he grinned, "but look where that got us."

She wasn't sure where they were.

He looked into her eyes and held her gaze, "Will you be my girlfriend?"

A gigantic smile crept over her face. "Yes. I believe I will."

"So you went from first date to girlfriend in one evening," Amelia said, her coffee long abandoned to Charlotte's entrancing story.

Charlotte nodded and smiled.

"No wonder you married him."

"I knew that night. We've never been back to Le Ciel."

"Don't," Amelia said. "Keep the memory as it was. It could never be more perfect."

Charlotte shifted her chair, collected their coffee mugs and took them to the sink. Maybe it was why David had never suggested going back. She had no desire to. It had been the perfect night. The dress hadn't made it, but they had.

"Did you do the walk of shame, next morning?" Amelia asked.

"It wasn't shame. David offered to drive me to my door, but I wanted to walk. I'd had my bare bottom caned, had dazzling sex, and found a man for life. I floated over the pavements, my smile lighting up a line of people all the way home. It was a walk of honor."

Amelia grinned across the kitchen. "You're forgiven for not telling me. How could you? Why would you? And you're forgiven for sleeping with him on your first date. I mean, what else could you do? A few stiff cane strokes might still do me some good."

"It would. I can promise you."

Amelia watched her friend clear up the kitchen. Her own manners had never been as impeccable, but she was a good girl, deep down, or she had been. Maybe she'd been rebelling against her strict upbringing, or maybe her behavior was just untamed and unacceptable. "How the hell do you find a guy like that?" she asked.

"I don't know. For me, it was fate."

Fate had put her in the coffee shop. Fate had caused her to bump into him. But her good manners had been all down to her.