« Spanking Stories

« Clare, Jessica and Anya


24. Tough Time

Spanking Story


Touching her toes, an honorable girlfriend is caned for sulking

«Beginning Part 25»

Jessica padded across her bedroom in bright pink cotton panties, her face clean, her mind furious. Climbing into bed, heavy silence filled their bedroom.

Placing his slacks on a chair, Peter stripped off his shirt. "We'll watch TV together tomorrow."

"I didn't know how long you'd be on your call," she retorted.

"Neither did I."

"We were already inside Netflix. You shouldn't have answered your phone."

"Opportunity knocks when it decides. I remain available. I didn't recognize the number calling."

"Huh. You abandoned me for a random person," she snapped, angrier.

"I wish to invest in his phenomenal growth company."

"Make him call you in business hours. It's your money he wants."

"He doesn't need my money. Everyone is screaming to invest in his profitable company. I've been hoping he'd call."

"Disturbing our evening was rude."

"He was between flights. I made myself available for his convenience. Building a business is intense. Providing calm, convenient availability has proved fruitful. I won't alter my approach because you didn't get your evening."

His rising inflection should have warned her. Instead, she plowed on, her irritation unmollified. "You put making money before our relationship. You have ample wealth." She disliked her whiny tone.

"I allocate capital to help others create wealth. Opportunity always arrives when you least expect it."

Climbing into bed, her anger disappointed him. He'd achieved a lucrative deal tonight.

"My night was shit," she stated. Thumping her pillow, she faced away.

"You could have watched a movie, called friends, read your book."

"You might have returned soon."

He rolled, facing away, sick of justifying himself. "I wanted our evening together. Instead, I got a deal I've waited weeks to accomplish. He's already emailed terms."

Picking up her Kindle, she stared at it without reading. Frustration consumed her. He'd defended himself. He sounded satisfied with his deal. Success had a price. He wasn't hers twenty-four hours a day. The two feet separating their bodies was a gulf she'd created. She hated it.

Focusing on his phone, he sighed. He wouldn't apologize for making deals. His willing availability powered swift results. A grumpy girlfriend was unpleasant. He accepted her dissatisfaction in their evening, but not her attitude.

She felt shit. A successful corporate lawyer, she drew parties together, doing deals on momentum. Timing mattered. She'd sounded like a whiny teenage girlfriend. She couldn't stand the status between them. Putting her Kindle on her nightstand, she rolled, facing his back. "I'm sorry."

Aware her words would condemn her, it didn't matter. She'd driven a wedge between them. It was her fault. She deserved consequences.

"Business demands flexibility," he said, rolling towards her. "Founders work hard. They appreciate my availability. This deal may be legendary, its memory sullied by your unpleasant attitude."

"I hate this version of me. I'm sorry."

"We're tired and we've argued. I'll cane you in the morning. I'll expect graceful dignity as you touch your toes."

Shivers flickered like confetti down her spine. Her sentence announced she'd sleep in peace. She loved him. Getting caned hurt, but after her attitude, she needed it.

His fingers caressed her cheek, his kind touch crushing her. She didn't deserve him.

Snuggling into him, she whispered, "I know you must cane me. I'm glad you will."

"You've earned it." He drew her face towards him, landing a resounding kiss on her lips. His loving promise burned with commitment. Tasting him, she melted under his firm control.

Certain of her caning, more certain of his love, she rolled over, falling fast asleep.

Flicking her wrist, she slid an omelet from the pan onto his plate. Colorful peppers, ham, and tomatoes glistened through golden egg.

Grabbing her other pan, she slid her own omelet onto her plate and sat beside him at their round granite breakfast table, sun streaming into the kitchen.

"Are you softening me up?" he asked.

"I'm caring for my firm boyfriend." She grinned, flavors bursting in her mouth. "Nothing can reduce my punishment. I'd hate that. I owe you a nutritious breakfast, a decent attitude to our relationship, and sincere cooperation during my caning."

He smiled, "There's my girlfriend."

"I'm sorry she went missing last night."

"After breakfast, wait in our bedroom. Reflect on your behavior."

"Thank you." She returned his smile.

Sat on her bed, she leaned back on her arms, crossed her legs and stared at the wooden floor. She'd soon become acquainted with it, her fingers touching her toes.

Gray sweatpants graced her legs. A tight green tee advertised her pert breasts. Her sweatpants wouldn't stay on. He'd inflict sharp pain on her panties. She had no choice. They had simple terms. He disciplined her; she accepted it. The process would sweep away her silliness, restoring their natural order.

He'd never made her touch her toes. It would stretch her skin taut, increasing her hurt. Goosebumps blossomed on her bare arms as she imagined her pain. Contributing to making her punishment more painful flooded her with self-respect. She was a dutiful girlfriend. Exquisite pleasure at her obedience burst warmth back through her skin.

He'd never sent her to her bedroom for sober reflection. Forbidden from leaving, she enjoyed her forced isolation. She appreciated structure in their relationship. They hadn't fallen asleep on an argument. She'd slept in peace, her apology accepted and punishment decided.

It wasn't easy. His cane strokes caused genuine pain. She always struggled to take them. But the struggle meant he cared. She owed him her obedience.

He entered their bedroom. "Have you examined your behavior?" he asked.

His stern tone snapped her into line. She'd rejoiced in her enforced reflection. Fifteen minutes had passed. She hadn't considered her attitude.

"I was thoughtless. My attitude disrespected you and the comfortable life you provide. I expect you to thrash me. I deserve an exemplary punishment. My forced reflection was generous. It made me appreciate your discipline. I love our structured relationship. You're going to hurt me. It's fair, meaningful and necessary. I need caning."

"A mature perspective." He opened the wide drawer beneath their wardrobe. It was home to their cane, a tennis shoe and several paddles. Approaching their bed, he flexed the sinewy yellow rattan rod.

"Stand here and face me," he commanded.

She obeyed, relishing his natural dominance.

"Take off your sweatpants."

Pushing them down, she stepped from each leg, removing her white socks too. Casting her clothes aside, she faced him in her green tee and white cotton bikini panties. She'd snapped white elastic around her hips this morning, knowing she faced a caning. Even with her boyfriend, sweet innocence suited a girl taken to task.

Pointing to a spot facing their three windows, he said, "Stand there."

She complied. He closed their wooden blinds, hiding her shame from their neighbors.

He paced behind her, his fundamental strength surrounding her. "Touch your toes."

His tone transported her fingertips down to her toes. Her immediate compliance thrilled her. Her bottom, exposed in brief white cotton, proved her unconditional submission. Green toenails accepted her obedient fingertips, demanding she keep them pressed together.

Staring at the worn wooden floor boards between her bare feet, she surrendered her heart. Never having touched her toes on anyone's command, she revered his tough instruction. He'd ordered her compliance. Pride burst at her obedience.

"There's no shame in crying out. But keep your position or I'll apply penalty strokes."

He whipped the cane through the air. Its sharp whistle penetrated her spine.

"Tell me why I'm caning you."

"I was a selfish, whiney teenage girlfriend. My thoughtless attitude damaged your enjoyment of your deal. I need a simple, sound lesson." Her natural answer satisfied her.

The cane tapped her panties. "Perfect answer. You're getting eight strokes," he said.

His compliment wrapped warm pleasure around her lean frame. The dense punishment rod slammed into her panties. Fierce fire incensed her beaten cheeks. Jamming her teeth together, she slowed her escaping breath, begging it to remove her pain, wriggling her bottom to help.

"Keep still," he ordered, his tone harsh.

Shamed by his stern reprimand, she stilled her bottom. Heat increased without her movement. She let it transport her mind. She deserved severe correction. A single stroke burned her bottom, boosting her resolve. She must endure seven more strokes, just as hard.

"Your position demands total capitulation. Keep your fingers on your toes or I'll repeat the missed stroke, adding two for your disobedience. Are we clear?"

His sharp tone washed through her obedient sex. "Yes, Peter," she breathed. His strictness enthralled her. She concentrated on holding her position.

The cane scorched her butt, leaving a deep line of seething fire. Pain flared through her rear. She revised her estimate of the agony she faced. Working through her pain, her sexy obedience faded. As the immediate pain subsided, her sex surged, spreading humble pleasure at her submission.

With her bum stretched, each stroke seared her taut skin, sizzling intense heat she must respect. Determined to show maturity despite her agony, she panted, grateful her sex adored her obedience.

Excruciating stripes branded his disapproval on her behind. His harsh marks blossomed acute pain she deserved. Conscious of his earlier rebuke, she stayed still. His severe strokes decimated last night's selfish mood. Gratitude suffused her mind. Her boyfriend was right to cane her. Nothing else would do. His strokes delivered fiery justice to her selfish bottom. Obedient thrills swept down her dead-straight legs as pleasure pulsed into her white cotton panties.

"Last stroke," he said.

The cane tapped where her bottom met her thighs. Stretched, her sensitive crease begged forgiveness. None came. The cruel rattan thrashed just vengeance into her tender skin. The violent retort of flexible wood against firm flesh echoed around their bedroom. Harnessing her steeliness, she accepted sitting must hurt her. She pictured her embarrassing private penitence in public. The image drowned her in hot liquid pride.

Her heart swathed in the justice of his harsh caning, she heard him return their cane to the drawer.

He returned. "Stand up."

Her fresh ridges stiffened as she stood. He opened his arms, and she fell into them.

"Well done," he whispered. 

"I touched my toes," she said, pride surging through her.

"You're an exceptional girl. I'm proud of you."

"I once grabbed my ankles for a hard paddling. Touching my toes was harder. It required perfect poise. Thank you for caning me. I hated undermining our relationship. I deserved it."

"You'll be very sore today." 

"No less than I deserve. You've ensured sitting will hurt me. I'll respect that stroke every time I feel it." She rubbed her cotton covered sex against his obvious hardness, pleased to feel his satisfaction with her punishment.

Backing towards their bed, he pulled her on top of him. His kiss radiated desire. Sliding off him, she held his kiss, shoving down his black sweatpants and freeing his manhood.

"Slick," he breathed. 

"I need you," she panted. 

He kicked off his sweatpants and black trunks, ripping his tight tee over his head.

She pulled off her green tee, ripped away her bra, and straddled him. Sliding her panties aside, she drew his hardness deep inside her. Rising on his manhood, her sex screamed for him. Plunging, she assuaged its desperate cry, engorging herself on him.

Thrusting his penetrating force deep inside her, he drove her to her brink. Grabbing her hips, he rolled her onto her back, taking control of her. Plunging his hardness to its hilt, he devoured her, delivering delicious strokes deep inside her sex until she screamed.

Glory filling her soul, her caned bottom stung as she cried, "You made me touch my toes, and thrashed me."

"Our relationship demanded it. I demanded it."

"Demand it again," she gasped. "I can't always be good. Force me to obey you."

Losing control, she gripped his hardness, pulsing profusions of pleasure over him as waves of unadulterated pleasure plunged through her sex, washing away her guilt, swamping her in pure, obedient joy.

He thrust through her storm, delivering ultimate pleasure. She felt his seed burst inside her, driving tears into her eyes as relief at his love thundered down her core.

"I love you," she cried as he collapsed onto their bed beside her.

Pulling her into his arms, he said, "I love you too, even when you give me a tough time."