« Spanking Stories

Three years ago

Zara sat cross-legged on her bed in her favorite pale pink pajama bottoms, her homework done. She didn't love standardized tests. They made little sense. Picking which word didn't fit a pattern, giving the next number in a sequence, proved nothing. Asinine, they granted quotable success to unimaginative people. She forced herself to care, aiming for a perfect GPA score. Pitting her intelligence against the school point-scoring game shortened it, giving her more reading time. Esoteric books broadened her understanding of human behavior. Comprehending fundamental human attitudes allowed her to predict outcomes. It beat learning pointless facts.

She moved onto her urgent evening project. She earned useful cash cleaning the City Sip bar before school. Scouring the university district during her Saturdays, she'd hunted for a job. John, manager of City Sip, had taken pity on her, giving her a trial. She'd earned his trust over twelve months. She removed trash, guided the polishing machine over the ancient wooden floor, and wiped surfaces and chairs. The tasks required nominal attention.

At 6am weekdays, she enjoyed her peaceful thoughts. Cleaning the bar before high school put money in her pocket, providing new clothes to adjust her appearance. It generated fascinating reactions from her friends. She loved manipulating their impression of her. A powerful force, manipulation didn't solve her current issue. Starting early, she didn't see John often. This morning, he'd arrived as she'd finished cleaning, his heavy expression cluing her to an issue. Sitting them at a damp, clean bar table, he'd explained his assistant manager had discovered the door unlocked the prior morning. Meticulous with her precious key, her mistake weighed on her. She'd set the alarm system, somehow failing to turn her key.

Studying the dark pink seashells decorating her pale pink pajamas, she smoothed a wrinkle. John had stated her mistake was serious, a matter of trust. She didn't disagree. He'd given her responsibility for determining how he should punish her. Horrified by her mistake, she felt she deserved serious consequences. Company policy prevented him from docking her wages. However, he'd said she shouldn't escape her irresponsibility unscathed. He couldn't demote her. There wasn't a less responsible position. She recognized his dilemma. Smoothing her gray pajama top, she stared at her crossed legs. Her thoughts paused. Drawn to her pajama-clad legs twice, she recognized the sign. She'd long ago discovered her subconscious solved problems, if she let it.

Hopping from her bed, she tugged a blue plastic box from underneath. Hidden beneath heavy books, she extracted her diary. Sat on the floor, she leafed through it, finding four similar entries. Her favorite pajamas often covered her bottom when her dad spanked her. Reading her observations, their thin protection didn't prevent his palm from inflicting considerable pain on her sorry cheeks. Positive sentiment followed each punishment. She'd written her appreciation of her dad. Recorded minutes after a comprehensive application of stringent pain, her written opinion carried significant weight. Flipping forward, she read about their conversation after he'd spanked her with his leather slipper. A much tougher punishment. She'd taken longer to recover, still ten minutes later it appeared she'd joked with him about how tender he'd made her.

Parking her diary where it belonged, she re-established herself on her bed. John wasn't her dad. He was her boss. In charge of the entire bar, she respected him. She wanted him to promote her to a bartender next year when she passed her state liquor serving test. A brilliant opportunity for studying human interactions. She couldn't see herself bending over his knee. Appropriate with her dad, her professional relationship with John, demanded more formality. She pulled her laptop onto her lap, researching ways girls got punished. Facing an enormous variety of items, designed or repurposed to punish her, she settled upon a ping-pong paddle. Its ready availability weighed in its favor. Its promised pain fit her lackadaisical behavior. Discovering she needn't bend over John's lap afforded substantial relief. A table or desk were frequent locations for formal punishment.

Picturing the ping-pong paddle on her white school panties raised her stress. Her dad spanked her in pajamas, no panties beneath. He stipulated one layer of thin cotton. Her mom had spanked her panties a few times, but most often her dad dealt with her discipline. Embarrassed by her realization, she pondered her school uniform. John had seen her a few times. She couldn't wear jeans tomorrow. It was deceitful. He'd tasked her with deciding her punishment. She must receive it in her usual school uniform, no matter how embarrassing it was. Maybe he'd paddle her over her gray skirt. Visualizing its pleats, she imagined the paddle landing on her layered cloth. She doubted anyone would consider it a fair punishment.

She prayed he'd respect her suggestion. A token sorry didn't suit her magnificent carelessness. Beginning her school day with a burning bottom felt meaningful and humble. She'd feel its embarrassing effects until bedtime. Her disastrous mistake had ruined her thoughts today. Tomorrow, her underlying punishment would rule out ruinous reflection.

Facing the paddle didn't disturb her night's sleep. She'd bend across John's desk and accept him raising her school skirt. He'd give her forceful swats on her meagre panties. Punished by him, she'd issue heartfelt apologies. Formal punishment suited her irresponsibility. To become a bartender, she needed John to recognize her maturity.

She dressed early. Knotting her blue and white tie, she checked it against her white collared shirt. Her dark-gray jumper met her short, dark skirt. Turning, she flipped up her skirt, checking her white cotton panties. Bikini style, they left some bottom exposed. She'd often raised her skirt in the school restrooms to show her friends her spankings, a shared theme. She enjoyed seeing theirs, studying their attitudes. Spanked at bedtime, her bottom wasn't often so red by school. Today, it would hurt beneath her skirt. Paddled by her boss, she wouldn't tell her friends. If they discovered her fresh marks, she'd say her dad had paddled her for insolence. Her limited friends tolerated her. Often unable to cooperate with their base conversations, she adored their genuine affection. Studying them up close was the biggest joy friendship brought. She'd learned to mask her opinions. Spotting flaws in their plans, she bit her tongue, keeping her valuable friendships intact.

Determined to complete her duties before her boss arrived, she worked hard. Seating herself at the same bar table where he'd scolded her, she watched him enter. Summoning her courage, she mustered a solid tone. "Good morning, John."

He smiled. "Morning, Zara."

His generous greeting disguised their serious agenda. She calmed her breathing as he sat opposite.

"Have you considered our conversation?"

She nodded. "I have. I'm sorry, John. My colossal mistake permits no excuses. I deserve serious repercussions." Rallying her spirit, she blushed. "My dad spanks me. This deserves worse. I feel a ping-pong paddle, bent over your desk, will give harsh, embarrassing, but reasonable punishment."

He smiled. "You have given this proper thought." Struggling to imagine a suitable punishment overnight, he'd resolved he'd issue her five hundred lines. Hand written in flawless cursive writing, the cursed task befit her carelessness. Her plan won.

Her confidence rose. His tone contained substantial approval. "I am very sorry, John."

"I believe you," he said, rising. "Shall we finish your punishment and close the matter?"

Relieved by his matter-of-fact approach, she rose beside him, nodding. As they passed the ping-ping tables, he swiped a dark-blue bat. Carried in his hand, its purpose clear, she engraved the humble picture on her brain. A penitent girl led to her painful punishment.

He showed her into his office, closing the door. "I'm proud of you, Zara. You've chosen a demanding punishment. It's a credit to you."

Unable to halt her smile forming, she quashed it. Feeling pleasure in his compliment, she glanced towards his desk. Modern black metal provided her platform for repentance. His heavy tone got her attention.

"Zara, you're responsible for locking the main door. You failed. Your paddling will sting. You may cry out. However, please remain still. Understood?"

Grateful for his command of their situation, she met his firm expression. "Yes, sir."

"Bend over my desk," he ordered.

Thundering through her, his command drove her obedient body forward. Pressing her hips against the cold metal, she bent her body over its extensive surface, thrusting her arms forward. Unable to reach the edge, she spread her fingers for support, shuffling her feet. She'd studied diagrams on her laptop. In position, waves of humiliation delivered flawless compliance.

"Good girl," he said.

His compliment inspired stricter conformity. She pushed her bottom out. Despite her thin jumper, shirt and bra, the cool surface hardened her nipples. Embarrassed, she ignored her excited response, aware it would soon wane.

John considered his prone employee. Hiring her, he'd ensured clean morning starts. She didn't call in sick. Her unseen presence was palpable. Summoned, she'd faced up to her dreadful mistake, accepting appropriate consequences, shooting up in his estimation. He followed the uneven hem of her pleated skirt. Skimming her bent butt, it would dull his swats. She hadn't mentioned her skirt. He couldn't show her favors. This must hurt them both. Grabbing her skirt hem, he flipped it onto her back. Shifting her jumper, he tucked her skirt into its waistband.

Zara snatched a breath, releasing it as he secured her skirt. Cool air multiplied her embarrassment. The round rubber-covered paddle rested against her panties. Cold replaced round warmth as it withdrew. Firm smacks stung her cheeks. Their consistent arrival spread sting across her entire bottom, building omnipresent heat. None were awful. Warm discomfort grew into her constant companion. She swallowed. Part of her brain counted. Twenty solid stings had warmed her cotton, extending into her bareness.

"You're warmed up, Zara. Now, it becomes terrible. I'm not sorry. You deserve your punishment."

His toughness coursed respect through her humble curves. The ping-ping paddle slammed into her taut panties. Wicked sting scorched her bottom. Crashing into her cotton, circular blazes spread. Atrocious agony erupted across her entire butt. Relentless fury burst into new patterns of unbearable pain, forcing cries from her lips. Embarrassed, she bit her lip, bearing her torment. Friends had confessed they tried to pretend it didn't hurt. All had agreed they failed. Embracing her failure, she panted her cries. Crisp sting roasted her bare cheeks beyond her narrow panties. Smarting skin prickled long after each swat. Spreading into neighboring swats, an intense swathe of punishing pain consumed her butt. The paddle paused. She didn't notice until she calmed herself.

"If someone had ransacked us, you couldn't have resolved your mistake bent over my desk."

Fear robbed her heart, begging him to beat her irresponsible butt. Sorrow seeped into her soul. "John, I'm sorry."

He respected her. Truth burned through her tone. Still, anger at her stupidity ate at him. He'd trusted her. Stepping forward, he grabbed her panty waistband. He pulled her white cotton higher, revealing more of her red bare butt.

Her fingers lifted from his desk. Humiliation crushed her into compliance. His paddle blasted into her bareness. Without reprieve, he drove desperate outcries from her. Diabolical pain deepened into her troubled conscience. She welcomed his anger. Scolding her stupidity, she told herself off hard. Mature girls didn't make pathetic mistakes. Lost in punishing herself, the paddle's pause didn't register until her self scolding passed for several seconds unaccompanied by her orchestra of pain.

"Zara, stand up, please."

She obeyed, walking her palms across the desk to rise. Tugging her skirt free, she reached beneath, straightening her panties. Embarrassed, she downcast her gaze. Stepping towards her, his strong fingers lifted her chin. Meeting her punisher's firm gaze, she found forgiveness.

"I needed to spank you hard, Zara."

"I know," she said. His frankness delighted her. Behind every swat, she'd felt his displeasure. She'd needed him to release it. She'd needed to feel his pain. "I damaged our trust. You needed to feel my punishment delivered. You needed to see me suffer genuine distress."

He nodded. "You're a smart girl. I respect you for taking your paddling."

She smiled. "Thank you for giving it. Nothing less would have satisfied us both. I'm ashamed of my silliness."

"Your bottom will remind you today. I'm not sorry, but know you're forgiven."

"Thank you, John." She reached to hug him. Solid arms wrapped around her, proving his message.

After fixing her appearance in the restroom, she'd bid him goodbye, a last hug certifying normality between them.

Walking to school, daydreams escaped her. Her butt raged beneath her skirt, taunting her sex. Unbidden, her panties dampened. Her friends had touched on this territory, too embarrassed to discuss it. Their reactions showed she wasn't alone in finding her punishments pleasurable, after they'd hurt their worst. Pleasant humility dripped into her respectful sex.

Her boss had beaten her. Respect thrust into her heart, thrilling her sex. She walked tall, pride packing her uncomfortable steps. On his command, she'd bent before him. He'd wrenched her panties tight, exploding maximum hurt into her bare bottom. In retrospect, her dramatic humiliation fueled her feverish sex. Under his rule, she'd lost her rights. He'd decided she needed beating bare. She'd deserved it.

Slipping into the most secluded school restrooms, she picked the end stall, bedtime too distant. Shoving her fingers into her panties, she frigged herself hard, biting her lip to stay silent. His ruthless handling of her pushed her towards madness. Balanced against the cubicle wall, she lost herself, tempting strokes tormenting her proud clit. She replayed her formal paddling. Her worst ever thrashing, it delivered her greatest pleasure. Orgasms plundered her panties, soaking her white cotton. Gushing savage pleasure, they celebrated her humble surrender. Silent pants calmed her. She slipped off her soaking panties. Rolling them up, she hid them in her backpack, slipping on her spare pair.

Shaken by her greatest ever orgasms, she understood their source. Pleasure in her obedience always brought relief. Discipline wrought exquisite havoc with her emotions, bringing outrageous pleasure. John had proved it didn't matter who punished her. He'd also proved worse punishment brought greater pleasure.

Checking her long blonde hair before the restroom mirror, her flushed appearance suggested recent satisfaction. She slapped water on her face, cooling her passion. Returning to her hair, she swept tresses behind her ears, revealing her face. Her friends had assured her she was attractive. Reading about face symmetry, she'd measured hers, gaining factual reassurance. Two other girls entered. Chatting, they ignored her. She had class in five minutes.

Anticipating her hard seat, her smile grew. Her pain persisted. Despite her pleasure, it gave considerable correction, stimulating her brain. Her powerful cocktail of emotions needed further study. Punishment offered immense influence if she could understand it. She'd learned two hard facts. It didn't matter who punished her. Also, more was better. Fascinated and frustrated by normalcy, personal projects provided perfect salvation. Searching last night, her newest project had gained a proper name. Learning from knowledgeable sources, she'd rebranded her spankings with official terminology. She disliked casual inaccuracy. A spanking was one of many punishments she could receive. She was researching corporal punishment.