« Spanking Stories

"I've moved the place settings," Mark called. "We're sitting opposite the Davenports."

"Whatever," Clare replied, descending the glass stairs of their penthouse.

Her shiny silver sandals matched the glittering bead-embellished cuffs of her demure, black chiffon body-con dress. Her mood did not.

"You look fantastic," he said, hoping to imbibe her with spirit as he watched her full effect arrive in their spacious living area.

"It's my job," she grunted.

He frowned. Her attitude had been a growing problem since they'd woken. Mr. and Mrs. Davenport had founded their trusted software business twenty years ago, developing an extensive client base. Relationships mattered to them. Decades younger, he needed to convey a loving, homely impression to win their hearts and acquire their company.

He had thirty minutes to resolve her attitude or sink his deal. Their hired chef had taken over their kitchen. Their distant bedroom would afford privacy.

"Come," he said, heading upstairs.

She followed, offering no response.

Parking her in their bedroom, he said, "Wait here."

"O-k-a-y," she said, stretching it to four full syllables.

He returned, closing their bedroom door, carrying their short brown leather discipline strap. Folded over like a belt and stitched together, a split on the curled end doubled its sting. It appeared innocent, but she'd experienced its punishing power.

His gaze locked hard on her. He pointed to their bed. "Bend over."

Holding their discipline strap, his authority swamped her in respect. Her sunny disposition had been absent since she'd woken. Angry at her personal deficiency, she'd failed to snap out of it. He should spank her. She must be excellent company tonight. His deal relied on her.

Without a word, she bent low over their bed. Placing her forearms on their white comforter, her weight of responsibility lifted from her shoulders. Her thin chiffon dress pulled tight over her bum, only a g-string beneath. Their discipline strap would hurt her. She hoped so.

Painful sting burned her left cheek, a generous balm to her fractious mood. Obeying him had required strength. She'd felt argumentative. Given no alternative, his dominance had forced wisdom to prevail. As her wayward mood met his hard strap, vicious pockets of sting erupted on her bottom, demanding her compliance.

His sharp leather signatures delivered fiery pain. She analyzed her interactions, struggling to discover a single polite one. His uncompromising toughness pulsed pleasure into her sex, clearing spaces in her mind for genuine remorse. Thin rectangles of penetrating heat replaced fading strokes, keeping her bottom ablaze and her conscience clear. He was beating her without debate. She deserved it. Strapping her hard, he was leaving her lowest curves - on which she would sit - untouched.

She'd warned him her period was approaching. It wasn't an excuse. Life and business continued. She appreciated his decision. She deserved this strapping. Needed it. Her constant delivery of pain ceased.

"Stand up," he said.

Rising, pumped full of respect, she said, "I'm sorry. I'll be an absolute delight tonight. Thank you for strapping me. I'm sorry you needed to. Thank you for only using our discipline strap."

His kind choice had stung sense into her without great discomfort. She deserved whatever he prescribed. His moderate discipline drove her determination to support him with excellence tonight.

He caressed her cheek and kissed her lips. She responded, grateful for his tenderness, and hot as hell. "I'm sorry," she murmured, tremors of guilt throbbing through her core.

He broke away. "I didn't need your attitude today. I'm relying on you tonight and expect perfection. Regardless of your performance, I'm will paddle you before bed."

Her bottom hot in exquisite discomfort, her sex thrust respect into her brain. Smiling at him, she said, "I deserve it."

Given her lengthy attitude, it was a just punishment. Ache would deepen, disciplining her for several days.

"Good," he smiled. "Show your finest, generous, loving nature to our guests."

Smoothing her dress over her stinging bottom, she followed him downstairs, determined to be the gracious hostess he expected.

Her vivacious smile spun their evening into action. She teased captivating stories from the Davenports about starting their company. Their conversation bounced along, despite the Davenports being older.

After Viennese shortbread accompanying rose-petal panna cotta, she drew Mrs. Davenport aside while their men chatted. Her discreet stinging bottom had lasted an hour, settling into a pleasant promise.

"Mark will respect your people," she said. "He won't guarantee jobs. But growing your product's client base brings natural job security."

Admiring the expansive city view, Mrs. Davenport asked, "How did you become a couple?"

Clare smiled. "A silly professional mistake. He was kind and corrected my error. I cooked him dinner as thanks. My stir-fry is legendary, it seems."

"It's wonderful watching a happy young couple," Mrs. Davenport replied. "Thank you for your reassurance. After twenty years, our employees' futures matter."

The Davenports departed, well nourished and infused with confidence. She relayed her private conversation with Mrs. Davenport to Mark.

"I'm confident," he said. "Thank you for being you. You gave our evening sizzle."

"I had great motivation." She grinned, rubbing her bottom, pleased by his compliment.

Their temporary chef for the evening interrupted them. While Mark said goodbye, she retreated to their bedroom, swapping her dress for a white tee and soft, 7 For All Mankind, black skinny jeans.

Waiting beside their clean dining table, her jeans provided a false sense of security. He wouldn't allow her to keep them, but maybe her panties. She watched him go upstairs in his black suit, admiring his muscular legs. Clasping her hands in front of her, she waited for him.

She shivered as he returned, carrying their white oak punishment paddle. Six smooth holes drilled through it increased its speed, boosting its pain delivery. His promise powering her, she hung on his next words.

"You were magnificent tonight," he said. "But I must paddle you. You filled my mental space with unnecessary angst while I prepared for this dinner."

Chastened, his painful words thrilled her sex. "Thank you for your compliment. Tonight was easy once you'd strapped me. I'm sorry I failed you earlier. I deserve the paddle and promise to take it with dignity and grace."

"Predicting your mood was a constant gamble. Our evening might have gone wrong if I hadn't strapped you."

She stared at her feet. It was tough to hear. Stealing a glance at the paddle due to punish her, she flinched.

Opening his other palm, he revealed two green dice. "You'd rather I imposed my judgment on you, but you're going to gamble on your punishment. Roll one die to decide your protection."

Taking both dice with shaking fingers, she clutched them in her clammy fist, her eyes imploring him to determine her fate. She trusted his decisions.

"Five or six, you keep your jeans," he said, "three or four, you keep your panties, one or two, I paddle you bare. This roll counts towards your total swats."

Facing their long dining table, she rubbed one die between her fingers. 'Five' would provide protection against the blistering oak, although five thunderous swats would be furious punishment. Maybe one vicious swat on her bare skin fitted her crime.

Disliking her dilemma, she raised her arm, flipping a single die along the dining table. It bounced several times, rolling to a halt. One.

"Bare it is," he said.

She'd rather he decide. Her savage, bare sting would be over soon, unless her next roll went against her.

"Cast your other die for your total swats."

She already had one bare swat on the table. It might become seven. Grief-stricken, she spun to him, "Can't you decide?"

"Unpredictable results are not comfortable. I had to assert my authority, strapping you thirty minutes before our guests arrived, risking your anger."

"Can't you just paddle me?"

His uncompromising gaze leveled on her. "Throw your die."

With a bitter grimace, she twisted her wrist, casting her fate. The final die slowed, bumped its partner, settling on four.

He collected their redundant dice. "Drop your jeans."

She unsnapped her black denim, pushing them to her knees.

"Your panties too," he ordered, depositing their dice on a glass stair.

She shoved her blue and white striped cotton panties to join her jeans, comfortable under his command. Her irrationality had made it difficult for him to trust she'd accept her discipline. His cruel dice game had taught her an effective lesson.

"Mark," she said, drawing him towards her. "I promise to bend in strict obedience, no matter my mood. I've granted you complete authority to spank me and require myself to obey."

"Thank you for saying that. I appreciate it. Bend over."

Facing their dining table, she placed her arms on the solid surface, presenting her bare bottom as ordered.

He stroked her back. "I must punish you. Your splendid performance doesn't absolve your guilt."

His tender touch inflamed her sex. Hot pulses teased her. The paddle slammed into her bare cheeks. Devastating shock overtook her bottom as bruising ache thrust deep into her bare behind. She panted hard, rocking to expel her pain. It was futile. Her sex assumed control, pumping heat from her burning backside around her body, calming her mind.

"How does it feel?" he asked.

"Not nice," she said, "but deserved."

The oak tapped her skin in warning.

She held herself still. The paddle crashed into her bare bottom, forcing a wave of throbbing pain as her stinging skin sizzled. Proud to take it bare, her sex swept pleasure towards her pain. The paddle blasted her butt, its broad expanse overlapping previous swats. Absorbing the heavy impacts she deserved, she gasped as pain surge through her bottom.

She pressed her bare feet onto the floor to keep still. She needed her hurt to atone. The paddle punched blazing pain, meeting honest repentance. She panted, determined to respect her punishment.

He pressed the paddle against her lower butt. Fresh virgin skin rested under its sure commitment. She stayed still as the powerful impact lifted her tight cheeks, sending a wave of anguish through her behind. Despite its futility, she lifted her legs to ease her agonizing bottom.

"Are you feeling it, Clare?" he asked.

Twisting to her side, she said, "Yes. Thank you."

"Good. Last swat. Step backward. Bend over and grab your ankles."

She obeyed, her skin stretching taut, swamping her paddled bottom in a storm of fresh sting. Appalled by her prospective pain, she cherished his ruthless zeal.

The oak slab smashed into her lower cheeks, pouring fresh fuel on her burning fire as its crash echoed off their penthouse walls. She welcomed his severity as a potent cocktail of fierce pain and intense sorrow rushed into her sex.

"Stand," he commanded.

Standing, she rubbed her burning bare butt to ease its fiery sting. "God, I'm sorry. I've never been more sorry in all my life," she groaned. Pressing her sex against his obvious erection, she hugged him and said, "Thank you for paddling me. I deserved tough love."

"Your forgiven." He placed the paddle on the dining table, removing his suit and underwear. His rigid manhood pointed hard at her. "Get naked, naughty girl. I'm going to cool your paddled bare butt."

Uncertain how he could cool her blazing inferno, she danced out of her jeans and tee.

He led her naked across their vast space, spun her, and pressed her bare bottom into the cool floor-to-ceiling glass. Her bare back exposed to the city lights, his firm grip held her naked body where he desired.

Pinned in position, the distant, dark night behind her, he cupped her burning bottom as she wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him into her, hungry to feel his force deep inside her. Arms around his neck, she consumed his hardness, obliterating her pain with natural pleasure as his controlling grip burned into her paddled bottom, driving her insane.

"You laid down the law with me. You gave me the beating I deserved, twice," she panted.

"I didn't seek your agreement. I just strapped you." He thrust deep into her.

"You strapped me," she cried. "God, you strapped me." His hardness drove her pride sky high. Her sex soared up the window, lifting her mind over the city. Flying on his flawless love, she flung her arms wide against the glass, and screamed, "I love you."

"I love you too," he shouted.

Thrusting deep inside her, he came hard, blasting his desire into her depths, crashing his power into her precious hold. Deep in her soul, her denotation exploded a shower of stunning orgasms. She rode her flow of love, tumbling into him, flinging her arms around his neck, crashing her hips into his, riding her stream of pleasure into a smooth, ultimate bliss.

Lowering her in his powerful arms, he lay her on their dark cherry wood floor. Tiny repeated ripples stole her conscience sex as he settled beside her.

She flung her arm towards him. "I love you." Repeated, it sounded twice as sweet.

Seizing her hand, he said, "I love you too."

"Even if sometimes I'm terrible?"

"Thats when I love you the absolute most," he said.

His conviction carried to her ears, and she smiled from her heart. Her small soft hand, firm in his grasp, he pointed at the signature of her naked curves imprinted on their soaring glass.