« Spanking Stories

"I was heading home," Diane replied to the national newspaper reporter delivering tomorrow's sensational headline.

Collecting her at dawn, Diamond Cross Air's public relations chief, Juliet, had advocated an organized press conference to discourage the media camped in her parking lot. Accredited press, camera crews and equipment crowded the airline's marble-floored lobby. Juliet pointed to the next journalist.

"Do you have brothers or sisters? What was their reaction?"

"An older sister. We haven't talked yet, but she messaged me. It began 'WTF sis?'"

Laughter filled the lofty lobby.

"You're a national hero. How does it feel?"

She smiled. "I'm proud of staying calm. But consider this." She gestured to the gray-haired uniformed pilot sat beside her. "John had to make a twenty-three-year-old girl follow his precise directions, disaster a single misunderstanding away. He'd have lived with the consequences. I wouldn't have. Whose shoes would you rather be in?"

The press fell quiet, her point well made.

A gentleman crushed against the gray-washed marble wall raised his arm. She nodded. "Diane, my daughter, was on your plane. Thank you."

She beamed at him.

Handed a golden moment, Juliet closed the press conference. "Diane won't sell her exclusive story or answer further questions. Thank you for coming."

Diane rose beside John. This morning she'd hugged him without words. He'd understood. Their air traffic conversation had reached ninety-four million downloads. With only John in her ears, it hadn't crossed her mind anyone was listening to the open frequency.

Shunted between conference rooms, Juliet chaperoned her. Her advice to avoid interviews made sense. Media attention would wane. She hoped for a career beyond her cappuccino machine. Juliet had explained her every word could haunt her. Best to utter few.

Each Air Accident Investigation team approached a different aspect. The whistle noise had their combined attention. She gave precise answers, adding detail when asked. She'd survived. The reality daunted her.

John talked family, friends and life with her over lunch in the twenty-fifth floor executive dining room. Surrounded by stylish decor and exquisite cuisine, they cemented their unbreakable bond. Employed by a competing airline, everyone treated him with respect. The industry attitude thrilled her. Everyone she'd met made her proud. They focussed on facts, not attributing blame.

Delivered home before Neil, she sat still as silence enveloped her. Her mind returned to her current preoccupation. Grabbing her laptop, she revisited the blog which had redirected her relationship. Searching 'how not to argue' months ago, she'd encountered a blogger whose husband spanked her. She didn't pull her punches. She reported it hurt like hell and she regretted her actions when her pain began. But she reiterated how wonderful it felt to receive her just desserts. She described explosive sex in splendid detail.

Scrolling to the bottom, Diane followed the link to purchase a wooden punishment paddle. Her mentor had written an entire article praising her paddle. Unlike a spanking, she could bend over and handle her emotions without being held tight by the person punishing her. It showed her choice to accept her submissive position, even though it hurt. 

Diane studied the bamboo paddle on her screen. Until her mentor had advocated the paddle, she been unable to picture herself bent over Neil's knee. The varnished three-foot slab of golden bamboo drilled with eight air holes would spell out their obligations. Hers, to surrender, grab her ankles and accept her painful punishment. His, to paddle her bottom without mercy. She bought it. Her anticipation had two days to build. She'd asked her boyfriend to paddle her. It seemed straightforward now. Admitting punishment turned her on had proved smart, his agreement clear in bed.

Placing her laptop on the gray and white rug, her paddle visible, she relaxed on their dark gray suede couch. Her suit had thrilled her today. Her usual black jeans and tee were unsuitable for a press conference or an airline's headquarters. She'd felt appropriate in her short black skirt suit, slim white blouse and neat low heels.

She glanced across at her short, fitted suit coat hanging on a dining chair. Her smart Zara suit defined an honorable, decent girl. Nobody would imagine she'd earned a strict paddling for her vicious attitude. Lowering her zip to loosen her tight skirt, she slid her hand into her white lace panties. Black would have been more discreet, but she preferred her panties to match her bra.

Picturing their paddle in Neil's hand, shivers flooded her sex with molten pleasure. He dominated her with his delicious male might. In her mind, she stood before him in her suit, his stern scolding rippling down her spine. Circling her wet clit, she immersed herself in his deep voice, his intense authority demanding her obedience. Her real offense fresh in her mind, her guilt abounded. Her punishment must hurt her. Suffering was paramount.

Ordered out of her tight skirt, she stood, shoved it down and lay it on her jacket. Returning to the couch, she unbuttoned her blouse. Shoving her hand into her bra, she cupped her left breast, tormenting her rock hard nipple as she rubbed her clit with fury. 

Her mind examined several positions for her paddling. Rising, she bent over their round glass dining table. It was too low. She was almost lying on it. Grabbing her ankles in their bedroom, her long legs made her position uncomfortable. Ramming her hand into her panties, she imagined him ordering her deliberate discomfort. Punishment should be uncomfortable. Short panting breaths proved she would obey him, regardless. Glancing at their high mattress, she rose and bent over it. Resting her forearms on the bed they shared, her legs straight, it felt like the perfect place to accept his harsh sanction.

Her mind plunged her hand back into her panties. Circling her clit hard, her right breast accepted its equal pleasure. She tried to imagine the sharp sting and lasting hurt she was due. Her respect for Neil soared. He hadn't dismissed her idea. She faced a paddling from her tough boyfriend. She stiffened. Her dignity soared as passion plunged pleasure through her curves. Panting in position over their bed, she came, orgasms rippling into her white lace.

"You were brilliant on TV," Neil said. "I watched your press conference online."

He provided tech support via phone to corporate computer users. It was tedious work. She wasn't surprised he'd watched.

"You were engaging, smart and humble," he said, wrapping spaghetti around his fork.

She'd prepared Spaghetti Bolognese, filled with a passionate need to please him. The knowledge he would soon paddle her prompted a natural submission she enjoyed. Their newfound confidence replaced the risk of an argument.

After dinner, curled up on their couch, she showed him pictures of their bamboo paddle, excited by its ability to deliver a tough lesson.

"I've been thinking about this," he said, her pictures reinforcing their reality.

Dread stormed her veins. He mustn't back out. She was relying on him.

Noticing her panic, he stuck her laptop on the rug and caressed her cheek. "I'm committed to our plan."

His words calmed her.

"Smacking you hard should bother me. I've wrestled with how we both relished discussing it in bed. The same thought returns. Your behavior was, in fact, disgraceful. It was neither adult nor reasonable. Driven by emotion, not common sense, you damaged our relationship instead of supporting it. I feel you deserve your punishment. Your choice to propose your own painful punishment deserves immense respect. Punishing you is reasonable, just and mature. We're adults. You'll recover. But for several days, your bottom will hurt, reminding you of your duty as my girlfriend."

Her heart exploded. He was perfect.

"Remember everything you said for my telling off," she whispered. "I deserve a severe scolding alongside my paddling."

"You'll get it," he said. "Analyzing our argument, it stems from your frustration. I can dissect it. I'll be hard on you."

His firm promise shivered down her spine. "I'm looking forward to offering my bottom in sincere apology. My humility will shine, proving I'm your obedient girlfriend, proud to accept your strict discipline."

Her passionate words provoked obvious arousal. She stroked him through his slacks. "This plan is benefitting us already," she murmured, sliding her whole body against him. After her heavy masturbation, she'd changed into soft black leggings and a pale pink tee. His firm grip thrust delicious warmth through her butt. His thick fingers slid across her panty line, singeing her sensitive flesh through her leggings.

She leaped up, pulling him with her. Closing their bedroom door, she bent over their bed, her position formal and deliberate. "Is this position suitable to receive my paddling?"

He removed his slacks, her submissive position causing major discomfort. "I'd imagined you grabbing your ankles. But I like you over our bed. It seems suitable."

She smiled back at him, his powerful arousal driving liquid warmth into her sex as he thrust down his tight white shorts. "It's your decision," she said. "I'll bend over our car in the parking lot, if you insist."

He grinned. "We'll keep our secret relationship weapon to ourselves, unless you deserve our neighbors to see you getting thrashed."

She pouted. Inside, she was glad. Sharing their private power wasn't on her mind. Their relationship dynamic had shifted, the move subtle, the change comfortable. Accepting his authority was proving a genuine pleasure and making her horny as hell.

He ripped down her leggings, exposing her white cotton bikini panties. Her deep humility, after masturbating about her upcoming punishment, had chosen them for her. They felt innocent. Innocent girls needed education. Hers needed to be painful.

She panted as his hands ran up under her tee, fondling her breasts. She hadn't worn a bra, savoring her freedom. He took advantage, skimming her hardened nipples as he pressed his manhood against her sex, teasing her damp lips through her tight white cotton.

Spreading her legs, she begged for him. He obliged. Sliding her panties aside, his hardness thrust her forward. She pushed her arms into the bed, forcing herself back onto him. Impaled on his magnificent strength, her dislodged panties proved his hunger for her.

"You were hot in your suit on TV."

Warm breath caressing her ear, his words pulsed warmth from her heart as he drove an inferno in her sex. His hardness plunged deep inside her, pushing her onto the edge of her need.

She groaned, "I loved wearing my suit."

"You'll wear it to face me for your discipline."

Holding still, balanced on her precipice, afraid of losing her delicate control, she cried, "Hell, yes."

His manhood eased backward. She gripped him, her sex striving to keep his power deep inside her.

"And," he panted, "these plain white panties underneath. You don't deserve to wear pretty panties when you're facing punishment for immaturity."

"Yes," she screamed. "White panties."

He plunged into her depths, driving her desire to desperation. Her panties, tight on her hips, drove her wild. He'd ordered her into innocent panties. He'd forbidden her to wear prettiness to her punishment. Ordered into her formal suit to face her boyfriend. It was too much. His rough, guttural cry accompanied a ruthless stroke. She burst a thousand orgasms over his hardness, plunging forward onto their bed, writhing on her stream of critical pleasure, his hard body wrapping her in tight protection.

Rolling out from under him, she slid beneath their comforter. Joining her, he pulled her tight in his arms. "Our relationship is better already, imagining your plan."

She nuzzled his solid chest. His arms provided protection. Soon they'd provide punishment. Everything a man should provide. Her thought surprised her. A confident girl, she'd never enslaved herself to her man. But submitting to his authority soothed balm on her senses. "Thank you."

"How did you devise your plan?"

In whispers, she described the blog, emphasizing she wasn't comfortable with the deep submission her mentor had described.

"I don't want you to submit, except during agreed punishment. Our subtle agreement demands respect. Tell me afterwards if I'm unfair. Fixing it might be tricky."

"You don't have to fix it. Punishment I didn't deserve will benefit me. I'll have earned it somehow. Smother me in kindness and I'll forgive you. But continue to punish me. It's our plan."

He crushed her against his chest. "If you hadn't landed a commercial airliner on the busiest runway imaginable, would you have asked me to punish you?"

"Yes. I'd decided. Yesterday's drama put ours into perfect perspective."

"You're one hell of a girl," he said.

She grinned. His praise, she wanted to receive.