« Spanking Stories

« Kate, Diane and Louise


11. Word Choice

Spanking Story


Yelling at a client, a digital designer is sent to fetch a switch from the park

«Beginning Part 12»

Beneath a jungle of leafy plants pumping health and wellness into the Patchwork Colors office, Kate sat in their cube-shaped glass meeting room, centered among open-plan desks in a converted waterfront factory. Midday sunlight filled the entire factory floor, dancing through the glass walls, calmed by deep-gray sound-deadening carpet. Overhead, a pale pine ceiling supported their fresh garden, reached via stairs on the pine cube's rear wall.

Fuming in the tranquil space, she listened as their client rejected the third round of marketing text for his website. A venture capitalist launching a new boutique firm, Evan favored his politically correct, pandering diatribe to the powerful verb-based text produced by her teammates. Accompanying her strong, green-shaded, box-driven color scheme, his pathetic pandering wouldn't persuade entrepreneurs to contact his firm.

Senior by experience, she tackled their client. "Evan, your words won't work."

He frowned. "My son's at university. He knows how young people think."

Her blood boiled. A weak-willed student they'd never met was rejecting their skilled experience. She stood. Placing her palms on the pine conference table, she leaned over their seated client. "Your son knows nothing about persuasion. His pathetic diatribe suits pastel flowers and pointless graphics. Put your son's shit fest on my powerful palette and you'll get no business."

She stormed out of their calm cube, marched to her pale pine desk, and glared across their airy space, fuming over Evan's nepotistic idiocy as her team dispersed. In the distance, Evan and her boss occupied both twin curved white leather welcome couches. An idiot could guess whose attitude they were discussing.

The distant pow-wow ended with a handshake. She stared at her thirty-two inch Apple Pro display as her boss approached, his footsteps silent on their carpet. "Would you like this afternoon off?"

"No thanks," she said.

"That wasn't a question, Kate. Go home."

Annoyed, she gathered her stuff, escaping the tension she'd created.

Twenty metro minutes didn't change her mind. Evan had misguided belief in his liberal son. Her well-oiled team massaged their words into her colors, producing powerful messaging. She shifted shapes to aid their text, and they split paragraphs or re-wrote them to improve appearance.

At home, she rested her feet on their brown leather couch arm, her head propped against an orange patterned cushion. Her addition of patterned orange cushions to Ben's couch flowed calm through their living space. Evan should have been clear upfront. Revealing his desired text style after rejecting their third attempt had drained her patience.

She sighed at her silent phone. Her boss had sent her home in disgrace. She deserved the cane. No debate. Her marked bottom should hurt for a week, her sore welts teaching her daily to behave. Fear for her future flooded her veins, dampening her desire for discipline.

Resigned to her dismal prospects, she hadn't moved when Ben arrived home. Picking up on her dire mood before he'd removed his shoes, he sat on the caramel rug beside her, stroking her legs. His firm hand thrust calm through her black denim.

"I've messed up," she declared.

Explaining her day to him, her outburst sounded far less justified than she'd persuaded herself.

"You could have handled that better."

"I know. Getting sent home is serious. I may get fired tomorrow."

"How could you fix matters with Evan?"

His support switched her mind to strategies for solving her predicament. "Prove him wrong."

"Maybe aim for reconciliation over winning."

"I can't back down. He wouldn't respect that."

She'd woken with a solid strategy. Dismissing fear for her job, she marched into Evan's fourth-floor lobby in her silver pant suit. Her short coat framed her tight butt. For a boutique venture capital office, her smart suit felt appropriate. To face the man holding her entire future in his powerful hands, it conveyed respect she should have shown him yesterday.

Greeting the receptionist, she asked for Evan. A brief phone call later, his tall, blonde assistant collected her. Shown into Evan's spacious office, his minimalist decor met with her approval, allowing space for ideas to grow.

Looking up, he cast his eye over her. Her suit received a slight smile. "Kate, are you here to apologize?" He'd warned her boss he expected it.

"I'm sorry, Evan. I was disrespectful. My rude attitude in front of my teammates was atrocious."

He nodded. "Agreed." Slight disappointment dwelled. He'd almost have preferred a battle to her capitulation.

Pausing for breath, she raised their stakes. "I still believe in the words we presented you. I have a proposal."

"Let's hear it."

Placing her beige canvas tote bag on his black leather couch, she dropped two stiff white cards on his desk, both with her powerful, green-shaded, box-driven color scheme, one with her team's words, the other his pandering phrases. "On the sidewalk outside, we ask ten passers-by which would make them respond. If my words win, my apology stands. If your words win, I bend over your desk for the severe caning my outrageous attitude deserves."

Startled by her suggestion, he'd said, "I haven't got a cane."

"I've brought one." She pointed to her beige tote resting on his couch. Stuffed in the top, her largest black sweater covered two more below, and her cane jammed at an angle.

Studying the tall beauty before him, he couldn't help picturing her bent across his desk, her silver suit pants tight on her phenomenal bottom. "That's a gutsy deal you're proposing. I'll cane you very hard."

"Only if I lose, and I won't."

"I won't permit you to back out."

"I won't try. If I'm wrong, I'll bend over your desk and take my thrashing without fuss. I won't expect leniency."

In his mind, sharp creases sunk into her tight silver suit pants, planted by his cane on her disobedient bottom. "You have a deal," he said, grabbing his suit coat.

Leaving his office, she glanced at his high-gloss black desk, picturing her utter submission. Bending on his command for a serious beating would humble and hurt her. But if her words didn't win, it should.

A simple hair flick attracted three guys' attention. Each picked her words. Evan targeted two pretty girls in their twenties. One chose his version, the other hers. Confident, she allowed him to choose candidates, adding her charm to engage them. Despite picking their contestants, his score remained fixed where it had started. The tenth guy they stopped admitted to being an entrepreneur, pointing his finger hard at her words.

Returning to his office, she didn't rub salt in his wound.

Closing his door behind her, he said, "Kate, I owe you an apology. I was wrong."

"Thank you," she said, her tone humble and harmonious.

"I respect you for standing your ground. Thank you. We'd have wasted months if you'd let me have my way."

She smiled. "I'm still sorry for speaking to you with gross disrespect."

"Forget it. Although, I admit, caning you hard would have felt satisfying."

She grinned. "I'd have accepted it with good grace."

He scrutinized her. "You mean it, don't you?"

"Yes," she said. "Short applications of meaningful agony do no long-term harm."

"Sounds like you speak from experience."

She gestured towards her bag on his couch. "My boyfriend isn't afraid to use that cane."

"I respect you, Kate. I'll call your boss and tell him we've buried the hatchet."

"Thank you."

"Would he have fired you?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

"He won't. I'll sort it." He stepped towards his desk.

"I appreciate it, Evan." Still facing him, she said, "Tonight, I'll ask my boyfriend to punish me. I shouldn't get away with how I spoke to you."

He smiled. "Kate, I admire you more every minute."

Proud of herself, she walked the six blocks to her office, Friday sun spilling across her successful morning. Telling Evan she'd get punished tonight had drowned her in healthy humiliation. She wouldn't cheat. Ben must give her a formal punishment.

Her co-workers couldn't believe Evan had approved their words. She refused to reveal her strategy. Her boss complimented her for sorting it herself, commenting on her stunning suit. Arriving home, she kept her suit on. Ben deserved to see it. Anyway, she felt dressed to face formal punishment.

Waiting for him, she settled on their couch. He spent Friday afternoons at a hired lab, developing his hair product, obsessing over chemicals to explode a fine mist from his plastic pouch. He'd drawn his dramatic concept for her, but it seemed farfetched.

Picturing herself bent over Evan's high-gloss desk, heat grew in her sex, dampening her panties. Her tight suit pants would have offered a tempting target for his retribution. Unzipping her pants, she slid her fingers into her white bikini panties. She'd dismissed a discreet string in favor of protection this morning, recognizing her panty lines may show.

Rising on one cheek, she smoothed her fingers over her thin suit pants, tracing her embarrassing panty lines, flicking her hard clit, imagining the pain she'd have suffered had she lost. In her fantasy, Evan thrashed the cane into her suit pants, searing a raging inferno into her rude behind. She imagined her agony in his office, his furious strokes punishing her disgraceful outburst. Shame spread as she pictured herself walking past his gorgeous blonde assistant, fresh welts burning beneath her suit. Explosive orgasms ricocheted off her finger, pummeling her desperate sex as pleasurable humility suffused her skin.

When Ben arrived home, she described her successful day. Her caning challenge displeased him, but he couldn't deny its brilliance.

"He'd have enjoyed thrashing you," he said.

"Had I lost, I'd have deserved the humiliation. I'd have bent over and taken the cane for my gross disrespect. But I won."

"You told him I'd punish you tonight?"

She nodded. "It wasn't a surprise following my offer."

Rising, his tone hard as nails, he said, "Stand up and face me."

She obeyed, his harsh tone comforting.

"We've discussed playful games versus actual disobedience. You're receiving formal punishment. It will hurt more than you'd like. You'll struggle to obey. Disobedience will incur severe extra strokes. Expect your bottom to stay marked for a week, reminding you."

She nodded, not trusting herself to reply, glad to accept his cruel correction.

"Walk down to the park."

She couldn't suppress her surprise at his shocking instruction.

"There are convenient hazel trees near our entrance. I pointed them out. I'm positive you remember."

She remembered. Discussing her humiliation had dampened her panties. Reality plunged fear into her. A neighbor may recognize her.

"Break off two fresh switches. As thick as your finger and supple. Bend them double to test them. If you bring me thin ones hoping to lessen your pain, I'll send you back."

"Can I take a bag?"

He shook his head. "Carry your switches with you. Everyone will see a professional young woman walking to her whipping."

She gasped. "I might meet someone we know."

He hardened his gaze. "If they comment, admit why you're getting switched."

"Please," she said, hoping for a reprieve.

"No dice, girl. You almost lost your job. Fetch two fresh switches. Painful ones."

Self-conscious in her suit, street lights guided her towards her embarrassment. Watching two cyclists, she lingered while they passed, before ducking beneath a huge hazel tree, enough light for her task, enough tree for privacy.

Pulling a decent branch, she released it. Its rapid return warned it would inflict considerable pain. She wriggled it from the tree, smoothing away its twigs and leaves. Grabbing another, she measured them both against her finger. He'd ordered switches strong enough to mark her with meaningful welts. Her sex clenched in awe. Her stupidity deserved his demanding punishment. Crafting the instrument of her own punishment delivered a salutary reminder of her overconfident outburst. She deserved public shame for embarrassing her client.

Waiting for a clear pathway, she headed towards the park exit. An approaching businessman noticed her switches. Discreet beside her leg, they were incongruous against her suit. His eyes snapped to her face. She blushed, provoking a smile. She kept her gaze forward, certain he was checking out her soon-to-be-switched bottom.

Navigating the busy avenue to their convenient street, she waited interminable minutes at the crossing. Each passing car judged her. She kept her gaze on the sidewalk, preferring to accept her shame than confirm it.

Her switches beside her leg, she crossed in front of the waiting vehicles, acute embarrassment tantalizing her disgraceful sex. Turning into their street, she held her head high. Everyone knew she was getting switched. She'd earned her embarrassment. A lady unloading her car nodded to her. She nodded back. Catching sight of her fresh switches, the lady smiled and said, "Good girl."

Tempted to run home, she remembered Ben's strict instruction. She wouldn't disobey him. Her walk should feel shameful. She paused. "I was rude to a client. I've kept my job but my boyfriend isn't as forgiving."

"Be thankful he cares. Take it well. You're a beautiful young woman. Those switches will hurt you, but they won't harm you."

She blushed. "Thank you."

Fueled by public shame, her sex swept her towards their building on a wave of subtle pride. He opened the door to their sanctuary, giving her instant refuge.

"A lady commented," she gasped, kicking off her shoes. "She said I must be thankful you cared."

Proud of her honesty, he hid his smile. Her expression told her story. She'd accepted major public humiliation with obedient grace.

"Face the wall," he ordered, taking her switches and pointing to their side wall.

She complied without a word, facing their mushroom paintwork with pride.

"Put your hands on your head," he commanded.

Interlocking her obedient fingers over her chestnut hair, she adopted the challenging position.

Standing behind her, he said, "As your arms ache, consider your disgraceful outburst and the job you love. You have an uncomfortable hour of reflection. When I release you, I'll use the switches you provided. I love you, but I will thrash you without mercy."