« Spanking Stories

Tamsin rolled onto her back, receiving instant punishment for her foolish mistake. Last night's caning still stung her black lace-clad cheeks. Tracing her sore stripes, she rejoined her orgasm packed night. Coming in fervent bursts of bliss, she summoned memories of her submission to the light rattan cane. Valuing their friendship, Diane had delivered a memorable twelve-stroke caning. A mere taster, she faced the heavy cane before breakfast to undo her dreadful deceit.

Respect overflowing, she showered, her welts stinging under the wet assault. Proud to accept her discipline, she leaned forward, letting the jets sting her thrashing. Skin reddened from the hot water, she toweled her body, patting her sore red bottom with her soft green towel.

Dressing for her day, her spotless uniform in the mirror made her proud. A commercial pilot, licensed to fly their multi-engine Twin Otter, she looked professional. Beneath her black cotton uniform pants, friendship failure stung her backside. Nobody seeing this professional pilot would realize her behind hurt. Proud of her punished status, she swept back her long black hair. Despite combing, it soaked up the humidity like a sponge. 

Punishing her with its fearsome nighttime presence, she took the thick rattan cane from her chair, caressing it with reverence. Its tough duty was to chastise her cheeks, penetrating deep pain, delivering enduring suffering. Mrs. Fraser had told her it would mark her for a week. She welcomed her severe discipline. She'd stolen pleasure from her friend's proud punishment. Her deceit must hurt.

Prepared for her punishment, she carried the heavy cane into their lounge, finding Diane in uniform, ready to deliver her discipline. Handing her friend the dark rattan cane, she said, "I'm so sore I can't imagine getting caned again." She looked her friend in the eye. "However, my incredible deceit lasted, so must my formidable punishment. I'm sorry."

"A respectful attitude," Diane said. "I don't hate you, but I will hurt you. I've already forgiven you."

"Thank you," Tamsin gushed. "Oh, thank you. I got out of control. I'm so sorry."

"Show me," Diane said. "Drop your pants, bend over, touch your toes."

Tamsin unbuckled her chic black belt, her fingers riven with respect. Her friend's stern tone proved her forgiveness. Unzipping her tailored uniform pants, she forced them to her ankles. Facing away, she bent over, her slender legs straight as graceful obedience landed her fingers on her toes, raising her crisp white shirt clear of her white lace tanga panties.

Showing Diane her willing obedience filled her with furious pride. She'd earned a fearsome caning. She was duty-bound to take it with dignity.

Diane admired her co-pilot's pretty panties, their skimpy coverage provided no real protection for her caning. Her friend could have worn shorts or her hugest panties. "Suitable panties," she said.

Delighted with her friend's compliment, Tamsin drew a nervous breath. "Thank you. They're my usual. I deserve maximum pain and embarrassment."

Her tone supportive, Diane said, "I'm afraid there's no escape for us. I must cause you terrible hurt."

"Be cruel. My behavior warrants it."

Adopting her toughest tone, Diane said, "Deceit hurts."

Tamsin's mind settled. 'Deceit hurts' circled her brain as dense rattan rested against her delicate cotton lace.

For a cane thicker than her finger, it snapped into her bottom with fierce force, launching its diabolical crack through their living space as it crossed her cotton, blazing a fire trail onto her deceitful cheeks. She leaped, planting her palms on her pain-packed bottom. "Shit," she shrieked.

"Tamsin," Diane scolded, her tone ruthless.

Sliced in two by her friend's stern voice, Tamsin returned her fingers to her toes, her taut skin stretching her fresh flaming welt.

"Show dignity. A caning should hurt. If you move again, I'll cane your thighs."

"Sorry," Tamsin said. "Don't forgive my failure. This punishment must mean everything between us."

"As you wish," Diane said. "Straighten your legs."

Tamsin pressed her fingers into her toes, straining her slender leg muscles. The cane rested across her bare thighs. Oh, hell. She braced herself. Vicious sting stole her breath as her silky skin paid in pure pain for her stunning weakness. Heat blasted across her thighs like a branding iron, searing its lasting mark on her. Panting into her pain, she endured her friend's severe sanction. 

Returning to her bottom, the cane felt kind. It wasn't. It flexed deep hurt into her deceitful backside, delivering acute pain. Cursing her crazy behavior, she welcomed utter anguish as her friend slammed penetrating pain into twelves burning lines across her bent backside. Tears brimming, she held her composure, cemented to her repeated phrase - 'Deceit hurts'. The cane lined up its last stroke across the low crease of her bottom. Stretched by her obedient position, her delicate skin offered itself taut for maximum agony. Vicious sting burst flagrant heat, lighting her flesh on fire. Determined to keep her tears at bay, she gritted her teeth.

"Your punishment is over, Tamsin."

Chastened by her ordeal, Tamsin stood, flexing each leg as she sought to stabilize her suffering. "Thank you. It seems strange to thank you for hurting me this bad. But Diane, Thank you. I deserve my agony."

"You won't forget while you're flying. Pull up your pants. You're forgiven."

Forgetting her pants, Tamsin lurched into her friend's arms. "Thank you. I'm so sorry for being a tasteless, deceitful girl."

Satisfied, Diane hugged her punished friend. Permitting her justifiable anger to power the cane, balanced by her friend's remorse, she'd delivered excruciating strokes Tamsin would never forget.

Desperate to scrutinize her beaten bottom, Tamsin escaped to wash her face. Dropping her pants before her bathroom mirror, she shoved down her panties. Thick red lines formed a tapestry over the thin ones she'd slept with. The angry stripe on her thighs proved her friend hadn't gone soft. Red spreading from her pristine white cotton lace, she smiled. Diane's endorsement of her skimpy underwear thrilled her. Determined to meet the decent demands of their friendship, she adjusted her panties, drew up her pants, and slid her stylish black belt into its clasp, proud of her private pain.

Driving their ute to the airfield, Diane glanced at her co-pilot. "Are you coping?"

"It's bearable, but fuck, it hurts to sit," Tamsin said. "Breakfast was tough."

Diane smiled. "Getting thrashed is an effective, lasting punishment. You needed it."

"After you'd caned me, making me sit for breakfast was evil."

Diane grinned. "I love you, girl. Remember that during your long uncomfortable reminder."

Tamsin grinned. "I love you too. I can't imagine how else we'd have solved my major stupidity."

"Being beaten is very humbling. When Neil punishes me, it sends us straight to bed. I understand why it fascinates you."

"Oh, babe. Thank you. I needed to hear that."

"Don't stop masturbating because I caned you."

"I couldn't," Tamsin grinned. Approaching their hangar, she watched Jake climb from his low black ute. "I've already dreamed of him paddling me. That's what I was imagining when you caught me."

"Don't wish it too soon," Diane grinned. "You've got major discomfort to handle."

Fierce fiery stripes drove rich pleasure into her willing sex as Jake's muscular legs strode with a welcome wave. Dropping her tone to a respect-laden whisper, she said, "Thank you for thrashing me."

Helping Jake load their aircraft, they strapped down their cargo, checking each package's movement. Designed for passenger bags, Jake loaded cardboard boxes from Mrs. Fraser, weighed and sprayed with their bright pink weights, into the rear cargo bay. Presenting Diane a written cargo manifest, he said, "You could ditch those uniforms."

Fixing him with her managerial gaze, Diane said, "They inspire passenger confidence. You're a passenger today. Do they inspire confidence in you?"

"Yes," Jake said. She'd given simple instructions since arriving, leaving him to get their cargo sorted. He liked them both. Their uniforms delighted his eyes, cutting svelte curves against the distant bush. Neither had imparted their relationship status. He'd kept a professional distance, but both girls intrigued him.

"Use our cockpit door," Tamsin said to Jake. "Cabin's full."

Jake climbed into the Twin Otter. Selecting a seat while the pilots boarded, he fastened his seatbelt.

Turning to check, Tamsin smiled. "Welcome aboard." Twisting back, her bottom punished her. Glancing at the girl who'd caned her, she basked in her painful proof of their firm friendship.

Confirming they would rotate skyward at ninety knots, they checked their instruments matched, agreeing plans for departure emergencies as they started their engines. Low bush trees for miles, their minimum safe altitude was four hundred feet. They'd depart south, climbing to three thousand feet, turning due east for Ruby Downs Cattle Station, where thousands of head of cattle roamed across unfathomable square miles.

Whining into action, their number two engine screamed up to idle power, followed by number one. Stimulated by her sore bottom, their vibrating airframe teased Tamsin's clit. She dismissed her natural pleasure, concentrating on their engine gauges.

Confirming satisfaction, Diane glided the ceiling throttles towards taxi power, swinging their plane towards the red dirt runway.

Tamsin received instant tower clearance. They'd flown to airports with busy departure traffic. Limit Creek would never qualify.

"Cleared for Take off," she announced.

Checking for approaching aircraft, Diane entered the runway, swung to depart and powered their throttles forward, her co-pilot's hand covering hers to safeguard sufficient thrust. Their high engine notes deepened as runway rumbled beneath them. She felt the lightness in her seat as Tamsin called 'eighty knots'. At ninety, her partner called 'Rotate'

Jake watched, mesmerized by their professionalism. In safe hands, he couldn't believe the beautiful girls he'd admired had slick skills outside his league. Soaring above Limit Creek in safe company, his heart lifted. It had been four years since he'd flown anywhere.

Banking left, Diane ordered, "Check our load."

Tamsin glanced back. "Secure."

Relaxing as she headed east, Diane settled into their hour-long flight. Taking off from Limit Creek wouldn't grow old. Buzzing through the bush, her locator beacon clipped to her belt, she felt alive. Her co-pilot guided them towards their course as strong winds blew her five degrees right. Five degrees could fast become miles from right. She trusted her powerful co-pilot. Tamsin, touching her toes in her panties, flashed into her head. She dismissed the vision. Tonight, she'd evaluate that. A distant rise they'd noted during their flight briefing suggested they were near Ruby Downs.

Air traffic control served busy places. Ruby Downs wasn't busy. Tamsin grabbed their handheld VHF radio, secured with velcro to the tray between their seats. Sliding back her headset over her natural black hair, she powered it on, checking the pre-programmed frequency.

"Ruby Downs, Ruby Downs, Victor Hotel - Echo Victor Quebec."

"Aircraft calling Ruby Downs, welcome."

Recognizing the unprofessional response, Tamsin circled her finger, giving her co-pilot a clear signal. Diane banked into a gentle holding pattern, two miles south of their landing strip.

"Ruby Downs, Echo Victor Quebec, is two miles south at one thousand feet. Request permission to land."

"Echo Victor Quebec. Wind is blowing south at five kilometers per hour. Strip inspection one hour ago. Cleared to land."

"Wind blowing south at five kilometers per hour," Tamsin confirmed. "Recent strip inspection. Cleared to land. Echo Victor Quebec."

Replacing the VHF radio, Tamsin slid her headset over her ears. Relaying her knowledge to Diane, she translated kilometers per hour into knots.

Reducing power, Diane circled twice, losing altitude. She'd arrived high to buy time. Confident ground communication had made her co-pilot content.

Correcting her heading as she exited her holding pattern, she saw the existing house. Set against a slight rise, sunlight reflected off its sky-high radio antenna. To its right, she saw her destination. Thrilled, she called, "Airstrip in sight."

Tamsin studied the dirt strip. "Checked" she called.

Selecting her flaps, Diane reached up and held her throttles, reducing power as she made subtle yoke adjustments to keep her aircraft straight. At four hundred feet, she called, "Stabilized."

Nose aimed towards their rich red target, they descended. Diane guided her plane towards the unmarked touchdown zone, her deft hand on the yoke, her fingers relaxed on her throttles. Thousands of miles from home, her wheels nudged the beating heart of Australia at eighty knots, dead true on the uneven camber.

"You have the flight controls," she called as Tamsin confirmed, taxiing them towards a fan of five utility vehicles. Sharing a grin with Diane, Tamsin halted them, their cargo door beside the vehicles, passion obliterating her sore bottom.

Shutting down their engines, they completed their checklists while their brakes cooled. Desert heat storming into their stopped plane, they climbed down from the cockpit to meet their assembled audience.

Diane, hand out, greeted Mr. Hammond, everyone's deference revealing the station owner.

"Nice to meet you," he said.

"Glad to serve," she said, handing him her cargo manifest. He passed it to his construction foreman, cluing Jake into who he needed to meet.

Jake organized their unloading, warning the construction team to avoid anything touching the precious airframe. Confident in his cool control of their aircraft, Diane introduced Tamsin to Mr. Hammond.

He showed them his vast concrete foundation, where construction would begin today. Their entire cargo was a tiny fraction of his needs. Touring six smaller platforms, he described his future tourist lodges for luxury vacations far from the madding crowd.

Leading them into the existing homestead, his wife greeted them with strong coffee.

"Ooh, thanks," Tamsin said.

"How is Limit Creek treating you?" Mr. Hammond asked, sitting at his white oak kitchen table.

"Tamsin has met Mrs. Fraser. Jake has helped us big time," Diane said, snagging a matching chair. She recounted Jake's quest to liberate their huge ute.

"He's the guy with you today?"

Diane nodded. "He organizes your cargo for each flight."

Mr. Hammond nodded. "We're hoping you can deliver faster than we can construct."

"Makes Sense," Diane agreed. "From tomorrow, we'll fly twice a day, weather permitting. If I decline to fly, my considered decision is final."

He nodded. "When Doug Diamond told me he was sending two girls to fly construction material, I confess I laughed, but he knows pilots."

Called a pilot, Tamsin smiled. They'd flown their first commercial service. This operation depended on their skill. She'd trained for this. Her coffee tasted twice as wonderful.

"I hear you have Jet A1 fuel available," Diane said.

"We're licensed to store it for our choppers. I'll show you our fuel storage area. What does your plane carry?"

"Three hundred and seventy eight gallons."

"We could supply that."

"We carry fuel for our round-trip plus extra," Diane said, "but options are welcome."

En route to their empty aircraft, they collected Jake and a prioritized cargo list.

"You're Pilot Flying," Diane said to Tamsin. They'd planned their flights, but confirmations were their business.

Climbing into their plane, Tamsin's excited bottom hit her seat hard, a punishing reminder she'd felt their heavy cane.

Strapping into his seat, Jake observed his two bosses. Phenomenal and beautiful, he adored them both. He'd adored no one in four years. Returning to Limit Creek to escape women and the wider world, fate has flown in his path. Watching Tamsin clamber around the plane, yesterday, in her tiny denim shorts, her legs could start a riot. Seeing her gorgeous backside fly to a swift halt in her cockpit seat, he resolved to discover her situation. Her subtle deference towards Diane had fired salvos at his sealed heart.