« Spanking Stories

He loved her. Kate stared at their living-room wall inches from her nose, Ben's promise echoing in her ears. He was about to thrash her with fresh switches she'd picked for maximum pain, but he loved her. 

She examined her stupid outburst at work. She'd told her client Ben would punish her, natural embarrassment humbling her. Fetching fresh hazel switches from their park had embarrassed her, her shame complete when a neighbor had seen her carrying home her supple sticks.

Fingers intertwined on her head, her obedient arms ached. She imagined being home without a job. She loved Patchwork Colors, drawing beautiful website designs suffused with her team's persuasive words. Getting fired would have crushed her bold spirit.

She loved Ben. Her aching arms proved he'd hold her to account. Her bottom would join her arms in agony, her offense real, her punishment formal. She needed his severe strokes to drive away her guilt. Fearing the pain she deserved, she begged in silence for it to begin.

"Hands down. Turn around," he said.

She groaned as her arms fell straight, ache pouring from them. He motioned her forward.

"Stand on the edge of the rug, facing the door." 

Aligning her feet on their caramel rug, she obeyed as he dropped the spare switch onto the low coffee table behind her. Startled, she glanced backward.

"Face the door," he thundered. 

As she complied, the hazel switch whipped across her tight suit pants. Agony lanced her behind. Grabbing her butt, she soothed the stinging line seared across her firm cheeks. 

"Give me your suit coat."

Letting her bottom go, she slipped her coat from her shoulders, handing it to him.

"Touch your toes."

Bending from her hips, she lowered her fingertips to her bare toes, the gravity of her insubordination heavy on her shoulders. Surrendering her bottom to receive exceptional pain, her heart celebrated his authority.

"If your fingers leave your toes, I'll whip you twice across your thighs before we continue your punishment. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," she said, her tone fear-laden. Tasked with the solemn duty of delivering her formal punishment without mercy or favor, she respected his stern warning.

"For rudeness to your client, twenty strokes of this switch on your professional suit pants."

Her single stroke for twisting around still stung. Pride filled her chest. In taut suit pants, twenty strokes would hurt.

"For risking your job, twenty more on your bare bottom, stripped naked."

Her mind reeled. Shit. It was fair. But naked, her supple sticks would slice agony into her soft skin. Imagining red lines etched across her cheeks, she predicted she'd still hurt at her desk on Monday. Respect coursed through her fear-filled veins.

The switch tapped her bottom. She focused on her toes. She must take her switching. Self-respect demanded it. The switch drew a gasp from her, its impact quiet. Pain pierced her bent backside. Its unforgiving agony burned as another stroke tormented her. Fiery heat chased stinging fury. Before it reached its peak, a further stroke whipped her presented buttocks. Her fingers tore from her toes, squeezing against her punished flesh.

"Kate. Touch your toes."

Stunned by her stupidity, she bent over, stretching her burning lines of fire. 

"Take your punishment or I'll thrash you until you do. Two extra strokes."

Her brain screamed for escape she didn't deserve. Her fingers pressed her feet to the carpet. Damn. She'd made it worse for herself. Stupid girl. Punishment must be unpleasant. Chastened, the switch touched her thighs. Without natural padding, she tensed.

Watching her legs tense, he admired her. She'd returned to position knowing she faced extreme extra agony. He wouldn't relent. He must mark her hard. Her pain would pass, but not before teaching the salient lesson she needed to understand. Lifting away the switch, he whipped it into her thighs, two inches below her bottom.

She yelled. Pure pain punished her tender thighs, burning deep into her sensitive skin. Fiery flames licked at her commitment, promising worse if she defied him again. An inch lower, the switch sliced into her thighs, firing furious sting deep into her feminine flesh. Cursing her lack of courage, she wished away the prodigious heat in her punished legs.

"Surrender and accept your punishment, Kate. I won't tell you again."

His ruthless order ripped a parade-ground promise from her lips. "Yes, sir."

Determination to obey drove her fingers into her toes. He whipped her suit pants, lashing strokes across her bottom until her terrible twenty had branded her with a patchwork pattern of punishing pain.

"Stand and strip," he instructed.

Rising, she dropped her suit pants, removed her blouse, and added her bra to the pile of clothes beside her. Sliding her fingers into the waistband of her white cotton bikini panties, she slipped them to the floor, standing naked, obedient, and whipped.

"Risking your job calls for severe punishment. Touch your toes," he commanded, pointing to her familiar spot on their caramel carpet.

Burning and bare, she obeyed.

Fire cut across her bare cheeks as the switch lashed her skin, sorrow spreading as pain layered on pain. She bore her beating, courage pumping her pride. She loved him for thrashing her with fairness. Her bottom deserved to burn for her screw up. Twenty fresh lines peppered pain across her punished cheeks.

"Stand and face me," he ordered.

Pleased to reach the end of her pain, she rose, meeting his stern expression. 

"Your formal punishment is complete. Show me gratitude. Return to your humble position and ask me for two serious strokes across your bare thighs."

Admiration spread across her sensitive skin. His demand for her personal penance resonated in her soul. Her feet returned to their familiar spot. She bent over, presenting her thrashed thighs for his special sanction.

Staring at the rug, she said, "I'm sorry for my unacceptable conduct, all of it. Please thrash my bare thighs. Two cruel strokes to teach me my behavior affects you, too. I'm sorry."

"Good girl," he said.

The switch stroked her skin, warning where it would lash her legs. Above his earlier punishment, his strokes would impact her smooth flesh, stinging whenever she sat. His strokes would hurt her the worst. Surrendering, she relaxed.

Vicious string exploded on both her bare thighs. Agonizing anguish burst a cry from her throat. She pressed her toes for strength to bear her pain. It came. The cruel hazel whipped her flesh, melting her mind. Pride swelled as his pain branded her bare thighs, perfect proof he loved her.

Legs on fire, she rose, offering him her hand. "Thank you for my formal punishment. I deserved both parts. I respect you for thrashing me."

He shook her proffered hand, setting the worn switch on their coffee table beside the spare they hadn't needed.

Keeping her arms by her sides, she said, "Thank you for making me show my gratitude. Those strokes will hurt the longest. I'll bear your marks with pride."

He'd hoped she'd respect his extra demand. "You're forgiven." He smiled. "Having been harsh with you, I feel awkward about sex."

"Thanks for saying it. I feel it too. Lie beside me in bed. Keep me company while I hurt, knowing you did your duty. I'll enjoy that."

She lay naked beside him, her bare legs stinging against their sheet, her bottom burning with relaxed shame. After a while, he pulled her into his arms. "Thank you for accepting your punishment with grace. It isn't easy to thrash you without mercy."

Lying sore in his arms, knowing he'd given her a thorough beating, she smiled. "Knowing you did is lovely. It proves you'll protect me, even if it means hurting me. It's a beautiful dichotomy. I love you."

"I love you too," he said. 

She beamed at him, her radiance cascading across his pillow.

Waking late, she rolled onto her back, luxuriating in the discomfort he'd given her. Unable to imagine panties on her punished bottom, she'd slept naked. On the bedside, he'd left a note. She slid towards it.

His last three words showed she hadn't dreamed it. She held the note up, tracing his words with her thumbs. Her pain had taken hours to become bearable. She hadn't fallen asleep until late. Now she had the pleasant afterglow she so loved after a punishment.

Sliding her hand between her legs, she luxuriated in her punishment. He'd delivered a serious switching. Unrelenting, his reimagined strokes thrashed her exposed thighs and layered pain into her bare bottom. She flicked her firm clit, tensing as pleasure engulfed her pain.  

Drawn to see her evidence, she went into the bathroom, turning to inspect his lesson in their mirror. Fierce red lines criss-crossed her bare bottom, covering her cheeks with his painful pattern. Four lines marked her early mistake and his final two personal strokes. They hurt the worst, proved by their dark redness. She traced his personal lines on her punished legs. Heat pulsed, forcing her finger onto her clit. She leaned against their bath, panting as the tub edge pressed into her painful stripes. Naked, whipped and loved, she cried out and came hard, swamped in frenzied bliss.

Aware her tight black jeans would stimulate her stinging welts, she wore them, black bikini panties underneath. Her extra discomfort brought four more floods of heavy pleasure, the heaviest on their caramel rug, where he'd whipped her.

Lying on her back, sore and spent, she sent him a message.

The intercom buzzed, preventing further frenzied Saturday masturbation. Rubbing her tender bottom, she recognized Andrew's boyish face and buzzed him in. Leaving the apartment door wide, she set her coffee machine gurgling.

"Hi Kate," Andrew said, closing the apartment door.

"Coffee?" she asked.

"Please."

"Ben's working I'm afraid."

"That's okay. I think I need you."

A warm flutter flew through her heart. She belonged. Placing their coffees on the kitchen bar, she joined him on the black cushioned stools she'd installed, bearing the discomfort of her beaten bottom with poise. Blowing on her coffee, she waited for him.

"It's Louise," he said.

She approved of the tall blonde corporate salesgirl. They'd gelled discussing design colors. She sold packaging to companies, custom cartons for popcorn to movie houses and branded drinks cartons to fast-food chains. No doubt her stunning looks opened doors, but she closed sales, as her amazing apartment north of the park proved.

Andrew explained. His month old relationship had hit a huge bump. Louise had screwed up. Meeting him from work, they'd bumped into his co-worker, Chad. Months earlier, she'd slept with Chad, meeting him when horny. Wishing him on his way, she'd kept their one-night-stand quiet. Chad hadn't. Next morning at work, his outspoken opinions had embarrassed Andrew.

Angry at Louise for failing to warn him, they'd had their first shouting match this morning. He'd left her apartment fuming, gravitating towards familiar territory.

Probing, she asked, "How guilty does Louise feel?"

Andrew groaned. "I don't know. Every guy I walk past, I wonder if she's slept with him."

"Don't you dare," Kate snapped. "She doesn't deserve that."

Chastened by her criticism, he said, "I want to trust her."

"I suspect Louise knows she's wrong," she said. Had it been her, she'd have touched her toes for Ben, accepting his sound sanction. She also wouldn't have kept her past passion secret. Her sore bottom agreed with her.

She reviewed her various conversations with Louise. The smart salesgirl had a solid grounding. They'd discussed customers hitting on her. It had been obvious she adored Andrew.

She said. "Louise argued because she's racked with guilt. Her cowardice has compromised your trust in her. Guilt consumes us girls, making us dig deeper holes for ourselves. She needs to feel consequences for her mistake and craves your forgiveness."

"How do I forgive her?"

"Punish her."

Ignoring his shocked expression, she said, "Ben punishes me when I screw up. I bend over for a genuine caning. It's actual pain. He marks my bottom for days. My honest surrender to his just punishment relieves my extraordinary guilt. I respect his tough demand. Strict punishment binds us tighter because I deserve it and he delivers it."

His eyes wide, Andrew said, "I'm not sure she'd like that."

"She won't like it. She needs it," Kate said. "Ask her. Better still, tell her you've decided she deserves punishment. Don't give her a choice."

Picturing Louise bending over, his heart thawed. Her imaginary submission filled him with hope and fear. "She might leave me," he said.

"I bet she doesn't. Louise is smart. She's desperate to pay a meaningful penalty, admit her mistake, apologize, and gain your forgiveness. Announce you intend to punish her. You'll see her head lower in shame, confirming she knows you're right."

"I don't have a cane," he said.

"I'll lend you ours. Don't demean your shared problem by doing a half-assed job of it. She needs it to hurt like hell. Deliver a sound thrashing."

Stepping from her stool, she withdrew their cane from above the fridge. "Treat her with respect. It will hurt a lot and trust me, it needs to. She won't break."

He flicked the cane, slicing a whistle through the air.

She admired his natural confidence.

Grabbing a vibrant vacation magazine from her coffee table, she pressed it against his side. "Grip it with your elbow. You can only use your wrist. Try it."

He flicked the cane twice, testing his range of movement.

"Make sure you use hard strokes," she said. "She needs proper pain to plunder her vast pool of guilt. Here, I'll give you one chance to prove yourself."

Kate bent over, placing her palms flat on her coffee table, her black skinny jeans tight on her sore bottom. "Give me one hard stroke and learn from it."

Guiding the cane tip towards her right cheek, she felt him tap her jeans, incredible authority implicit in that one light tap. If he possessed the courage to cane his girlfriend, he could save their relationship. The silly girl had shied from her duty to him. She deserved her caning. Painful punishment from her boyfriend would revolutionize their young relationship.

Fire scorched her sore backside. She pushed her palms onto the coffee table, panting to process her phenomenal pain. Even through her jeans, he'd delivered a severe stroke.

Getting up, her expression conveyed immense respect. "I underestimated you, Andrew. That was an excellent stroke. Very painful." She rubbed her bottom. "Cane her on her panties. Never allow her more protection than her panties. Give her six strokes and you'll never regret it. Neither will she."

"Thank you, Kate. Will you tell Ben about this?"

"Of course. We'll keep your confidence. You keep ours."

"I promise," he said.

She smiled. "Forgive her with every inch of your kind heart. Watching her accept her caning will make forgiveness easy." Hugging him, she said, "Remember to give her an enormous hug. A caned girl needs the hugest hug to show she's forgiven."