« Spanking Stories

Two years ago

Zara stood naked before her bedroom mirror. In four hours, she'd step forward and serve her first drink, a City Sip Bartender, her bottom hurting from yesterday's paddling. Her ironed, long-sleeve, fitted white blouse hung on her closet door. Behind her blouse draped her black tailored pants.

Hanging around the bar, stocking fridges, she'd seen bartenders from every angle. Tell-tale signs showed female bartenders favored discreet thong panties. Their tight pants presented flawless curves. When changing, she'd seen bright, lacy tangas too.

She turned, checking the significant bruises on her butt. Bent in her jeans, maybe her bikini panties hadn't helped her handle her paddling yesterday. In thin professional pants, ignoring protection options felt foolish. Tonight, John would deliver her second paddling. Another ten ferocious swats. Had she told him of the thefts she'd observed, her bottom wouldn't carry bruises. Twin targets showed where he'd add hurt tonight. Humbled by her clear punishment, delicious submission flooded her. Corporal punishment fixed problems. She respected it.

Opening her lingerie drawer. She touched her lace, feeling its glorious femininity. Wisdom denied her frilly prettiness. She'd rather compromise her curves than not take her punishment. John had convicted her of serious selfishness, sentencing her to twenty paddle swats. Keeping his hard-earned respect was worth more than a few visible lines. Her fingers headed over to her Calvin Klein colors, settling on plain black. If her panties must reveal their presence, they should match. Pulling them free from her pile, she stepped into them. Comfortable black cotton encased her. Snapping them into place, the elastic stung her tender bruises. She pulled the elastic back hard, letting it snap into place. Vicious sting spread across her right cheek. She evened her self-correction. Both cheeks freshened their surface sting. She checked her butt in her mirror. She needed her panties.

Sweeping her hair back, she fitted her tight blouse, buttoning it over her breasts. Pride soared. Her breasts almost bursting, she looked hot. Not overt. Clever curves. Stepping into her black, professional pants, she buttoned them. Their perfect fit lent classic confidence to her professional qualification. She stepped into her three-inch black patent heels. Her backside higher in her mirror, she bent forward. Twin lines bisected her bottom cheeks, revealing her panty shape. Standing straight, her pants kept their discretion. A fitting compromise in her circumstances. If anyone noticed, they'd think her a clean girl, wearing good panties. Crossing her bedroom, she let her mirror catch her from unexpected angles. Flawless from every direction, her excitement shot up.

After plaguing her parents, they dispatched her early to City Sip. In heels, she felt fantastic. Radiating beauty, her long blonde tresses proclaimed her good looks. She'd left her straight hair flowing over her shoulders. Proud steps swayed her tight, professional pants-clad butt. Passers-by didn't know her bottom hurt. They also remained unaware she faced a further paddling tonight.

Before 6pm, she entered the raised bar. Her gaze swept the customers instead of the bar stock. Smiling at two redheads nearby, she received an instant order. Placing timeless heavy cut glasses, she added ice cubes, pouring gin, Campari, and sweet red vermouth. Stirring them, she twisted an orange slice into a stylish garnish, presenting two Negronis.

Bethany threw her a smile. Their new lead bartender sliced her hand onto the bar top, defining a six-foot space. "Your area."

Checking her redhead's location, she smiled. She'd already begun.

Beer was easy. Snapping bottles through her convenient opener, she placed cold beers beside chilled glasses, firing payment through her register. She'd learned while watching. Pouring multiple draft beers while taking payment, she stretched into her role. Holding clever, meaningless conversations while mixing drinks and taking payment kept her brain occupied.

A sliver of her concentration remained rooted in her forthcoming punishment. Her inadequate protection cycled unabated. She'd struggled to take the paddle yesterday. Tonight, she feared failing John. Dutiful compliance was crucial to their future professional relationship. He'd made her a bartender. She must show herself worthy of her responsible role. Tonight, he'd paddle her thin slacks. Beneath, she was already very sore.

Her first Saturday night shift flew by. Her register showed she'd served six hundred drinks in five hours. A newbie record. Bethany complimented her performance. Watching the last customers leave, she flattened her palms over her discreet panty lines, preparing for her test of grit. Wishing for several pairs of panties, she dismissed her thought. She wouldn't disrespect her spanking by cheating. The sorority paddle must hurt her.

Cleaning up, she enjoyed their bartender camaraderie. Agreeable attitudes proved she'd earned her place on their stage. She hung around, waiting for her co-workers to disperse. When even the kitchen was empty, she re-entered the bar, walking to their largest memorabilia wall. Lifting down their heavy sorority paddle from its prominent position, she carried its meaningful weight towards John's office. Giving him the tool to hurt her sent humble shivers through her. Outright participation in a process designed to punish her proved her unconditional submission. Her corporal punishment research suggested submission benefited her more than her pain. Closing his office door, she set the paddle on his black metal desk.  

"Thanks," he said, standing. "Did you enjoy your shift?"

"Brilliant. Wonderful," she said, unable to hide her excitement. Human interactions had rained upon her needy brain. Delivering professional efficiency, she hadn't plastered a smile on her face. She'd beamed.

He already knew. Five minutes of watching her had confirmed his decision. Customers' eyes followed her, excited by her graceful positivity. He'd heard her respond in fluent Spanish and Mandarin. The unbelievable girl also spoke French, German, and Japanese, besides her native English. He smiled at her. Her hair swept into a tight ponytail, escaping long blonde strands decorated her flawless face. "I'm sorry your successful shift must end in pain. How is your soreness?"

She nodded. "Bearable. I remain sorry, sir."

"Good girl. Let's get this done. Bend over, Zara."

His tough tone brought her into line. She bent down, resting her arms on his desk. Her smart black pants tightened over her butt.

He watched her unquestioning obedience, admiring her gorgeous behind, its prominent presentation outlining her bikini panties beneath. Her smart pants and bruised bottom would make this a devastating punishment. Remembering her weeks of silence, he hardened his mind. "Proud staff members speak up, Zara."

She swallowed his criticism, needing her scolding. Accurate, it hurt, preparing her for the pain she must bear. "Sorry I failed you."

"I want this to hurt you, Zara. I won't go easy."

Appreciation plundered her, spreading spirited support. She deserved severe recognition of her selfishness. He must beat her. Her aching bottom differed. She quelled its complaint, overriding its appeals for mercy. She deserved none.

A loud pop exploded. The heavy paddle slammed into her thin professional pants. Brutal burn stung her skin. Agony penetrated her rear, delving deep into her selfishness. Already aggravated, the twin points of impact burned worst. She gasped, processing her pain. Nine more. Last night, her jeans had absorbed the surface sting. Through her thin slacks, the pine roasted her butt. She twisted her head, channeling agony outward from her rear. Eight left. Her feeble bikini panties stretched their support thin, offering marginal heat protection.

"I waited for you, Zara. Hoping you'd see sense."

She knew he'd waited in vain. Even before he'd gained his evidence, she'd seen the thefts. She begged her deepest self for bravery. Brutal burn struck the same spots, burning into her butt. Seven remained. She should have shown him loyalty. The paddle agreed. A mighty swat across both her beautiful cheeks slammed vicious ache. Six more. Stretching her courage, she bent deeper, pushing her butt towards its obligation. Heavy guilt rested on her shoulders. He didn't relent. Two swift swats broke his predictable pattern, doubling her pain. She howled. Brutal agony burst deep inside her butt. Powerful tears fell. She didn't fight her submission. Four swats awaited.

Sobbing, the vast board flew into her butt, ravaging her. She emitted louder sobs, unashamed that he'd broken her. Between tears, she stuck her desperate butt out. Ruthless pine crashed into her girlish flesh. Honor coursed through her. Her butt had sat in comfort, ignoring the deceit surrounding her.

"Two to go, Zara."

She knew. She hadn't lost count. He drew out her suffering. Burning before him, her butt remained on offer. She panted into her sobs. "I'm sorry."

The sorority correction tool demolished her bent butt. Its infinite power thrust pain deep, burrowing worse heat into her agony. Self-respect blossomed. She summoned her diminishing bravery. The paddle overwhelmed it. Merciless sting blazed across her lower butt. Her self-respect replaced her bravery, soaring above her, watching over her final sobs. Pride kept her still.

A warm palm spread exquisite heat through her thin white blouse, softening her suffering. Grateful for his kindness, she quietened.

"When you're ready, you may stand."

Staggering upwards, she faced him, tears streaking her careful makeup.

"I'm proud of you, Zara."

Her throbbing bottom corroborated his words. Pride lifted her heart. She smiled. "I'm sorry I stayed silent. Thank you for paddling me. I deserved it."

He pulled her into him, wrapping her in his arms.

Held tight, her battle over, she softened against him. "Thanks, John."

"I'm here for you. You're a good girl."

"I feel it."

He smiled. She was too beautiful to exist. Corporal punishment affected her well. He'd offered her a tough way forward. She'd seized it, bearing up. He hadn't gone easy on her. Her silence had pissed him off. Soft in his arms, well punished, his disappointment had dissipated into solid respect. "You were brilliant tonight. Bethany is thrilled."

The news soothed her bottom. Aware of her paddling, she'd feared she may have performed below her best. She'd loved serving. Customers broadcast fascinating vibes. Micro interactions sizzled her senses. Conversing with a young Japanese man had captivated her brain. Slipping into his native language, her brain had danced over linguistics it loved.

In the restroom, she wiped off her makeup, ruined by her tears. She'd received corporal punishment. Nothing compared. Her bottom throbbed as she slipped into her mom's car. Her successful evening stole focus from her burning butt. She regaled her mom with her plentiful observations, filling their short car journey.

Reaching her bedroom, she shut her door, tore off her blouse and bra, and unbuttoned her tailored pants. Lowering them, she stepped from her smart black slacks. In the mirror, her Calvin Klein panties showed their protection area. Purple bruises inched below her black cotton. She slipped off her panties. Broad redness showed the paddle's colossal size. Two radial targets announced its impact sites. When sitting this week, she'd suffer.

Putting on her white terry-cloth robe, she visited the bathroom. Movements hurt her backside. Pummeling water wasn't a pleasant idea. Eschewing the shower, she washed by hand, enjoying the restriction forced upon her. Smelling of sweet soap instead of sweat, she returned to her bedroom.

Dropping her robe, she cherished her graceful nakedness. Turning before her mirror, she studied her paddled bottom. Clear evidence of formal corporal punishment. She'd received the severe spanking she deserved. Slipping into her bed, she kept her bottom upward. Sleeping on her front wasn't her usual choice. Her penitent position drove damp desire between her legs.

She cupped her bare sex. Throbbing pain penetrated her conscience. Pride soared. She'd received the paddle. Designed for punishment, it had smashed her guilt. Mistaking self interest for common sense, she'd received a correction. She should hurt.

Her boss had paddled her. Circling her clit, she recalled her humble compliance. She'd bent over. An unequivocal position. Nobody adopted it for fun. She'd presented her bottom for formal punishment. He'd paddled her. Brutal swats replayed against her desperate count down. Delicious fear jolted her pleasure source, demanding speed from her finger. She obliged. Intense expectation rewarded her firm touch. The cruel paddle punished her lack of loyalty. Her pain matched her increased responsibility. A professional bartender, she needed formal punishment from her boss.

Bliss danced under her finger. She skimmed her pert breasts, teasing her nipples. Her proud rocks decided she'd deserved her punishment. Panting against her secret touch, she buried her face in her pillow. It absorbed her cries. Violent orgasms ravaged her. She bucked her body against their fury. They stole her hurt. Providing momentary pain relief, her flood of natural pleasure stripped her senses. Multiple repeats smoothed into unexpected pulses, complimenting her obedience.

Her bottom pain returned. She deserved its awful ache as long as it remained. Rolling, despite her discomfort, she redefined her perception of orgasms, her colossal pleasure flood unrivaled. Her friends had gone to university, their choice unsurprising. She hoped their sorority sisters thrashed them. They deserved a glimpse of this extraordinary intensity. No orgasms compared. Her exceptional double paddling fit her selfish behavior. It didn't matter who punished her. Someone suitable. The harder, the better. Despite her unbelievable pain, tonight's lesson wasn't severity. Hiding from her obligation to her boss, he'd sent her behind the bar, suffering her soreness in public. Gifting her desired career, he'd delivered uncompromising punishment. She measured the agony of her paddling against her disgraceful behavior. Ruthless indignity, buried pain and devastating submission stood tall beside her shameless selfishness. Her punishment fit her crime. Phenomenal orgasms, her absolute best, had proved it. Balancing punishment against crime was crucial to effective corporal punishment. She stored her new knowledge. Lying on her paddled bottom, she spread her legs, her finger returning to test her theory.