« Spanking Stories

Rachel shifted her shoulder muscles in her cramped airline seat, releasing stress. Screeching tires confirmed she'd landed in Frankfurt, Germany, arriving from Vietnam via Dubai one minute early.

Her stupendous earnings weren't all upside. They required heavy investment in infrastructure. In the beginning, she'd invested every spare dollar into her weapons caches.

In her tiny casino worker studio in Las Vegas, civilian career opportunities had eluded her, despite her hunger. Forced to fall back on her shooting skills, she'd gambled on herself. She'd amortized her costs against twelve months' potential earnings, instead of considering single contracts. Her investment in each weapons cache played out against multiple contracts.

Separating weapons acquisition from subsequent use also closed a major investigative tangent. Likewise, discarding used weapons prevented investigators from connecting her contracts.

Expanding her real estate empire had eased her ability to accept contracts others found complex, boosting her business and prices. Through discreet offshore companies, she owned strategic apartments worldwide. Pre-planning nobody could detect, done years before anyone conceived the contract.

Her weapons caches required periodic resupply. Far from onerous, the duty gave her fun downtime in cities she loved. Seeking strict thrills, she always discarded them by morning. Before that, she must strip her rifles, oiling them. She couldn't countenance piss poor preparation. Maintaining her global readiness was a long-term investment in her safety.

Establishing her original network, she'd bought cars and arms in Vietnam, driving them to Thailand, Malaysia, and India, distributing her substantial arsenal, their serial numbers erased before purchase. After buying local cars in each country, she'd returned each Vietnamese vehicle to Ho Chi Minh City, selling it. Since then, she'd built up her black market contacts, making weapons acquisition easier. She'd just bought new rifles in Thailand, Malaysia, India and Vietnam.

Her Ho Chi Minh City weapons cache served Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos and also the Philippines and Indonesia, with a compliant boat owner. Six locations covered the US. Buenos Aires, Argentina, provided for South America. She would add more South America caches if business there grew. Her expensive Tokyo apartment had already paid for itself. Rome and Berlin varied her travel patterns across continental Europe.

Entering Germany through Frankfurt observed her obfuscation principle. She stood for the fifteen minute train journey to Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof. Her intercity train to Berlin departed on schedule. The four-hour trip presented rolling green scenery. She settled into her seat, used to traveling alone.

Maintenance visits provided opportunities to replace weapons, change cars and update security. She'd chosen busy buildings where her presence or absence passed unnoticed. Fitted with high security safes and concealed spaces, her unalarmed properties could pass basic scrutiny, but not invasive investigation. Pin-head cameras recorded intruders. Any incursion invalidated the location forever. It hadn't happened yet.

Her weapons cache strategy worked almost everywhere. State surveillance stopped her from operating in Russia or China. However, nobody was beyond her reach. Targets didn't stay still. Fu Jian had appreciated Sydney. Nobody escaped her global killing zone.

Leaving behind rural countryside and well-behaved German cows, her train slid into Berlin. The fractured city's wartime history delivered disconnected infrastructure, causing convenient abstraction from regular city movement patterns. She walked. Two hours beneath gray skies released her travel tension. Frequent direction alteration and unpredictable store visits revealed she wasn't interesting to anyone. Pausing for pizza, nobody triggered her attention. South of the Tiergarten, she entered her building, walking up to level one.

Inside her tiny studio, stale air assaulted her senses. She opened the sliding terrace door, flooding the tiny space with fresh air. Bedhead to couch was thirty feet, the depth fourteen. White walls. Decades old. Inexpensive. A six-foot-wide central white pillar separated the bed and living space. Its indisputable purpose thwarted attention. She'd had it deepened. Removing the flat screen tv, she placed it against the wall. Pressing the TV backplate unlocked the entire front panel from floor level. Fitted flush the aesthetic design stirred no interest. Removed, it revealed her professional tools.

Withdrawing her unused rifles, she stripped, oiled and reassembled them, the familiar task anchoring her. Pistols followed. She inspected her ammunition, finding it flawless, wiping it clean. Her tiny terrace was almost unusable, but its airflow gave excellent ventilation. She tested her portable barrel incinerator, returning it.

Black market arms dealers were efficient in Germany. Before bed, she collected a heavy black canvas bag from a passing stranger. The nearby Tiergarten afforded tall dark trees, shadowing their pre-paid transaction. Baseball caps, darkness, bulky clothing, and hoodies maintained anonymity. Stripping and testing their firing mechanisms, she added her new Accuracy International rifles to her cache.

Awaking to heavy raindrops, she waited in bed for improved weather. Her Berlin BMW had completed two contracts, requiring its replacement. Rental cars sometimes varied her patterns, suiting her business consultant identity. However, they left trails she preferred to avoid.

After lunch, she chose stone colored straight leg thin cargo pants. They molded to her well-proportioned butt. Touching her toes before her mirrored wardrobes, the lean cotton outlined her white cotton string bikinis panties. She wasn't planning on bending over. Adding a white long-sleeved blouse upgraded her relaxed look. Black ballet flats and a short black blazer completed her car buying persona.

Meeting mild winds outside, she grabbed a taxi to the BMW dealership. Her lengthy journey to Oslo had proved her silver two series BMW less comfortable than she'd expected. She'd decided upon a large BMW SUV. Dark gray instead of silver. A common European vehicle.

Inside the dealership, she spotted the SUV, its garish green unsuitable. She needed to experience its comfort. Sliding her butt into the leather seat, she felt welcome it its comfortable cabin.

"Guten Tag."

She glanced out her open driver's door, smiling. "Do you speak English?"

"Of course, madam."

His sharp gray suit matched his precision speech. Both enhanced his athletic figure. Short blond hair boosted his clean appearance. His confidence pulsed her sex, gentle throbs keeping her in the driving seat.

"It suits you..."

His hanging question begged her name. She said, "Rachel." False names suited spy novels, their mere use a foolish, fat clue. She was an international troubleshooting businesswoman with nothing to hide. Rejected for business transformation roles, she'd learned her future cover story, unaware she was.

His smile widened. He said, "Bruno. nice to meet you, Rachel," offering his hand.

She shook. Unable to subdue her girlishness, she blushed.

He showed her vehicle features, asking about her employment. Demurring away her business consultancy career, she discouraged further interest.

She inquired about carrying capacity. He folded down the rear seats. She glanced around the showroom, sliding her gaze past innocuous customers, remaking eye contact with Bruno before peering into the immense space. Carrying cargo invited inspection. Moving weapons, her trunk would only contain between two and six suitcases. Girls with excess luggage weren't surprising to border officials. Lingerie layered over dress-wrapped weapons had proven itself worldwide, male embarrassment protecting her precious consignments.

Examining the high-powered vehicle's brutish front, she flipped her head backward, her honey highlights holding his attention. Tilting her face towards his, she said, "It has a powerful presence."

His dominant gaze plundered her, establishing his undeniable interest. She savored his firmness. An embarrassing pause ensued. She dragged him back to reality. "It has a spare wheel?"

Recovering as he circled the luxury SUV, he opened the tailgate. Lifting the trunk floor, he revealed her spare wheel. "I don't imagine you'd need to replace it yourself."

She reveled in his flirtatious compliment, refitting the trunk floor, leaning into the black carpeted space to examine its total capacity. Her thin cargo pants rewarded him, tightening over her skimpy panties. Feeling the trunk carpet, she allowed him time to enjoy his view. Behind her, his scorching gaze pierced her bent butt. Her brain placed a huge paddle in his grip. His commanding stance demanded it. Caressing the resilient carpet, she held her vision. Critical heat built in her vulnerable sex. Rich desire caught her. Bent before Bruno, her moist sex endorsed her. Rising from the BMW tailgate, she tilted her head sideways, exposing her slender neck.

His rising eyes crossed her blouse, followed her graceful neck, and landed upon her face. He said, "Would dinner interest you, Rachel?"

She smiled. Success. Almost effortless. "I believe I'd enjoy dinner."

"I finish at 5pm. Shall we meet in the city center?"

She didn't want dinner conversation. Fraught with traps, it wasn't productive. "Do you live nearby?"

"Landwehr Canal."

"Give me your address. I'll meet you at 6pm, if I don't change my mind." A teasing grin declared it was unlikely.

Grabbing a yellow post it note from his nearby desk, he scribbled his address and phone number.

Folding it, she placed it in her black shoulder bag beside her phone.

"You like the car?"  

"I'll sleep on it." She grinned. His thrilled expression showed his excellent understanding of English.

She walked towards the Landwehr Canal area, satisfaction bursting through her sparkling smile. Suggesting admirers would flock to change her wheel had won her. Flattery. Simple, but effective. Stranger sex avoided complications. She'd settle for him deep inside her, his arms holding her, but clues to his dominance had abounded, assaulting her senses, striving for her sex, commanding her obedience. Her shameless flirting deserved a solid spanking. Maybe she'd get it, maybe not.

She watched his apartment building, scrutinizing the area, following careful patterns devised to reveal unanticipated surveillance. Nothing triggered her senses. Extending her walk, she returned to his apartment five minutes before 6pm. Germans appreciated precision. So did she.

Buzzed up, she entered his small two-bedroom apartment. His smart gray suit pants fitted his muscular form to perfection, enhancing his male bulge, emanating potent masculine control. He waved her into his lounge, offering her crisp white wine.

Laying her blazer on the couch arm, she sat, crossing her legs, sipping her wine. Studying his seated form beside her, she didn't regret her decision. His powerful legs felt poised to take charge of her. Sliding towards him, she clinked glasses, meeting his steadfast gaze. German men were serious, but serious was attractive.

He said, "Rachel, you're stunning."

Her sex demanded results. She placed her glass on his coffee table. Sliding against him, she caressed his leg. "Simple pleasure. No strings."

"Agreed," he murmured, discarding his glass in favor of her.

Wrapping her in his arms, his lips kissed her cheek, sliding towards hers. Clean tasting, lethal electricity pulsed into her. Dropping onto his back, he pulled her on top, keeping their devastating kiss. Holding her against him, his firm fingers spread, grasping her butt, declaring intimate authority over it.

Pausing for breath, he stared into her eyes. "You want this, Rachel?"

She nodded, her thoughts sliding to his firm fingers.

Reading her expression, tiny cracks streaked through her assurance. "You're thinking something. Tell me."

She recognized orders. Barked at across parade grounds, piercing male power demanded unqualified obedience. Inches away, its amplified force expected no less.

"I may deserve a sound spanking for my shameless flirting." Posed as uncertain, a mere possibility, she'd provided them a simple escape route. He may decide she didn't.

Hardening his tone, he smiled. "Shameless describes it."

Her heart sped up, her sex soaking itself.

His smile dissolved into a stern expression. "Your conduct requires correction, young lady."  

She grinned.

His demeanor remained firm. "It isn't a simple spanking you deserve, is it?"

She pursed her lips, delighting in him. "Your belt might improve my manners."

Rolling her onto the couch, he escaped from beneath.

Placed, she watched him disappear into his bedroom. Returning, he carried a thick brown leather strap. It wasn't a belt. Its singular purpose was proper, undebatable punishment. Her sex clenched.

"I strap my younger sister sometimes. Like you, she needs a firm hand."

"Lucky girl."

He smiled. "Beforehand, she may not agree. Afterwards, she knows she needed it."

Rachel smiled. "Very lucky girl."

"I'll thrash you, Rachel." He stared her down. She deserved a chance to retreat. He prayed she wouldn't.

She appreciated his directness. "I'll bear my pain. It should hurt me. I'm ashamed of my conduct. I deserve it." She lowered her gaze, humility cloaking her. She had indeed earned her strapping.

"You used every flirting technique," he thundered. "Shameless, undignified, wanton, brazen behavior."

Tossed into her soaking sex, his hand grenade exploded. She leaped up, her craven body accepting his terms.

He led her into his narrow bedroom.

Its white-walled tidiness pleased her. Crisp white sheets welcomed her.

Closing the door, he pointed towards his bed. She moved towards it, contrite under his serious gaze, his heavy tone still pouring heavenly pleasure down her spine.

"Improper, lewd, outrageous flirting is unscrupulous."

His tough verbal condemnation made her feel safe. She devoured it, letting it lift responsibility from her shoulders.

"You recognized your misbehavior, confessing it."

His veiled compliment teased through his toughness, adding clear praise. It pleased her.

"I'm reducing your punishment to eight strokes."

Switching her focus to the leather draping from his hand, she wondered if it was enough.

He paused, studying her response. She appeared sorrowful but not afraid. He crossed her gaze, drawing it onto him, adding, "Bare."

Shivers shuddered down her spine. His grim tone promised pain. Undignified, brazen and improper, she deserved it.

"Drop your trousers, Rachel," he commanded.

Delivered in his abrupt accent, his stern order dumped her fingers on her cargo pants button. Sliding her stone cargo pants down her slender thighs, she accepted his gaze on her long, bare legs. Her white blouse didn't cover her tiny cotton string bikini panties. Subjected to his blatant inspection, she stood tall. She could have picked any color panties today. Fresh white pleased her.

"Turn. Bend over the bed."

She obeyed, matching his precision commands with precise movements. Lowering herself, she noticed distant apartments across the street. Neighbors couldn't see her shame. Placing her palms on his bedcovers, she spread her legs, presenting her butt in unqualified compliance.

Warm male fingers liberated her cotton panties, sliding them down her bare thighs, snapping them stretched above her knees. Sweet shame swamped her.

"You're beautiful, Rachel, but you need a hard lesson. Eight strokes. Appreciate your punishment. Let it teach you."

Wrapped in his tough authority, his compliment carried actual weight, filling her heart. Her duty outlined, she settled herself to face her punishment with dignity. The broad leather touched her bare butt, measuring its position. Stolen away, it left her breathless. Her slim legs straightened themselves. She pushed her bare butt out.

The thick strap slammed into her sensitive skin, exploding ferocious sting. Grabbing an entire breath, she released it, condensing her iridescent fire into manageable releases. He'd censured her audacious attitude, raging heat across her girlish flesh, laying down the law.

Leather struck again, decimating her bare butt. Scorching heat savaged her skin. Bringing his strap to bear, he'd taming her precocious beauty. Ensuring he didn't miss her overture, she hadn't favored subtlety. Heavy leather condemned her missing decorum.

The strap slid lower, landing a thunder crack across her butt, bursting a bonfire across her bare cheeks. She bit her lip, desperate to remain dignified. Flaming respect flared.

Wide flames unfurled, storming across her burning butt, forcing her to acknowledge them. A sharp cry emerged. She clenched her teeth, proud he'd broken her. He should. The strap didn't reappear. His solid presence remained behind her. Had her cry unsettled him? She slowed her breathing, willing him to deliver her full sentence.

"Four More. Lay on the bed, Rachel."

Joy swarmed, carrying her forward. She climbed onto his bed, folding her arms, resting her head. Her ballet flats fell from her feet. Bare below her waist, her cargo pants secured her ankles. Her stretched panties proclaimed his power.

Fiery agony drove her calm. She watched him move around the bed, accepting his indisputable authority. The strap draped across her burning bare butt. Moving south, it slid onto her tender thighs, staying its progress. Resting across her delicate flesh, it awaited his command.

Beautiful, consummate male jurisdiction on fearsome display for her benefit. She didn't beg for mercy. He must chastise her crude confidence. Her sweet thighs must hurt. Flooding acceptance through her core, her legs relaxed.

"Four, fast, and hard," he said.

Judged, her legs tensed. The leather lifted clear. Held over his shoulder, its menace swallowed her. Her peripheral vision provided its warning too late. The strap flung its brutal clap around his bedroom, lashing her flawless flesh. Scrunching her face, she panted, proud breaths fanning her flames. Broad swathes of skin screamed, spreading their fear down her thighs. The strap stuck lower, splashing glittering heat. Burying her head in her arms, she cried into his comforter, bearing her well-earned beating.

Returning up her thighs, the broad leather burst fiery hurt into her furious burn. She bit her tongue, pressing her face into his bed. Completing its devastating mission, it slammed into her lower thighs. Her roasted skin applauded his merciless last stroke. Panting her sincere gratitude, she honored it with silence, watching him strip.

His rock hard prominence powered towards her. Rolling onto her back, she ignored her furious thighs, kicking off her pants, shucking her panties. Lying in her flaming firepit, she unbuttoned her blouse. Her fingers didn't reach her bra.

Unapologetic, he kneeled over her, spreading her legs. His finger guided his hardness towards her sticky slit. She spread her arms, clutching his comforter. Holding her breath, his manhood claimed her, teasing his captured territory. She rammed her hips against his invading force. "Thank you," she cried. "Oh god, thank you."

Plunging deep into her gratitude, he drove her towards his pillows. His warm breath lowered to her ear, his arms wrapping her tight.

"You needed beating, Rachel," he whispered.

She couldn't withstand his words. Their infallible truth burned her bare bottom. Her need screamed skyward, thrusting her towards his supremacy. Impaled on him, savage pleasure devoured her. She flung her legs around him, drawing him into her glory. He bucked hard, thrusting everything into her, his ending cry echoing her joy. Thundering downwards, she slalomed through her pleasure waves, cresting their curves, crashing into their dips, rocking beneath him, her legs locked tight, orgasms still pelting her.

She crept out at dawn. Before leaving, she folded a corner page from his kitchen notepad, sharpening its fold with her nail, and tore the triangle free. Across it, she wrote, 'Thanks', sticking it beneath a fridge magnet. Her single word promised nothing. Trailing broken hearts in her wake kept her safe. The BMW was off her shopping list. Becoming memorable wasn't possible. Even purchased by her local lawyer, its unfortunate timing may stir Bruno's interest.

Four days later, her local lawyer delivered her new Mercedes G-Wagon, bought from stock. Gray, it merged into normalcy. Although less comfortable than the super-powered BMW SUV, it fit her professional image, would eat miles, and carry her to her next European contract.

Parking it beneath her studio, she honored Bruno, renting a forest green BMW X5M. She must forget him, but remembering him a little longer wasn't wrong. He deserved it. Folding her rifle stocks, she wrapped her new purchases in vibrant dresses she'd bought, their sizes correct. Oil on dresses beat discovery. Layering plentiful lingerie above, she loaded her suitcases into the ample trunk. Leaving behind Berlin, she set her navigation for Innsbruck, Austria, and onward to Rome, Italy.