« Spanking Stories

Rebecca laid back on the black cushioned weight bench, her black sports bra strap sweaty beneath her. Reaching behind, she gripped her barbell, loaded with fifteen pounds. Her grip shoulder-width apart, she arched her back, lifting the silver bar from the rack. Extending her arms towards the white gym ceiling, irritation compelled their ruthless rise. She held her barbell in immaculate balance, hard truths washing over her. Bending at the elbows, she lowered the bar to just above her sternum. Expunging excess irritation, she lifted the weight, thrusting into a firm hold. Its force pulsed down her arms, clearing her brain.

Early morning light saturated the gym ceiling, its tiny spotlights unrequired. Beyond her straight arms, she couldn't see Clare or Melody watching her. Clare, her best friend at FMI, was their CEO's personal assistant, and his girlfriend. Invited to her penthouse home, she and Melody had witnessed their friend give a masterclass in submission. Embarrassed in tight, immature panties beneath a short transparent dress, the powerful personal assistant had exuded deference. Bent over her bed, she'd received a severe boyfriend belting, illustrating their remarkable relationship.

Rebecca's arms shot skyward, supporting her barbell for twenty lengthy seconds. She'd failed to replicate Clare's relationship. Melody had learned from their masterclass. Discovering the letter she'd begun on their home computer, her husband had met her secret desires. The lucky policewoman had described being stood in her lounge corner, in her panties, her paddled bottom on embarrassing display. Envious, she'd masturbated hard about meeting Melody. She'd avoided a speeding ticket from the reasonable policewoman. Their phones had announced they were both Virtue members, or Angels. Miss Roberts' meeting app had given rise to natural justice. In the woods, Melody had whipped her. Lowering her fifteen pounds, memories of the thin switch whipping her thinner panties dampened her sex.

"I think you've done enough," Clare said. "We start work in thirty minutes."

"One more," Rebecca said, forcing her bar high. Holding it against her irritation with Greg, she exhaled. Suppressing silly desires for her boss, Damien, she'd bet on entrepreneur Greg. Their first date had failed, their subsequent dates ever worse. On his country estate, the constant presence of his ex-wife proved him a fool.

"I have it," Melody said, taking the barbell, replacing it onto its stand.

Rebecca relaxed. "Thanks."

"You were pumping it, babe," Clare said.

"General frustration." She didn't confess Damien had lambasted her yesterday. Her boss, the Chief Operating Officer, had dispersed his embarrassment into a harsh scolding for her stupid mistake, far below her seniority. Adding her apologies, she'd deserved his telling off. She knew why she'd screwed up. It was idiotic. She couldn't share it with Clare. Glancing away, she followed her friends towards the showers.

At her desk, Rebecca concentrated on projects Damien had assigned. Glass office walls allowed her to monitor him with glances. His convenient biceps discouraged concentration. She chided herself. Yesterday's mistake had flowed straight from her lack of attention.

Taking his instructions, she'd noted her actions, his warm voice transporting her gaze over his rock hard torso encased in a fitted white shirt. She'd roamed his chest, mapping its contours. Disastrous unprofessionalism. Her bottom must pay. He'd switched from personal finance tasks to a departmental restructure, requesting she call Ian. Scribbling Ian on her pad, she'd called his financial advisor, putting him through. Expecting his head of sales, he'd launched into the wrong conversation.

Secretaries made simple mistakes. Top-flight personal assistant didn't. She'd made him appear foolish. He hadn't taken his embarrassment well. Glancing at his side profile, she didn't blame him. She'd exited his office, his scolding ringing in her ears, booking to visit Miss Roberts.

Her disciplinarian's new city-center location offered incredible convenience. Anticipating her painful lunchtime appointment, she glanced at Clare. The CEO's office suite occupied the opposite corner. Yesterday's debacle embarrassed her. She'd kept it to herself. Miss Roberts would deal with her.

She ate salad at her desk, finishing it fast as she proof read a report. Nipping out, she escaped notice. Marching across streets in her smart navy skirt suit, she enjoyed being a city girl. Reaching her destination, her outfit blended into the vaulted marble lobby. Scanning the perspex board of resident companies, she landed on Virtue. Its innocuous name felt special to her. She'd memorized the detailed directions on Miss Roberts' booking app. Displaying level fifty, the sign confirmed her route. She headed to the elevators, choosing the correct car. Hers only visited levels forty through fifty.

Her rapid rise to strict discipline suited her diminished status. Arriving on level fifty into a small magnolia lobby, she faced a raised black perspex sign.

She stood taller. Two corridors flared from her spot. To her left, a sign ordered her towards co-working. She stepped right, her entrance marked 'Administration'. Opening her Virtue app, she waved her phone at the sensor. Entering, she discovered a deserted waiting room, light magnolia walls greeting her. Vanity Fair, Harpers Bazaar and Vogue occupied a long, low glass table, their bright covers contrasting with custom-built light gray couch seating fitted around the walls.

She stepped towards a recessed bookcase, a six-foot gap in the plentiful seating permitting comfortable access. She skimmed the titles. 'A History of Western Philosophy' by Bertrand Russell lived beside 'Introduction to Mathematical Philosophy', also by Bertrand Russell. 'The Conquest of Happiness' completed a rounded philosophical collection. 'Self-Love', 'The Power of Discipline' and similar titles enhanced the intelligent collection, lifting its modernity. Collective wisdom complimented girls, awaiting their painful punishments.

In the corner nearest the building's center, she spotted a corridor disappearing. She seated herself facing the corridor. Her immediate future lay beyond. Beneath her short navy skirt, she wore plain white cotton bikini panties. Reminded of her reduced status by her traditional underwear, her lunchtime appointment had remained central in her mind. She'd failed at her responsible job. She deserved punishment. Getting punished required guts. The reward, intense forgiveness, not least from herself.

Miss Roberts entered from the corridor. "Hello Rebecca. Lovely to see you."

"This is gorgeous," Rebecca said.

"Thank you." Miss Roberts smiled, moving towards the corridor. "I'll show you our discipline suites."

Rebecca followed. The light magnolia theme extended past four unmarked doors. Entering the fifth, her eyes swept the space. Floor-to-ceiling glass directed her towards the city beyond. She felt judged. "A beautiful view," she said.

"Privacy glass protects us," Miss Roberts said, recognizing its effect on her client.

Rebecca smiled. Logic reigned, the mental cruelty delivering acres of shame. Light wood flooring spread across the entire space. A sleek cupboard in modern black wood sat to her left. Its size matched her expectations. It must contain implements to punish her. Towards the window, a dark gray modern wood desk didn't require explanation. Near her, red leather stamped a definitive signature on the impressive space. She stared at the firm rectangular leather bench, its top curved. Four rounded black splayed metal legs supported it.

Miss Roberts followed her gaze. "It's purpose built for spanking, and adjustable. Bending along its length gives support during long punishments. Bending over sideways, it raises your bottom high and straightens your legs."

A light shiver coursed Rebecca's spine. "I imagine it's effective," she said.

"We may discover today."

Against the right wall, a light gray couch sat opposite its matching armchair. Rebecca approached the couch.

Miss Roberts smiled. Her seating area had proved attractive to clients. She imagined they recognized its familiar layout. Although, clients didn't leave its comfortable cushioning without a stiff sentence.

Rebecca sat on the couch facing Miss Roberts. Her disciplinarian's loose black dress suited the modern environment. Her gaze shifted across the discipline suite, landing on the shocking red bench. Fearful of its harsh positioning, its bright presence brought rich humility. She deserved to bend over it.

"Well Rebecca, how did you fail your boss?"

Rebecca explained her mistaken phone call.

Miss Roberts frowned. "How did you make your error?"

Rebecca blushed.

"I thought you'd given up on your boss."

"I had. He's still gorgeous. I have met no one else."

Miss Roberts nodded. "It isn't an excuse for not listening."

Rebecca lowered her gaze. She'd enjoyed his tone, missing his words. "I know."

"I presume you've decided the punishment you deserve."

She'd pored over the discipline menu after booking her appointment. Setting six cane strokes as her minimum fair punishment, the minor nature of her mistake had nudged her conscience higher. Six strokes would correct a secretary. She wasn't a secretary. Elite assistants didn't make petty mistakes. They listened to their boss without undressing him. Sat at her office desk, she'd penalized herself, hard. "Flaming Valleys, Miss."

Miss Roberts nodded, proud of her client. "A sensible choice. Your job is critical."

Rebecca grimaced. She remembered her period of unemployment. It had ended with Clare's generous help. She didn't wish to revisit it.

Miss Roberts rose. Rebecca stood.

"Leave your suit coat and skirt on the couch, Rebecca."

Rebecca slipped off her navy coat. Unzipping her skirt, she pushed it off, kicking her heels off. Leaving her formal clothes behind, she followed Miss Roberts towards the red bench.  

"Wait here," Miss Roberts said.

Rebecca stood still in her crisp white blouse and white cotton bikini panties, staring at the bright red leather purpose-built to position her for maximum pain. She watched Miss Roberts remove a straight cane from her cupboard. Hooks held straps, paddles, and multiple canes. A bright white gym shoe shone on the black shelf. She wouldn't feel its rubber sole today. Miss Roberts also removed a thick brown leather strap.

Her disciplinarian returned, depositing her implements on a hard wooden chair nearby. Rebecca imagined it was suitable for spanking, also not on her agenda today. Crouching, Miss Roberts flicked catches, lowering the bench to Rebecca's hips. Standing, she said, "Bend over."

Rebecca approached its long side. Her hips touched the firm leather. Bending over its curved surface, she slid her grip down the far legs. Bent over the leather crest, her panties rode up, stretching tight, baring her lower cheeks. Her feet rested on the warm wood floor, stretching her legs straight.

Glancing sideways, the distant city stood witness to her total surrender. A professional, she'd lowered her standards, behaving like a smitten schoolgirl. Bent over the bench in her white cotton panties, her humiliating position fit her professional incompetence. "I'm sorry, Miss. I'm afraid."

"Be brave, Rebecca. Your punishment will hurt you. You need it. You've behaved like an infatuated schoolgirl. The heavy strap will blaze fire across your tender backside. The cane adds three intense ridges, trapping flaming valleys between your painful peaks."

Rebecca bit her lip. Miss Roberts was right. An infatuated little schoolgirl, she deserved her thrashing. She'd failed in her adult duty. She hadn't listened to her boss. The heavy strap touched her panties as her disciplinarian shifted her feet. The weight lifted. She waited.

A monstrous thud shot across the discipline suite. Instant heat blew up beneath her panties. She bit her tongue, countering the fire burning in her blazing bottom. Her entire backside felt strapped. It wasn't. The heavy leather returned. Wrapping around her bottom, it spread fiery torment lower. She focused on her breathing, beseeching it to swallow her pain. The solid bench presented her sensitive crease. Leather landed on her lower bottom, extending across the top of her tender thighs. She howled, heat scorching her virgin skin.

"Inattention hurts, Rebecca. Your career, your reputation, and your bottom."

Two tough lashes united her storming heat, creating her flaming landscape. Burning down to her thighs, she heard Miss Roberts collect her cane. Grateful her strapping was over, she almost welcomed her coming caning.

Fierce sting fired across her cheeks, slicing her bottom in two. She hissed, clenching her teeth, determined to accept her elite punishment. She'd earned it with immature conduct. The rattan snapped into her raging heat, ridging her bent bottom. Agony soared within its fine ridge, distracting her from her flaming valley below. Her pride rose, declaring her worthy. The cane striped her heated crease. A fierce cry escaped her lips.

Keeping her flaming valleys still, she listened as Miss Roberts replaced the instruments of her striking punishment.

"Stand up, Rebecca."

Stepping her grip up the warm metal legs, she pushed herself off the punishment bench. Her palms flew to her butt, soothing her ridges and valleys.

"Let it hurt," Miss Roberts commanded.

"Sorry."

Rebecca lay on her bed in her studio apartment in her white underwear, proud of her fortitude. She'd returned to her desk, walking tall. Unable to decide between favoring the peaks or valleys of her burning bottom, she'd shifted position, rising often to reposition her punitive landscape. Her graphic soreness had riveted her attention on her projects.

Cupping her sex, her palm warmed through her cotton. Shameless infatuation had knocked her off course. She'd taken formal punishment for her professional mistake. The spanking bench filled her mind. Prostrated for maximum pain, she'd received a thorough thrashing. She slid her fingers inside her panties, tracing her slick slit. She'd deserved her harsh treatment.

Circling her proud clit, she replayed the heavy strap. Easing her spare hand to touch her sensitive bottom, she stroked her flaming valleys, easing her fingers along her stinging ridges. Both hurt.

Self-respect washed away her error, rising against her finger. She panted. Her pleasure held as she balanced herself, savoring her humble position over the punishment bench. Sharp pain pulsed from her lowest ridge, flinging orgasms into her deserving sex. Streams of elite pleasure rewarded her honest contrition, flooding her flaming valleys with soothing balm. Swamped in bliss, she reveled in her necessary correction.

Serenity settled over her, slowing her breathing. Her balm short lived, her pain returned, spreading its tough reminder. The aftereffects of strict discipline didn't diminish its alluring benefit. It eradicated guilt. She'd moved on this afternoon, presenting her usual confident attitude, her flaming backside devouring occasional guilt remnants.

In her bathroom, she studied her bottom in the mirror. Sharp maroon lines delineated her red branded bottom. Formal mistakes deserved formal marks. They'd prevent her from wearing skimpy gym shorts or short skirts. The denial heightened her respect for her powerful punishment. It would affect her choices for several days.

She imagined Damien punishing her. Returning to her bed, her fingers followed her thoughts. Ordered over his desk, she obeyed without question. He laid on her punishment hard, the deep timbre of his luscious voice cushioning her harsh scolding. Punctuating his telling off with vigorous cane strokes, she came, orgasms rupturing her body, disappearing into nothing. Calming her silly aberration, she resolved to ignore Damien's body during serious conversations. Tuning out his harmonious voice, she'd focus on her instructions. However, casual conversations were fair game. A gentle traversal of his biceps. A pioneering trek over his torso. Permitting herself these distractions would keep her mind in check for the important stuff.