« Spanking Stories

« Rebecca, Melody, Sarah


24. Sand

Spanking Story


Meeting a bold man on vacation, a female disciplinarian lies about her job

«Beginning Part 25»

"Rainbow Mint Julep, please," Sarah Roberts said, glancing up from her sun lounger at the handsome waiter. Not a breath of breeze disturbed his loose white shirt.

In her peaceful beach enclave, sugar white sand mingled with turquoise water and palm trees studded the tropical beach line. Her Kindle had led her here, transporting her imagination into this cocoon of extraordinary romance and delicious adventure. Her heroine had found love on these very sands, dripping extreme confidence onto the stunning white beach. She didn't expect such magic, but surrounded by breathtaking scenery, her cushioned lounger made it seem so possible.

The hotel description in her novel had enriched her senses and sparked her dreams. She'd searched to discover what such places cost. Within her means, her imagination had sown a seed. She'd discussed it with Kirsten. Such frivolous expenditure was alien to her, but her friend had launched an assault, wearing down her resistance, recognizing the flicker of a dream in her eye. She loved Kirsten. Her best friend had never stopped supporting her. Snapping a picture of her french pedicured toes with the turquoise sea beyond, she sent it to Kirsten.

Blocking her booking calendar for two entire weeks had challenged her sense of responsibility. Never unavailable to her girls, she'd spent over ten years building her discipline business.

Returning with her refreshment, the waiter placed her Rainbow Mint Julep on the teak table beside her matching lounger. Beside the brilliant white cushions, the vibrant drink stole every eye. Her tapered glass rose from electric green through pink, violet, and navy to turquoise blue, the liquid and crushed ice switching color in attention-grabbing rainbow bands. Graced with cool green mint leaves and a kiwi slice, the published ingredients were lime juice, vodka, kiwi juice and mint liqueur. Shrouded in secrecy, limited staff learned the specialist cocktail recipes for the hotel's iconic eye catching drinks.

Another Rainbow Mint Julep caught her eye two loungers away. The hot, hard body, in tiny black shorts, raised his glass to her in acknowledgment. She smiled and returned the gesture.

Fernando had kept his eye on Sarah for two days. Her tiny red figure-hugging dress had shattered his sanity and started his vacation with absurd hope.

At dinner with an elderly couple, he'd thought she was their adult daughter, but he'd spotted her lack of familial gestures and hadn't noticed her accompany them since.

Tipping the dinner waitress, he'd asked her name. Repeating his technique with the beach waiter yesterday, he'd elicited her favorite drink. His well-timed drink arrival hadn't been an accident. He'd kept watch over his kindle. When a waiter had moved in her direction, he'd signaled for a drink, placing his identical order. Several false starts had lowered his arm as waiters visited couples on either side of Sarah's lounger pair, but he'd remained dedicated to his mission.

Her revealing red body-con dress had stolen his eye and her curves had kept it. Today, in a fresh bikini, her modest navy triangles stressed her exquisite curves, stealing nothing from her incandescent beauty. Yesterday's pink had been sheer cruelty. After burning his eyes on her beauty, he'd retired to his suite before dinner with only her on his mind.

The small human connection had warmed her sun-drenched body. It helped that he was fit and tanned. His tiny, tight shorts proved his powerful confidence. Her fevered mind dampened her navy bikini panties. Her fantasies were full of powerful men. They plundered her defenseless body, but never until they'd delivered hard discipline.

She dealt with her own discipline. Less effective than her client service, she'd purchased a straight thirty-one inch rattan cane with no grip, half an inch in diameter.

Her hallway cupboard on the top floor sealed with almost a half-inch gap. Tight enough to jam her cane and keep it horizontal, she bent before her cane when her manner or behavior demanded painful punishment.

Cutting a nick into a wooden bar with a chisel, her unique tool took the cane tip and bent it back while her bottom remained still. Bared in her hallway, her reliable cane delivered scorching sting, marking her bottom with meaningful welts. Sore herself, she felt justified in handing out hard punishments to her girls.

She withdrew to her suite with her usual selfish and gorgeous plan. Her white five-hundred thread count cotton quilt and tranquil sea view welcomed her to her pleasure. In the distance, islands dotted the sea. Above the beach by a few feet, the white sand reflected sunlight into her luxurious one-bedroom suite as she slipped her hand into her navy bikini bottoms.

Apart from the older couple she'd shared dinner with on her first night, she hadn't met many of the hotel guests. It was okay. She enjoyed observing human relationships from the periphery.

Laid back on her white cotton bed, she splayed her long legs and circled her clit, imagining black shorts. In her fantasy, he refused her permission to wear her daring red dress. Safe with the older couple, she'd gone all out, thrilled by its body-con form and the glances from every male alive.

She imagined black shorts angry with her for wearing her skimpy dress. He banned her from wearing it, but she went to dinner, anyway. Her mind alive with her imagined disobedience, she slowed her masturbation to sustain her edge. Twenty minutes of pleasure beat two. He laid down the law about her provocative dress and ordered her into something more suitable. Behind his back, she changed. He discovered her disobedience on returning to their suite. With his hard beach body on her brain, she pretended they were vacationing together.

His hard torso muscles rippled as he flexed their rattan cane and scolded her out of her disobedient dress. Her red g-string, her only defense, he caned her bare cheeks without mercy. Her intense thrashing peaked over ten full minutes of bliss, each stroke searing agonizing heat and pain into her disobedient bare bottom, bent over their bed. In her upgrade he ordered her outside onto her secluded terrace and caned her exposed bottom over the cushioned lounger.

Disappointed, Fernando leaned back on his sun lounger. He'd missed her. He'd planned to let her finish her refreshing drink before interrupting, but she'd disappeared. Damn. He hadn't needed a beach break. His girlfriend had booked it before dumping him. Checking the cancellation costs, he'd thought, screw it, and gone alone. He'd vacationed on stunning beaches before. None had contained Sarah. Her outrageous beauty was an affront to civilization. No red-blooded male would expect to survive to tell the tale. The way she'd moved in her almost illegal red dress had destroyed him. In her bikinis, she'd continued to broadcast her unique brand of innate confidence.

In her navy bikini, Sarah stretched on her bed, rolled over, snagged her bedside phone, and ordered lunch on her terrace. When her Greek Salad arrived, she forgave herself the extravagance. It was beautiful food, and she was on an adventure.

Beyond her private wooden terrace, the waves lapped the sand as she packed yellow pepper, a baby tomato and feta onto her fork. She'd return to her beach sun lounger after lunch. Her eye roamed to the sugar white sand. She wasn't seeking black shorts, but updated mental pictures were welcome.

Finishing the entire glass bottle of ice cold water, she rose and stripped off her navy bikini in her suite. Kirsten had urged her to buy ten bikinis. She'd settled on six. Slipping into a mint green triangle bikini, she studied herself in the mirror. The ice cool color highlighted her tanned skin, and turned her on.

She kneeled on the bed, her fat luxury pillow between her legs, shoved down her bikini bottoms and rubbed her wet clit against its hard edge piping. Her shameless position turned her on hard as she imagined black shorts finding her desecrating her pillow with abandon. He bent her onto all fours and caned her bottom on the bed. She gasped in her privacy as orgasms plunged her into her pillow, landing her on all fours, pleasure pulsing over her fingers.

She checked her bikini bottoms in the mirror for any hint of stains, but it appeared her pleasure was her own. Imagining severe red stripes adorning her skimpy bikini-clad bare bottom, she returned to her brilliant white beach lounger and ordered a fresh Rainbow Mint Julep.

Staking out the beach, Fernando declined lunch. Abandoning his full plate would appear foolish if Sarah arrived. Hungry, he ordered off-menu, requesting a simple bowl of french fries.

Sleek female hair bobbed amongst the shallow turquoise waters, hidden behind a bright blue mask and snorkel. Rising from the sea in her matching bikini, the beautiful girl didn't disappoint, but she wasn't Sarah. He watched her race over the scalding sand towards her guy, spray flying off her hair.

Laying a thick white cloth napkin across his teak side table, the waiter lowered a white bowl brimming with fresh french fries beside him. He glanced over at Sarah's lounger. Her mint green fantasia of his greatest fantasies flung a brilliant smile across his face. She was smiling, but not at him, at his untouched bowl of fresh french fries.

He hadn't built his property empire by missing opportunities. Stalking buildings until their price was right, or they fell into foreclosure, he'd built a profitable empire of office complexes and apartment buildings. He seized his french fries and the white cloth on which they sat. Draping the cloth over his arm, he carried the bowl towards her.

She held his gaze as he approached, flicking her eyes from the bowl to him

"Would you like to share my french fries?"

As opening lines went, it wasn't a killer. Hollywood wouldn't beg him to write the next romantic blockbuster. But she beamed her delicious smile at him, and her soft, beguiling voice engulfed him. "Thank you. I'd enjoy that."

She shifted her Kindle. He laid the cloth across her side table with a flourish and placed the bowl of golden pleasure beside her.

Perching on the empty wooden lounger, he said, "I'm Fernando," and offered her his hand.

"Sarah," she said, shaking his hand and taking four french fries. The piping hot fries exploded with glorious pleasure in her mouth as his hard body, up close, sizzled heat through her sex.

A beach attendant appeared, carrying cushions for his lounger. He rose as the attendant set up his new spot.

"It's nice to meet you, Sarah," he said, savoring her name in live action. "I've noticed you about."

"What brings you on vacation alone?" she asked.

"My ex-girlfriend booked it months ago. I decided not to waste it. What brings you here?"

"I read a novel set in this resort. It stimulated my desire for adventure."

"It wasn't a physiological thriller, or gruesome murder, I hope?"

She grinned. "No, pure girl romance." Maintaining her intake of french fries, she asked, "How long were you and your girlfriend together?"

"Eighteen months."

"Her taste in vacations was impeccable. What went wrong?"

"She decided we had problems and needed therapy. I couldn't see any problems in our relationship except her certainty they must exist."

"How strange."

"If you doom a relationship to therapy, it's doomed full stop. Anyway, I don't believe in such nonsense. Therapy, counseling, life-coaching, it's all utter rubbish. Figure your shit out."

"Gentle advice or a reliable sounding board can be helpful."

"I suppose so."

"What do you do?" she asked.

"I'm in property development."

"Do you build homes or offices?"

"Luxury apartment buildings and prestigious office blocks. I've developed over a hundred properties into high-quality accommodation."

Revealing where she lived, she asked, "Do you own any buildings I'd recognize?"

"Two premium office buildings downtown near the heliport, and I own The Peak."

She knew The Peak. His soaring tower of overpriced city center apartments stuffed with the latest gadgets sat above his renovated and expanded mall. She'd read about how the apartment doors recognized your face instead of keys.

"I'm not sure I'd appreciate your facial recognition. I prefer a solid key."

He smiled. "Everybody says that until they try it. I've installed it in three properties and residents love the ease. What's your job?"

"Life coach."

He nudged the almost empty bowl towards her. "Oh, dear."

Her passionate eyes offered him hope. "Convince me." he said. "I've given my uninformed opinion, but what makes life coaching enjoyable for you?"

"My clients are girls having simple problems. I listen and mirror their thoughts to help them understand themselves. Watching their confidence rise boosts my day."

She was rather pleased with her answer. Most conversations changed topic once she revealed her boring cover job.

Fernando mulled over her response. "We'll return to this during dinner."

His confidence seized her heart, and she grinned. "Who said we were having dinner together?"

"You've eaten most of my french fries and offered a spirited defense. You have dinner to persuade me your job makes a genuine difference."

The afternoon passed in amiable company. He'd fetched his kindle and phone from his previous lounger and taken up residence beside her. The sweet warmth of his presence brought comfort she'd not felt since George. She appreciated both his quiet company and his lively debate. But she must defend her cover story through dinner despite his direct assault and skilled questioning.

Having missed lunch and most of his fries, he was ravenous. Her little black dress didn't move an inch in the breeze wafting through the open-air restaurant. Cemented to her curves, it tortured his unavoidable hardness.

Slicing his sirloin, he said, "So give me an example. Show me how life coaching helped someone. I like specifics."

His determination to make genuine amends for his faux pas scored huge points. His solid torso, now covered in an open-necked white shirt, had lost none of its attraction, and he was making strenuous efforts to accept a job he despised.

"Life coach is my cover job. My actual job is ultra private," she said, meeting his gaze out of respect.

His shoulders slumped and his face softened.

"I'm so glad. Are you a spy?"

She grinned. "No, I can't lie."

"Maybe that's just a cover. You realize you'll have to tell me."

She smiled. "Not tonight."

After they'd shared Baked Alaska, an easy agreement, he walked her to her suite. She turned in the warm tropical evening and he caught her, locking her lips in fierce heat. Encircling her waist as they left the restaurant, he'd revealed his intent, but his blazing hot, fiery kiss still caught her by surprise. Her sex softened her into his arms as her mind caught up.

"Mmm," she whispered as he broke for breath. "I can't sleep with you tonight. Will you still want me tomorrow?"

"Without a doubt."