« Spanking Stories

Comfortable in her pretty pink chinos and relaxed black-and-white striped tee, Jessica crossed her legs on the train, studying her white sneaker without seeing it.

She didn't fancy Clare. Thoughts of her friend's sexy bottom, bent in her short black jersey dress, had monopolized her fantasies. Imagining Mark's cane thrashing her own bottom drove her insane, but picturing Clare getting caned delivered ridiculous climaxes. Sharing her secret punishment regime with her best friend was seductive.

After their girls' night, she'd come hard in Clare's guest bedroom, imagining Anya's bottom collecting twelve rich cane marks. Picturing Anya bent in simple white cotton panties, taking her formal punishment for bullying, she'd climaxed before Anya's imagined caning even began.

This morning, she'd woken at 3am, her dreams vivid, her clit wet. Masturbating about Anya's caning, screaming orgasms had smashed through her soaking sex, landing her in a pit of shame. Her friend's genuine contrition wasn't for her selfish sexual pleasure. She'd reached for her phone, booking a rare, but necessary, Sunday appointment with Miss Roberts.

Her disrespectful, selfish behavior demanded formal punishment. She needed to respect herself at bedtime tonight. In her dreams, she'd reported herself to her imaginary boyfriend, suffering a severe sentence of twenty cane strokes on her bare bottom. In her real world, as a single girl, she reported to Miss Roberts for strict judgment.

Suggesting her punishment was optional in Miss Roberts' booking app. Drenched in shame from her orgasms, she'd scrolled the selection, choosing a 'Lasting Impression'. Unable to chicken out, she faced Miss Roberts' punishment cane. She'd orgasmed over Anya's heavy punishment, self-respect demanded she bend for the same.

Walking to Miss Roberts' house from the station, doubts plagued her. Passing others enjoying the sunshine, she considered claiming she'd picked the wrong punishment. Her claim wouldn't pass simple scrutiny. A reprieve unlikely, she stoked her courage. She'd said it to Clare - 'Accountability hurts'. It had hurt Anya. It must hurt her. Her punishment must make a lasting impression.

"Hello, Jessica," Miss Roberts said, welcoming her pretty blonde client into the lounge. "Your outfit is lovely."

"My behavior hasn't been lovely," Jessica replied.

She'd planned her complex confession. Miss Roberts was unaware Clare was her longstanding best friend, crucial in gaining Anya's legal help, nor did Miss Roberts realize she was aware Anya had become a client. She'd resolved to tell Miss Roberts, expecting the professional disciplinarian wouldn't acknowledge her clients.

"To explain myself, I must give you context," Jessica said. "To help solve your legal issue, I enlisted my friend Clare. Best friends for over ten years, we met outside your house several months ago to our mutual astonishment. She suggested Anya. We're aware Anya's experienced your full professional services. I expect you to ignore what I'm saying. I treasure your confidentiality. We all do."

Miss Roberts smiled. "Cherish your friends. They sound wonderful."

Jessica nodded. Worthy of a chess grand master, her disciplinarian's balanced response disclosed nothing. She confided her recent masturbation phase involving thoughts of Clare, expanding her confession to include Anya's severe caning. Her cathartic confession complete, she lowered her head in shame.

"Wildness in your imagination is healthy," Miss Roberts said. "Focusing on your friends' formal discipline is inappropriate. They had to accept humiliating punishment to correct their misbehavior. They didn't share their private disgrace for your selfish enjoyment."

Raising her head in respect, Jessica accepted her reprimand. "I'm sorry, Miss."

Holding her gaze, Miss Roberts said, "You suggested a 'Lasting Impression' when you booked. Twelve strokes of my punishment cane will end your disgraceful selfishness."

Under Miss Roberts' withering gaze, Jessica doubted her bravery. But her disciplinarian had declared her sentence. Her stomach lurched. Light-headed, she reached for the convenient glass of water. She'd never needed it before.

Miss Roberts observed Jessica's visceral reaction. "Shall we begin?" she asked.

In her study, she handed Jessica her Kooboo rattan cane.

Running her fingers along the dark golden length of rattan, Jessica trembled. Its diameter and weight promised powerful cleansing of her tarnished soul.

Miss Roberts said, "I'll substitute my strap, if you'd prefer." The punishment cane needed tremendous guilt coupled with formidable willpower.

Jessica considered her options, the punishment cane heavy in her hands. Anya had suffered this terrible stick. Self respect demanded she keep her commitment to herself.

"Thank you, Miss," Jessica said, giving back the heavy rod. "I deserve the cane."

Miss Roberts stood back. Flexing the rattan in warning, she ordered, "Drop your pants."

Unzipping her pink chinos, Jessica obeyed, pushing them to her ankles.

"Bend over," Miss Roberts commanded, her tough tone designed to prepare Jessica for the considerable pain ahead.

Pulling her baggy tee up to her bra, Jessica bent over the desk, presenting her white cotton bikini panties to her disciplinarian. Fear fused her mind. A tremendous fuss would lose Miss Roberts' respect. She'd must take her punishment. She wrapped her fingers over the desk edge as the thick cane tapped her panties.

"Remember your fantasy," Miss Roberts ordered.

She pictured Clare bent over her dining table in her black jersey body-con dress, her bum being indented by Mark's cane. Heat plunged through her sex. The cane struck her cotton. Fire screamed into savage burn. She clutched the desk, panting through her pain. The wide, burning line eviscerated her fantasy as the heat intensified.

The Lasting Impression suited its name. A full minute passed as she learned to handle her severe stroke. The thick burning line branded on her bottom reached its painful peak. As it regressed to steady heat, her confidence grew.

Returning, the cane tapped her bottom. Aware of its awesome power, it didn't help. The cruel rattan flexed into her bottom above her previous stroke, branding evidence of her serious disobedience. Breathing out, she begged her brain to appreciate her pain. The cane thudded into her soft cotton, stamping its furious sting low across her bum. Given time to recover, each stroke buried its message as her agony flourished.

"Imagine your friend, the one you suggested, had felt this same cane," Miss Roberts instructed.

Anya's fine honey skin, her pert backside and her rich red punishment lines for bullying infused her mind. Ashamed of her disloyal attitude, she planted her feet and thrust out her blazing bottom.

Noticing the gesture, Miss Roberts respected her client's commitment.

Vicious fire exploded as the cane slashed deep into her disobedient bottom. Winding her pain into remorse, she let it flow, carrying her naughtiness away. Deep obedience and sincere contrition helped her through the next strokes.

"Last one," Miss Roberts said.

The cane tapped her painful welt low on her cheeks in fair warning. She braced, determined to take her terrible pain in respectful silence. Rattan struck beside welted flesh, quashing every remnant of her disobedience, expanding her low welt into a broad band of pain.

"Stay there and feel it," Miss Roberts ordered.

Hearing Miss Roberts put away the cane in her cupboard, she relaxed. She'd taken her sound beating. She would hurt for an entire week. Every second of her suffering, she'd celebrate her brave friends.

"Stand up," Miss Roberts instructed.

In her innocent panties, Jessica faced her disciplinarian. "Thank you for punishing me. It stings like crazy. I respect my friends. I deserved that."

"It will keep your libido in check. Try a different fantasy," Miss Roberts said.

"Yes, Miss. Thank you," she replied, her self-respect soaring sky high.

"Pull your chinos up," Miss Roberts ordered.

She preferred clients leave soon after their punishment, experiencing maximum embarrassment in public. Smiling at Jessica, she said, "Your fall from grace was private, and I've dealt with you in private. Enjoy your evening."

Her city-bound train suited her situation. She must preserve her dignity, despite her burning bottom. Surrounded by passengers, fierce heat radiated through her thin chinos. Struggling to avoid a vigorous bottom rub, her dutiful discipline rewarded her cleansed soul. Gripping a support pole, she avoided moving passengers.

Between stations, she glanced at women dotted around her carriage. She imagined none had received a major punishment. Righteous self-respect flooded her, its heat dampening her sex. Beaten for her misbehavior, she'd bent over and accepted its fairness.

Pulling into a quiet station, the carriage doors beside her slid open. She swung on her pole, creating space for a new guy boarding. Her bottom bumped the glass seating partition. She strived to hide her savage pain as her thin chinos provided no protection.

Tall with short, dark hair, he carried a small navy backpack. His tight blue jeans fitted his firm bum. Measuring up a guy's bum suggested swift recovery from her ordeal. Her sex clenched as she imagined his muscular legs shoving her up against a wall. She'd taken her punishment. She deserved to enjoy a guy's tight backside. A slight smile graced her lips as fresh pride suffused her willing sex.

The train picked up speed as she continued her fresh fantasy. His hardness powered her up her imaginary wall. Liquid pride dripped into her obedient panties.

Metal shrieked. Passengers screamed. She crashed forward, falling hard on top of the guy she'd been admiring. Howling steel brakes pierced the air. Violent shakes spread through her carriage as the train shuddered to an emergency stop. In a poor imitation of the missionary position, she rested on her kind savior. He'd cushioned her fall. She was alive. Loud complaints suggested other passengers were unharmed.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

His rich baritone voice reverberated through her chest. "I'm fine," she said. "Sorry."

"Not your fault."

She clambered off him, grabbing her original pole for support as she stood.

The scratchy tannoy drowned out grumbling passengers. "A signal changed as we passed, requiring emergency action. Push the red call button if you're injured. Our journey will resume soon."

Curious passengers surveyed their fellow travelers. Nobody appeared injured.

"Hi. I'm Peter." Her savior introduced himself. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes, fine, thank you. I'm Jessica."

Passengers got back on their feet. Bracing against her pole as the train moved, she winced as her sore bottom muscles encountered the swaying carriage.

"You're hurt," he said.

"No. I'm fine."

Their next station a fashionable destination, many passengers disembarked.

"Have a seat," he suggested.

"No," she said, alarmed. Smiling to cover her panicked response, she said, "I'd rather stand. You meet fascinating people."

She couldn't help returning his infectious grin. Approaching the city center, she shifted her weight onto her right foot, giving her sore left cheek relief. As her pain shifted position, her careful movements attracted his attention.

"You're hurt! Aren't you?" he demanded, his tone strident, his concern clear.

She would never see him again. They'd part ways forever in less than sixty seconds. He'd remain worried. His genuine kindness didn't deserve that.

Placing her hand on his arm, she drew him close. His warm shirt and spiced musk scent comforted her. Staring into his dark-brown eyes, she whispered, "The fall didn't hurt me, I promise. Less than an hour ago, I received a severe punishment caning for serious disobedience. I deserved it, but I'm in considerable pain."

Locked into her gaze, his lips parted, stopped, and parted again. The train slowed, entering the city terminal. Surprising them both, he blurted. "Are you single?"

The carriage doors slid opened. People pushed past them. She replied, "Yes."

Scrambling in a side pocket of his backpack, he extracted his business card, placing it in her hand.

"I imagine you can't sit down," he grinned. "When you're less sore, call me. I'll invite you to dinner."

His handsome, chiseled jaw delighted her as it moved. His words knocked her sideways. Her smile spread, lighting up her entire face.

"I might just do that," she laughed.

"Girls who hold high standards are rare. I've never found one who measured up."