« Spanking Stories

« Rebecca, Melody, Sarah


19. Corner

Spanking Story


A caned wife is bare in the corner when her friends arrive to play tennis

«Beginning Part 20»

Melody studied the cream paintwork in the corner of her lounge up close. She'd chosen the color, calming the stark white with warmer shades within weeks of moving in. With her hands planted on her head and her nose stuck between the cream walls, it was all she could see.

The enforced solitude created space for her mind to roam, but sent it only in the right directions. She'd failed as a dutiful wife. Risking her career, her sergeant had compelled her to bend over to save it. Despite doing the right thing, Martin had to recognize her behavior as unacceptable. The cream paintwork in front of her proved he had.

She could hear him moving about behind her, tidying up the kitchen from breakfast. The minutes inched by as she examined her actions in her underwear. He'd delivered delicious and different discipline. While her paddled bottom ached and recovered, he required her to wear only plain white underwear. Her simple white bikini panties added to her sense of innocence and her plain bra matched. It reminded her she was a young girl who benefitted from discipline. Facing the corner in only her bra and panties gave her time to feel remorse for the trouble she'd got herself into.

Guilt at how her career disaster would have impacted their lives drove deep into her heart. Obliged to stand here for ten minutes every morning until her bottom was in a fit state to receive the cane; she had plenty of time for consideration. Permitted only her white underwear beneath her navy uniform; his strict sanction kept her mind on her obedience all day.

Grateful to be on eight-to-four day shifts during this week, her ten minutes with aching arms delivered deep disgrace and tore away at her guilt.

She'd do it all again. Maybe she'd avoid doing favors during her assessment, but she didn't regret helping Carly. It wasn't generosity being sent to Miss Roberts for swats of the paddle. Carly had not been let off. Indeed, her private session with Miss Robert's heavy oak paddle would have been much more punitive than any ticket. Getting paddled twice was a hardship the younger girl had borne with amazing magnanimity.

Her thoughts drifted to the younger girl. This incident had rebuilt her faith in humanity. Carly hadn't done her a slight favor, she'd turned up and presented her bottom for a serious thrashing when she was already sore. Ten minutes of humility in the corner was the least she owed the younger girl for her immense guts. Without Carly, she'd have lost her job.

"Good morning," her sergeant called, entering the squad room.

"Good morning, sarge," they replied in unison.

Standing to attention in her police uniform always began a shift well. Her uniform advertised her strict conformity. Her white cotton panties delivered secret satisfaction. Plain and subservient, she reveled in the perpetual reminder of her personal obedience.

On her husband's orders, her underwear would remain innocent until he allowed her choice again. Ending this morning's corner time, he'd kissed her exposed shoulder, turned her around and kissed her firm on the mouth. The subtle mix of tenderness and firmness had set her day on a healthy course.

"Melody, can I see you in my office?" her sergeant asked.

She hadn't put a foot wrong. For three days she'd ensured utter perfection, and couldn't imagine what criticism he might have.

Closing his door, she stood before his desk, concern etched on her face.

"Relax, Melody," he said. "You aren't in trouble. Are you feeling okay? Not too uncomfortable or disgruntled with me?"

"I'm sore. But I deserved the paddle, and the pain is easing. I'm not disgruntled. It was me who made the mistake and suggested the solution. I expected it to hurt, and you delivered. Thank you."

"And Carly is okay?"

"Yes. She's calm and satisfied that her sentence was just. She's pleased to have avoided a ticket."

"Good," he grunted.

"Sir, I'd hope not to, but I'd accept the paddle again just as hard, if I deserved it."

On Friday night, her bruises had cleared. While her bottom muscles were still tender, her skin was unmarked and her aches scarce. Squirming in the driver's seat of her police cruiser, at first she'd taken any excuse to exit the vehicle and exercise her punished bottom. As the throbbing developed, she'd embraced its constant reminder and her punished state had turned her on more than disturbed her.

"I'm ready for my caning," she announced at bedtime, wishing to get it over with.

"Good," Martin said. "I'll cane you in the morning, followed by your last ten minutes in the corner with your fresh cane welts on display."

She gulped. He'd been firm with her all week. She admired his determination to treat her right and punish her hard. She'd given him explicit permission. In her now legendary notes, she'd written, 'Shame and embarrassment are perfect weapons for him to use'. He'd taken it to heart and delivered a week of perfect penance.

"Thank you," she said. The tiny words contained gratitude for everything he'd done and everything he would still do in the morning.

Naked and humbled before her husband in their bedroom, she kept her hands by her sides, not obstructing his view of her nude body as submission emanated from her every pore.

His stern gaze held her in place. "You risked your career. I've taken your generosity and wise actions into account. But your sergeant still had to thrash your backside with a huge oak paddle, so I must cane you for requiring that punishment and also for endangering your career."

She nodded.

"Bend over."

She turned to their bed and bent over it. Placing her arms on the covers, she took up the obedient position and offered her bare bottom to be caned.

Respect cascaded over her. "Thank you," she said, her voice almost hoarse.

The cane tapped against her skin and lay still.

"Six strokes."

The moderate sentence met her need. Still sore deep in her bottom, it was a reasonable sanction from her loving husband.

The cane cracked around their bedroom and heat sizzled across her skin. Much more sensitive than she'd realized, she struggled to take the roaring heat. She panted, and whispered, "Thank you, sir."

He heard her and smiled. The unmistakable signal that his stroke had driven pain, humility, and respect into her was welcome. He'd wished he didn't have to cane her, but he understood her and had known he had no choice.

The rattan flexed through the air, packing pressure into its arrival, and slammed into her soft skin. Intense heat soared in a narrow line, broadening the band of burn across her behind. Her heart seized the pain and massaged it into pride. She deserved his discipline. She'd put their pleasant life at risk. Again, she whispered, "Thank you, sir."

The cane seared her skin with six fiery lines. Each time, she thanked him with reverence. The last fierce line stung across the middle of her bottom. He'd spared her elongated pain and left her able to sit without great discomfort. Her heart wrapped around him as she recognized his extraordinary compassion.

"Well done," he said. "Get up when you're ready."

She rose, proud to meet his gaze.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Thank you for being hard on me this week. Everything you've demanded of me was difficult, fair and worthy of the awesome husband you are."

"Thank you," he said. "Go downstairs to your corner of the lounge. This will be the most painful ten minutes of your week. I expect you to consider everything and when I release you, your punishment is over."

She nodded and left the room.

Naked, her hands on her head with her fingers interlaced, she studied the familiar paintwork. Unable to escape the fierce sting in her exposed bottom, she allowed her burning cane welts to deliver her continued punishment.

Deep in admiration for Carly's protracted suffering, she heard voices on the path outside. Panicked, she lifted her left foot, but stamped it back onto the floor. He'd ordered her to submit to this embarrassment. She must not defy him. Disobedience during a punishment must carry a rigorous penalty. Six strokes and thirty minutes in the corner daily for seven days would build burn in her bottom and suit such gross disobedience. Facing the far corner of the lounge, the minuscule risk of someone seeing her embarrassment was a substantial component of her punishment. But the proximity of voices urged desperate action. Again, she considered a dash for the kitchen.

They were due to play tennis, so the intrusion wasn't unexpected. Checking the kitchen clock en route to her corner, she'd judged she had ten minutes to comply and a further ten minutes to spare.

The doorbell rang. She didn't move. Whatever happened next was hers to accept. Intense shame and humiliation were as powerful as pain. There was a rush of air behind her, and Martin touched her shoulder. "You're forgiven. Your punishment is over. Go to the kitchen. Wait. I'll get them into here and close the door. Change fast."

She fled, closing the kitchen door behind her and the one to the hallway. The hall filled with the babble of their neighbors' voices as Martin led the two couples into the lounge.

Sensing their movement, she edged the hall door open, rushed naked through the hallway and up the stairs. She flung on plain white cotton bra and panties, adding her Nike tennis vest and her pleated white tennis skirt. This little skirt drove her husband into bed, a power not only recognized by her. Her female neighbors always wore the same, and never pathetic shorts, underneath. Panties were their policy. A flash of anyone's white panties dashing across the court in the morning guaranteed a sexy afternoon for all of them.

She checked in the mirror, lifting her skirt and spreading the sides of her panties. They didn't quite cover her fresh red cane marks. She touched the tender flesh and a fierce flush of intense pleasure pulsed into her sex. If her friends discovered her husband caned her, it was embarrassment she must accept. But she'd do her best to stay on her feet and not leap too high.

She slammed her Slazenger racket into the bright green tennis ball, firing it into the far quadrant. On her walk to the train station, she passed the community tennis court. Their housing association had an enthusiastic social committee. Her unusual shift pattern meant she and Martin were only available to play on Saturday mornings once a month. Each couple competed twice over three matches. She and Martin had won their first match. One further point would claim this match and land them in first place.

She glanced left as her husband parried the ball, making their opponents dash across the court. As it shot back on an almost vertical trajectory, she leaped for the shot. Her skirt flared on the cushion of air she'd created. She folded her well-balanced racket over the ball and slammed it beyond their opponents reach, winning the contest.

Even the losers cheered. It appeared everyone's eyes had been on the ball and not her panties. Everyone, except Martin. Running to hug her, he whispered. "I glimpsed the ends of your cane marks. God, you're gorgeous."

"Don't just tell me," she teased, thrilled by his desire.

"I'm going to ravage every inch of your sexy curves, this afternoon."

"Oh goody," she grinned.

There were hugs and compliments all round. The final pairing played their match, both having lost to her and Martin. Second place was the best they could expect, but still a cherished prize amongst them. The even balance of skills meant the outcome was never certain. Alive on her feet and desperate to be moving, today, she'd raced around the court.

Second place secured, the sweaty couples joined them on the grass rise beside the court. Gracious in victory, Melody passed them freezing cold lemonade cans from the soda machine and nuzzled into her husband's neck.

"Get a room, you two," her blonde friend groaned

Melody smiled.

"What have you taken today?" the other girl asked. "You're loved up and stuffed with energy."

Melody smiled. In fact, she felt drained after her eventful week. But picturing the promised ravaging by her husband, vibrant spirit radiated from her soul and pumped energy through her entire body.

"Must be something I did," Martin said, grinning at their friends.

His firm voice pulsed pleasurable authority deep inside her sex. She swigged her lemonade. Gazing at her magnificent husband in adoration, she said, "There's something sexy about him. I just can't quite put my finger on it."