« Spanking Stories

« Clare, Jessica and Anya


11. Payment

Spanking Story


Years after her schoolgirl crime, a principled human rights lawyer get the caning she deserves

«Beginning Part 12»

Anya slapped her alarm clock to silence its unwelcome radio shock jock, Miss Roberts' welcome email still burning in her brain. The extensive menu of strict punishments offered endless degrees of variation. Clare and Jessica held themselves to account, suffering sore bottoms. So could she. She shuddered. Her punishment wouldn't be trivial.

Guilt, her constant companion since she'd received a blunt reminder of her past behavior, she'd seized her opportunity to visit Miss Roberts, certain it would help.

Her rainfall shower pummeled her shoulders, offering minimal clarity on her swift decision. This evening, she'd get her overdue thrashing. She needed it. Her considerable pain would humble her, delivering sweet days of deserved discomfort. Punishment couldn't eclipse her cruel behavior. She hoped it might ease her disgust with herself.

Parking her white Audi TT near Miss Roberts' traditional house, she approached, feeling privileged to join her discreet friends in their elite club. She hadn't realized it was possible to receive reliable, traditional discipline as an adult. Today she had past matters to address, but she imagined she'd return. As she climbed the worn stone steps, Miss Roberts opened her white front door.

"Hello, Anya."

Showing the beautiful Indian girl into her welcoming lounge, Miss Roberts smiled. Convinced Anya would prove punctual, she'd prepared a pot of tea.

Pouring tea into two delicate clover-leaf-detailed china cups, she said, "I'm grateful for your discreet help. I fear my services are worth less than yours."

Anya smiled. "Not from where I'm sitting."

"You're very kind," Miss Roberts said, smoothing her knee-length black skirt-suit as she reached for her tea.

"I appreciated your welcome email. It was comprehensive."

"Thank you. I've improved it with experience."

"I've dressed to receive punishment," Anya said.

Her sapphire blue pant suit honored her long, shapely legs. Her short tailored jacket grazed the curve of her bum when she stood. Long-sleeved and bright white, her pristine blouse matched her plain white cotton underwear.

"Have you experienced proper punishment?" Miss Roberts asked, admiring Anya's blue suit against her gorgeous golden skin.

"My parents caned me often. It's commonplace in Indian families." 

"Light stinging strokes or a hard thrashing?"

"Hard thrashing," Anya said, sipping her tea. "My marks lasted for days. My parents kept me on a short leash and I rebelled often. I respected their rattan rod and always earned it."

"Why do you deserve punishment, today?"

"Months ago, I read a news article analyzing school bullying. Its brutal analysis hurt. I bullied a girl in school. She was prettier. I was jealous. I can't escape my guilt."

"Bullying is unpleasant behavior, Anya," Miss Robert said, adopting her sternest tone.

"Yes, Miss," Anya said, putting down her teacup, accepting Miss Roberts' change of tone. Despite knowing her disciplinarian's full legal name from their paperwork, she couldn't imagine using it.

"Give me an example of your disgraceful behavior."

"I hung her on our wrought-iron railing by her panties. She tore her panties getting down, destroying her underwear and dignity. I was heinous." Her voice trailed off.

"What punishment have you chosen?"

It was a leading question. Anya hovered between her choices. They'd vexed her overnight and during today. She pictured her prettier competitor clasping her panties together beneath her skirt and leaned on the scales of justice.

"The 'Lasting Impression'," she said. Twelve strokes from the thick punishment cane would cause vicious pain, leaving a deserved, lasting impression.

Miss Roberts nodded. "It will hurt for around seven days."

"I deserve it."

"You do, Anya. You bullied her often?" Miss Roberts asked.

Anya nodded.

"Two sore weeks would benefit you. Don't you agree?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Next week, when would embarrass you?"

Anya pictured her staff meeting on Wednesday, raw cane marks burning into her chair. Throwing herself on her own wrought-iron railing, she said, "Wednesday 8am."

Miss Roberts noted their appointment on her iPad. "Let's start."

Anya admired the ancient pine desk. It fit the classic study. She imagined neighbors couldn't see into the rear-facing study, but light colored drapes provided privacy she appreciated. 

Miss Roberts pointed to a straight-backed wooden chair beside the desk. "Hang your suit jacket there."

Anya obeyed, stepping from her white two-inch heels.

Miss Roberts withdrew her Kooboo rattan cane from her towering cupboard. Unlike the slender cane she used often, her punishment cane was twice as thick, packing a phenomenal punch of pain. More rigid, she needed it only for lasting discipline. 

Anya shivered. She'd accepted her parental canings and even enjoyed needing discipline. Miss Roberts' punishment cane reminded her of severe thrashings whose hurt lasted for days. Steeling herself, she respected the suffering she must endure and met her disciplinarian's eye.

"Is this cane what you expected?" Miss Roberts asked. 

Anya nodded. She recalled her wide, lasting welts. Her parents had thrashed her nineteen-year-old bottom. Lying about visiting a girlfriend, her secret boyfriend's electric kiss had cost her severe strokes on her skimpy lace panties. 

"I deserve severe pain," she said.

Miss Roberts swept her cane. The sharp whistle set her client on edge. "Drop your suit pants," she instructed. 

Pushing her tight blue wool down her lean legs, her suit pants bunched at her knees. Displayed in plain white cotton panties, she appreciated her intense shame.

Miss Roberts circled her, scrutinizing her underwear. "Those are correct panties. You understand why I insist you wear them?" 

"Yes, Miss. I've felt humble, obedient and young since I dressed, my discreet innocence a continuous reminder I need strict discipline."

"Good." Miss Roberts looked Anya in the eye, "Bend over."

Young again, Anya bent over the wide desk. Laying her palms flat, she lowered herself, pushing out her panty-clad bottom. 

"Weak girls bully. They have low self-esteem."

She processed her strict scolding as shocking pain exploded from a heavy thud. Wicked pain scorched her white cotton panties, eclipsing her thoughts. A heavy line of fire etched itself deep into her bullying buttocks, transporting her back to her teenage years. 

"Were you weak, Anya?" Miss Robert demanded.

Her brain screamed no, but her heart answered. "Yes," she gasped. Her pathetic schoolgirl self couldn't handle female rivalry.

Thirty seconds lasted forever as her pain built to a crescendo. The rod struck her bottom, searing solid agony. Respecting her failure, she remained still as its heat burned to extraordinary intensity. She imagined her victim watching. The thought stiffened her spine.

The cane crashed into her panty clad cheeks, reverberating around the study. Stifling a cry, her brain scrambled to visualize the prettier girl dangling from the school railing by her white panties, as vicious heat lanced her bottom. Her resolve strengthened. Internalizing her painful strokes, she pictured her despicable behavior. Her guilt had inspired her to help Carly. She'd admired her for choosing to visit Miss Roberts. Helping Carly was restitution for her crimes.

"How is your self-esteem?" Miss Roberts asked.

Panting in pain, Anya said, "Rising."

"Good. You deserve your caning. I believe you're sorry."

The cane seared welts on her soft lower bum. She thrust her bottom to meet its misery. It was her duty to facilitate her beating, contributing to her pain.

"Last one," Miss Roberts warned.

Anya tightened her grip on the desk, her knuckles white as she feared her imminent pain. The harsh stroke crossed low on her cheeks. Excruciating pain erupted as a double ridge developed on her smooth skin, delivering furious agony where she would sit.

Her tormented bottom suited her brutal crime. Her pain drove regret into her soul. She had bullied a girl. Her suffering was just.

"Sitting will hurt," Miss Roberts said.

"Thank you, Miss."

She respected Miss Roberts' experience. Her extreme pain wasn't crippling.

"Stand up, Anya," Miss Roberts commanded.

Anya stood, keeping her back straight. "Thank you for caning me. I deserved it."

"You still have twelve strokes next week. Consider yourself under punishment during these two weeks. A period of painful reflection." 

"Thank you," Anya replied, embracing the suggestion.

"Get dressed," Miss Roberts said, replacing her cane. "You took your thrashing well."

In the hallway, Anya walked tall, despite waves of punishing heat radiating from her behind.

"If I have daughters, I'll cane them. Girls need strict discipline. I'm glad I discovered you."

Miss Roberts smiled. "It's been a pleasure. Thank you for solving my problem."

"You're very welcome." Anya stepped forward, giving Miss Roberts a hug. "I feel better."

"On your way," Miss Roberts smiled. "See you Wednesday morning."

Driving home, her bottom burned into her black leather seat, powering her sex to a peak. She'd taken her punishment. Memories of bending over Miss Roberts' desk, stripped to her obedient panties, filled her sex with lethal self-respect. Her bottom should hurt. She needed it. She'd escaped justice for her school bullying. Her headmistress should have caned her bare bottom before the entire school. Her sex pumped its approval into her white cotton panties.

She resolved should she ever meet her victim, she'd apologize and describe her caning, however embarrassing it was.

Getting out of her low-slung Audi, her bottom muscles disagreed with her car choice. Unexpected pain pulsed pleasure into her damp panties. She deserved her discomfort. Enduring it was her penance. The girl who parked next to her exited the elevator as she approached.

Shifting between legs, she offered each bottom cheek brief respite as they chatted, savoring her embarrassing public discomfort.

In the upscale development, her modern city center apartment spread across three bedrooms. Stripping naked, she ignored her beaten bottom as she grabbed her favorite pale pink cotton bikini panties from her drawer. Watching herself in her bedroom mirror, she dragged her panties over her deep red welts, flinching as she released the leg elastic to ping against her painful marks.

Her nipples hardened at the visual evidence of her punishment etched into her rear. Rubbing them, she brought herself to an urgent state, refusing herself pleasure in her panties. Stretching her tight panties, she slipped her hand into her cotton, plunging her finger onto her desperate clit. Rubbing herself hard, she pictured herself ordered over the desk, the heavy punishment cane thrashing her panty clad cheeks. Giving her nipples a break, she traced each welt, recalling the impact, sting and fierce fire as she rubbed her clit into a desperate frenzy.

Her flaming sex electrified her nipples. Miss Roberts had taken her in hand. Bright lights exploded in her brain. Her body spasmed. She watched in the mirror as furious orgasms burst from her sex, trembling her legs, sweeping her body with intense pleasure, soothing her shocking pain and detonating a shower of spectacular self-respect.

Lowering her panties, she marveled at her stinging welts. Ten deep-red lines branded her bottom. Below them a double-sized band of burn, where her last strokes had merged, completed her exquisite punishment. Tomorrow, she'd force herself to sit for long periods.

Snapping her panties into place with painful double pings, she recalled showing her striped bottom to her school friends. Getting caned at home wasn't unusual. Surviving a beating was a routine tale among her friends. Revealing her bare striped bottom always prompted waves of delicious humiliation.

Her adult friends had exposed their special secret to her, and she'd left them hanging, offering no opinion. Their secret had shocked her. Their self-respect had impressed her. They'd jeopardized their privacy to protect Miss Roberts. A loyalty she now understood.

At their girls' night tomorrow, she would admit her upbringing. Her friends had guessed. She didn't advertise she'd received regular canings, nor was she ashamed. She'd deserved it. Strict discipline had given her logical structure. She'd also reveal she'd become a client of Miss Roberts. She owed her brave friends complete candor, and she treasured their secret club.

Hanging her sapphire blue suit in her closet, she caught sight of her stripes peeping from her pale pink panties, reflected by the silver hanging rail on her closet door. Plunging her hand back into her panties, she edged herself towards climax. Circling her soaking, proud clit, she pictured showing her caned bottom to her friends.

Humility drove hot juices as her finger circled her solid clit. Picturing her punished bottom, exposed for humiliating display, she fingered her welts where they escaped her panties, excited by her embarrassment. Anyone seeing her bottom would recognize a caned girl.

She returned to her bedroom mirror, masturbating as she ripped down her panties, wincing as she stroked the welts on her livid bottom. It was the best payment she'd ever received.