« Spanking Stories

« Clare, Jessica and Anya


3. Weakness

Spanking Story


A personal assistant visits her strict disciplinarian and tells her boyfriend

«Beginning Part 4»

Clare stared hard into her bathroom mirror. Mark had punished her and the matter was closed, their remarkable relationship the positive benefit of her foolish mistake. But her outrageous attempt at career suicide ten days ago required special recognition. She'd pushed herself to reach her powerful position. Self-respect required she address her major lapse.

Early in her career, she'd punished herself. Frustrated with weakness or failure, she'd strip to her panties, snapping her short black leather covered riding crop into her vulnerable bottom. The foreboding drama and sharp sting delivered discipline, but doing it herself wasn't the tough challenge she needed.

Miss Roberts' discreet ad in an abandoned free newspaper had screamed her name. Folding the fascinating page, she'd secured it in her purse, hoping to afford it once her daily train journey delivered a decent income. When her serious salary revolutionized her finances, she'd withdrawn the faded newspaper hidden under the decorative paper liner in her underwear drawer, and read it afresh.

Relieve Your Guilt. A punishment service for girls who need it. See Miss Roberts.

Her original visit to Miss Roberts had followed a brief phone call. The kind disciplinarian appeared to be in her thirties, although her firm authority made her seem older. She'd described her business, disciplining girls, and explained her bottom would be in absolute agony if she stayed. She'd departed, painful heat packed in her tight jeans, imagining a steady stream of humble girls visiting the smart house.

Grabbing her leather jacket, she left her apartment thirty minutes before her train. Girls with a date for discipline arrived on schedule or paid the price. Sometimes she stored up minor failures to get her money's worth. Today, she wouldn't dilute her total lapse in judgement.

For a weekend visit, jeans suited the white cotton bikini panties Miss Roberts required her to wear. Today she'd chosen her black jersey body-con dress to boost her shame. The short hemline risked exposing her cane marks with the wrong move.

The rough train seat comforted her unblemished bottom. To remain a client, she must accept whatever discipline Miss Roberts prescribed. Required to choose her punishment from a painful menu, she could propose a mild punishment, but Miss Roberts may sentence her to greater severity. Suggesting a tough punishment guaranteed she'd receive it.

She'd suggest a 'Serious'. She'd only proposed it once before. Risking her career for private pleasure deserved it. A 'Serious' comprised two extra cane strokes on her tender thighs. Excruciating on her sensitive soft flesh, the conspicuous marks might embarrass her in her short dress. Proud of her grueling ordeal, she surveyed her high hemline and slim, bare legs.

Punishment hurt. Scoring severe lines of unmistakable discipline on her vulnerable bottom or thighs took commitment. She was imperfect, but dealing with her imperfections raised her game. Accepting structured humility demanded obedience. Acute pain carried intense meaning. Its lasting effect boosted her pride. Wrong needed right to balance it. Her balance brought honor, self-respect, and love. She hoped Mark would understand.

Six minutes brisk walk from its suburban train station, the traditional three-level white house set twelve feet from the street provided no clue it welcomed imperfect girls and dispatched perfect ones home.

"Hello, Clare," Miss Roberts said.

In a modest knee-length, black, pinstripe skirt suit, her strict disciplinarian's warm welcome raised her spirits as she stepped up the familiar worn stone steps, reaching the raised ground floor.

Miss Roberts said, "I love your dress, it's gorgeous." Raising a questioning eyebrow, she added, "You always wear jeans. You have incredible legs." 

Clare smiled. It was a lovely compliment. "Thank you."

Taking her leather jacket, Miss Roberts showed her into the front lounge. She cherished this space. She could confess her worst behavior, accept its awful consequences, and dispel her guilt. Sitting on the couch, she crossed her legs as her disciplinarian sat opposite in her usual armchair.

"How are you today?" Miss Roberts asked.

She described her regretful reading at her desk, Mark's severe caning, and their nascent relationship.

Miss Roberts smiled. "He sounds like an exceptional man. I may see less of you."

"He won't always understand."

"So true," Miss Roberts said. It was her business to understand young women's needs. "You took ridiculous, selfish risks for sexual gratification."

"I'm so sorry," Clare groaned

"Have you considered your punishment?"

"I think a 'Serious'."

She could recall Miss Roberts' menu, she'd read it so often. It provided a solid framework for any crisis.

"Your choice reflects well on you. Sore legs will keep you on your toes," Miss Roberts said.

The level-headed career girl had chosen stiff discipline. Her sensitive, caned legs would feel vulnerable under her gorgeous short dress. "Shall we begin?" 

Rising, Miss Roberts led her to the familiar, adjacent study. The huge pine desk welcomed her to her ordeal. Standing before the desk in her tight dress, she faced her disciplinarian.

"You need caning, hard," Miss Roberts said, extracting a slender rattan cane from her tall cupboard and facing Clare. "Lift your dress."

Clare kicked off her heels and wriggled the soft jersey to her waist, revealing her obligatory white cotton bikini panties. Miss Roberts insisted on innocent panties. Having her panties chosen for her delivered healthy doses of shameful obedience leading up to her appointment. Sometimes forced to wear them beneath a smart professional suit, they heaped shameful, innocent submission on her.

"Bend over," Miss Roberts commanded.

Placing her bare forearms on the desktop, she lowered her weight. Reaching forward, her fingertips gripped the far side. Offering her panty-clad bottom to Miss Robert's cane, she contemplated the adult chapters she'd read.

The slender rattan tapped her panties. She must not move. Miss Roberts required she accept her beating without fuss.

"Six strokes on your bottom and two serious strokes across your thighs."

She needed it and deserved it without question.

Fire erupted across her white cotton bottom. The intense line of fierce pain forced her hips forward. Heat singed her skin and rocketed to acute pain as deep ache penetrated her butt.

Questioning her sanity, awe-inspiring sting struck her bottom, rising in a crescendo of burning hurt, before settling and blasting her guilt into dust.

Cracking into her disobedient behind, the flexible stick seared separate fiery shards. As the hurt multiplied, she panted, envisioning her risked career. The sixth stroke sizzled her skin, leaving another hard ridge of distress low where it would hurt the longest.

"Risking your career when you're successful is absurd. It stinks of complacency, Clare."

She appreciated the scolding. It mirrored her feelings. Accompanied by meaningful suffering, it was effective.

The slim, whippy cane tapped her bare thighs. Breathing in hard, she released her breath slow. Fire burst into her delicate thighs, searing a deep furrow of furious heat into her soft, sensitive skin. Desperate to scramble from the firing line, she forced her bare feet onto the wooden floor. The second stroke scorched her girlish flesh an inch lower, leaving behind a serious record of her dreadful complacency.

"Thank you, Miss," Clare said through gritted teeth. Waves of pain pulsed in her whipped thighs. She appreciated her pain. It would fade, taking with it her reckless guilt.

"Stand up," Miss Roberts said.

She obeyed. "Thank you for caning me, Miss. I deserved it. I appreciate the serious strokes. They've taught me a severe lesson."

"You took your punishment with grace. You deserve your high-flying job. Show it respect."

"I will," she promised her disciplinarian, and herself.

On the journey home, she held a support pillar in the busy carriage, her caned bottom pulsing excruciating pain. Soaring self-respect overtook her as she stood in quiet dignity, respecting the discomfort she must feel. Her dress skirted the cane marks seared on her vulnerable thighs. Shifting to observe a devoted couple, her soft fabric grazed her fresh weals.

She often met close friends after she'd got punished. Sitting sore in her skinny jeans grounded her. Forced to ignore the continual sting and biting pain, she enjoyed her friend's company, but today she was heading straight home.

She'd invited Mark to spend the afternoon lazing together. Proud of holding herself to account, he would see her caned bottom. She hoped he'd understand. She'd always taken responsibility for her own discipline.

During the ten-minute walk from the train to her apartment, she didn't dare smooth her dress despite fear her hemline may have risen. Fear of embarrassment was the tough penance she'd assigned herself. Onlookers might learn she'd got the cane and she must suffer the public shame.

Checking in her bedroom mirror, her dress had preserved her privacy. It didn't lessen the heavy penance of her challenging walk. She lifted the soft fabric and admired her severe punishment. Teasing her fingers over her sore ridges, pride brought a broad smile to her face.

Like Miss Roberts, her office attire threw Mark. He was expecting his jeans-clad girlfriend. Sitting on her couch together, she explained. Making complex subjects simple was her job, and he was her easiest audience. Standing, she shimmied up her dress, exposing the 'Serious' branded on her bare thighs.

"Hence you wore a short dress to risk embarrassment?"

Thrilled he'd understood her. She ripped off her dress, lowered her white cotton panties, and showed him her professional punishment.

"She's talented," he said, inspecting her aligned red ridges. "Would you like cream rubbed on them?"

"I'd love it. But I deserve it to hurt."  

He stood and seized her hand. "Then I'll fuck you."

"Oh god, yes please," she begged. Playing with herself was her staple diet after visiting Miss Roberts. Her sex had pleaded for relief, but she'd resisted.

Running to her bedroom, she landed on her bed.

"Strip and roll over," he commanded.

His white shirt followed his blue jeans to the floor. His manhood stretched his white shorts to the limit as he watched her obey. "Kneel and grab the headboard."

Reveling in his strict command, she obeyed.

"Hold the headboard and play with yourself," he ordered.

Her sex cried out with joy as her finger pummeled her clit.

His obedient girlfriend, masturbating on his command, drove swift strokes along his solid shaft. "Don't come," he panted, "or I'll belt your caned bottom."

The broad belt on his jeans ignited her imagination. Despite her sore state, she craved his awesome power. Her sex raged a battle for supremacy as her mind sought relief for her punished bottom.

"I'm ready," she cried.

"Stay ready," he ordered.

She circled herself, teetering on her ultimate precipice of pleasure.

He kneeled behind her and entered her pleading sex. Slamming her hard against her hold on the headboard, he gripped her hips and plunged his strokes deep inside her.

She felt every inch of him engorge her sex, teasing parts of her he hadn't reached before. "Oh god, please," she begged, breathless.

He stilled, releasing her from her brink, and whispered in her ear, "Don't come or I'll belt you." His hard legs smacked into the sore stripes on her caned thighs, producing excruciating pleasure. She rejoiced in his masterful command of her.

"Now," he gasped. Slamming her sex against the point of no return, he released his excitement in a full-bore male thrust. She burst her juices over his manhood, her sex draining his hardness as she abandoned herself to the twisted path of her stunning orgasms.

She collapsed on her front, caned, fucked, calm and satisfied.

Falling beside her, he caressed her sweat glazed curves. "I've admired your inner strength, but never knew its source. I'll discipline you when you want it, need it, or deserve it. When you must visit Miss Roberts, don't let our relationship stop you. I'll enjoy the aftereffects with you."

"Thank you. I needed you to understand. She's fundamental to my success."

"I understand," he said, embracing her power and her. His stream of uncalled girlfriends forgotten, he pulled her tight and kissed her.

Breaking for air, she touched her swollen lips. "Would you have belted me?" Certain of his reply, she craved his hard words printed on her memory.

"I'd have given you a sound hiding. I'll accept you getting punished by Miss Roberts, but it will never excuse you from discipline you deserve."