« Spanking Stories

Tamsin cried, Diane's fury still steaming from her bedroom walls. Lying still as the warm night engulfed her exhausted body, tears of extraordinary loneliness enveloped her. She'd lost her trusted friend, her selfishness carrying full blame. She'd known reading Diane's letter was wrong, storing a copy beyond wrong. Sleeping in miserable spurts, she tossed through bouts of fundamental fear.

Diane's anger evaporated into a mist of misery as she scraped at a bowl of plain spaghetti, her mind unable to leave its single track. Her loyal friend had betrayed her. Dumping her half-eaten bowl, she went to bed. Lying awake, she strained her brain, re-examining conversations, replaying flight school. Tamsin had known Neil punished her. The escaped secret didn't upset her. It was her friend's hidden betrayal. Woken by the unfamiliar bush telegraph, she realized she'd fallen asleep.

Morning sunlight claimed Tamsin's curtain as her thin sheet ripped from her almost bare body. 

"Get up," Diane ordered.

Forced to her feet in black lace tanga panties, Diane's denim cut-offs and fresh gray tee left her underdressed for their violent encounter.

"We won't fail," Diane said. Provided sleep, her brain had calculated their crucial friendship variables. Her friend's single scandalous incident wasn't a pattern of betrayal.

"I'm so beyond sorry," Tamsin said. "I'm a shameless, despicable bitch for reading your letter, a disgraceful, dirty thief for enjoying it."

Belief flooding her brain at her friend's bitter self-assessment, Diane said, "That weekend, Neil made me face him in my uniform, accepting each mistake. He paddled me for my switch error during the checklist. Alone, those six swats burned deep. Stripping me to my panties, he paddled me again near our window."

Tamsin gasped.

"Oh, you thought punishment was all pleasure. You'll learn. Paddled for considering covering up my mistake, he made me sit on my sore bottom writing one hundred lines apologizing for my disgraceful attitude. My burning backside didn't prevent him from dealing with my disgraceful abuse of our friendship. For treating you with contempt, he stripped me naked, bent me over our couch, belting every inch of my bare bottom afresh. To ensure it hurt me, he lashed my bare legs. I returned to flight school, my legs burning into my car seat, punished for letting you down."

Tamsin stared. Her eyes wide open, her friend's stunning honor piled buckets of disgrace on top of her award-winning guilt. Buried in her pit of shame, she stared at her worn gray bedroom carpet. "Beat me, please. Thrash me like he thrashed you only oceans worse."

"Oh, I promise you'll discover how much punishment hurts. You'll also learn to live with your suffering, accepting your ongoing discomfort. Jake's first impression cannot be two young women arguing. I expect a positive, enthusiastic attitude. We'll deal with your deceit in private."

"Oh, thank you," Tamsin blurted. "Thank you. I love you. I promise to give you my best attitude."

"Okay. Get dressed. Tonight we'll discuss how I should deal with you."

Wheeling their Twin Otter into the daylight for a wash, Diane refilled oil levels and checked the hydraulics, calling the fuel bowser to fill their tanks, while Tamsin inspected all their flight surfaces, using steps to reach the tail rudder, her bare legs loving the warmth, her sex loving her short denim shorts. Their crucial rubber tires received detailed checks from them both. Cleaning inside, they stowed their cargo straps, ready for action.

Jake liaised with the construction manager at Ruby Downs Cattle Station, planning their initial load. Fork-lifting wire-wrapped timber piles onto the industrial scales, he moved them outside, marking their weight with vivid pink spray paint. Challenging the Twin Otter's side loading door, he angled different timber lengths through the narrow gap, testing load patterns with Tamsin.

Watching Jake plan, Diane's confidence grew. Methodical, shrewd and careful, his traits suited maneuvering cargo around an airplane.

Early afternoon, she called the construction manager, announcing they intended to land on Ruby Downs' dirt strip tomorrow morning. He suggested Jake come, bringing photos of the hangar contents to plan freight priorities. Feeling her team gel around her, Diane agreed.

Pasta, the simplest solution, Tamsin cooked dinner. Eating together in their kitchen rose her anxiety. Keeping herself occupied had helped her remain focused.

"Well done," Diane said. "I didn't feel tension between us today. Jake saw professional pilots. However, we have your disgraceful conduct to discuss."

Shame shrouded Tamsin. "I trust your judgement. Whatever you think suits my appalling behavior."

"Jake told me Mrs. Fraser stocks everything. I doubt she has a paddle. Hunt her shelves. Repurpose something. I require a sturdy wooden slab to paddle you."

Grabbing the ute key, Tamsin obeyed. She'd seen paddles online. Diane's humble letter had launched her interest.

Parking on the dirt surface, green wooden pillars from a concrete foundation supported the veranda outside Frasers General Store. The tri-peak corrugated iron roof, painted white, covered a wide, cream colored wooden store behind Limit Creek's only fuel pump.

Ignoring the sociable veranda picnic tables, she entered the store. Wooden racks dominated the walls, carrying dried food goods. The huge wooden counter held a roll of brown paper for wrapping purchases.

A lady her mum's age, wearing a navy blue apron, said, 'G'day.'

She smiled, replying with the general Aussie greeting she'd become used to. Walking between freestanding racks, she examined their resources. They wouldn't starve. Picking up a breadboard, she studied it. The wooden handle made it practical for its repurpose. Feeling its weight, she imagined its sting. Embarrassed by her humiliating mission, she carried it with her. Grabbing some toilet paper, she glided through aisles, coming across nothing better.

Placing her unusual collection on the high wooden counter, the lady said, "I've not seen you before."

"I'm flying construction material to Ruby Downs Cattle Station."

"Ah, you're one of our fly girls. I heard you'd arrived."

"I guess," Tamsin said, savoring her fresh identity.

"Mr. Hammond is building big."

"I've never met him. We're flying to Ruby Downs tomorrow."

"I'm Mrs. Fraser."

Tamsin took the offered hand, feeling welcome in her strange community.

Mrs. Fraser raised the heavy wooden breadboard to scan its price, firing an enormous blush across Tamsin's traitorous cheeks. A simple slab of wood with a sturdy handle, knowing its intended purpose, embarrassed her.

Picking up on her unease, Mrs. Fraser caught her eye. She'd run Limit Creek's general store for three decades. Embarrassed young women didn't buy breadboards, they had to ask for their particular purchase. "In trouble, love?"

Surprised, Tamsin stuttered. "Sort of."

Brandishing the potential paddle, Mrs. Fraser asked, "Is this for correcting matters?"

Unable to hide her immense embarrassment, Tamsin nodded.

Leaving the breadboard unscanned, Mrs. Fraser reached below the wooden counter. Returning, her outstretched hands held two rattan canes.

Tamsin stared at the certain restoration of her vital friendship. Her explorations online had taught her plenty. One pale, thin and menacing, the other dark, thick and fearsome, each three-foot straight rattan rod deserved to strike her deceitful bum.

Mrs. Fraser watched her newest customer. "You aren't my first customer for a cane. I've sold these for several decades. Quit blushing, girl. You're getting punished. It happens. Has anyone caned you before?"

Tamsin shook her head. "I'm twenty-three."

"Age doesn't matter. This thin one teaches a regular lesson. It stings, reminding you for several days. This thick one commands deep apologies. It penetrates pain, correcting serious matters. Its marks last a week. You won't step out of line. You're old enough to know which you deserve."

"I'll take them both, please," Tamsin said. Her voice sounded peculiar. She watched Mrs. Fraser wrap her embarrassing purchase in several sheets of brown paper.

"You have a partner, I believe."

"I'm Tamsin," she said. "My co-pilot is Diane."

"I'll look forward to meeting her."

"She's amazing," Tamsin smiled.

Mrs. Fraser pointed to the brown paper parcel. "It's wonderful you feel like that."

Tamsin grimaced. "I deserve it. I've been an abominable friend."

Admitting her shame to Mrs. Fraser in her skimpy denim shorts, her sex flooded with agreeable heat. She was getting caned. She deserved it. The storekeeper would remember her, forever aware her bottom had burned under the stinging canes she'd provided.

"It's lovely to see smart young women in town."

Placing her purchases on the rear seat, Tamsin drove home, her experience surreal. Unwrapping her parcel on their blue couch, she recounted her conversation to Diane.

Nodding, Diane said, "Was it humbling to admit you were getting punished?"

"Oh my god, yes," Tamsin exclaimed, her accumulated angst exploding in private. "But, also punishing. I deserve to have my shame advertised. It feels like the whole town knows."

Diane rolled each cane in her fingers. Testing their flex drew her mind thousands of miles to Kate's brown leather couch. Standing, she snapped the thin cane through the humid air. Its perfect whistle of promised pain pleased her.

Whistling fear forced Tamsin towards her fate. Standing, dread mingled with awe in her stomach.

"Which cane do you deserve?" Diane asked, her tone firm.

Tamsin's stomach plunged, awe overpowering dread. She'd faced punishment in her dreams. Required to provide a proper reply, she kept her dignity. "The heavy one."

Diane knew her inexperienced friend respected her coming punishment. Prepared to accept Tamsin's choice, she'd hoped her friend would fall on her sword, showing she recognized the depth of her heinous deceit. Her honest friend had chosen the worst possible pain.

"Stand by your bed." Diane pointed to Tamsin's bedroom.

Powerless to argue with her wronged friend, Tamsin obeyed. Facing her comfortable bed, humble obedience washed over her, flooding her bare legs. Fear beat last night's abject tears. She'd earned this dire punishment with deliberate deception. She'd take her caning with the stiff respect Mrs. Fraser would expect. Summoning her courage, she vowed to honor her friendship.

Diane entered her friend's bedroom without knocking. Laying the dark, fearsome cane on Tamsin's wooden corner chair, she said, "Your conduct was outrageous. Invading my privacy was despicable, saving my private letter for your pleasure, unimaginable."

Tamsin's heart stole the scolding, binding it around her core. "I'm sorry, Diane."

Diane nodded. "It's clear you find punishment interesting. Tonight you'll sleep on your front as unbearable agony stings your bottom. Before breakfast you'll experience that one." She pointed to the heavy cane resting on the corner chair.

Sharp dread sliced through Tamsin, accompanied by deep appreciation. Her friend would deliver severe punishment. Her crime called for no less.

"Tomorrow you'll face our first flight, required to perform with public finesse despite experiencing substantial private pain."

Tamsin swallowed, grasping her full sentence. She'd imagined the after effects, coming hard, picturing herself sitting punished in her cockpit. Reality was her sentence.

"I've flown with a thrashed bottom," Diane said. "It focuses your mind."

Tamsin gulped. Her shameless pleasure at her friend's expense was a wicked abuse of their friendship. "I'm going to struggle," she said. "I've never had my bottom punished. Sorry I ever read your letter. I'm ashamed of my selfish enjoyment and of deceiving you. Please promise me you'll forgive me."

"I promise," Diane said. "But you must earn your forgiveness."

"Thank you. Knowing that, I can bear whatever suffering I must. I deserve it." Tamsin hung her head in shame, wrought with guilt.

"Drop your shorts," Diane ordered.

Snapping her button free, Tamsin obeyed. Pushing her tiny denim to her ankles, she stood in her dark green tee and black lace tanga panties.

"Bend over your bed."

Tamsin placed her palms on her low bed, offering her bent bottom to Diane. Her humble position confirmed their present relationship. Until her friend forgave her, she had no say. Vulnerable in her panties, shivers coursed through her bare thighs.

"Twelves strokes," Diane declared.

Tamsin swallowed her stiff sentence, cherishing its cruelty. It had to mean everything to their friendship.

Diane admired her friend's non-reaction. She'd considered her inexperience, but against her treachery, it counted for nothing.

Tamsin's tanga panties felt skimpy as the slender cane tapped her black lace cotton. Reality beat pretend fear. Goosebumps overtook her uncovered arms. A whistle shrieked through her bedroom, stopped by a fierce impact on her taut lace. Fire burst from her worst fears, confirming them. Raging heat burst into her skin, stinging beyond her imagination. She pushed down on her hands, determined to handle her pain.

Diane's respect spread earnest pride down her caning arm. Her friend's honest achievement drove harder strokes. She could see her unmistakable pain, yet her inexperienced friend stood still as the rattan beat intense heat into her tender bottom.

Tamsin focused on her memorable photo. Incensed by her treason, the cruel cane seared angry stripes through her feeble lace. Layered into her lower bottom, a wide band of burn licked at her sensitive skin, eliciting brief cries.

"Stand up," Diane commanded. "Don't touch your bottom."

Panting over her bed, Tamsin's brain took moments to process her friend's command. Standing, she turned, her agonizing bottom crying out for her soothing palms. Gluing her arms to her sides, she faced Diane.

"Sleep on your front," Diane said. "Your punishment continues before breakfast. Sleep well."

Alone, her emotions awash, Tamsin couldn't imagine sleeping at all. Planting her palms on her blazing backside, she soothed its savage intensity. Remembering Diane's order, both hands dropped away. Kicking off her tiny shorts, she leaned against her wall, panting as her bottom throbbed.

Drawn to her bathroom mirror, her black lace highlighted the deep red lateral lines seared across her skin. Touching a welt, she winced. Stiffening her resolve, she traced each line, pushing the hurt into her heart. Her friend had caned her. She deserved these angry, agonizing marks of shame.

Pride guided her to bed. Lying on her front as ordered, even her light sheet stung her sensitive stripes. Flinging the sheet aside, she tossed off her dark green tee, slackened her bra and slipped it to the floor.

Easing her hand into her panties, her finger found her hard clit. Strict obedience drove her pleasure. Her friend had punished her. Actual pain. Throbbing agony lanced hot pleasure into her devoted sex. Riding her firm finger, she celebrated the fairness of her sincere thrashing. Glimpsing the cane on her chair, her pleasure flung her against the edge of expectation. Before breakfast she'd get worse pain, deeper strokes penetrating her punishment where it would last. She exploded over her hand, pleasure cascading through her sex, saturating her legs with glory. As her pleasure softened, pain returned.

Remaining on her front as ordered, her friend's stern commands echoed in her hungry mind, calming her fears over their friendship. Returning to her clit, she relived her struggle to stay still. Pride vied with honor, pumping regular pleasure to balance her substantial pain.