« Spanking Stories

Descending her penthouse stairs, Clare paused, laptop in hand. Pride burst inside her as she admired her book cover on Amazon. Written by Alice North, it was about her.

Alice's sizzling debut novel, 'Blazing Trails', about getting strict discipline from her firm husband had smashed book records, touching hundreds of millions of girls' hearts. She'd followed her success with true stories inspired by girls who emailed her.

White silhouettes of three girls in business suits decorated the burned orange book cover, one girl in front. She read her blurb again.

She'd emailed Alice about her story, including mentions of her close friends. Getting a human reply had stunned her. Alice wanted to write her story. Their hours on the phone had pushed her hand into her panties. Alice had probed her decision making and desires. Describing her poor behavior had shamed her. Describing her deserved thrashings had inflamed her sex.

She must reveal her secret project to her friends. The blurb mentioned them. Her book available in three weeks, she'd announced a girls' night early this morning, surprised by her friends' instant confirmations.

She arranged her laptop on her coffee table, her proud Amazon page on screen.

Jessica relaxed into her favorite corner of Clare's couch. Her navy fitted blouse smartened her dark-blue skinny jeans. Waving towards the laptop, she said, "I expected that."

Taking an armchair, Anya's mid-indigo jeans and white tee highlighted her dusky skin. "I've seen it."

Pouring chilled Chablis, Clare said, "I expected you'd be angry." They'd read her blurb. Their calm reactions didn't fit friends kept in the dark.

"What do you mean?" Jessica exclaimed.

Anya frowned, confused.

"I've spent months talking to Alice," Clare explained. "It's my story including some stuff about you."

"No, it isn't," Jessica blurted. "It's my story incorporating some stuff about you."

Anya sliced across their argument. "I've worked with Alice for months. I told her scraps of your stories to give context."

Vehement, Clare shouted, "No, it's mine."

Determined that her own achievement deserved recognition, Anya scrolled her emails, placing her phone on the low coffee table. "Read the date."

Determined to reclaim her glory, Jessica peered. "I wrote to her months earlier." Snatching her phone from her bag, she searched, setting it beside Anya's with a sneer, her earlier sent date visible.

Clare couldn't win, so changed the argument. Highlighting her original reply from Alice, she laid her phone alongside. "She replied to me first."

Anya fiddled with her phone, followed by Jessica. Laying their phones back in contention, their initial replies from Alice displayed.

"Ha!," Clare shouted. "It was my story she wanted, by several months. It's my fucking book." she yelled, reclaiming her prize.

"Stop shouting," Anya said. "You're being a complete cow. Your story is interesting."

Enraged, Clare stated, "My story is the book."

Jessica applied reason. "Alice must have figured out our connection. Miss Roberts is the obvious link we share. Calm down, Clare."

Anya nodded.

Ganged up on, Clare spat, "Alice chose my story." Pointing at their competing phones, she said, "She replied to you months later. It's my fucking book."

Heading to their kitchen, Mark entered from the study corridor. He knew about her book. With his footsteps deadened by his angry girlfriend's vicious tirade, his sudden presence filled the open-plan lounge.

"Clare," he snapped, his tone commanding. "Why are you cursing at your friends?"

"They claim my book is theirs!" She couldn't lower her distraught voice.

"It is, somewhat," he said, his tone neutral.

She saw red. "It's my fucking book," she screamed at him.

His tone lethal, he commanded, "Clare, go to your bedroom to calm down."

Aghast, she glared at his stern face. It brooked no debate. Glad to escape her hostile environment, she complied.

He watched her black '7 For All Mankind' skinny jeans stamp up their glass stairs. He'd never needed to send her to her room.

Jessica stared after her friend's departing bottom, enraged. Her efforts, dismissed by her friends, her excitement in revealing her book, had got crushed.

Ready to accept responsibility if her involvement displeased her friends, Anya was proud of her contribution to their book. She hadn't foreseen her friends' involvement.

Mark switched his gaze between Anya and Jessica. "Please don't leave on an argument. You'll all regret it. Enjoy the snacks. I'll talk to Clare."

Watching Mark climb the stairs, Jessica whispered to Anya, "He'll cane her."

Enjoying their ringside seat, Anya replied, "She deserves it, hard. We egged her on. I'm not sure we should be proud of ourselves."

Her arms wrapped around her knees, Clare sat huddled on her bedroom floor, wedged between an armchair and their expansive glass window, sobbing.

She regretted every word. Her friends hadn't stolen her bold moment, they'd shared it. She should have celebrated their collective brilliance. Her selfish pride had blown an enormous hole in their friendship.

Entering their bedroom, Mark closed the door. Spotting her hiding place, he sat near her, his elbow on the armchair.

"We've both enjoyed Alice's novels," he said.

His kind tone gave her hope. She needed kindness, even if she didn't deserve it.

"Your story will thrill people. Alice spotted your friendships and pulled together a richer tale."

She sobbed, "I know. I screamed at my best friends. I'm a jealous bitch."

"And you yelled at me," he pointed out.

"I'm sorry," she groaned.

Standing, he held out his hand. "Face the music. It won't be pleasant."

She let him pull her to her feet, wiping her eyes. Smoothing the arms of her long-sleeve white tee, she met his gaze.

His eyes pinned her in place, forcing aside his kind words. "I'm going to punish you in front of your friends. You deserve some embarrassing humiliation. If you're sorry, you'll take it with grace, showing them your respect."

Held under his heavy gaze and hard words, she nodded. "I'm sorry."

Collecting their cane and hairbrush, he led her downstairs. Pulling a dining chair into the middle of their space, Anya and Jessica followed his actions from the far couch.

Catching their eye, he pointed to the adjacent couch. "Lean there. You got her stunning tirade, you deserve to watch her punishment."

Clare's heart plummeted, drowning in shame. Her friends rose, leaning near the scene of her humiliation.

"Clare," he commanded, "Drop your jeans."

Facing him, her back to her friends, she exposed her black cotton string bikini panties, their bright aqua elastic emphasizing her bottom curves.

"Bend over," he commanded.

Facing the straight-backed chair, she obeyed. Gripping the wooden legs, she stared at the cherry wood floor, swamped in devastating humiliation.

"Consider yourself lucky you've avoided a bare bottom spanking over my knee," he said, adding to her deep shame.

She detested the heavy paddle hairbrush. Its smacks came thick and fast, stinging her entire backside without letting up. She'd rather he caned her. It hurt longer, but the pause between strokes helped.

Rising pain saturated her sore behind. Having her friends witness her dutiful submission was humiliating. Reduced to her panties, deserved shame overwhelmed her as the hairbrush thrashed her. Her sex accepted her complete capitulation, rewarding her with subtle thrills.

Raising her head, she met Anya's respectful gaze. They both knew she deserved heavy punishment. Molten pleasure dripped into her panties, honoring her humble acceptance.

Seeing her head rise, he recognized she'd accepted her tough humiliation.

The hairbrush stopped, replaced by the tapping cane.

She sought Jessica's gaze as fiery heat seared her panty-clad bottom. Willing agony depicted on her sorry face, her friend gave her a firm nod. Forced to let them see her caned, their forgiveness powered her strength. She found their eyes as each stroke sliced merciless fire into her arrogant, selfish bottom.

Her eyes broadcast her genuine suffering for her friends to witness as four hard strokes scorched her panties in public.

"Stand up," he ordered.

She rose, tugging up her tight jeans, struggling to fit them over her smacked and caned bottom.

She faced Anya first. "I was a cow. Please forgive me."

"I have," Anya smiled. "Well done. You deserved it. I'm glad it stung."

Switching to Jessica, she said, "It's our book. I'm so sorry."

"He thrashed you well. You took it as you should. I forgive you. I'm glad it hurts. It needed to."

Turning to Mark, she said, "Thank you for that awful hairbrush. I deserved it. Thank you for caning me. I'm sorry I needed it." She rubbed her bottom through her jeans.

Flexing the cane, he stared past her to Anya and Jessica. "Did either of you raise your voice?"

His stern tone cut through Anya. She couldn't lie. Jessica glanced at her. His question hung in the air. She stiffened and stood straight. "I did. I'm sorry."

"Jessica?" he demanded.

Standing tall beside Anya, she wanted his discipline. She was a lousy friend. Her best friend had taken her punishment. Honor bound her to bend for hers. "I did too. I'm sorry."

"Is there any reason I shouldn't cane you both?"

Reluctant to voice their acceptance, neither replied. Anya struggled to concede. Dutiful friendship demanded her compliance. Jessica's heart ordered hers.

He nodded at them both. "Anya. I'll deal with you first."

Anya's legs carried her forward. Arriving at the punishment chair, she unsnapped her jeans, pushed them to her ankles, and bent over the chair, her favorite pale pink bikini panties presented for punishment.

Bent in submission, his authority drove humility through her. "My behavior was unfit for friends. I'm sorry."

"I'll spare you the hairbrush," he said. "Four strokes of the cane."

Brutal pain bit deep into her bottom. Panting, she slowed her breathing "God, I'm sorry, Mark," she hissed, as it hurt.

She should have settled her friends, not poured fuel on their flames. She kept her pained face in full view of her girlfriends as his painful strokes sliced into her butt. Rich humiliation heated her sex. Four fierce stripes branded her with ferocious pain.

"Get up," he ordered.

Standing, she pulled her jeans over her caned bum. "Thank you for caning me."

He nodded. Turning to her friends, she said, "I'm sorry for my part in our argument."

Clare hugged her. Jessica squeezed her hand and approached the punishment chair.

She nodded at Mark, dropped her jeans, and bent over. Gripping the chair legs, her lace trimmed navy bikini panties protected less of her bottom. She'd bought the pretty matching set for Peter. She felt decent girlfriends should wear sexy underwear.

The cane sliced fury into her buttocks, exploding heat in her caned backside. She respected Mark. She deserved her thrashing. Biting her lip, she met her friends' gaze, her eyes loaded with her share of their shame and pain.

Punished in her fine underwear, her sex gorged on her humiliation, pumping pure heat, rewarding her stark contrition as the rattan thrashed her argumentative backside.

"Get up, Jessica," he ordered.

Buttoning her super slinky Tommy Hilfiger skinny jeans, she apologized to Clare and Anya. Storming pain filled her well-caned bottom as relief filled her heart. Turning to Mark as he replaced the dining chair, she said, "Thank you for caning me. Please, will you write a letter detailing my behavior and the punishment you had to give me?"

Everyone stared at her.

"Okay, why?" he asked.

"It's for my boyfriend. He'll punish me for getting caned at my friend's house."

In perfect unison, Clare and Anya blurted, "What boyfriend?"

Jessica grinned. She'd stunned her friends to silence. Relaxing her shoulders, she said, "Our book preoccupied us. I haven't told you. I have a boyfriend. His name is Peter. He's already caned me. I'm subject to his discipline. Tonight, he'll punish me before bed for my behavior. I deserve his strictness."

Recognizing his irrelevance, Mark left, saying, "I'll write it now."

Grabbing her friend's arm, Anya dragged Jessica to the couches.

Clare demanded, "Spill. Don't dare leave out a single detail."

Anya and Jessica, letter in hand, departed late.

Her bottom burning, Clare ripped Mark's clothes off. Shoving his chinos down, she slipped her hand into his black trunks. Desperate for his hardness inside her, she dragged him to their cherry wood floor.

"You punished me in front of my friends. You made me submit and accept your full authority," she panted.

Her jeans gone, she polished the floor with her white tee as he thrust aside her panties to accommodate his manhood.

"You needed a dose of heavy humiliation," he panted, thrusting his opinion to its hilt.

"The hairbrush fucking stung. God, I hate it. I love you for smacking me hard. I needed it. They needed to see me beaten."

His manhood drove deep inside her, underlining her point.

"You were amazing," she cried, as he carried her towards her brink. Precarious on her perch, she panted as he powered her sex, expecting her compliance, threatening her balance.

"You caned my friends," she cried.

He gasped, "I thrashed all three of you." Ramming his powerful dominance into her depths, he came hard, his manhood rocking her body. Humility plunged into pleasure, exploding thrills down her core, hurtling her through waves of orgasmic bliss.

His mighty arms bundled her into his protection and carried her up to bed.

"So tell me," he said. "What boyfriend?"