« Spanking Stories

Rebecca smiled, admiring her folded Gucci jeans in her fourth drawer. They'd cost her the cane. Eight hard strokes across her pink panties. She'd got used to clean clothes appearing in her walk-in closet. Recalling Damien's tough treatment, she'd replayed her punishment for private pleasure. He hadn't found cause to spank her in weeks.

Making deliberate mistakes disrespected punishment's unparalleled power between them. Genuine thrashings devastated her. She wouldn't undermine their intoxicating force. Craving a diet of frequent strictness presented a real problem. Describing her past to Jana had provoked a delightful, sexy plan. Last week, she'd enacted part one. Part two began this morning. She slid open the lowest drawer in her central island. Everything was in plain sight. Closing it, her sex throbbed in anticipation. He'd proposed a lazy Sunday. She had other plans.

Alone in the kitchen days after her caning, she'd capitalized on Jana's unexpected mid-morning appearance. Following Damien's advice, she'd thanked his housekeeper for their heavenly food, suggesting coffee. They'd gravitated into the warm sunroom attached to the open-plan kitchen, sharing the cream herringbone couch overlooking the glorious rear garden.

Making overt overtures, she'd asked probing questions. It wasn't difficult. Sky Reach's efficient operation impressed her. Shifting to relationships, she'd enquired if Jana had someone special. Despite her best intentions, Jana had seen straight through her careful enquiry. Leaning in, Jana had touched her bare arm, saying, 'I'm no threat, Rebecca. Girls are my thing.'

Embarrassed, she'd covered, continuing her interest in Sky Reach's slick operations. Skilled in gathering information, Jana's responses had become more reluctant. Realizing her mistake, she'd leaned in. Touching the beautiful girl's bare arm, she'd returned her kind words. 'I'm no threat, Jana. I couldn't imagine handling your job or living here without you'. Feeling Jana relax beneath her fingers, she'd added a soft kiss to her cheek, receiving a stunning smile. Resetting their conversation, they'd laughed at their mutual fears. Damien had since complimented their obvious harmony, praising her efforts. He'd made slow love to her, reiterating his happiness. Perhaps he knew Jana's inclination. She'd keep the gorgeous girl's confidence.

Hearing his shower stop, she readied her performance. Naked, she leaned against her island, watching him in their ensuite. Noticing her curves, he approached, his manhood hardening. Her power to induce his natural reaction never ceased to thrill her. She turned. Bending down, she opened her lowest drawer. Searching for her pink hot pants, she slowed her fingers, letting him track her focus. Approaching her hot-pink hot pants, she trailed her fingertips over her short, flared white skirt and tight red crop top emblazoned with her cheer team logo.

"You were a cheerleader?" he asked.

Hiding her grin, she nodded. "In college, then one year on the team." She nodded towards her very recognizable uniform. Wearing her professional cheer outfit in her studio, she'd often recalled her selfless submission in her college changing room, masturbating hard as her coach paddled her. Upgraded to star her professional kit, her thrashing still turned her on. Nodding at her uniform, she said, "It still fits."

"Prove it."

Pleasure burst. He'd taken her bait. "Okay," she said. "Wear gym gear and I'll meet you upstairs."

"Done," he said.

She'd caught him off guard. It pleased her. Watching him disappear into his walk-in closet, she called, "Check the cupboards in the gym."

Waiting until she heard him depart, she slipped on skimpy white cotton bikini panties. Her ultra short white pleated skirt only covered her panties when she stood. Exposing her provocative panties to the mirror, sweet vulnerability coursed through her humble curves. Pulling on her red crop top, its tight support promoted her nestled breasts. Adding tiny white ankle socks, she laced her flat white sneakers. In her mirror, pure passion flowed. Her custom made uniform promoted her breasts and teased her curves. It still fitted. Flexing her arms, she performed a simple clasp. Crossing between sharp movements, she performed a high-V, T-motion, touchdown, and a cone.

Heading along the corridor, she climbed the stairs to their home gym. Between attics, it occupied prime roof space. Opposing triple windows revealed the driveway and rear garden. Filled with quality equipment, she headed for the gray central mat. Cushioning offered comfort as it became her stage. Beyond it, a cupboard unit extended, separating the weights area. Yesterday, she'd pumped her full fifteen pounds, getting herself into shape for today. On the cupboard unit stood an empty vodka bottle. Beside it, her boyfriend, gripping a polished pine paddle. Examining hundreds online, she'd selected a paddle resembling the brutal board her cheer coach had used on her. His black shorts and a tight white tee outlined his powerful muscles. His paddle's presence trembled her sex. She said, "I want to tell you a story."

He smiled.

"Our revolutionary routines led the field among college cheer squads. Our coach showcased legendary moves, pushing us higher. We'd already reached the Championship Final, but lost. Perhaps this event cemented our squad. I'll never know. Four months later we won, scoring the highest overall points in cheer history."

She tapped the vodka bottle. "Lena, our strongest member, liked her vodka. She'd got caught and paddled before. Our coach discovered this bottle, demanding its owner step forward. She threatened to paddle the entire team if nobody owned up."

She continued. "Minutes away from performing, we'd enter the stadium, all our red bottoms advertised by cute white panties. Tense seconds ensued. I evaluated the disaster and embarrassment awaiting us. Coach would have kicked Lena from our squad. I couldn't allow it. We couldn't lose Lena. Lined up, I spotted her sneaker rising. If she took the fall, we'd lose competitions. I stepped forward, masking her movements, and claimed the vodka was mine."

"Wow," he said.

Glowing under his admiration, she grinned. "Stupid? I got spanked."

"Smart. Gutsy. Everything I'd expect of you. Even the spanking."

"If coach knew I'd lied, she didn't say. I grabbed my ankles. She flipped up my skirt and paddled me over my meagre panties. It was brutal, befitting a cheerleader."

"What did you teammates say?"

She lowered her gaze. "I was a heroine. Lena hugged me the hardest."

"You performed with a paddled bottom."

"Bright red, outlined by my crisp white panties. Thousands witnessed my shame."

"You're a bold girl, Rebecca."

She smiled at him. His expression transformed.

Raising the empty vodka bottle, he demanded, "Is this yours?"

Yesterday, she'd bought it, poured away its contents, and placed it in the gym cupboard. Positioned beside her paddle, she'd hoped to suggest a clear connection.

Shuffling her feet, she gazed down at the cushioned gray mat.

"I expect an answer, Rebecca."

Heat flushed her sex. God, he was gorgeous. Bottle in hand, his impressive authority, underscored by the enormous polished pine paddle, riveted her feet. "It's mine, sir."

"I'm disappointed in you, Rebecca. Grab your ankles."

Facing the front windows, she bent forward, wrapping her fingers around her slender ankles. Her skimpy white panties, exposed by her short skirt, she held her punishment position, complying with his order. She felt him flip up her skirt. Despite its irrelevance, her further exposure embarrassed her.

"Drinking can't benefit your cheerleading performance."

She inhaled his pleasant scolding. She'd hadn't drunk the vodka then, or now. In pursuit of their mutual pleasure, her deceit suited their game. She'd pay for it in genuine pain. His spirited discipline fitted her mood. Accepting his scolding manifested the stinging taste of vodka in her vivid imagination.

The pine paddle touched her tight panties. Its determination to hurt thrilled her. He'd taken her unsubtle bait, recreating her story. Ashamed by her formal position, she felt in deep need of his punishment. Thunder banged against the gym walls. The pine penetrated deep pain through her thin panties. She winced, heat burning her bottom.

The board slammed into her cotton, breathing burn. She rocked under its incredible force, desperate to spread its concentrated pain.

He said, "Cheerleaders lead by example. They don't drink illicit liquer."

Lapping up his lecture, she endured his ruthless punishment. Ignoring her genuine innocence, hurt burrowed deep into her punished cheeks. Concentrating his swats, he thrashed her exposed bottom. Her agony built. She panted, tears accumulating. Staring at her pristine sneakers, she appreciated his diligent execution of his duty. Almighty swats blasted her bottom. Rich agony ensued. Pain threatened her poise. Imagining her teammates behind her, she straightened her legs, proud of her obedient surrender. Remembering their admiration, she took her remaining swats, their fierce burn drying her feeble tears.

He walked in front of her. "Stand up, girl."

She rose. Her skirt fell into place. Staring into his demanding gaze, she oozed respect. He'd paddled her worse than her coach. His courage to thrash her for fun thrilled her. She'd asked for it and he'd beaten her.

He tapped the paddle against his leg. "I hope your bottom embarrasses you. Get to your performance."

His stern instruction reached her brain. Paddled, she must still perform her routines. Leaning on the cupboard unit, she selected her song, deep pain delivering difficult aches. Already connected to the Lutron home system, 'Cheerleader' by OMI blasted around their gym.

She tapped her foot to the neat reggae beat, spinning onto the open wood floor. She clasped, hitting her high-V. Squatting, she brought her arms down, stacking her fists. She jumped, landing on her flawless feet. Standing clean, her arms by her sides, she touched her toes, presenting her blazing red bottom in spectacular white panties. Flying into a perfect hand stand, she advertised her punishment again, lowering into a lunge. A dramatic back handspring landed her in front of him. Standing tall, she let the music play out, arm motions in perfect sync. Falling into his open arms, she panted. "I'm out of practice."

"Untrue," he cried. Stroking her back, he slid his palm over her sweat-laced skin. Discovering the cupboard collection, he'd guessed her intent. The vodka bottle had provided a prominent clue, the paddle hard proof. His girlfriend needed playful punishment. As painful as a real thrashing, it required no heartfelt apology, no period of respectful penance. Just lively pain. The paddle didn't deliver light swats, only intense agony. He admired her guts. Already scheduling her legendary performance for frequent repeats, he carried her to their central gray mat, laying her flawless curves on its soft surface.

She smiled up at him. Her backside ached. Terrible, deep ache she'd feel for days. She'd needed to feel his fundamental authority. She'd offered him their game. He'd chosen to deliver ferocious swats. She deserved her pain. His gym shorts dropped. Tiny black briefs followed. His massive hardness unleashed at her. She grinned, ripping off her crop top. Losing his tee, he kneeled over her. Flipping up her skirt, his sweaty hand cupped her bold sex. Swiping aside her feeble panties, he thrust deep inside her, forcing her fingers onto her nipple tips. Skimming her solid rocks, she panted into his thrusts, slamming her hips against him. Riding her riot, she flexed her hips, squeezing intense satisfaction from him. His thunderous strokes drove her to high ground. She held her perfect balance, pierced by his hardness. Teetering on the edge of collapse, she kept her perfect poise. His unwavering gaze stole her eyes, his impressive manhood keeping her in exquisite denial.

"I love your game," he groaned.

Bursting his load deep into her passion, she exploded over him, pouring pleasure into soothing rivers, smothering her abundant aches.

Falling beside her on the mat, they lay on their backs, his fingers claiming hers.

"I've other ideas," she said.

"You're beautiful."

She grinned. "College cheerleaders have stringent rules. We're forbidden from dating footballers, required to leave bars if they enter. We're safe on that front. They required us to sign contracts accepting the paddle."

"Sensible."

"We didn't mind. Rules require enforcement or they're meaningless. Our handbook was strict. They weighed us. Weight gain over a tight band brought swats. Below, swats too."

"That's harsh."

"It depends. Nobody wants to watch an ugly cheerleader. We're standard setters. Sensible weight made sense. It requires intense fitness. Between us, I may request a weigh-in. Only I can request it, not you."

"Fair enough."

"If I fail, you paddle me. No sympathy. A severe beating."

"Are you sure?"

She rolled towards him. "It's a considerate correction. I'll deserve it."

He rolled, supporting his head. "Okay."

She said, "You may order a uniform inspection. You'll find faults. Our coach found regular infractions if she felt we needed correction. It taught me unquestioning obedience. Be hard on me. Paddle my lazy panties. The slightest dispute adds extra licks. You impose punishments. My insubordination may increase them. That's our game."

"Give me examples."

"Check my panties are skimpy, modest, and pure white. My skirt ironed, every pleat perfect. Unmarked is obvious. Don't forgive marks. Also, check my shoes are immaculate."

He glanced at her white sneakers. "They're perfect."

"Today, they are. If I crave punishment, you'll find flaws. If I'm flawless, you may detect flaws to humble me. Consider my sneakers unsatisfactory regardless of their true state. Coach found faults when it suited her. Sometimes arbitrary authority is heavenly."

He grinned. "I love it."

"You haven't seen my entire uniform. For some practice sessions, our handbook requires a sports bra and our tiny white shorts, and I mean tiny." She placed her finger half an inch below her sex.

"Phew," he said.

"Indeed," she grinned. "We're forbidden from wearing underwear, not even thong panties."

"Commando?"

She nodded. "You'll order me to lower my shorts, checking I'm bare beneath."

"Humiliating."

She bit her lip, nodding her head. "I wore a g-string twice. Unsubtle beneath form-fitting shorts. In the changing room, our coach roasted my bare butt, my teammates watching. Practice sessions attracted audiences. Telltale marks showed below my shorts. Whenever I bent, they became clearer. Getting an official punishment is shameful. Others knowing heightens your disgrace."

His magnificent hardness reacted to her story. "You deserved it," he said, stroking himself.

She smiled. "Our sports bra must reveal our body from below our bust line. Longer coverage is an offense."

"The paddle I presume."

She nodded. "Even when relaxing, we represent the football team. We must always appear fabulous. Our conduct must never bring disrepute." Lifting her tiny skirt, she slid her fingers into her panties, her prescribed obedience emboldening her clit.

He panted beside her. "If I request a command performance, I'll inspect your uniform." Speeding up his strokes, he watched her masturbate.

"I'll expect it. If beneath my skirt, my panties are pink?"

"Deliberate disobedience. Six Swats. Hard." He stroked himself faster, staring at her.

Accepting his condemnation, she met his gaze. "The hardest. I became a professional cheerleader. Thrash me without mercy." Falling onto her back, her finger circled her clit. Fast movements matched short breaths.

He lay back, pleasuring himself. "I'll demand you lower your shorts."

"I'll stand bare before you, humbled by my compliance, proud of my obedience."

Between breaths, he said, "If I see panties, I'll rip them down, and paddle you bare."

His ominous threat delivered her explosive orgasms. Flexing her legs, she came hard, pulsing pleasure alongside him. She rolled, watching him come. Snapping her hand from her panties, she massaged his stickiness into his skin.

"I love your imagination," he said. "Some game."

She grinned. "Our game."