« Spanking Stories

Entering the train car, Ben's gaze locked onto the natural beauty of her intimate curves, converging on her bright white panties. Six-foot, his unimpeded view along the train car prepared him for the confident beauty he was about to encounter.

En route to a surprise thirtieth birthday party for his close friend Chrissy, girls were on his mind. A Cosmetic Scientist for KRT Cosmetics, girls' hair and skin obsessed him. This stunning, fearless girl was an incredible opportunity. Patting the breast pocket of his Ralph Lauren leather jacket, he confirmed his survey cards were present.

More than a decade spent developing profitable cosmetics for KRT, he'd grown tired of predictable products. Hiring lab facilities to keep his work secret, he devoted his weekends to his new product. Nameless, it guaranteed instant hair perfection for women. Comfortable with chemicals he'd broadened his comfort zone into marketing. A great product still needed selling. Eliciting opinions of women had proved easy. He'd developed a simple survey. Over seventy random women had completed it. Noting their approximate age and rating them one to ten, his collated spreadsheet has already reduced his pricing assumptions.

Confident girls were the toughest to approach, but nobody was sitting at her table. He couldn't believe it. Averting his gaze from her sexy panties, he said, "Excuse me, may I sit here?"

Encouraged by her generous welcome, he settled opposite her. A girl, confident to present her perfect underwear, was a girl whose opinion should shape his future.

Since he'd started his survey, he'd found approaching the opposite sex simple. He'd become slick at asking. Girls fretted over their hair and loved him asking about it.

He stared out the train window, watching Kate's reflection as she pored over his questions. Watching girls think about their hair multiplied his insights.

Reflected in his window, her white triangle shifted his focus. She didn't show that she was aware her crisp white panties were in clear view. She must realize. Kate's outrageous confidence thrust Chrissy into his thoughts, evoking his favorite memory.

Their school days almost over at eighteen, Chrissy had transformed his understanding of girls. Her urgent summons had interrupted afternoon burgers with his mates. They laughed at him, but he ran when she called. Despite his keenness, their friendship remained platonic. She preferred older boys.

Leaving his bike beside her parent's white stucco mansion, she let him in. Following her tight blue skinny jeans through the silent house to her bedroom, he wondered if she'd changed her mind.

In her bedroom, she said, "I'm in deep trouble. I have to mega trust you."

He would never let her down. "What's happened?"

"Mrs. Peterson caught me with pot in my school locker. It fell as she was walking past."

"Shit. Did she report you?"

"Since we've almost graduated, she offered me an alternative."

"Thank god. What's she going to do?"

"Inspect my bare bottom before class tomorrow. She's making me confess to my parents. She expects them to strap me tonight."

"Damn. Will they?"

"If they don't, she'll report me. I couldn't bear it. My mom's so proud of my perfect school record. My dad will strap me, but also ground me. Dave's taking me away this weekend."

Fixated by the unwelcome reminder of her older boyfriend, he said, "What will you do?"

"You're going to strap me."

If she'd declared her undying love, he'd have been less surprised.

Lifting her father's polished brown leather strap from her white desk by her window, she handed it to him. "The chance to stare at my bottom can't be too unappealing."

Heavy in his hands, he lifted the length of leather, caught her eye, whacking it onto her soft-pink bed covers.

She shuddered. "So you'll strap me?"

"Okay." His excitement outstripped decency.

"I'm wearing skimpy panties. You can't take them down. They're slim, so you can see what you're doing. That strap is a killer. It won't matter much what panties I'm wearing. It'll hurt bad and mark me good."

Reality breading doubt, he said, "I'm not sure."

She seized his hand. "It's your duty, as my friend, to punish me. I shouldn't have taken pot to school. I've broken school rules. Make me sorry. I'm getting strapped either way. It's kinder if you thrash me. I'll yell and cry, but make it dreadful. It must satisfy Mrs. Peterson."

She unzipped her jeans, lowering them to reveal the most sensuous white cotton panties. A tiny string around her hips suspended tight narrow cotton, leaving her cheeks half bare.

"My parents will be home in an hour."

Bending over the back of her white wooden desk chair, her legs stretched, she clutched its seat. Her taut panties protected even less of her exquisite bottom.

"Think of my worst faults, Ben. Belt me. Lay it on hard."

He slammed the strap across her gorgeous cheeks, bursting bright red fire from her crisp white panties. Leathering her butt from top to bottom, he reddened her skin twice over. She yelled after every stroke, but she didn't cry. He'd never imagined a girl getting her bottom spanked. He knew it happened, but this was a severe thrashing. Her courage under the strap fascinated him.

When her strapped bottom would satisfy the most intense scrutiny, he caressed her soft back. Proud of her courageous performance, her obedience had inspired him. He wanted her to honor him. "Chrissy, one more stroke from me. Show me your thanks by taking your punishment in utter silence."

"Yes, sir," she said.

Her obedient words burning into his brain, he lashed the strap into her low bottom where she could take it. She gripped her chair in absolute silence as his burning pain ravaged her tender skin.

"It's done," he said.

Kicking off her jeans, she flew to her bed, curled up, weeping into her pillow. "Go," she implored, between tears.

Concerned he'd over-enjoyed his responsibility, he'd ridden his bike home and gone straight to his room. Worried about what he'd done to their friendship, he didn't sleep.

At her locker, next day, she handed him a bright green envelope. Tear stained, her heartfelt letter thanked him for his remarkable friendship, courage and kindness. Her bright friendship never waned. Unembarrassed, she joked about it in private. He'd got the distinct impression she was encouraging a repeat performance, but it hadn't happened. They remained friends. She'd married, started a family and moved away, hence his train journey to her thirtieth birthday party.

Focusing his gaze on the present, Kate's obvious white panties consumed his reflected view again. Her overt naughtiness suggested she might crave firm discipline. White was a gorgeous color for girls' underwear. Maybe experience made him biased.

Kate intrigued him. Without his survey, he wouldn't have approached her. Damn, she was hot. In the reflection, he noticed her check he wasn't looking. Maintaining his apparent disinterest, he watched her turn over her survey card and scribble on its back. Unable to read her digits, he could still recognize a phone number.

Accepting her proffered survey, he dropped it into his jacket pocket, thanking her.

After explaining his product, he turned their conversation to her work. Her simple companionship filled his journey. Arriving buoyant from their conversation, he thanked her for an entertaining hour and took his leave, her number burning a hole in his jacket pocket.

Taking a taxi to his hotel, Kate filled his mind. He shouldn't, but he approved of her provocative dress. Sleek black molded her curves, stopping well shy of respectable. Her bare, smooth arms, phenomenal legs. Shit. When she'd stood, he'd almost left his tongue on the floor.

Visible, sexy, brilliant-white panties under her almost illegal black dress. It was deliberate naughtiness. He fantasized about Chrissy. Her husband couldn't rob him of his private moment in her bedroom. But Kate surpassed Chrissy.

With ninety minutes before he was due at Chrissy's house, he lay on his hotel bed, thinking of Kate. He imagined her bending over a white wooden chair in her imaginary bedroom. Her white panties skimpy, her sexy skin reddening under his heavy leather strap. He delivered a blistering dressing down for her public attire. Her head bowed, she took his scolding, nodding in humble acknowledgment, aware punishment must follow.

Ordered over her wooden chair, her graceful movements repeated in his brain. Her willing obedience and proud submission powered his thoughts. He respected her desire to atone for her scandalous conduct. As soon as he'd pointed it out, she'd capitulated, accepting she deserved her severe strapping.

He laid leather fire across her burning cheeks, adding deserved agony to her existing suffering, challenging her to take her agonizing punishment. Unable to present an acceptable excuse in mitigation, her bent body conveyed her willingness to suffer.

After a cool shower, he dried the bathroom mirror, scrutinizing his face. He wasn't bad looking. Kate was a definite eleven. But did she want her bottom thrashed? A real strapping hurt. Maybe he'd painted his predictable fantasy on their fortuitous encounter.

Analyzing the facts, he arrived at the same conclusion. She'd elected to expose her panties. She could have placed her newspaper over her bare legs. Glad she hadn't, he'd loved her smart white advertisement.

He'd ignored her newspaper, not wishing to get drawn into conversation about the headline news. Neil was his mate. They'd spoken yesterday for a minute. He knew Diane well. Her phenomenal feat hadn't surprised him, but like everyone, he admired her awe-inspiring bravery. She always offered never-ending optimism he'd find a proper girlfriend. Was that Kate?

He'd figured her out. Her contrived disobedience was obvious to him. She'd appreciate a sound thrashing for her misbehavior. He hoped he wasn't wrong. A definite eleven with hell rocking confidence was way out of his league, except he had her number.