« Spanking Stories

Sugar white sand beneath her feet, Sarah gazed across the tranquil turquoise sea, Fernando walking beside her. The morning sun scorched her red bikini. Unless he respected her business, she wouldn't respect him. She summoned her courage and said, "I'm a girls' disciplinarian."

He continued walking beside her. "Is it sexy or serious? Please explain so I don't embarrass myself."

She nodded, his rational response boosting her confidence. "Girls visit me when something they've done, said or thought bothers them. Girls hold tons of guilt over simple failures."

He nodded.

"After they get their problem off their chest, I make them select their own punishment from a menu of strict discipline. If I disapprove, I'll increase their punishment, but it doesn't happen. They are plenty hard on themselves."

"You paddle them?"

"And cane, strap or spank them."

"Wow. And girls pay you money for this service?"

His tone revealed a hint of approval, and her hopes skyrocketed.

"They do."

"I guess they must," he said, waving his arm at the surrounding scenery. "It keeps you busy?"

"It's taken over a decade to build my extensive client base."

His eyebrows shot up. "And it isn't a token punishment?"

"I treasure every single girl, but I thrash them. They endeavor to handle the pain and their bottoms remain marked for several days."

"I'm impressed. I've never met a professional disciplinarian. It's not sexy?"

"It hurts like hell and relieves guilt. Clients leave calm, embarrassed and very sore in public. I imagine many feel stunning self-respect and satisfaction in their obedience afterwards. It may lead to pleasure for them, but it doesn't stop the hurt doing them good."

"Where were you when I needed you? The reason my ex-girlfriend thought we needed therapy was because I wished to belt her when she'd been silly."

"Oh," she said. She hadn't seen that coming. "My service wouldn't have helped her. My clients want discipline. On their initial appointment I offer the opportunity to leave without charge after they've learned their fate, but it doesn't happen."

"Her crap attitude deserved consequences, but she wouldn't accept my suggestion. I told her I found her punishment pleasurable, but wanted it to help our relationship."

"She may have accepted it from me, but I doubt it. Some of my girls have partners who also punish them."

"Lucky guys."

She smiled. "I imagine they are very lucky indeed. My girls are at the top of their careers. They're successful because they're hard on themselves and they're all beautiful."

"Any of your awe-inspiring clients would impress me, I expect."

"Do I impress you?"

"Hell, yes." He stopped in the sand and faced her. "A girls' disciplinarian is a worthy profession. It's clear how your advice complements your discipline."

She grinned. "Coaching with severe consequences."

"But who dares discipline the experienced disciplinarian?"

She sat on the soft sand in the treeline's shade and he perched beside her. His tight black shorts still thrilled her, but knowing he approved of her actual life thrust strength beside her, she'd never felt.

She spoke of her homeless years and George's generosity. Apart from Kirsten, nobody knew her true story. Sharing herself with him felt incredible. When she explained how George had punished her, he smiled.

"I'm grateful," he said. "You wouldn't be sitting beside me without everything he did."

Snaking her arm round his neck, she drew him into her and kissed his kind lips.

Intense truth penetrated her lips. The depth of his desire, backed by truth, fired rockets of relief throughout her body as his kiss exploded in her heart.

A breath apart, he asked, "How do you stay disciplined these days?"

Pulling back, she described the gap in her top floor cupboard and how her jammed cane inflicted hard lashes on her disobedient bottom.

"Not as effective as a proper punishment, I imagine."

"No, but passing judgement on my clients, a stinging, welted bottom humbles me."

"Are you lenient when you're sore?"

"No. It keeps me honest."

"I'd love to discipline you. Indeed, it would be an honor I'd cherish."

In a word, he'd encapsulated the rich and personal intensity she sought. Someone who cherished her enough to thrash her, delivering unashamed pain and suffering, was someone she respected.

Her crazy pillow pummeling flashed into focus. Visions of shameless clit pleasure from her luxury pillow and endless vacation masturbation sessions swamped her mind. Four heavy sessions daily. Mid morning, afternoon, bedtime and on waking. Self-pleasure was healthy. But she'd surrendered her mind to crazy abandon, even about his tight black shorts. She needed hard male discipline.

She smiled. "There is something I've done."

"What?"

"I can't say. Will you punish me anyway?"

"For a capable girl, a simple spanking won't cut it."

She nodded.

He deepened his tone. "Twenty with my belt before dinner and you sit sore while we dine."

She sent her girls home with burning behinds. The public embarrassment of squirming in her flimsy dress on her dining chair thrust righteous heat into her red-hot bikini bottoms.

"I deserve it."

"As you won't tell me why, it must be forty."

His supreme command snatched her breath away. It was the ruthlessness she could never give herself.

"Thank you," she replied.

Cornered, his devotion to her discipline drove heat between her legs. Twisting back to his kiss, she let him devour her, losing herself in his exquisite control. She could pretend she'd known from the outset, and maybe approaching with his bowl of golden fries she had. But he was the adventure she'd imagined. She shot her tongue deep inside his mouth, promising every ounce of herself to him. He forced her down and rolled on top of her, his fierce male heat baking every inch of her sun-soaked skin.

Sipping Rainbow Mint Juleps, their tantalizing tension built. Maybe they'd have dinner early, but every indulgent second on their sun loungers was exquisite luxury.

She learned about his business and the satisfaction that packing his properties with pleasure gave him. Commercial or residential clients loved the perks and stayed.

She illustrated in a low voice how her services had solved specific client problems. Learning about Virtue, his brain produced a plethora of commercial possibilities. She reined him in. It was her business, and Virtue was a gift to enhance her clients' lives.

A holiday adventure would have satisfied her desires. But having unfolded her life story in front of him, she suspected he'd become part of it. Her notion didn't fill her with fear. She'd enjoyed short-term lovers. But none have ever known her business. She'd love an actual relationship, but she'd permit nothing to jeopardize the stable life she'd built.

As the afternoon cooled, he suggested an early dinner.

"You read my mind."

"Dress for dinner. I'll punish you at 6pm."

Her soaking sex burst breathless compliance from her lips. "Yes, sir."

Naked from her shower, she slipped into her tiny red g-string. Grabbing her iPad from her case, she sat on her couch just inside the wide-open terrace doors. A pleasant breeze stirred her hardening nipples. Her hair drying in the balmy evening air, she checked next week's bookings. Excess guilt had amassed during her vacation. Eight appointments remained.

Under orders to dress for dinner, her certain belting and inevitable surrender begged her sex to soak her g-string. Resisting the furious temptation, she vowed if her fingers even caressed her clit, she'd see him in the future and beg for a cataclysmic caning.

Slithering into her lethal dress five minutes before 6pm, she almost broke her vow as the spaghetti straps hung skin tight perfection from her suntanned shoulders. She'd bought the dangerous red dress with Kirsten for a tennis club party, but she'd lost her nerve and swapped it for her safe black dress. Wearing it for her first vacation dinner had been a delicious private dare. Safe in the resort, she'd felt scandalous and sexy. Under Fernando's protection, she'd bask in her sexy vulnerability.

Halting in her doorway, he said, "Wow." Mere inches protected her about-to-get-belted bare bottom as she oozed supreme confidence in her daring red dress.

Taking in his black suit pants and crisp white shirt, she asked, "Will I do?"

"Beautiful beyond words," he said.

His eyes devoured her body, igniting her soul with a fierce desire to obey him.

He ripped his black leather belt from his pants. The dominant motion flooded her sex with desperate heat. Doubling his belt in his hands, he said, "I expect your absolute obedience. You need belting, Sarah."

Sentenced by his certainty, she quivered.

Flexing his belt, he commanded, "Raise your dress."

She wriggled the hem over her slim hips to her tiny waist. Stripped to her g-string, profound humility washed over her. Obedience was never easy. Forced to reveal her barest protection, humble shame overwhelmed her.

He pointed to her bed. "Bend over."

She lowered her arms onto the scene of her crimes and presented her bare bottom for belting. Pride coursed through her veins. Her pleasure had been excessive. It was her obligation to accept his punishment.

"Last chance," he said. "Tell me why I'm punishing you and I'll reduce your strokes to twenty."

"I can't," she whispered.

"Then I can't offer you leniency. Forty strokes."

Her jammed cane could never beat unrelenting male authority. It penetrated her every pore.

Sharp burn cracked into the crest of her right cheek. Bright sting erupted from her seared skin. He balanced her burn, stinging her left cheek with equal force. His leather stung as she deserved, landing fire on top of fire, scorching the middle of her bare bottom.

"You're a naughty girl. You know why."

She was a naughty, impulsive girl, who needed his hard scolding alongside his supple leather.

"Sorry," she cried as the leather landed hard. Each stroke tested her, as her sensitive skin burned under his belt, lighting fires she deserved and adding fierce heat on top.

"Your punishment might have been complete. It's too late to confess. Twenty hard lashes for keeping your reason secret. Privacy costs."

His dominant defiance thrust respect through her body. On top of her stinging skin, it would hurt. But it should. She pictured herself kneeling on her bed, luxury pillow rammed between her legs. The leather lashed her shameless cowgirl pose into submission as she apologized to her desecrated pillow. Fierce heat burst into her flaming skin. She panted as her pain packed bottom took its strokes.

His blazing belt delivered crisp recognition of her shameless self-pleasure. She'd never take a break from masturbation, but his blistering belt brought her excessive pleasure into rightful balance.

"Five strokes left," he said.

His stern voice commanded her brain. "I deserve them."

She forced herself into the bed and raised her bare, belted bottom with enormous pride.  

A salvo of sting seared ferocious burn into her bottom. The leather lashed the fire he'd built, and she panted, handling the hurt.

"Stand up," he commanded.

She obeyed. Watching him refit his belt, her sex fed off the fire in her behind. "Thank you for belting me. I deserved it."

His mighty arms wrapped around her. "You took your punishment with utter finesse. I'm proud of you."

She couldn't imagine anything less, but his compliment still thrilled her

Releasing her from his embrace, he said, "Sort your dress. Let's eat."

She pouted.

"Your subtle embarrassment is part of your punishment."

She smiled. It was a delicious denial. Denial she deserved.

She studied her menu, her deferential demeanor screaming punished girl across the restaurant. Squirming in her seat, she publicized her punished status.

"Sit still," he warned.

"Please," she begged, putting down her menu. "I'm not hungry. I've walked in to the restaurant with grace, my bare bottom burning and sat with dignity despite my distress. Tomorrow I must wear shorts over my bikini. A public penance I deserve. Don't feed me, fuck me."

His steel gaze clamped onto her. "The cane. Twelve strokes on your bare bottom after this vacation."

"Agreed," she said, scraping back her chair, loving him for extracting a serious price for her pleasure and loving his certainty they would meet again in the future.

Unconcerned by their graceless exit, he kicked her suite door closed as he shoved his suit pants to the floor.

Ripping her dress over her head, she flicked the clasp on her red bandeau bra and dropped her clothes as he swept her into his arms.

He deposited her on her bed, his manhood pointing straight at her. As his rugged body rose over hers, his huge hardness teased the lips of her soaking sex.

"I so want you," he groaned.

He thrust deep inside her, controlling her entire body. Her sex gorged on his potent manhood as his strokes drove her to desperation.

"You had to be punished."

"Belted," she moaned, teasing a profusion of tiny pleasures as he kept her in delicious denial.

"This sex is costing you the cane."

"Twelve strokes," she cried.

"On your bare bottom."

His powerful explosion thrust her over her edge, swamping her in intimate bliss as orgasms raged through her curves and waves of astonishing pleasure cascaded her into a calm sea.

Unfamiliar, gentle tones erupted from her iPad on the couch. She lifted her head, recognizing the sound as odd, and crept to check it. Her screen displayed three identical messages. She'd only heard the latest.

Devastating fear cut through her heart. Kirsten didn't do drama. Only the worst imaginable situation could have led her best friend to write those terrible words.

She made the call. Clasping her fist to her head and her phone to her ear, Kirsten's words burned her world to the ground.

"Where will I go?" she cried into her phone.

"You'll stay with me," Kirsten calmed her.

Her friend's voice of reason leveled her. "I'll call you back."

"You won't do anything foolish, will you?"

"No. I need time to process. I'm not alone."

Clasping her phone like it was her last possession on earth, she sat on her bed. "My house has burned to the ground, along with five neighboring homes. Nobody got hurt, but I've lost everything."

Sliding beside her, he enclosed her in his arms. Only this morning, he'd learned her story. He could sense her life being sucked out of her.

"I have appointments next week," she cried, releasing herself.

Struck by her gut-wrenching despair, his mind crossed ideas with plans in a simple symphony. "Don't most of your girls work near the city center?"

She nodded.

"I have three office floors ready for sale. I'll give you an entire floor. You can open a convenient office on Monday."

It sounded crazy, but all she needed was a decent sized desk and one flexible cane. Based in the heart of her girls, they could pop in during their lunch hour, get disciplined and return sore to their desk, with their co-workers none the wiser.

"Live at The Peak. I have a spectacular penthouse with jaw-dropping views. It's yours for a year."

"You've known me for three days."

He leaned into her. "I'll never stop knowing you."

A smile crept from the corners of her mouth. She'd insured her house. Her investments had grown. She had friends and a very lucrative business. Tonight she had a boyfriend, at least he behaved like one.

She challenged his gaze and found nothing to fear. "Thank you," she said.

He looked her dead in the eye. "When disaster strikes, expand."