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7. Sexy Sunday

Spanking Story


A digital designer is caned by her new boyfriend for public misbehavior


Kate slipped on her white sneakers. Black stripes matched her black cotton track shorts with white piping. Molded to her bottom, her short cotton shorts ensured a tough morning for Ben. She'd floated home on a sea of disbelief, replaying their first date. There was nothing imaginary about his firm words.

He promised a refreshing relationship, stimulating her bottom with vital pain when her standards slipped or her mind desired. Their bond over dinner had replaced her imagination with reality. He would cane her, full-blown agonizing welts burned onto her deserving backside. She'd have to face him and accept his discipline without question. Hot pleasure dampened her white string bikini panties. As they'd parted, she'd asked him to go slow. Her sex had retaliated. Forced to masturbate herself to sleep, she'd luxuriated in his firm handling of her.

They were meeting downtown for a Sunday run along the river. Her mint-green tee outlined pert breasts in her mirror. Turning, she checked her bottom. White piping rode her lower curves, disclosing a tantalizing hint of cheek. A clean cut, desirable, punishable girl. She'd asked him what he did on Sunday mornings. He'd taken the obvious bait, prompting their run.  

Bouncing from her studio, she headed downtown, her city alive with beauty. Even the metro looked shiny. Disembarking at the waterfront park, way south of her studio, he stood beside the exit, his blue shorts, matching sneakers and tight tee throbbing her sex from one hundred yards.

Sliding into his arms, his guaranteed embrace replaced her aching need. Wallowing in perfect pleasure, she wrapped her arms around his solid frame. His presence provided undeniable strength. Extracting herself with regret, she said, "Come on."

Slow to move, he watched her sensational bottom, a hint of bare cheek tormenting him. Stunned by his gorgeous girlfriend, he caught up with her curves.

Jogging uptown along the river, Kate felt alive. She asked about his product's progress. He explained he'd quit his job someday. The uncertainty scared her. She chided herself for her weakness. Commanding instant hair perfection was a challenging task. Successful men weren't risk free.

Slowing before the second bridge, they leaned against the riverside railing, catching their breath.

"Do you want to run further?" he asked

She grinned, "Not from you."

Smiling, he slid his arm around her warm waist. Rising into his hold, the morning sun reflected off the water, shining on her man.

"How do you feel?" he asked, his tone kind.

"Fabulous, if you hold me forever stroking my cheek."

"I can manage that."

"But," her manner turned humble. "I love when you're strict. You make me feel guilty, ashamed, obedient and vulnerable."

"No more slow?"

"I want to get my punishment behind us."

Testing her obedience, he growled, "What panties are you wearing?"

Surprised, she loved her shock. A girl's panties were her secret. Enjoying her forced compliance, delicious rivers of obedience rushed through her core. She said, "White cotton string bikinis."

"Good girl."

His praise thrilled her as his fingers played over her described panties. "And on our train journey?"

"A white string."

His powerful hand stroked her butt, his stern voice dominating her.

"If you'd worn bikini panties on the train, I might have allowed you to keep them, but I'll cane your bare bottom."

"I understand," she said. "It's tough, but fair. I deserve it."

Eyeing a metro stop behind her, he spun her, pointing. "Once we pass through those gates, your options end. I'll accept only obedience. If you can walk away, it isn't a proper punishment. I'll complete your caning. You must accept you cannot stop your punishment."

Fear fluttered through her, sweet obedience in its wake. He was right. She owed herself total compliance. He was perfect.

Climbing towards the metro station entrance, he asked, "Any requests?"

"Can I bend over something to help me? I can't imagine touching my toes."

"You must have tried somewhere for size."

Blushing, she said. "My kitchen bar."

"Anything else?"

"How many strokes do I deserve?"

"It wasn't your first foray into naughtiness."

Stiffening her spine, she recognized his warning. She'd confessed to multiple occasions. "I understand."

"Twelve strokes."

She gasped. She'd guessed his decision, but the words hanging in the air between them were real. "I'm sorry," she said.

"Not as sorry as you must be, I'm afraid."

His promise resonating, they walked through the metro gates, her choices gone.

Kicking off her sneakers, her kitchen bar looked different. Her studio felt strange, a stern man inside. His stare brought her to heal. "Fetch your cane."

Under his complete control, she obeyed. Reaching for her cane, her shorts rose, exposing more of bottom cheeks. Withdrawing her cane from its hiding place, her sex throbbed as her fingers held true menace.

Handing him her cane, his commanding aura boosted its authority. Flexing it, he ordered, "Put your shorts and tee there." The cane tip tapped her silver couch.  

Under his steady eye, she stripped. Luscious heat pulsed into her panties as she revealed them. Standing before him in her white underwear, his judgement enveloped her. Pride in her obedience flushed heat through her body.

"Are you proud of your shameless public display?" he demanded.

"No, sir."

Her stunned expression told him she hadn't intended such conspicuous respect. His dreams exploded into perfection.

Shuddering in shame at her total surrender, she lowered her gaze.

"I'm pleased you recognize your position in this discussion. You knew your dress didn't protect your modesty when you left home, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir." His strict scolding demanded her utmost respect. Her sex throbbed its agreement, proud of her submission.

"Disgraceful. You should be ashamed."

"I am, sir." Accepting her complete capitulation, shame washed over her. Guilty of outrageous conduct, she only had herself to blame.

"You should know better."

Bitter remorse engulfed her. She hadn't felt actual guilt about her sexy game. But his scolding had drawn it out. Standing beneath the apple tree in their family orchard in only her underwear had been her parents' worst punishment growing up. Under that tree, her strict desires had blossomed. She'd imagined dreadful whippings for her misdeeds. Even with her bottom unmarked, genuine remorse had flowed. But nothing like she felt now.

"Twelve strokes," he declared, swishing her cane through the air.

Its resonance throbbed her sex, turning her legs to jelly. Inducing her own guilt had never driven such penitent sorrow.

The cane tip bounced as he tapped her kitchen bar. "Bend over."

His command brooked no debate. She approached her kitchen bar, kept empty since her recent test. Her bare thighs touched the cool marble edge as she bent forward with pride, lowering herself over its serious surface. Gripping both sides, serene calm came over her. Positioned for punishment, she'd communicated her formal consent.

"Lower your panties to your thighs," he commanded.

Reaching back, she complied. Stretched tight, her panties emphasized her bareness. Sheer agony was about to rain down on her exposed bottom, agony she deserved. Her own submissions were nothing compared to bending before an actual man.

"Picture your fellow passengers. Guys may have appreciated your show. But I doubt they respected you."

Disgrace swamped her. He was right. Male admiration wouldn't have transitioned into respectful appreciation after they'd passed. Light cane taps warned her where it would land. Her skin prickled under its potent promise.

"You deserve this, Kate."

His confirmation plundered her mind. The cane cracked around her white walls, a sound she'd never heard. Roaring heat ripped a thin inferno across both her cheeks. She clutched her bar as the savage heat soared. Repeating his words to herself, harder and faster, her pain reached its agonizing peak.

She'd taken a valid cane stroke. She panted, soothing her tension as the fierce fiery line adorning her bare bottom refused to die down.

"You're twenty-four Kate. I hope that hurt as much as it needs to."

"Yes, sir. It did." Proud she'd managed a coherent response, she couldn't imagine eleven more strokes.

"I'm afraid it isn't sufficient, Kate. I'm punishing you for serious misbehavior. Remain still."

The cane sliced into her skin, searing its furious fire just below its last visit. Knowing what to expect, she rode her pain. Picturing her exposed panties on the train, she soared with her suffering, experiencing its worst fury, paying the mature price for her silly game.

Two blazing lines on her bare backside, she relaxed her desperate grip on her kitchen bar top, accepting her hurt.

"I'm sorry," she said. It helped.

Tapping her lower bottom, he warned, "Stay in position, Kate."

She breathed out. Rattan bit into her lower bottom, leaving its scorching mark on her soft girl flesh. She yelled, her cry strangled by her shame. She didn't want her neighbors to know she was getting caned.

Her behavior justified the inferno her boyfriend had lit on her sensitive skin. Storming to its climax, the justness of his punishing stroke replaced her fear. She deserved to suffer. Shame shifted her disposition, slackening her stiff body, relaxing her mind and allowing her anguish to devour her. Trust flourished from her heart, lighting loving fires in her core. Pleasure pulsed into her sex, flooding her incredible pain with dignity. She was receiving a formal caning. Pain was its purpose. Sorrow her deep duty. Powered by repentance, she pushed her bottom towards his cane.

Observing her cooperation, his love swelled. Born from Chrissy's bedroom, his understanding of girls' guilt had carried him to Kate.

She panted as the cane whipped into her bottom, scorching her soft skin. As each bout of agony grew, her pain spread, thin agonizing stripes burning into her backside. Her staunch commitment met his unrelenting strokes. Keeping her legs still, obedience won over agony.

"Last one," he called.

A sharp whistle preluded her pain. Whipping through the air, agony sliced across her bare bottom. Fire ate into her skin. Pain gripped her as she gripped her bar. Panting through her ordeal, she remained in place.

Watching her honorable obedience, he marveled at his dream girl. "Kate, I'm proud of you. You may stand when you're ready."

Self-respect drove her compliance. Her mind memorizing his adoring expression, her sex flooded with molten pleasure. He'd beaten her. As promised, he'd thrashed every ounce of her disobedience out of her, a sincere and thorough thrashing.

"Pull up your panties," he ordered.

She'd forgotten them. Pulling them up, she bit her lip as the elastic scrapped over her fresh welts.

"A salutary reminder," he said.

Grimacing, she appreciated his grit. Even now, he'd delivered a sound lesson. "Thank you," she said. "I appreciate you punishing me. I deserved it. As it hurts during today, I'll appreciate you more."

Her honest voice filled her studio as gratitude filled her mind. She'd done it. She'd taken a real caning. The full pain she deserved. She'd submitted, taking her beating.

Wrapping her in his embrace, he breathed, "You're beautiful."

"Masterful man," she whispered, her sex clenching as she slid her hand over his prominent hardness. "Mmm. You enjoyed thrashing me."

Crashing his lips into hers, he squeezed her against his manhood. Her sex clenched, drowning in liquid pleasure as he unsnapped her bra, forcing her to fling it aside as he crushed her bare breasts against his hard chest. Her nipples screamed for him as her tongue demanded him, desperate desire consuming her core.

Releasing her, he ripped off his tee and kicked down his track shorts. Grabbing her, he pushed her back onto her bed. Towering over her, he shoved down his tight black underpants, his commanding manhood demanding her. His large fingers invaded her panties, pulling them down her toned legs, whisking them away onto the floor. Her panties stolen by his dominance, her soul submitted as his powerful manhood eased into her desperate sex, driving her across her bed. She gripped his hardness, pulling him deep inside her. Bottom on fire, her hurt powered her pleasure as the man who'd caned her bottom drove deep inside her. Squeezing intense pleasure from his commanding strokes, her sex soared. Rubbing her caned bottom on her covers, he propelled her to her edge.

"You punished me," she cried. "Caned my bare bottom."

"Twelve hard strokes," he panted, driving his hardness further into her. "You're phenomenal. You deserved it and I loved punishing you."

"I can tell. Promise you'll punish me again." Her sex demanded a guarantee.

Thrusting his manhood, he said, "Sometimes lighter, sometimes harder, sometimes embarrassing."

Each promise teased her pleasure against her peak. She held herself against his onslaught. One skim across her prominent nipples was her undoing. Unleashing a torrent of pleasure, she rammed her hips against his, thrusting herself hard into him, thanking his hardness for every passion-packed orgasm. His uncontrolled cry accompanied a final furious thrust as he shot his desire into her flow.

She burst into a sensational smile. "I love I can do that to you," she panted.

"Not as much as me," he groaned.

Rounds of lovemaking interspersed with quiet conversation consumed her sexy Sunday. Luxuriating under his gaze, she lay in her panties on her bed, his tender fingers tracing her sore stripes. Held in his arms, she thanked him multiple times for dealing with her. Each time she mentioned her punishment, her sex demanded his manhood. As the afternoon grew long, he refused any more sex without food.

Moving to please him, his hand fell on her arm. "Let me. Lay back and enjoy being looked after. You deserve it."

Foraging white fish from her freezer, he produced a light evening meal. Watching him look after her fed her soul. She pondered his hands from a distance, her mind full of their power to punish or please her.

Eating at the bar she'd bent over, she grinned at him. In her panties and tee, her cane stripes stung against her cushioned stool.

Noting her discomfort, he said, "Wear tight bikini panties and jeans to work tomorrow. Your panty elastic will rub against your welts. You deserve discomfort."

She smiled, "Yes, sir."

She'd dreamed of embarrassment in front of her co-workers. Forced to obey him, her discomfort would deliver endless joy.

"Are you going to keep calling me that?"

"Whenever you're tough. It feels correct."

He grinned. "I like it." Savoring his Atlantic cod, he said, "Next Sunday I want to introduce you to my friend Neil and his girlfriend Diane. She won't believe me, unless she sees you."

Lapping up their domestic normality, she wrapped it around her sore backside. "I'd love that."

"Diane has started professional pilot training upstate. Sunday is her only free day. I called Neil last night after our date. He's certain she'll kill him, if I don't produce you next Sunday."

Grinning, she liked Diane already. "You'd better produce me, then." Detecting a transformation in his mood, she watched him shift his food around his plate. She waited.

"It's Diane in the news. She landed that plane."

Her mouth gaping, she spluttered, "You know Diane."

Next part coming Wednesday Jun 19, 7PM Pacific, 10PM Eastern, Thursday Jun 20, 3AM GMT