« Spanking Stories

Sarah Roberts sped along the shimmering highway. Easing upward from fifty miles per hour, continuous power carried her towards her lunch appointment. Her Honda hadn't started. It may never start again. Her museum piece had brought her far. Nothing could erase the crucial things George had done for her. Her house, car, sanity, and, above all, his remarkable company. She imagined Virtue would fascinate him. The civilized comfort of Fernando's incredible SUV seduced her. Surrounded by cream leather, Beethoven's Moonlight sonata soothed her brain.

She traced the golden fighting bull logo on his steering wheel. His black Lamborghini SUV bore no resemblance to her driving experience. Raw energy beneath her foot demanded small experiments. Slight pressure produced prodigious power. It motivated her mind. Kirsten had led her into a wonderful friendship, expanding her realm. Fernando had placed her past in perspective. She deserved some luxury.

Light streamed through the sunroof, brightening her button covered dash. She'd figured out cooling the car after warming her bottom by mistake. Following the digital map was a fresh development. She'd seen it traveling with him. He'd set her destination, showing her how to start her journey home. She supposed she'd get used to gadgets if she had a modern car. Consuming nominal power, she unlocked the road ahead.

Before her lay a potential female operations manager. She'd told her disciplinarians her plan to dispel their surprise, receiving this recommendation from her newest hire. Informed by her friend's unusual job, her lunch date understood Virtue's specialist business. A life insurance executive, she ran regional operations. Experienced, her age played in her favor.

Reaching the unfamiliar town, she followed her map through tranquil streets. Parking in the restaurant lot, she caressed her angular red door handle, releasing herself from luxury.

Her drive home was less satisfying. The Lamborghini couldn't remove her frustration. Her lunch companion hadn't met expectations. Her maturity was obvious. But her emotional core was absent. Asking pointed questions, she'd sought the hard-edged woman's soul. Failing, she'd let her companion direct their conversation. Questions about Virtue had focused on financials. Money mattered, but emotional responsibility underpinned her success. Gaining significant management experience, her tough lunch companion had lost her passion.

Fernando's ridiculous suggestion scored even fewer points with her. Irritation carried her into the overtaking lane, effortless power beneath her foot. She'd ignored his nepotism, not calling his niece. Twenty was too young. Her operations manager needed experience in navigating conflict, challenges, emotional drama, and love. Seeking experience and intelligence, she'd failed today, but she'd find someone.

Beneath The Peak, she slipped the luxury SUV beside her static Honda. Driving it had forged her desire for change. Upstairs, she called the garage, who serviced her Honda, asking them to collect it and informed the doormen.

Unsure of her Honda's future, she sat at her circular glass dining table, the city view beyond, studying cars on her laptop. She pored over the Lamborghini website. Drive trains didn't interest her. Interior pictures did. Scrolling, her lust for luxurious power evaporated upon reaching the starting price.

Websites listing cars favored by women focused on small, cute cars. Her versatile Honda's faithful history showed trunk space mattered. Luxury cars proved a worse search choice. Their prices mirrored the Lamborghini. Sporty cars showed a beautiful Porsche. Curious, she visited the website. Its price above her comfort zone, its sexy curves lost their lustre. However, an SUV caught her attention. Its manageable price matched its small size.

She clicked on the Build button. Paint colors cost extra. She understood her mission. The entire car was already luxurious. She chose standard white. Presented with eighteen choices of wheels, she left the free default choice. Wheels turned. Black interior color was easy. Despite Fernando warming her butt, heated seats had value. Massaging, she didn't need. Reaching the bottom of her choices, her summary of extra options remained zero. The interior picture showed a digital map. She stored her choices. The little white Porsche SUV suited her. However, she'd never bought a car. She'd ask Fernando's opinion tonight.

She'd changed from her black skirt suit when Fernando returned. Soft navy sweatpants accompanied her cropped white tee, baring her delicious midriff. It still turned her on. Padding around their apartment, she'd tidied, letting her mind digest her failed interview, placing baked potatoes in the oven.

"How was your lunch meeting?" he asked.

His navy pinstriped suit, taut over his muscular biceps, outclassed her basic sweatpants. "A total waste." She described the soulless woman, giving examples of her dreadful responses.

He frowned. Her sexy sweatpants hung from her gorgeous hips, encapsulating her sensational curves. "Where does that leave you?"

"Square one," she said, slumping her shoulders.

"Not exactly. You haven't called Zara."

"She's too young. You shouldn't have involved her."

"I considered my decision with tremendous care." Describing Sarah's business to Zara had carried minimal risk. His bright niece was discreet. Her wise observations about her discipline proved her worthy of consideration.

"It sticks of nepotism."

Her second accusation in seconds raised his hackles. A brutal criticism, it was untrue. He considered Zara an extraordinary candidate. Leaving the lounge, he hung his suit coat in his closet. He stared from their bedroom window. She hadn't listened to him. Anger aside, she deserved a pointed lesson. Free with her unwarranted accusations, she needed a sharp reminder who led their relationship.

Returning to his closet, where they kept their tools, his fingers bypassed the canes, landing on their straight leather strap. Its fifteen firm inches had promised incredible obedience during their purchase. She'd said she hated it, guaranteeing its inclusion in their collection. Rich brown heavy polished leather, an inch wide, its exquisite beauty offered immense corrective power, capable of making its mark on her.

Grating cheese for their baked potatoes, she lowered her gaze to the strap he held. Her fingers slowed. She placed the grater and cheese on their kitchen island. The stiff obedience strap and his grim demeanor spoke volumes. She lowered the oven temperature.

"You flung baseless accusations at me. Your wild assumptions are at total odds with my sound suggestion. I'm appalled by your obstinate attitude."

His ominous tone riveted her attention.

"Sarah, I'm going to strap your obnoxious attitude out of you."

"But," she began. Stopping herself, she reconsidered. She'd agreed to his authority at home.

He watched her struggle. Deciding to dissuade her from further argument, he pointed to the empty floor beside their dining table. "Touch your toes, Sarah."

Inching towards her spot, she peeked at his resolute expression. Debate was ill advised. Facing their terrace, she bent forward, reached down and touched her white socks. Her obedient fingertips acknowledged his decision to discipline her. Perhaps she deserved it. She'd snapped at him, saying he shouldn't have involved Zara.

His strong fingers invaded her navy sweatpants, sailing them down her bare legs. She imagined her taut white bikini panties, edged in cute navy elastic. After buying their obedience strap, a single stroke had showed its pain potential. Through her bare legs, she watched his feet. His firm stance conveyed conviction. She refocused on her socks.

A thunderclap resounded off their floor-to-ceiling glass. She forced her fingertips into her cotton socks, determined to respect him. An inch of serious sting stole into her cheeks, defining his dissatisfaction. Crisp licks fired into her sexy panties. She pressed her fingers into her cotton socks. Damn, the strap claimed obedience. Powerless to deny him, she acknowledged her fiery agony, regret rising.

"Sarah, I considered Zara's maturity, intelligence and experience before I mentioned your business. I stand by my decision to recommend her for serious consideration."

Bent double, twin lashes snapped into her bare skin, underlining his point. Cruel heat crackled across her judgmental bottom, invading her brain. He'd claimed Zara was suitable. She had no evidence to suggest otherwise. She didn't know his niece. "Fernando, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Disrespecting you. I haven't given Zara any thought." The admission hurt. She'd dismissed his suggestion upon hearing his niece's age.

"I appreciate your apology. It doesn't excuse you."

The ruthless strap roasted her bare skin, layering three ferocious lengths of fiery torment. She remained silent, pain forcing her obedience.

Bending, he placed his iPhone before her feet. "Nepotism," he said.

Before her lay the dictionary definition of nepotism. His strap flew into her panties, burning her bare flesh.

"Read aloud."

Stuttering, she began. "Patronage bestowed or favoritism shown." Heat slammed into her skin. Raging fire tore along its inch-wide path. She cried, "on the basis of a family relationship."

"Accurate?" he asked.

Brutal pain powered her heartfelt words. "It is. I wasn't," she said.

"How old were you, Sarah, when you launched your discipline business?"

Calculating, fiery heat focused her attention. Her math crucified her. She groaned. "Twenty-four."

"Zara is exceptional. At twenty, she may challenge you."

Sarah sighed. Hoist with her own petard, the enormity of her arrogance overwhelmed her. "Beat me, please, Fernando."

"How many strokes do you deserve?"

Calm, she said, "Twenty-four."

He smiled. Sarah had returned. Caught fair, she'd chosen poetic justice.

She pressed harder into her toes. She'd maintain her dignity. Failing as a business owner, she deserved the strap for her flaws. Four heavy strokes flogged her deserving backside. She bore her indignity, proud of her penetrating pain. She'd disrespected Zara. Maybe the girl wasn't suitable. Writing her off was unjust. Stiff leather pummeled her panties, powering through her thin cotton, adding heat where it had already stung her. Four lashes cut into her crease, extending atrocious fire around the curve of her bottom onto her bare legs.

Her legs throbbed from her tough position. The strap assuaged her ache. Applying rigid attention, it taught her thighs respect. Her tormented skin blazed. Sweeping aside his assertions about Zara, she'd fallen into arrogance. Fresh agony scorched her skin, leaving layers down her thighs. Keeping her legs straight under their savage assault, her painful lesson left its marks.

"I admire you, Sarah. I also love you."

His approval soothed her pain. She said, "I love you too."

"Lets make your last four memorable."

Agreement overwhelmed her. She'd treated Zara with contempt, him with worse. Four terrible strokes should leave their distinct mark on her.

"Stand up."

Straining against her induced agony, she obeyed, turning to face him.

"Hold out your hand. Either."

She raised her arm, presenting her palm upwards. Meeting his gaze, she held it, honoring him. The stiff strap struck her tender skin. She held still. Exceptional fury wrought agony in her inflamed palm. A second stroke induced serious respect.

"Swap," he ordered.

Removing her stricken palm, she presented her fresh hand. She held his gaze again. Two brutal lashes tore rude hurt into her sensitive skin. She kept her smoldering palm in position, honoring his absolute authority.

"You may relax," he said.

She lowered her arm, flexing her fingers to dispel the pain. It didn't. "Thank you for punishing me. I deserved it. I'm sorry I needed it."

He nodded. "You're welcome. Face the wall."

Turning her strapped bottom to the city view, she faced their white lounge wall. Realizing his intent, she shuffled forward, her nose almost touching it.

"Hands on your head."

His command laced her fingers on her head, heaping his authority onto her. Hands burning into her head, her butt on fire, her legs in agony, self-respect coursed her core. She'd received a serious boyfriend strapping. Deserved for disrespect, she welcomed her punishment. He hadn't hesitated to strap her. He'd held her to account. Satisfaction flowed down her burning legs. She'd obeyed her boyfriend. Her pride rose, lifting her heart.

Plain white wall filled her view. She closed her eyes. A silly girl, she'd received her just desserts. Had a client reported this punishment from their boyfriend, she'd have applauded. Sound discipline, delivered with fairness and without favor, it hurt everywhere, except her heart. His kind touch on her shoulder added love to her repetitive thoughts. She turned into his arms. "Thank you. I'm sorry."

He stroked her back. "No sex tonight, just pain."

Murmuring, she concurred. She didn't deserve her delicious salve, just her stunning sting. If it woke her, she'd glance at his powerful form beneath their sheet, respecting his generous gift. Pulling up her navy sweatpants, she restored her modesty. Doused in humility, she reached up, planting a clean kiss on his handsome lips. Her merciless muscular man had spanked her. He deserved at least a kiss.

She moved to her bag, resting on their kitchen island.

He entered the kitchen. "Shall I increase the oven temperature?"

"Four hundred. I'll be quick," she said. Withdrawing her cell phone, she wandered towards their L-shaped couch, sitting. Her discomfort heartened her. Her boyfriend trusted her to obey him. She hadn't let herself down. Ordered to touch her toes, she'd complied. Spanked without mercy, he'd made his point, a necessary one.

Needing income at twenty-four, she'd launched her discipline business. His simple point had untangled her resolute knot. His niece inspired incredible loyalty. Her spanked bottom proved it. The girl intrigued her. Honor bound to call, her bottom deepened its ache in distinct approval. Sucking up her discomfort, she copied Zara's number from Fernando's original message and placed the call.