« Spanking Stories

« Kate, Diane and Louise


9. Moving In

Spanking Story


Moving in together, a lazy girlfriend feels her boyfriend's tennis shoe

«Beginning Part 10»

"Enough," Kate cried, collapsing on the bottom stone stair inside Ben's prewar brick apartment building, her last cardboard box beside her. Moving in with Ben, she'd gained the central city park half a block from their front door. Meandering paths, scenic lakes, forests, running tracks and a tennis club upgraded her immediate environment, her twenty minute commute a bonus baked in.

Returning down three steps, Ben set his cardboard box on a stair.

"What's in here?" He ripped open her box, its flaps interleaved to secure it during their brief journey. Two blocks over and three metro stops downtown, they'd carried her four cardboard cartons, delayed only by her collapse on their final stairs. Withdrawing a white tennis shoe, he glared at her, its presence too perfect to ignore.

"Stand up," he ordered.

She obeyed, his tone one she now recognized. Moving beside her, his natural dominance in this communal space flooded her with embarrassment. His palm rested on her back, bending her forwards on the stairs. A hard whack echoed through the stone lobby as sting burst across her tight blue jeans. Twice more, he announced her public embarrassment. Forced to comply, her sex swamped her sting with steamy adoration. Damn, her tennis shoe hurt in his hands.

"That's your last box. Get your pathetic bottom up these stairs," he said.

A fresh lease on life spanked into her sorry bottom sprung her into action. Grabbing her carton of clothes, minus one tennis shoe, she carried it into his first-floor apartment.

Open glass doors revealed a diagonal corridor to their bedroom. His office, available to share, sat beside a well-lit bathroom with a magnificent rainfall shower. The attractive open kitchen offered a huge kitchen bar for socializing.

Returning from his office, her four boxes' temporary home, with her tennis shoe still in his firm grip, he asked, "Did you collapse on the stairs on purpose?"

"My arms ached. But I needed to check you wouldn't go soft, now we live together."


Her bottom tingling in her jeans, she said, "Anybody might have seen you smacking my bottom."

"They'd have applauded appropriate discipline."

Delightful embarrassment swamped her sex. A potent blush gave her away. Avoiding his stare, she said, "You've cleaned."

"I brought in a company to clean the entire apartment."

Stepping around the pristine, caramel rug, she reached up and ran her finger along the top of the internal door leading to their bedroom.

Her finger flawless, she asked, "For me?"

He nodded. "Yes, for you."

She padded across the wooden floor in her socks, reaching up to deliver her heartfelt kiss. Savoring his taste, her eyes glinting, she threw him a teasing glance. "My cleaning won't reach this standard."

"Oh dear," he grinned. "How can we raise your standards?"

"Encourage me," she said. Grabbing a green apple from the fruit bowl on the kitchen bar, she took a single bite, the delicious cool taste heated by his intense observation. Leaving the unfinished apple on the surface, she pointed at it. "Sorry, sir. I missed that."

Her formal apology set her obedient mindset and proclaimed their playful game.

Adopting a stern expression, he said, "Kate, I expected better of you."

She hung her head in shame, her stinging bottom flooding hot pleasure into her dirty mind. She loved when he played with her.

Pointing to the slate gray armchair, his silent finger commanded her instant obedience. Its subtle material offset the brown leather couch. Unbuttoning her skinny jeans, she pushed them down, revealing cute black string bikini panties. His stern expression unaltered by her sexiness, she followed his gaze to the chair back. Bending over, she lay her arms on its seat, her lazy, panty-clad bottom high in the air.

Her white rubber sole rested against her black cotton, a proper welcome to her new home. Rubber stung cotton, scorching heat into her flimsy panties as her official welcome resonated around their immaculate living room. Slamming her sole into her bare skin, below her panty line, sizzling sting suffused her right cheek, carrying his meaning across her exposed skin. Repeating his message on her left cheek, pleasure washed through her sex. Real or imagined, he only spanked one way. Hard. She loved the certainty he provided. Her cheeks on fire, he landed two more rubber spanks on her bare bottom.

"You won't leave a hair on our chair again, will you?"

"No, sir."

Demanding her overt obedience, he drove her wild. Being made to answer for her deficiencies pulsed deep pleasure into her sex.

"Last two."

Heat stung through her panties, burning both cheeks. Had a hair remained on this chair, she'd have called for her punishment to hurt. Her sharp intake of breath proved his rubber message had reached her.

"Stand up. We'll review the rest of the apartment."

Her stinging bottom was a taster, awakening her hunger for his strict authority. On the stairs, his sound smacks had induced adoration. Over his armchair, her tennis shoe had secured her immediate obedience. She kicked off her jeans.

Kneeling to peer under their couch, his hard body and expected judgement sent quivers down her spine.

Rising, he said, "Good work."

Replacing delicious impending submission, disappointment consumed her.

Along the passageway, he glanced into their separate toilet, grunting. Crossing into their bathroom, he left the door wide. She followed, finding him studying the white ceramic basin.  

"Explain this black smudge," he demanded, pointing at the flawless, sparkling white sheen.

Guilt pervading her mind, she leaned closer to confirm there wasn't an actual mark. In her mind, black streaks stained the perfect basin.

"Sorry, sir," she said. "I tried hard."

"Nonsense," he thundered. "You declared this bathroom clean."

His resonance throbbing her clitoris, she said, "I'm sorry."

She swiveled to examine her reddened bottom in the mirror. Her tight black panties cut across a sea of stinging red. Visual proof he'd punished her made her smile.

"You've got nothing to smile about," he said.

Passing, he led her into his office. His wooden desk occupied one wall. The demanding surface stole her attention. She belonged across it.

"Bend over the desk," he commanded.

"Please, may I pull it out, sir?" His scolding had driven shame into her heart. She needed to bend low, her prostrate body atoning for her pathetic work ethic.

"I'll do it," he said. "You may leave finger marks."

His beautiful criticism stung her mind as he shifted his desk two feet from the wall. Leaving her standing in her panties and black tee, he rummaged through her boxes, extracting her familiar cane.

Flicking his wrist, her cane hissed through the office air, straightening her posture. The harsh sound portended severe pain. Living alone, she'd made her cane whistle, but in his hands its message stole through her sex, ripping humble fear into her core.

"Bend over," he ordered.

Bending down over the worn wood, she reached across his desk, arms outstretched, and wrapped her fingers around the far edge. Obeying his strict order, thrust luscious heat into her delighted sex. Guaranteed support but not relief from her potent pleasure, she embraced her coming pain.

"We'll put the desk back if your standards improve," he promised, flexing her cane.

She flinched. Expecting her caning was worse than the actual strokes. Her mind wrapped around his promise. Her standards would never improve. She belonged stretched over his desk for regular canings.

He touched the smooth rattan against her tight black panties. Withdrawn, a ferocious crack filled the office. Fire exploded across her cotton. Bearable for only an instant, soaring pain clenched her teeth as intense heat scorched her soft skin.

"Does one stroke feel appropriate for your slack bathroom cleaning?"

Over his desk, his authority plundered her soul. "No, sir," she moaned.

Her cane scorched her blazing backside, beating heat into her bare skin as it crossed her narrow panties. She cried out. Without mercy, he added a lower stroke. She panted, triple pain soaring side by side in a symphony of searing agony where she'd feel it for hours.

"I expect decent effort from you, Kate."

He'd get it. Her stinging stripes demanded her obedience. Punished for non-existent faults, she wallowed in her willing acceptance of his strict discipline. Living with him met her wildest dreams. She'd bend over his desk every time he demanded it, no matter how unfair.

Turning on his heel, he said, "Maybe you at least tried in the bedroom."

Recovering over his desk, she absorbed his rich authority. Rising, she entered their bedroom, taking small steps, her taut welts delivering potent pain in their private space. Up-lighters cast their splendid white bed as center stage. A stunning ruby throw across the foot matched an armchair in the corner. Misaligned in the middle, the ruby throw disrupted the smooth, flowing lines of their bedroom

"Is this throw neat?" he roared, jabbing the cane tip at the misaligned ruby wool.

Had she knocked it out of shape while hanging her dresses? Guilt rife, she said, "No, sir."

Drawing out each syllable, he said, "Bend over the bed."

Her bare thighs against the bed, she bent her hips, sinking her body over their soft white comforter. Resting on her forearms, cool air whispered over her unblemished skin, teasing her burning cane lines.

His fingers skimmed her panties to her ankles. Her sudden baring plunged her into a guilt-filled abyss. She'd showed contempt for their tidy home. He must teach her a bitter lesson. Warm rattan pressed low against her exposed bottom as the misplaced ruby throw mocked her obedience.

"This is the third offense we've uncovered. I'm afraid I must be hard on you."

Light taps on her unpunished skin accompanied his firm words.

"Six strokes, all hard, low on your bottom."

Her third mess felt like her worst. It was genuine. She welcomed his severe sentence.

Whistling through their bedroom air, her cane sung its song. Ricocheting off her blazing bottom, the rattan stung a solid stripe of secret sanction. Fiery pain burst across her bare behind. Gripped by her guilt, each stroke landed in a tight pattern of gratitude on her lower bottom. Fire tore along each parallel track, yielding increased agony as its fierce heat reached its punishing peak. Panting over their bed, she apologized in her silent mind as her six fiery lines blended into a blazing band of punishment. He'd made his apartment perfect for her. She respected his thrashing.

Leaning down beside her, he said, "I hope that's taught you better standards."

Her bottom pulsed heat through her mind, delivering sincere surrender. "It has, sir. Thank you for caning me."

Thanking him for her suffering thrust pleasure through her sorry soul. Well punished, she appreciated the pain he'd delivered.

His kind voice caressed her. "You took your punishment well."

She flopped onto their bed, his generous compliment surrounding her. Her panties fell off as she rolled onto her stinging bottom. Rubbing her hard clit, her open pleasure honored his tough duty. Ripping off her tee, she shucked her bra from her shoulders. He kicked down his jeans and underwear. His prominent hardness honored her while her thrashed bottom proved his dominance.

Climbing beside her, he rose above her, flooding her sex with hot, damp joy as he whispered in her ear, "I love it when you touch yourself."

She drew his face to hers. Crushing her lips against his, her tongue plunged inside him, playing with him as he'd played with her.

Taking over her pleasure, he slid his manhood deep inside her. Wrapping her legs around him, she drew him in, demanding each male thrust must penetrate deeper. Rolling her nipples between his fingers, he forced desperate panting. Skimming their sensitive surface, he proved his control of her as his hardness powered her towards her peak.

Driving her to the precipice of desire, he eased away, his throbbing manhood motionless inside her. Stilling herself, she balanced in desperate pleasure. Commanding her journey to pleasure as she wallowed in her necessary discomfort, he powered her through her peak, flinging her into a blissful abyss, detonating his desire.

Her body convulsing beneath him, her guilt, real and imagined, dissipated.

Rolling onto their sides, his warm hands held her cheeks.

"Did you imagine I might go soft on you, now we live together?"

"I did," she said. "Not any more."

Burying her face in his mighty shoulder, tears dampened her cheeks. "I love what you do to me," she whispered.

His powerful hand stroked her bare back as she settled. "You make me feel whole," she said. "Sorry I disturbed the neat throw earlier."

"You didn't."

"I didn't?" She drew back, staring at him.

"I poked it with the cane while you were recovering over my desk."

"Bastard," she grinned. "I believed I'd done it when I hung my dresses."

"Two people live here, beautiful girl. Only one of them will make a mess and it isn't you."

Still grinning at his creative ingenuity, she stroked his cheek "Real or manufactured, I love your command of me."

Sat at their kitchen bar, her panty-clad bottom judged his stools. Her studio had come furnished with wonderful cushioned stools. His seats didn't measure up. Odds were, she'd often sit here sore. She hoped so. She'd talk him into replacing them.

He found homes for her limited kitchen implements while she gazed at a photo stuck on his fridge. Ben, Andrew, Neil and Diane smiled from their mountaintop. The boys called round often, Ben's apartment their central meeting place. Surprising Andrew with her presence one afternoon, she'd recognized him from this photo. Cooking him steak, she'd made an instant friend. According to Ben, his visits had increased.

Diane was a huge female bonus, her effortless confidence as attractive as her long brunette hair. They'd chatted on the phone, developing their friendship despite their distance. She'd been uncomfortable during their first meeting at an Italian restaurant. Hours earlier, her hot-pink string popping up from her jeans had attracted Ben's attention and six swift cane strokes. Given no alternative, she'd taken her strokes, knowing they'd sting during dinner. Proud of herself, she'd felt strong beside him. Had her exposed panties not presented an excuse, he'd have found another reason to cane her. He understood her.

Mistaking her gaze, he reached above their fridge. Sliding his fingers into the space under the cupboards above, he pulled forward her cane handle. Grinning, he pushed it back again.

She smiled. He'd chosen the same spot she'd hidden it in her studio.

His expression kind, he said, "You understand sometime I may have to deploy your cane to resolve a genuine problem between us."

Holding his gaze, she smiled. "When that happens, make it the worst."