« Spanking Stories

« Kate, Diane and Louise


6. Cornered

Spanking Story


Unsure how to ask, a girl's desire for punishment is revealed during a first date

«Beginning Part 7»

Kate dropped her handbag on her studio floor. A client dinner and stupendous website designs had contrived to put off her Ben fantasy to Friday. His call on Tuesday had honored her sexiness. She'd deserved it. She'd worried her scribbled phone number had been too subtle. Maybe he'd filed her survey in his pocket, never noticing her provocative addition.

He'd thanked her again for completing his survey, thanking her double for her number. Would she like to have dinner with him on Saturday? Yes, she would. A simple transaction. His charm had aroused memories of their pleasant time together and her thrill-filled return journey.

Tonight, she'd celebrate her Firm Ben fantasy. It should relieve her over enthusiastic mind. He hadn't appeared to notice her panties, let alone frown on them. A dominant response shouldn't obsess her. It wasn't likely.

Stripping off her black jeans where she stood, her cream blouse followed. Imagining his commands, she stood in her nude bra and bikini panties. Damn, this wasn't right. Nude underwear wasn't sexy. She liked them, but she'd never known a guy to love nude underwear. Picking through her lingerie drawer, she selected a white cotton string. Appropriate, given her Saturday transgression. Closing her blinds, she stripped off her nude bra and panties, slipping into her white string.

In only her scant panties, her heavy sense of disobedience returned. Facing her white wall, she folded her arms behind her back, resting them above her bare bottom. Her nose and nipples brushing her white paintwork, she pretended he'd placed her here. Imagining her public humiliation occurring in the train car, passenger gazes heated her bottom. Allowing minutes to pass by, her sex dampened with hunger for the man who'd put her in her place. He hadn't hesitated, certain she'd obey.

Turning, her clock above the fridge declared only four minutes had passed. She'd intended fifteen. Moving on in her mind, he delivered a rich scolding, cutting her down to size with icy words of wisdom. Her immature behavior exposed between them, she capitulated, offering sorrowful apologies.

Accepting her apologies, he warned they wouldn't diminish her punishment. She apologized anyway. She didn't deserve a lighter sentence. His ruthless control of her forced her fingers into her panties. She rubbed herself, admiring his firm hands as they gestured with his admonishments. Keeping herself on edge, she pulled out her hand. Where would he make her bend?

Glancing around her tiny home, she pondered her question. A small bar divided her kitchen from the rest of her studio. She approached the end. Pendant ceiling lights made her bar thigh height. She moved her salt, pepper and olive oil to beside the fridge. Bending over her bar, she clutched both sides. Strict obedience consumed her soul.

Resuming her position near the wall, she repeated her scolding, rubbing herself hard as he ordered her to bend over her bar. Obeying him with studied poise, she bent down over the imitation marble surface, gripping its sides, her breasts crushed against the cool surface, her bare bottom offered for serious punishment.

Loosening her grip, she reached into her panties, maintaining her punishing position. Imagining pain searing her disobedient bare bottom, she came hard. Unable to prevent her torrent of pleasure, she bucked against her bar, her body thrilled by her utter submission. She didn't plan to let him undress her tomorrow, but her position showed it might still happen.

Disappointed to come too soon, she sank to her hardwood parquet floor. Rising onto her palms and toes, she demanded her orgasm wracked body complete ten full push ups. She'd come before he'd finished caning her. Stressing her arms instead of her mind, she took her genuine physical punishment with good grace. She'd let herself down. It was forgivable as long as she took her punishment. Lactic acid burning in her biceps, her sex dampened again. She had her caning to complete.

Rising from her tough self-discipline, she resumed her position over the bar, her arms grateful to rest on its surface. In her mind, Ben leveled her cane across her cheeks. Her bottom twitched, desperate to feel its warm rattan. His scolding aligned her bottom and mind. Sliding her hand into her panties, she drove herself to her peak, imagining flexible rattan cracking into her skin, sharp pain escalating with every stroke. Desperate to come, she remained obedient as her bottom burned from his harsh punishment.

Ordered up, she faced him. Punished by her powerful man, she matched his gaze, accepting his authority without rebuke. Her caning hurt, as it should. Sore, pure respect flowed from every pore.

He couldn't resist her. Skipping to her bed, she imagined him pushing her down, taking her hard. Her fingers drove her pleasure into her danger zone. Astounded by his huge consumption of her sex, she burst into an array of orgasms, splattering her sex with pleasure, her slender legs dangling over the side of her bed.

Stirring eggs in her underwear, she celebrated her full mind. She had a hoard of fantasies to enjoy. Seated at her bar, she used its surface as intended to enjoy her vegetable filled omelet. Her plate empty, she acknowledged her thoughts must depart by tomorrow night, but she'd granted herself permission for one night only to enjoy Firm Ben. Clearing her bar, she dimmed her lights, appreciating the privacy of her private punishment. Facing her white wall, a train car full of witnesses in her mind, she committed to suffering her full fifteen minutes of deserved humiliation.

She'd let him choose a restaurant, offering no preference. Steak would be predictable, Italian safe. A glimmer of hope teased her. He might surprise her. Resting all day, she'd avoided masturbation. Her relaxation had proved fruitful. Maybe she'd sent him inspiring thoughts. Notified of her destination by message, her tastebuds had zinged, her sex had pulsed and her faith in him had blown her senses.

Overwhelmed by the farm-to-fork menu displayed on her phone, she hadn't got beyond Roasted Carrot Salad. Mixed greens topped with roasted rainbow carrots, crumbled goat cheese and toasted almonds lavished her mind. She'd plotted her route via the metro and a brief walk, agreeing to meet him at Vegetable House at 7pm.

Exposing inches of chestnut hair, her silver hair dryer nozzle polished her strands, bringing Ben's expertise to mind. Admiring her shine, she shifted her nozzle's focus. Brushing her hair in front of her hard-working nozzle, she admired the back of her round wooden hairbrush in the mirror. Before her cane, its splats had begun her journey, but smacking herself wasn't easy. She concentrated on a new client's corporate colors. Maybe work would distract her one-tracked mind.

The slinky fabric of her ruched body-con navy mini dress skimmed her legs as its super thin spaghetti straps exposed her bare back to the warm evening. Approaching Vegetable House, she recognized Ben. Leaning against the black wrought-iron railing outside, he broadcast relaxed confidence. His black suit pants and open-necked white shirt revealed his hard body. Walking into anywhere alone wasn't a pleasant experience, but he'd waited for her, welcoming her arrival with his radiant smile.

His shameless admiration eating up her bare legs, his light kiss landed firm on her left cheek. His subtle shift to intimacy thrilled her. When they'd parted on the train, she'd craved more.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"MMm, since your message. I've already chosen. I think."

He grinned. "A woman may change her mind."

His playful tone danced with her into the restaurant, setting their flirtatious course.

Sipping her Sauvignon Blanc, she stole glances at his hard body. After considerable deliberation, she started with the Roasted Carrot Salad as planned.

Taking her enthusiasm as advice, he enjoyed the same rich flavors. Crumbling the goats' cheese on his tongue, he watched her. Her stunning dress, offset against the black-and-white floor, classic wooden tables, and farming wall prints, placed her in a league of her own. He realized he'd never complimented her outfit.

Resting his fork in his bowl, he said, "Your dress is beyond gorgeous. It's left me speechless since I saw you." Pleased with his recovery, he added, "Nice length," his tone firm. He hadn't intended to sound hard, but comparisons to her dress on the train were impossible to ignore. This navy mind-crunching number had four crucial inches below her bottom, preserving her virtue while taunting his imagination. His firmness unplanned, he kept his gaze on her, watching her squirm.

His hard stare seared her soul. There was nothing imaginary about his piercing gaze. Swallowing her last mouthful of roasted rainbow carrots, she bought time. Accepting his subtle rebuke, hot fear traversed her spine. He'd called her out.

Shifting the pepper grinder, she said, "I can explain." Thoughts escaping her grasp, she searched for a credible explanation.

"Can you?" he asked.

She couldn't explain, nor lie to him. "I could, but I'd rather not."

"Shall I try?"

Escaping her immediate dilemma, she nodded.

"You were acting out. Am I warm?"

His intensity permitted no escape. Nodding, she bit her lip, dodging a direct response.

"It excites you, doesn't it?"

Rapid calculations declared excitement her least worst option. Staring at her bowl, she said, "Yes, I'm sorry."

Her natural apology, her gaze glued to her bowl, and her shift in demeanor spurred his confidence. "You're beautiful, Kate. You deserve your ego boost, but there's more to your deliberate misbehavior."

Coupled with his tone, his word choice overpowered her senses. Her sex dampened her navy string. He'd seen her white panties on the train, no surprise. Guessing her exposure excited her wasn't a stretch. But how could he know misbehavior motivated her? Had she given herself away?

"Do you also imagine consequences?" he demanded.

Cornered, she twisted her wine glass stem between her fingers, hoping she'd find a way out of this conversation, praying she didn't.

"Do you, Kate?"

His tough tone dominated her sex, releasing potent fear, delicious anxiety and rich submission with only his voice.

Studying her empty bowl, she whispered, "Yes."

"Was your behavior acceptable to you?"

Dragging her gaze out of her bowl, she stammered, "N-No."

"You deserve to be punished."

She nodded. He'd seen right through her. "I took my caning. I gave myself light flicks."

Impressed, he pursued the incredible path he'd opened. "Good girl. You needed it."

Love and relief swamped her heart. He approved of her self-discipline. She was a good girl. Certified.

Upgrading the strap he'd imagined, he said, "If you were my girlfriend, I'd have caned you. Not light flicks, I'm afraid. Punishment must hurt." Masking his earth shattering joy, he maintained his stern demeanor. His perfect eleven had turned into a full blown twelve.

He'd threatened to cane her. Her throbbing sex wanted to see her take proper punishment. It demanded she replace light flicks with his severe strokes. "I've done it before," she said, "but Saturday was my worst. Before, I'd change into leggings for my return journey."

Crossing his visions with her reality, he said, "An escalating pattern of misbehavior may require regular discipline."

She nodded. Finding his welcoming smile, she said, "You're not joking, are you?"

"Not in the slightest."

"I've never told a living soul, but you've extracted my deepest secret before our main course. Can we change the subject? I'm so embarrassed."

"After I say one more thing. Don't feel embarrassed. You respect discipline, willing to assume responsibility for yourself. I respect you. Sexy games aside, discipline can solve actual issues."

He'd nailed her. She fantasized about naughtiness, but sometimes she dealt with her genuine mistakes. Those were serious occasions. Applying painful flicks with vigor, she denied herself pleasure. She'd learned to appreciate her denial. Without relief, her punishment hurt more. But with real cane strokes, her stressful escalation would be superfluous. She smiled.

Proud she hadn't leaped on him, she steered their conversation towards family and friends, happy to discover he had a long-standing female friend. It fit. Through dessert, she probed his past. His various girlfriends hadn't lasted. She bet they were undisciplined and lacked imagination. Admitting her limited relationships, she confessed she'd grown comfortable alone. It might be untrue. She lusted after a fulfilling life, but her strict requirements had outstripped her pool of men.

Walking to the metro station, his arm slipped around her waist and she leaned into him, savoring his crisp, clean smell and her rich knowledge of him. His powerful arm throbbed her willing sex. Without warning, he pulled her towards a red brick building. Leaning against it, he wrapped her in his arms and stole his lips past hers. Softening into his embrace, she allowed him to claim her lips. His kiss deepened, declaring his need. She darted her tongue, teasing him, loving his solid claim on her. Stroking her naughty hand down his firm butt, his penetrating kiss pulsed harder into her soul.

Grabbing a desperate breath, she whispered, "Are you going to punish me for Saturday?"

"Yes," he groaned. "You deserve proper cane strokes. A lesson you won't forget."

"I agree," she said.

"There's one major issue."

She studied his serious face. Whatever his issue, she'd solve it. She hadn't come this close ever.

"Will you please be my girlfriend?"

On their warm street, millimeters apart, she said, "Yes."