« Spanking Stories

"Bend over, Rachel," Victor commanded.

Rachel faced her glossy black desk. Bending from her hips, his hard command pushed her down over her desk. She rested her bare arms on its polished wood, the shiny surface reflecting her solemn expression. Her tight white blouse encased her obedient body, bent beside her uniform coat and skirt. Her pert backside filled out her white cotton bikini panties. Regulation skin-toned thigh-high stockings decorated her dead-straight legs.

Victor's muscular bulk stood over her. Reading her latest mission file, he'd sentenced her to the devastating Indonesian Kooboo rattan cane for assassinating Fu Jian in Sydney. His stalwart friendship had furnished her teen years. His insistence on giving her severe correction satisfied their shared adult values. Confessing she assassinated dangerous individuals for money had demanded fortitude. He'd rewarded her courage with proper pain.

Cool air teased her bare back below her hemmed blouse, wafting through the gap above her panties. Bare arms added to her awareness. Her legs, sheathed in thigh-high stockings, offered her vulnerable thighs to his cruel cane. His sentences were never light. She faced inordinate agony. He'd thrash her without compunction, expecting her to show respect by accepting her discipline with dignity, despite its astonishing agony.

Her tricky upward-angled shot in Sydney had eliminated Fu Jian. His wife's permanent solution to his physical abuse met objective judgment. Protected by power, justice couldn't reach him. Her forty-nine point one degree upward shot had. Her unsanctioned kill required formal recognition. Court martial wasn't available. Bent in supplication before her friend, she welcomed his hard judgment.

"You're getting ten strokes," Victor said.  

Received in shy silence, her sentence reflected her wrongdoing without additions. Reading Fu Jian's file, he'd seen the wife had sought legal solutions, her reward, worse assaults. She'd felt obliged to complete her contract, aware she'd pay in pain. Calming her breathing, she prepared herself, relaxing.

"Legs straight," he ordered.

Rebuked, she tensed her legs, straightening them. Unlike the cane during her sniper training, the brutal Kooboo reformatory school cane delivered punitive thrashings rather than sharp lessons. It lifted away.

She held her breath. He waited her out. Exhaling, she surrendered control. A cruel swish spread through her air-conditioned home office. Its forthright crack resonated around her white walls, landing dead center across her panty-protected bottom. An entire second extended without perceptible distress before ferocious pain burst across her tight cotton, searing atrocious torment into her soft skin. Murderous pain plunged deep. Pain she couldn't fathom. She gasped. First strokes always conquered her. Brutal truth met sanguine expectation, gifting her undeniable brutal burn. Heat sharpened along its precise impact line. Pointless panting gained no relief. She panted anyway. Excruciating agony threatened her dignified composure. She strained, stilling her desperate butt. Honor blistered down her spine, demanding her continued compliance.

Victor said, "The facts aren't in question. You shot him, Rachel."

Dense, flexible rattan whipped into her fit backside, penetrating pain behind its punishing weight. Fire sank into her flesh. She gripped the desk edge, willing herself to appreciate it. Her knuckles whitened. Incisive sting bit into her cheeks. She focused her sights on her guilt. Flaming heat deepened its grip on her. A fresh, fierce thwack broke across her desk, her proud bottom receiving its impact. She bowed her head, wallowing in its savage cruelty. Respect replaced her pain. She deserved no mitigation. Three thick tramlines striped her backside. Sizzling lessons in civic conduct. A fourth stroke hurt her lower. Flaming from her lower curve to her highest flesh, four severe stripes marked her shame.

"Your broke the law," Victor said. "Lower your panties."

Allowing her to lower her panties was generous. She detested him pulling her panties down. It belittled her. Sometimes deserved, it showered her in shame. Reaching behind, her tight elastic brushed her fiery welts. Hissing, she cursed her carelessness. Lowering her panties to above her knees, their stretched presence declared her deficient.

Bared, her heart sank into humbleness. She needed it to bear her beating. Her service wasn't legal. Its morality was also questionable. Weighty rattan rested against her bare skin, preparing to punish her. She stilled her breathing, anticipating it.

Half-an-inch of cylindrical rattan struck between her highest stripes, blending into its adjacent rivals. Unspeakable pain spread over five whole seconds, reaching its full power. Desperate panting didn't disperse its accumulated agony. Appreciating its full potential, she closed her eyes, willing its peak to pass. The harsh rod struck again. Low, it launched a second band of three-line fiery heat. Chasing behind her first, rising fire tore across her bare cheeks. She clenched her teeth, unable to bear its intensity. Five seconds passed too fast. The third joining stroke connected her central stripes, producing her third soaring stack of blistering agony.

Her seven-stroke raging storm didn't relent. She couldn't imagine any bottom remained uncaned. The cane disabused her of her hopeful notion, resting against her untouched skin below its previous pattern of pain. It struck hard, its impact recorded by her office walls. Relentless heat roared into her fresh flesh. She hissed, her clenched teeth refusing to separate. Striking again, it widened its merciless mark. Two fast developing welts connived to supply unbearable pain. The last stroke broke her. She screamed, desperate to withstand its ferocity, powerless to preserve her treasured silence.

She'd seen her fellow female marines caned, stark white lines flashing beyond their plain white panties, visible across bare skin, turning red as ultimate agony impacted their deserving butts. Implacable justice flowed beneath her soaring suffering. She deserved her punishment, her severe anguish justified. Her conscience demanded conspicuous consequences. Her bare bottom carried uncompromising evidence of her formal beating.

Justice delivered calm. Moisture still clouding her gaze, she noticed him replace the cane in the black drawer behind her desk. Hot weals sealed into solid stripes. Her breathing quietened into utter silence, a skill mastered behind her rifle. Her ears detected her wine room door seal release. Off her kitchen, its wooden racks held five hundred bottles, half chilled. Despite caning her, he still cared for her.

He returned. "Stand up, Rachel."

Rising, she faced him, pulling up her panties, the sheer power of being bared plundering her afresh. Standing in her thin cotton, she faced her judge, jury, and executioner. "Thank you, Victor."

He nodded. "You're welcome. Get changed. Keplinger Lithic awaits you in the backyard."

She smiled. Her favorite white wine. Sweeping her uniform from the desk, she carried it upstairs. In her bedroom, she rehung her skirt and jacket, discarding her blouse to her laundry bin. Removing her underwear, she stood naked before her mirrored wardrobe. Turning, she studied his strictness imprinted on her bare skin. Seven welts merged into a red square, rugged texture adding visual interest. Below, three adjacent ridges merged, their collective hurt still surging. Stark evidence of her repudiated guilt. She lowered her analysis, admiring her sleek legs. He must have somewhat approved of her completed contract because he'd spared her thighs. Quiet pleasure soothed her burning butt.

Her fingertips traced parallel ridges across her red square. Sharp stabs followed her tracking fingers. She endured it. Her duty. In sniper school, her dorm-room mates had seen her bare butt striped in obvious red welts. Continuing her embarrassment, they'd played their expected part in her humiliation. Watching her punishment, guys had also contributed, seeing her humbled hard. She'd also shared in their shame. Her sergeant had believed in actual equality. Bullets didn't swerve around beautiful girls. Reaching into her closet, she selected her bright red triangle bikini. Failing to hide her toned bottom, it honored Victor's efforts. Someone should see her beaten bottom, if only her friend.

Returning barefoot through her office, she stepped out onto her stone patio. Wooden pergolas provided stylish shading. Her crystal blue pool reflected the relentless sunlight she adored in Nevada. Beyond, twin sun loungers offered discreet, full body tanning on her well-maintained lawn.

Closer, four wicker loungers overlooked the pool, shaded by the slatted pergola roof. Victor occupied the furthest, thick black-and-white striped cushions supporting him. She settled beside him, her part-bare bottom denying her comfort. A gray wicker table separated them, presenting the promised glistening bottle of Keplinger Lithic. From the Sierra Foothills, its dry, nutty taste always delighted her. Sipping it, tempting aromas wafted from her glass. She observed him. Bare, muscular legs below smart navy cotton shorts. Her gaze lifted to his white polo, packaging his tough torso. "Thanks for dealing with me."

"You're beautiful, Rachel. Disciplining you isn't a painful task."

She blushed. Broken rays warmed her front. Heat radiated from her burning backside into the plush lounger cushion. "I appreciate it. While excruciating, it keeps me honest. You bring me down. I need to feel humble. It prevents me from getting a god complex."

He'd stopped the video evidence after seconds, seeing quite enough to trust her judgment. "Fu Jian needed your lasting solution."

"No longer."

"You enjoyed Sydney?"

"Loads," she grinned, describing her view from the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

"I doubt you needed a safety harness."

"I played tourist. It was fun." Hiding her talents was standard practice. She described her sensational helicopter tour of Sydney Harbour. Her bird's-eye view had also provided useful reconnaissance.

"Merging research into pleasure?"

She nodded. "Blending into irrelevance is tougher than the actual mission." Enjoying his bright company, she sipped her cool wine. Her only confidant, she loved his undemanding company. "Is sex still selling?"

"Like crazy," he said. "Food sales rose ten percent, drinks twenty."

She smiled. A minority investor in his growing bar empire, his simple formula sent girls in cowboy boots, scanty denim shorts and bright bikini tops to tables, serving wings, burgers, barbecued ribs, and pitchers of beer to a diet of live or recorded sports on enormous screens. Triangles fascinated her. Triangles girls had spunk, style, and devastating looks, their unattainability a deliberate drug. It drove incredible repeat business. She said, "I told you. Shorter shorts."

He grinned. "You were spot on." Afraid to alienate his superstar girls, his original shorts had provided an unnecessary extra inch. On her advice, he'd bought tons of ultra short denim shorts in varying shades. Thrilled by sexier choices, his girls had dived upon them.

Agreeable conversation filled an hour together. She enjoyed his comfortable presence beside her.

"I must go," he said. "Business won't wait. Neither will Melanie."

She smiled. His latest girlfriend had stuck for three full months. He didn't tell them he punished her. Preserving her privacy remained their foremost concern. Explaining their sophisticated relationship defied possibility. "Thanks for dealing with me."

"No problem. Anytime."

She reclined, watching his lean figure disappear across the patio into the house. Her burning bottom proclaimed his emphatic manliness. Sitting beside him, beaten by him, had delivered stunning frissons of fierce satisfaction. Rising, she slid into her cool pool. Nine feet deep, it spread towards her rear wall. Nearer the house, water flowed into her sunken spa beside her outdoor kitchen and built-in grill.

Eight foot white block walls protected her privacy. Floating, she gazed at the sky, refreshing water relieving her burning butt. Regular spankings brought a natural balance. She'd only known strictness. Paddled growing up, care home supervisors had bruised her bottom, making sitting unpleasant when she deserved it.

Sniper school failed over fifty percent of potential snipers. They'd continued her painful education. She'd never received a caning she didn't deserve. Graduating with top marks had launched her meteoric career rise. She hadn't experienced beds beyond her military barracks, except for rare vacations. Leading her elite unit, they'd deployed wherever they were required. Leaving the military, she'd rented a tiny studio intended for casino workers before launching her secret career.

She swam ten lengths, exposing her red stripes to the sky, water lapping her caned cheeks. She imagined neighbors seeing her unmistakable punishment. They couldn't. Still, imagining her embarrassment inflamed her sex. Slipping into her luxurious spa, effervescent bubbles pummeled her painful welts. Surrendering, she endured her discomfort. She'd earned it. Stepping from her spa, she dripped across her patio, grabbing her towel. An outdoor wicker cabinet contained several. Drying herself, she stripped off her wet bikini, draping it over a lounger to dry.

Padding naked upstairs, she selected fresh white bikini panties from her top drawer. Their humble simplicity drew her deeper into her submission. An honest marine, stripped to her simple underwear, her bottom caned. Her sex rushed solemn feelings upward, meeting her mind. Splaying across her bed, she cupped herself. Closing her eyes, she replayed her punishment. Facing her desk in uniform, her sex admired her serious situation. Victor's harshness soaked her slit. Easing her fingers into her plain white cotton, she teased her hooded clit, freeing her hard nub. Gasping, she recalled herself over her desk, stripped to her panties. Forced to bare her bottom, sweet shame escalated into punishing humiliation.

Stroking her glistening slit, brutal cane strokes bit into her disgraceful butt. Sliding her fingers beneath her, she slipped them under her cotton, stroking her prominent ridges. Ruthless sting discharged its harsh verdict. Her clit threatened destruction, demanding faster circles. She obeyed, picturing her penitent bare bottom striped in magnificent punishment. Poised on the point of absolute perfection, she held herself dead still, denying breaths.

Holding herself still, she showed her marine colors. Her finger could hold herself against her need for hours, celebrating her self-respect. She'd received honest hurt. Her bare bottom thrashed. It would remain marked for days. Frequent masturbation would respect her worthiness, exchanging modest pain relief for increasing pride.

Extending her beautiful denial, she recalled her ruthless sergeant during sniper training. He'd bent her over for the slightest error, his whippy cane less thick than the furious welts decorating her backside. Combat pants down, she revealed her skimpy white cotton panties. One degree off or six degrees didn't matter. Shots missed. His cane didn't. Thrashed for minor missteps, she'd thrived under his strict tutelage. Fellow students of both sexes had seen her bent over his briefing-room table, embarrassed. She returned to Victor's harsh treatment. Knees up, she caressed her lowest brutal triple welt, thrashed low into her bare bottom. Her wonderful storm erupted, shooting orgasms free. Cannoning through her sex, multiple pleasure bursts throbbed down her bare legs, pelting savage satisfaction.

Sated, she spread her limbs, settling on her soft covers. Getting dealt with benefitted her. She didn't always appreciate it during her punishments. Victor provided physical discipline, companionship, understanding, and he listened.

Making friends while living her lie had proven tricky. She recognized love may not fill her future, preserving a tiny sliver of hope. A fellow assassin posed fewer challenges, but her profession didn't maintain an international directory.

Her career wasn't her sole complication. She coveted someone who would punish her for miserable moods, remarks he found distasteful, and show her no mercy, thrashing his unequivocal authority into her bare backside. Besides accepting her secret career, it wasn't a big ask.