« Spanking Stories

Zara wanted an interview with Sarah. Even a momentary encounter, a brief chance to express her sincere interest. Silence met her desire. She flung her useless phone on her bed. Yesterday, after losing her legendary confidence, she'd messaged Fernando. His response, 'Give her time' contained her entire quota of hope.

Five days ago her uncle had painted a new vision of her future and her dad had caned her for her unwise sexual adventure, betraying her friend. This morning she'd set herself some intense homework. Her laptop contained folders of articles she'd stored on corporal punishment. She'd ensure her comprehensive knowledge was current. Her entire morning, dedicated to her homework, she'd begin reviewing her personal experience.

Laying on her bed, she unbuttoned her denim shorts. Before she'd learned the term corporal punishment, her spankings had influenced her. She recalled standing beside her bed, expecting her dad. In only her cotton pajamas, nothing beneath, she'd always felt vulnerable. Understanding discipline better, she respected the wait he'd imposed on her.

When he'd arrived to spank her, she'd almost wanted it. Bent over his knee, his huge spanks had stung her tender bottom, bringing humble tears. Proud of her younger obedience, she slid her warm fingers into her tiny bubblegum pink string bikini panties. Beneath her denim shorts, their gorgeous skimpiness felt mature. As a girl, she'd endured her misfortune as long as required, accepting increasing spanks until her attitude satisfied her dad. Her diary entries proved her positive assessment. Circling her clit, pleasure blossomed. She'd obeyed. Facing his leather slipper, she'd bent, getting worse pain for her compliance. He'd hurt her. Fear had mingled with respect whenever she'd faced a spanking. It still did. Left sore for hours, she'd given humble apologies in minutes.

While getting spanked, immediate pain prevented pleasure. However, after her suffering, her reflection turned self-respect into intense satisfaction. Her body repaid her painful compliance. Pretty in her pajamas, bent over a solid knee, she enjoyed remembering her courage. Stickiness honored her now, as it had then. She circled herself, respect bursting hard beneath her fervent finger. Deserved, her spankings had taught her obedience. Her clit dared her finger to finish. Pleasure burst, flooding her cute pink panties. Flexing her hips, she rode her orgasm wave. Being made good was gorgeous in retrospect.

She cupped her sex. Her bright cotton emphasized her sophistication. She'd shown incredible maturity with John. Challenged by her boss to determine her fate. She'd suggested he spank her. Uncomfortable with bending over his knee, her research had delivered her treasured term corporal punishment, recommending his desk instead. Spanked with a ping-pong paddle, he'd delivered her first formal punishment. He'd lifted her skirt, exposing her white cotton school panties. A treasured memory. The intense humiliation had humbled her hard, forcing her utter obedience. His tough swats had defined official punishment. Burning with shame, she'd accepted her pain, needing to feel his strictness. Circling her clit, she stretched her pink panties, desire surging beneath her light touch. In her white panties, she'd received severe licks. He'd told her he needed to spank her hard. Loving his honesty, she'd confessed she needed to receive it.

Her honesty had returned, albeit too late. Paddled for her selfishness, he'd promoted her to a bartender. Their displayed sorority paddle had proved no imitation. He'd lit up her jeans. Keeping quiet about thefts had hurt her bottom. Ten severe swats, full force, had provided her first formal adult punishment. Her second set of ten the next night had blasted into her thin, form-fitting bartender pants. Bruised for an entire week, she'd respected his harsh punishment. A tough lesson in integrity.

Her sticky fingers continued their urgent duty. She focused on her twenty brutal swats. He'd asked her, 'Will you comply?'. Her delicious reply circled her brain. 'Yes, sir'. Dutiful words screamed humble obedience. They proved her willing to bend over his desk, offering her bent bottom for severe suffering. Rising on her tide of self-respect, she poised, circling her sensitive clit. 'I want this to hurt you, Zara. I won't go easy.' She loved his toughness. He'd honored his promise, delivering devastating agony. She'd taken her pain, engulfed in rich shame. Her finger celebrated his harshness.

Her parents remained unaware John disciplined her. Private, effective, and fair, she'd seen no reason to inform them. They'd upgraded her home punishments, earning her respect. It proved they recognized her growing maturity, even if she'd earned some short-term corrective pain. Bent over her bed, stripped of even her panties by her furious mom, she'd asked her dad to belt her harder. Calling her mom a bitch had deserved dreadful leather lashes. He'd belted her without mercy, wrapping his angry leather around her bare skin. Under her mom's oversight, he'd given her a severe whipping. Sorrowful to her core, she'd faced her mom in tears, apologizing. Forgiven, she'd resolved her stupid behavior. Forgiveness was punishment's express purpose. Crucial learning. Her finger praised her perfect punishment. Self-respect roared in her ears. Her hips flexed, forcing her finger free. Acute pleasure overwhelmed her pink panties. Liquid proof of her magnificent obedience poured forth. Soothing into its blissful beauty, she settled.

Lying exhausted, she considered her effect on society. Had her dad not dealt with her, she'd have become uncontrollable. Her boss had controlled her. She delighted customers, serving drinks in her upbeat style. Had she refused to bend for her dubious decisions, she'd have robbed their city of her joyful spirit in their popular bar. Society needed punishment. Painful submission brought proper correction, killing destructive guilt.

She was a better girl because she got punished. Uncle Fernando's exciting news had stimulated her deepest desires. He'd discussed discipline in adult terms she respected. Learning that grown-up girls sought strict discipline, she'd known she should. Her finger rejoined its duty station. Light caresses admired girls she'd never met.

Sarah's non-call hurt. Qualified for a discipline business, her self-study and practical punishment experience deserved Sarah's interest. Damn it. Just call. Imagining professional girls facing formal discipline provided a plethora of provocative material for her bored mind.

She was fit to stand beside girls who requested discipline. She'd done it. Engulfed in shame, she'd confessed her stupid sexual adventure, asking her dad to cane her. Making her request had liberated her. The cane had freed her guilt. Fierce strokes on her skimpy red panties had punished her indiscretion. Merciless strokes had brought merciful relief. Taking her caning in silence, she'd shown incredible respect for her chastisement.

She flung off her denim shorts and pink panties, celebrating her bareness on her bed. Rolling onto her side, she stroked her invisible cane stripes. She could still feel their effect. Sliding her fingers between her thighs, she remembered her mom's humiliating inspection. Informed by her dad, her mom had ordered her to lower her jeans and panties. Respecting her painful weals, her mom had delivered ten crisp spanks on her bare bottom, reinforcing her punishment. Scolding her for her dishonorable one-night stand with her friend's partial boyfriend, she'd softened her tone, holding her and whispering her pride. Held bare, caned, and spanked, she'd felt a decent girl.

Her approving finger rose her pleasure. Her mom had a right to see her discipline. Recalling her humiliation placed her pleasure on the verge of ultimate release. She held her pleasure. Her self-respect blossomed until hot liquid burst onto her bare thighs.

Her release didn't dissipate her tension. She wanted a career in discipline. She wanted to hear from Sarah. Facing her mirror, she ripped off her tee, baring her breasts. Naked, she admired her body, checking her unmarked bare bottom. Her tension rose higher. She told her reflection, "You're driving yourself mad. You need a damn good hiding, girl." Asserting her thought reduced her tension.

She considered her declaration throughout her evening shift. Whether for stress relief or her interminable impatience, it felt true. Serving drinks required a minor percentage of her concentration, conversation a little more. Spare brain cycles remained transfixed on her morning declaration. Discipline removed stress. If she wanted relief, she must request it. John had proved his skill. Tough punishment had corrected their relationship twice. He like her. If she posed her request as a personal favor, he might prove willing. Two years since he'd paddled her, he may not remember.

After her shift, she remained behind, entering his office. Behind his desk, his powerful influence swept over her, bringing sublime confidence.

"Hi, Zara. Great revenue this evening."

She smiled. Profits pleased her. "Thanks, John. Umm, I need help."

He waved her to the chair opposite. Sitting back, he gave her his attention.

"Umm," she began. "I messaged my uncle's new girlfriend, asking to meet. She's built a successful business. She sounds interesting. It's been five days. She hasn't replied." An imperfect truth. She hadn't messaged Sarah. Uncle Fernando had expressed her professional interest. Hiding her goal, she'd avoided telling her boss she was seeking a fresh career.

He smiled. "Impatience is a purposeless curse. Perhaps you're waiting in vain?"

She was unsure. Frustrated, she'd imagined Sarah's perspective, reaching endless conceivable conclusions. "My impatience has overtaken me. I'm in permanent stress. It's ridiculous. Quite pathetic. I remember feeling incredible release when you punished me." Calm accompanied her subtle request. His smile proved he remembered. She upgraded from subtlety. "I need a sound paddling for letting impatience affect me. Will you help?"

He studied her visible stress. It matched her words. His heart went to her. Her gentle request for hard pain proved her extraordinary wisdom. Beyond beautiful, she never appeared to realize her incredible charm. "You understand it won't be gentle?"

She nodded. "It hope not. I've been silly, John. Punish me. Still my restlessness."

He smiled. "Fetch the paddle."

In the darkened bar, she unhooked their traditional Greek sorority paddle. Holding the eighteen inches of stained pine, she stroked the flame burned fake sorority name. 'City Sip Sorority' felt real to her. A whole new sorority sat on her horizon. Impatience hadn't brought it nearer. Returning to his office, she placed the paddle on his desk. Smoothing her nervous palms over her thin bartender pants, she felt her subtle panty lines. Clasping her hands in front, she stood silent, the paddle's extraordinary authority casting its heavy influence over her.

Standing, his voice assumed the stern tone she remembered. "Impatience weakens you, Zara."

She luxuriated in his scolding, her grateful conscience lauding him.

He pointed. "Face the wall. Grab your ankles."

Following his finger, she obeyed his sudden instruction. Leaning forward, she stretched her arms. Reaching for her slim ankles, she grasped her smart, black professional pants. Bent almost double, her humble position swept surrender through her, calming her unsettled soul. Her tight pants outlined her bikini briefs. She considered her violet cotton. Edged with her favorite white waist band, branded by Calvin Klein, their cheeky cut offered some coverage. She'd lied to John. Unavoidable, it didn't match his commitment to her. Considering his kindness, her lie ate into her. She must serve a stricter sentence. One providing substantial embarrassment. "Please, sir, may I rise?"

Admiring her undisguised obedience, he said, "Of course."

Rising, she met his strict gaze. "Thank you for doing this. I deserve to feel it." She unbuttoned her tight pants. Unzipping them, she pushed the tight material down her slender legs, savoring her furious rush of embarrassment. Subtle pleasure flowed from his ardent gaze on her bare legs. Swathed in rich humiliation, she bent again, grabbing her bare ankles above her bunched pants. He'd once seen her white school panties. He deserved to see her smart, colorful, twenty-year-old selection.

"Nice panties, Zara. I respect your guts. Let's make you feel this."

His compliment thrilling her, the solid, cold paddle touched her cotton. Heartbeats away from its hellish burn, she gripped her ankles tight. Hellfire slammed into her bent butt. Bouncing on her taut cotton, double heat penetrated deep. Challenging her common sense, she absorbed her deepening pain. Silence broadcast her respect.

Staring forward, she concentrated on the office wall. Loud pops filled his office, shooting savage sting into her violet cotton. Its ruthless power purged her persistent impatience. The pine struck fury into her dishonesty. Part-bare, her skin bore its brutish sting, dreadful pain delving into her deceitful cheeks.

The paddle placed her impatience into perspective. Weakened by her obsession, she was disrespectful. Sarah ran an entire business. The pine slammed into her butt, imprinting its phenomenal heat on her lower cheeks. Gripping her ankles, she welcomed its fury, spreading it across her guilty conscience.

She steeled herself to accept her deepening pain. She'd earned the paddle. Learning patience with pain, her throbbing butt begged her to listen. Proud of her flimsy panties, she held her ankles, keeping still. Exposed before him, her bent butt burned.

"Last lick, Zara. Impatience is poor management."

She lapped up his scolding, the paddle crashing into her cheeks. Unable to hide her agony, she panted hard. He deserved to know he'd hurt her.

"Patience is a virtue. Stand up, young lady."

She rose, facing him. Stripped to her skimpy violet panties, her pants around her ankles, she stood under his delicious authority. "Thank you for paddling me, sir."

"My pleasure." It was. He'd admired her since she'd applied for the bar cleaning job. Her responsible acceptance of formal punishment had earned his deepening respect. A beautiful girl, her quick wits and smart ideas suggested she'd rise far above his bar. "Pull up your pants, Zara."

Bending, she obeyed, enjoying his admiring gaze on her panty-clad bottom.

"Sore enough?" he asked.

"God, yes. Thank you, sir." Relief cooled her brain's constant circling. Pulled in, his arms wrapped around her. The kind hug proved he still respected her. She appreciated his generosity. "Thank you, John. It hurts, but I needed it."

"You're welcome. I'm glad to help."

Giving him a squeeze, she left his embrace.

"See you tomorrow?" he asked.

"Sure will." Tapping her app, she booked her car ride home. Using her ten-minute wait, she tidied her appearance in the restroom. She'd replaced her overpowering impatience with sincere soreness. It felt better. Struggling to walk straight, she reveled in her difficulty. It proved she'd got severe swats. Waiting for her car inside the bar entrance, she checked her phone again. Her screen lit up. It only showed the time.