« Spanking Stories

Due on duty in Djibouti, Africa, next Friday, marine sniper Rachel had seven days' leave. Facing Tromso ferry terminal in northern Norway, she welcomed the warmth of the coastal ferry ahead. Hard arctic survival lessons had filled twenty consecutive days. Brutal battles in freezing conditions, white-outs blocking her sights, her squad had learned arctic warfare lessons unteachable in the USA.

She repositioned her blue backpack, easing its influence on her tender hip. Sliding on concealed ice, she'd crashed hard into a tree yesterday. Arnica cream had helped. In skinny blue jeans, cream plaid shirt and oversized blue parka, only her upright bearing revealed her military occupation. Her marine gear was already airborne through Germany. Returning stateside wasn't worthwhile for only seven days. Unlike her teammates, she didn't have family to visit. Switching her journey south onto the luxurious coastal ferry excited her. Norway's Fjord filled coastline was a natural attraction. However, rare comfort remained her true prize.

She needed a wee, the relative warmth of Tromso unfreezing her bodily systems. Her cabin lay beyond the steady boarding process. She slid into the apparent queue, ignoring several dozen milling passengers. The queue straightened behind her. Had she queue-jumped? She kept her gaze forward. Nobody had appeared organized. She focused on her body. Behind her, she sensed a tall guy. Pleasant, musky maleness prevailed.

"American?"

She acknowledged his attractive timbre without turning, lowering one shoulder. "Sure."

"On holiday?"

She labeled him German. Holiday instead of vacation. And his clipped accent. She couldn't engage. Her non-compliant body demanded her total focus. "Something like that."

He took her unsubtle hint, retreating, rising in her estimation.

Registering took longer than she'd hoped. Receiving her ship id card, she bolted towards her assigned cabin on deck six. Her arctic superior cabin was small, perfect for a single girl. Dumping her backpack, she dived into her ensuite bathroom. Exploring her cabin lasted sixty seconds. Wrapping herself back in her navy blue parka, she promenaded on deck five, their departure imminent.

Glorious scenery filled her afternoon, supporting her impulsive decision to board the MS Nordkysten. Early evening brought a Gastro burger on deck four. A wooden spear pierced her Brioche bun, locking in her mouth-watering beef patty, Jarlsberg cheese, lettuce, tomato, cucumber, and red onion. Even without coleslaw and oven-baked potato, it beat rations.

Returning to her cabin, she showered, brushing out her collar-length brunette tresses. They'd spent three weeks shoved in a ponytail. Dropping her wooden hairbrush beside the kettle, she stretched out, her fresh, fragrant hair resting on her pristine pillow.

Darkness falling, she added her heavy cream jumper, bought this morning. Slipping into her parka, she left her cabin, zipping it tight. Along the corridor, a tall guy sporting neat black hair zipped his parka in unison.

Catching her glance, he smiled. "Necessary."

She smiled. "I hope The Northern Lights are worth it." His demeanor showed no rancor from her earlier rudeness.

"I'm Alexander. Would you like to join me?"

Her smile continued. His clipped accent, presented in less pressurized circumstances, felt softer, assured. Instinct overtook consideration. "I'd love to."

Leaning upon the ship's rail, she studied Alexander. Deck lighting softened his short black hair. Muscular arms burst beneath his black parka. Clean shaven, a tiny smile proved he was enjoying her observations. Turning towards the rail, she blushed, pressing into it, triggering outrage in her inflamed hip. Pushing clear of the insensitive white metal, she winced.

"Has your boyfriend spanked you?" he asked. "I assume not?"

"Assume nothing," she grinned. "It leads to mistakes."

"Spoken like a soldier."

"I am. I'm also single." His disarming nature encouraged her. "I bruised my hip in training."

"Less interesting."

His crestfallen expression stung, saddening her. She rallied. "I know how spankings feel."

His discouragement burst into a spectacular grin. "More interesting."

They fell into casual conversation. He was a Swiss lawyer, building his career in Zurich. She revealed her sniper skill, igniting his fascination. Mandatory military service had taught him weapons use. She enjoyed his interest, falling into comfortable silence beneath the night sky.

She stared beyond the rail into pleasurable darkness, examining his unsubtle overture. After she'd winced, he hadn't offered her sympathy. Instead, his startling suggestion had fizzed through her core. She said, "Thank you. I've forgotten my sore hip already. Anyway, it hurts far less than a sound spanking." Beside her, male energy transmitted robust satisfaction.

He said, "I hoped we'd return there."

She nodded, pleased.

"Spanked girls are deadly attractive."  

Her intrigued sex sparked memories. Her training sergeant may have agreed. He'd bent her over his lecture table, perfecting her sniper skills, correcting math mistakes before her peers. Combat fatigues down, his rattan cane had burned studious stripes through her thin white panties. His masterful discipline, learned through English parents, had drilled details into her, while acute shame taught her solid self-respect. "Have you met many spanked girls?"

"None more beautiful than you."

She smiled. "I got frequent canings during sniper training. Very humbling."

"I'm glad."

"Me too."

He offered his arms, pulling her back against him. Sliding between tall mountains, bright green mist danced across the midnight blue sky, back lit by speckled stars. Leaning back against his comfortable, solid chest, she stared into the green streaked sky. Vivid mist floated above snow-capped mountaintops, declaring its independence. The atmospheric abnormality transformed the star-studded night sky into her private theater, spreading Aladdin-like mystery around her universe. Reflecting off the dark sea surface, freak flitters, like vertical green piano keys, tinkled in the sky, delivering intense silence. Green streaks stretched over her head, the ship passing below.

"It isn't real," she whispered. It was. She'd read about it. Solar storms sent vast clouds of charged particles into Earth's atmosphere. Captured within Earth's magnetic field, they sped towards the poles. Atoms and molecules collided with the sun's excited particles, creating sensational green wavy patterns. His arms completed her contentment. They soaked in the impossible, hope infusing her. Twenty minutes later, she spun in his embrace, wrapping her arms around him. Resting her head on his chest, she said, "Thank you."

Leaning down, he kissed her head. "You're welcome. It's magical."

His rich tone throbbed through her, implying her presence was part of the essential mystery. She turned her face upward, seeking him. His lips connected. Warmth spread through her. Tasting his toughness, she shuddered in his capable arms. His warm finger stroked her cold cheek, marking out incredible potential. She sighed, nestling deeper into him.

"Come," he ordered, releasing her.

She fitted her hand into his. Spirit spread from his firm grip. He led them towards her cabin. Outside her door, he swept her against him, replanting his lips. Claimed, she softened. Wavy vivid green twisted across her closed eyelids.

"Inviting me inside?" he asked.

Her brain caught up with her tingling lips. She slipped her cabin key from her parka pocket, sliding it into its slot. The mechanism clunked. She pushed on her door, stepping inside, watching it close behind him.

Her tiny cabin challenged them. Slipping off her parka, she hung it in the closet, taking his, too. Crossing her arms, she lifted her heavy cream jumper. Flinging it into the closet, it landed on her backpack. Her cream plaid shirt wasn't necessary in her warm cabin. She unbuttoned it, watching him. His black jeans had gone, replaced with tight black boxers. His planted feet owned her cabin. She ran her fingers over his tight, long-sleeved black top, its contours potent beneath her palms. He slid her shirt from her shoulders, revealing her plain black bra. Pulling her close, he enveloped her. Through her jeans, his brutal hardness, huge against her denim, demanded her. She groaned. It reverberated against his solid chest. Shuffling backwards towards her bed, she knocked her hairbrush from its perch. Reaching down, she picked it up. The atmosphere stilled around her.

"Pass that here," he commanded.

His unequivocal tone throbbed through her. It imposed hard authority. She obeyed, handing him her hairbrush, lowering her gaze to her feet.

"Earlier, you queue jumped. Selfish behavior doesn't suit you. You need correction, a proper spanking, Rachel."

Biting her lip, she wallowed in his comprehensive command of her. He'd found her guilty, sentencing her without hesitation. Her body craved capitulation. Her brain didn't. "I didn't realize."

"Oh, I think you did. Afterwards."

Towering over her, his refusal to accept her plea thrust eminent respect into her willing sex. This afternoon, she'd recognized her mistake after he'd closed the gap behind her. She shuffled her feet. She felt dreadful, but her body hadn't allowed her to give up her queue position. Explaining herself wouldn't reduce her sentence. He'd maybe worsen her suffering. Arguing hadn't helped her. "I'm sorry."

He tapped her hairbrush against his palm. "You will be, I'm afraid."

She shivered, savoring her deepening guilt. His light taps portended worse. She shouldn't escape unscathed. She deserved punishment. Her sex thundered its approval. She nodded.

"Take off your jeans, Rachel."

She loosened her decorative red belt, her fingers unsnapping her tight denim, lowering her zip.

Checking her fate hadn't changed, she watch him rip off his tight black top, preparing to punish her. He brushed past. His bare torso scrapped her soft bra, grazing her hard nipples. Electric jolts shoved her jeans down. Leaning against the bathroom wall, she removed them, casting them into the closet. Sliding it closed, she faced him in her black bra and small bikini panties, their simple cotton humbled her. Seated on her bed, his solid stare swallowed her, drawing her towards him.

He captured her hand. "You need this, Rachel."

His simple statement sealed her certainty. She nodded.

"Bend over."

His strict order didn't offer debate. Leaning on his bare thigh, she lowered herself over his knee, graceful in defeat. She flattened her palms on the royal blue carpet, her toes touching, too. Her panties had risen, baring more of her bottom. His warm palm settled on her bare back. Her huge wooden hairbrush rested on her panties. She inhaled, holding her breath. Her brush didn't move. Exhaling, it rose.

Bright burn burst across her right cheek. Sting exploded, scorching her unspanked skin. A solid crack ricocheted around her tiny cabin. Boat noise absorbed it. Her head rose, flinging her hair. She gasped. She'd never felt her hairbrush.

Care home paddles and her sergeant's cane had delivered official punishments. Her hairbrush blasted repeated stings, heat suffusing her butt. Charged particles of robust male leadership pervaded her bedroom.

Another solid smack crashed into her other cheek. She closed her eyes, picturing her fellow passengers queueing. Their stiff judgments cracked across her part-bare cheeks, scorching savage heat she deserved. Her panties rose under consistent assault. Sting drove deeper in her bare skin, crisp applications worsening its fiery hurt. Called out for her behavior, his harsh spanks built bitter respect.

Heat flooding her reddened cheeks. Sharp cries burst free. The hard wood exploded, expanding her sting. She held herself over his lap, trusting in his merciless precision. Queue jumping angered her. Guilty, his ruthless spanking balanced her unhappiness, offering possible forgiveness. Raining down solid spanks, he directed her heavy hairbrush, forcing pants from her. He hadn't afforded her any concessions. She deserved none. Against her sore hip, his hardness proved his substantial pleasure. Despite her agony, she smiled. He should enjoy punishing her. Six slow, solid spanks slammed into her barest cheeks. She withheld her cries, showing her unmitigated respect. The hairbrush clattered onto the sidetable. Warm male breath floated beside her ear. "You're spanked, Rachel."

She felt spanked, his male authority beaten into her almost bare cheeks. Slumped over his knee, blazing burn raged, continuing her suffering. Permeating deep, it sucked out her guilt, lightening her spirits.

His brawny arm pulled her upward, setting her on her feet. His hardness stretched his tight black shorts. Stepping over his legs, she slammed her spanked bottom into his sturdy thighs, punishing herself. Desperate for him, she shoved her ravenous sex against his raging manhood.

He swept her into his arms, spun her onto her back, and deposited her on her bed. Placed her for his pleasure, she groaned. He shimmied her panties down her slender legs, casting them aside, rising over her.

She slid her fingers into his shorts, releasing him. He shoved them down, kicking them free. His manhood pierced her, pausing its promise before penetrating deep. Crying out, she gazed into his eyes.

His tender toughness held her. Light strokes stilled her against her imminent collapse. Deep thrusts flung her further towards instability, re-capturing her before she fell. Held in his tender balance, she begged. Light cries rose, pleading for her release.

He lowered his lips to her ear, whispering, "I had to spank you, young lady."

Tidal waves of tempestuous release tumbled into her core, discharging enormous orgasms, flooding her in comfortable containment. Held in his arms, her pent up tension fell away. Lying prone beneath him, her heart slowed against his chest. She whispered, "Thank you for spanking me. I deserved it."

"I enjoyed it," he said.

Beside her ear, his grin burst across her face. "I noticed. We have four days. Make them special. Brook no excuses. Punish me as you decide. Keep me in tight check. Contain me, Alexander."

Crossing the arctic circle, southbound, majestic mountains fell into stunning fjords. They explored cold coastal towns, her bottom hot beneath her jeans. She explored relationship powers she'd never experienced, pouting, provoking, and inviting tough sanctions.

She crushed him in the gym, outrunning him on her treadmill, four miles ahead, when he surrendered. Her arrogance cost her a beautiful belting. Bent over her bed, he leathered her bare bottom, extending her belting lower onto her super-fast legs, preventing her from wearing gym shorts.

Denied running, she reveled in her restriction, instead wallowing in the outdoor hot tub, her bare legs carrying visible evidence of her belting beneath the warm bubbly water. Forced to soak, she admired the extensive coastline until other guests got bored. Risking standing, she hid her belted thighs in her huge towel, their unforgettable presence energizing her sex.

Pouting produced very personal spankings. He didn't tolerate it. She tried to taste his white chocolate cream and cloudberries without asking, pouting when denied. In her cabin, his leather belt dealt with her poor manners. Four very harsh strokes streaked intense pain across her bare butt, reminding her to ask, his palm punishing her pouting. Ordered over his knee, she bent, subdued, accepting her spanking in honorable silence, apologizing after he'd made his point.

His clipped accent enhanced his orders. Tasting its finesse, she stored his commands forever, treasuring their perfection.

Pushing her performance too far, momentary rudeness while exploring Kristiansund brought her first outdoor punishment. They visited Varden, climbing the tower, reading the city's history through beautiful wall paintings. She marred their scenic view. Deliberate misunderstanding of his casual joke turned it distasteful. Nearby tourists heard. Momentary consideration would have prevented it. Perhaps she'd pressed ahead, regardless. Upon leaving, he selected a path downhill through lush green foliage.

Twisting between tall rocks and heavy greenery, the path offered brief privacy. He didn't delay. Picking a fresh switch from overhead, he ordered her jeans down. Embarrassed, she didn't argue, accepting people may see her getting whipped. She deserved it.

"Grab you ankles," he commanded.

She obeyed him, exposing her white cotton panties in the damp air. The switch struck. Its initial lashes delivered mild stings. Uncomfortable. Not unbearable. Repeated strokes built blazing fires beneath her thin cotton. She panted, keeping her cries in check. Clamping her fingers around her ankles, she bore its eternal fieriness.

"Pull your jeans up," he ordered.

Packing her acute pain inside her tight jeans, she flung her arms around him. "I'm sorry," she said. He dropped the switch, his arms proving he still wanted her.

He didn't spare her, imposing strict order on their unexpected relationship. Petulance guaranteed his palm. Summoned to his cabin after promenading in the cold air, he burst bright stings across her bare bottom, punishing her peevishness.

He said, "Petulance isn't pretty."

His scolding hurt worse than his hand.

Contained, his positive company carried them south, past sparkling mountain tops, along the unmatched coastline. Coffee and pastries slid past their scenic vistas. Glimpsing the enormous Jostedal Glacier, mainland Europe’s largest, called for champagne. She spilled her second glass. Her casual carelessness earned her his belt in her cabin. Stretched over a pillow, he flogged her naked buttocks, encouraging improved accuracy. Wicked sting replaced her sloppiness. Humble apologies whispered into her comforter earned her no leniency.

The relaxed atmosphere onboard the MS Nordkysten rested her. She declined inspirational lectures and optional activities in favor of his tough lessons, his firm, rich, commanding voice imprinting lasting memories. Constant sting stabilized her, requiring no obligation except obedience.

Their arrival into Bergen heralded the end she'd pretended didn't exist. Pressed against the promenade deck railing, crisp air caressed her refreshed cheeks. She leaned into him, watching their last docking. They hadn't discussed their future. They had none. She'd fly through Oslo and Istanbul tonight. The US marine corp required her in Djibouti. Zurich beckoned him.

Deposited on the dock, she glanced at her white triangular note. She'd folded her notebook page, sharpening her fold with her nail, tearing the corner free. Written in her neat handwriting was her private email address. Accepting their inevitable fate, she kissed him, pressing her folded triangle into his palm. Separating their lips, she whispered, "Maybe we'll meet again." It wasn't likely. She stepped backwards, keeping her heart light, unaware the neat note he held would one day save her life.