« Spanking Stories

Kate walked into Evan's office. She knew how to play him. The venture capitalist's high-gloss black desk dominated his minimalist office. It had featured in repeated fantasies. Fighting to save her job, she'd offered to bend over his vast shiny black desk for a severe caning should her powerful website words not crush his feeble ideas. Her unprofessional attitude the preceding day had demanded sincere contrition. Providing an earnest apology, she'd also won her bet, keeping her bottom safe.

She'd fantasized about losing. Imagining a strict office caning delivered furious, pleasurable humility into her panties. Ben had punished her unprofessional attitude. His severe switching had chastened her, bringing justified embarrassment. Sent to gather fresh switches for her whipping, a neighbor had applauded her obedience.

"Hi Kate," Evan said as she strode into his calm space, her heart racing.

Standing, he grinned at the tall chestnut haired beauty. Visiting him to apologize, her tight, silver pant suit had respected office dress code. This stunning girl wasn't complying, she was redefining.

Kate returned his grin. She'd won the first round. A slight flicker of pleasure calmed her nerves. His eyes traveled up her black Ralph Lauren skinny stretch pants. She'd zipped their concealed cuff vents, but nothing diminished their killer effect above her black three-inch heeled sandals. Her white cotton blouse with rolled sleeves flared over the top of her perfect bottom, glorified by its proud presentation in her tight pants. Blossoming above the neckline of her black cap-sleeve jumper, her delicate white blouse broadcast feminine confidence.

"You look breathtaking," he said.

She sashayed to him, measuring his eyes. His gaze roamed her body, holding on her hair. Taking an armchair before his desk, she crossed her lithe legs.

Knocked into his black leather desk chair by her confidence, he said, "So, my assistant told me you have a bigger bet. I didn't tell her you'd wager your bottom last time."

She smiled. "It's my hair."

"Okay, I'm listening."

She placed Hair Air on his desk.

"I represent this product," she said. She didn't. She hadn't mentioned her plan to Ben. Living on her salary, she'd watched his frequent overtures to investors result in stony silence. Knowing she could pitch Evan with a single call, she'd dressed, expecting her challenge would produce an instant meeting.

"At one dollar, it lasts one day, providing hair perfection in ten seconds. I've seen girls fight over these pouches."

He raised his finger, "Are you wearing..." he drew the bright packet closer, "Hair Air."

"I used it this morning," she corrected him.

Her hair had stolen his focus as she'd crossed his office. Willed to let her exquisite body consume his vision, her sensational pants and shining hair had vied for his attention. He'd struggled to keep eye contact. It gave him pause. "What do you want, Kate?"

"Meet the founder."

"I don't invest in consumer products."

"You invest in success. Potent simplicity will never again sit on your desk." She drew his gaze to her vibrant pouch design. "Trust me, Evan."

"I have to assemble my partners. They won't find this attractive. Consumer products require substantial funding. What money is Hair Air seeking?"

"Fifty million dollars."

"You're kidding."

Ignoring his expression of utter lunacy, she kept her nerve. "Stop thinking about a consumer product. Think female phenomenon. Every pouch is pure marketing potential. Word of mouth is unavoidable. I've already seen it. Eighty percent profit margin will soon provide returns for the investor who deserves it."

"I'll need to enlist other firms to fund your crazy ask."

"I'll sweeten the deal." She paused for effect. "If you don't invest, I'll bend over your desk. Wasting your time deserves twelve hard cane strokes to correct my audacity."

Visualizing her tight designer pants, bent in submission, he said, "You're a gutsy girl, Kate." Coming around his desk, he extended his hand. "I'll cane you very hard."

She smiled, "Only if I lose, and I won't."

Evan's seven partners sat behind their gleaming black board table, three imposing skyscrapers visible behind them. Kate, her outfit proven in Evan's office, sat to one side. Assuming command, Ben stood. His black suit pants and stylish white shirt conveyed confidence.

Setting a white folder emblazoned with his vibrant pouch beyond each investor's reach, he said, "Read the financials later. With respect, gentleman, you cannot judge Hair Air. You lack crucial chromosomes."

He splayed fifty vibrant pouches on their glossy table. "Operating expenses for Hair Air are twenty cents per pouch. It sells for a dollar." Striding across the boardroom, he summoned his waiting female posse.

Kate held her grin. She'd recruited them. She'd bet on being kept waiting. Offering Hair Air to Evan's gorgeous receptionist, they'd gone to the bathroom together. Sensational satisfaction had drawn five girls into their fervent fold, five women who worked for Evan. Promised Hair Air, they'd agreed to impress their boss.

"What's this?" Evan demanded.

"Proof," Ben said, passing each girl her pretty pouch. Briefed on its sexy, cool sensation, each girl tore the top, rubbed her pouch and crushed it, bursting fine bubbles into a colorful mist.

Ben stood aside as for ten seconds the boardroom held its collective breath, five women focused on their hair, eight men fixated on the beautiful women. Stepping into colorful clouds, each girl smiled as the sexy cool mist enveloped their tresses. As their colorful clouds diminished, short blonde hair shone next to glorious red tresses. Long, dark strands sparkled beside brunette beauty.

"This way, please, gentleman," Ben called, leading the girls towards the ladies' restroom.

Grunting, the investors followed Ben, girls overtaking them. Desperate, the women stormed their restroom, vying for mirror space. Ben held the door as eight suited gentlemen visited the rarified female reserve. Failing to keep their poise in their bosses' presence, shrieks of delight competed with worldwide grins. The blonde screamed, "Oh, my god, I need to wee, I'm beyond cute. Guys, out."

Ben drew the astonished gentlemen towards their comfortable boardroom chairs. Ensconced behind their glossy boardroom table, he said, "Watch."

After sixty silent seconds, Evan asked, "Watch what?"

"Market demand," Ben said. He trusted his female understanding. On cue, glass whispered over plush cream carpet. Glorious red tresses leading, an extraordinary bevy of beauty reached the boardroom table. Sweeping his potent pouches into their clutches, the girls cleared the table of treasure. The blonde kissed his cheek first. Hugging him, a stream of kisses landed on his cheeks.

Kate smiled. She wanted to join them. He'd given a masterful performance.

Evan glanced at Kate's beautiful bottom. He'd lost her splendid surrender again. Surrounded by palpable proof, his partners had exhausted indifference, quizzing Ben on marketing, manufacturing, tech, and his decade at KRT Cosmetics.

Ben burst his bottle of Dom Perignon with less fanfare than a Hair Air pouch. Pouring two flawless flutes on their kitchen bar, he handed one to Kate. Raising his glass to her, he said, "Thank you." His gigantic investment had completed in seven days.

"To our friends," Kate said, raising her glass. Louise's perfect packaging at its core, her design, demanded attention. Diane, although far away, had stamped her mark on Hair Air, providing its perfect name. Leading their record-breaking initial investment, Evan had drawn together five firms, each putting up ten million dollars.

Five minutes ago, Evan's signed digital documents had closed the deal. Manufacturing would begin within months.

Kate said, "Evan's girls worshipping you made me jealous."

"I loved it," he grinned.

"Of course you did." She'd hoped jealousy might prompt him to placate her begging sex. Tense about their future, she'd only relaxed five minutes ago. She changed tack. "I approached Evan without your permission."

At the second attempt, he caught her drift. Setting down his flute, he drew her close. "I am grateful. Never doubt that." Toughening his tone, he said, "But you make an excellent point. You overstepped your position. You deserve correction, Kate. Wear that killer outfit."

His strict order twanged her obedient sex. Wriggling from his arms, she said, "You too." She wanted the masterful man who'd commanded that boardroom to command her.

Ordered into her killer pants, blouse and jumper, frissons of furious obedience flooded her. Changing together to enact a powerful, painful punishment on her deserving bottom, she cherished his commitment to their mutual pleasure. She loved him taking strict charge of her. Bending for him defined her pleasure. Watching him belt his suit pants, their only purpose to punish and please her, her sex throbbed with delicious passion.

"See me in the living room. Five minutes."

She smiled. "Yes, sir."

Smoothing her palms over her butt, she sought fierce sting. Tense during their tough time, she'd earned sharp correction. Her created excuse served its purpose. She craved his intense control. Watching women worship him had provoked jealousy, a dirty emotion. Her reasons for punishment were endless, his strength matching. Admiring her outfit in her bedroom mirror, she vowed to take a serious thrashing. Her pain should match her relief at the deal.

Afternoon sunlight bathed their caramel rug, dropping across their brown leather couch as she adopted a submissive posture, her hands clasped behind her.

Smiling inside, he glared. Her powerful poise opened doors, shattering expectations. Her submission to him was the most magnificent vision imaginable. It demanded dominance. She'd gone on a limb for him, this painful, pleasant price a trivial request by comparison.

"Whose company is it?" he demanded. Snapping out his question, her shudder proved he'd delivered.

"Yours, sir."

"Did I give permission for you to shop around for financing?"

"No, sir."

He loved her meek surrender. Caning her for her awesome achievement was the prize she craved.

"You overstepped your responsibility," he thundered.

"Yes, sir. I'm very sorry."

"You will be. I must impress on you your insolence."

She gasped, savoring her fearful role in the drama she'd inspired. "Please don't, sir."

"I'm sorry, Kate. Only the cane improves your attitude."

Wallowing in perceived pity, her gaze settled on their floor. Facing no choice was her favorite precarious position. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

He withdrew the cane from its home above their fridge. Whipping dread into the air with its fantastic flex, the terrible whistle sliced rigid reverence into her soul.

"Pants down," he ordered.

Unclipping the smooth waistband, she pushed her skinny black Ralph Lauren stretch pants down to her knees. Facing him in her white cotton string bikini panties, their tiny white triangle advertised her compliance.

Pointing to the coffee table behind her, he commanded, "Twelve strokes. Bend over."

Primed to obey, his mighty command spun her. She bent over, presenting her skimpy white string bikini panties. Bent in unconditional obedience, wet heat plundered her sex. She'd overstepped - severe discipline, his only recourse. Her palms flat on their low coffee table, she remembered bending here for Andrew's single stroke. Her bottom etched with thin switch stripes from the previous night, she'd summoned enormous courage to keep his confidence high. Louise was worth that one agonizing welt. Wanting Ben's utmost intensity, she triggered an argument, "Sir, I thought I was helping you."

He smiled. If she'd pleaded for mitigation, he'd have given it, but her belligerent attitude demanded his best game. He thundered, "Are you arguing with me, girl."

"No, sir. No. I'm sorry. I deserve my caning. Sorry."

"Twenty strokes. Have you anything else to say?"

"No, sir," she panted, her sex electrified by his ruthless increase. "I'm sorry, sir. I realize this caning has to hurt me." The thin rattan tapped her scanty white cotton. Contributing to her confidence in front of Evan, her coordinated underwear suited her utter surrender.

He lifted the cane away, satisfied with her submission. Her beautiful butt flinched as his rattan aimed for her cheeks. Its screech halted, exploding a white line from her matching cotton panties. He admired her stoic dignity as her distressing line burned through its phases of agony, turning crimson as it swelled into a painful ridge.

She gasped. Sharp sting spread into burning torment, testing her obedience. Panting through its fiery attack, she rode with her pain, appreciating its pure perfection. Reverence quivering her tone, she said, "Thank you, sir."

"Nineteen to go."

His stern demeanor honored her obedience. Leniency not on offer, she offered her punished cheeks for further pain. The cane lashed her, burning fierce agony into her skin, forcing deep penitence. She'd gone ahead without permission. He should demand her contrition. Planting punishing pain, the flexible rattan ripped repentance into her bold cheeks. She stayed still, showing him respect she'd omitted from her unsanctioned mission.

Hard impacts delivered agony she mustn't resist. Her heart throbbing with trust, her bottom with rising pain, each stroke added to her awe-inspiring agony. Granting her a minute to appreciate her thorough thrashing, he landed two last strokes in her tender crease. Panting with her rich pain, his necessary strokes assured sound lessons when she sat. Reveling in his ruthless punishment, she adored his generous provision of pain.  

"Stand up," he ordered.

Obeying, her beaten bottom muscles argued. Her conscience didn't. She'd undermined him with her successful approach to Evan. She'd needed him to reset their balance.

Keeping her gaze low, she said, "Sir, I'm sorry I meddled. I understand now it was unreasonable behavior. You were kind to cane me. I deserved it. Thank you."

Self-respect flooding from her words, her eyes rose to meet his.

"You're forgiven," he said, grinning.

"Sorry," she said.

Wrapping her in his arms, he said, "I'm not."

Burning in his embrace, her cotton covered sex pressed against his hardness. Ripping off her thin black jumper, she unbuttoned her blouse, casting both aside as she slipped her bra from her shoulders and shoved her panties to the floor. Her urgent actions powered off his suit pants and shirt. His tight white trunks lasted seconds as his manhood burst towards her.

She bent over the coffee table, crying, "Fuck me."

His hardness rammed her forward as her palms pressed into place. His passion plundered her sex, commanding her pleasure through exquisite agony, lifting her to the brink, teasing her and holding her in utter desperation. Unable to bear his passion, she begged, "Please."

Riding their achievements, he lifted her high on their success and flung her into a pleasure filled plunge. Orgasms exploded. A tsunami of concatenating bliss swamped her in his loving strength. Ravaged, she collapsed to their caramel rug, sheltered in his safe arms.

"I'm not upset at all," he whispered, her body still pulsing in his hold.

"Neither am I," she replied. "Thanks for caning me. I needed that."

"We both did," he said.

Glorious comfort unfurled from her mind. She'd supported them, powering their finances. Well funded, he'd contribute again. A deep breath expelled from her lungs as she lay naked, adored, thrashed, and fucked on their floor.

The intercom buzzer interrupted their soft pleasure. Clambering from the floor, he answered it. The wall-box squawked, "Package for Ben."

Pushing the door release button, he hustled into his white cotton boxers, dark pants and unbuttoned white shirt.

Sprawled on their caramel rug, she watched their door open only inches, shielding her. A determined arm thrust a brown envelope against Ben's bare chest. The brusque delivery driver said, "You've been served."

Slamming his door, Ben slid four pages from the letter-sized envelope. Dense text defined detailed claims.

Standing, she asked, "What is it?"

Pleasure drained from his face.

"KRT is suing me over Hair Air. Their lawyers are ordering me to cease and desist operations. They're claiming it's their idea."

Fear flooding her slender frame, her heart turned stone cold.