« Spanking Stories

Damien leaned on his office doorframe, his arm raised. "Have you seen the video?"

Startled by his unexpected appearance, Rebecca appreciated his confident, authoritative stance. She didn't trust herself to speak, her panties dampened by his powerful posture. She nodded. Their Internal Visual Media department had created a fantastic video promoting FMI. Its humorous storyline promoted the company's freedoms and creativity without feeling forced. It invited top-flight traders to join their proprietary financial trading desks. It also drew software developers to their various tech teams. Industrywide, most competitors used their trusted software platform. Hiring elite talent was an endless challenge. The irreverent video's unauthorized release had lit up YouTube, racking up millions of views.

Suspending her study of his well-positioned muscular arm, she said. "I can request YouTube to remove it."

He shook his head. "Let it run. It's brilliant. True art."

"I guess you won't reprimand the IVM team?"

"Reward their creativity. Give the full team a pay rise."

Rebecca nodded. She'd laughed at the video. It was hilarious, flippant, and clever. "Okay. One percent?"

"Ten. They're worth it."

Damien removed his hot stance from her view. She watched his hard figure in black suit pants depart, storing a perfect mental snapshot of his casual, dominant stance. She emailed Human Resources, requesting the pay rise. Using the full team name, she checked it twice, ensuring she'd said ten percent.

Relaxing in her chair, she placed Damien back against his doorframe. Unaware of their natural power, men often stood in wonderful ways. Damien exuded power, oblivious to his impact. Several phone calls moved her mind forwards, keeping her busy. Filling gaps in her focus, her parked vision returned. It teased powerful native promise. An email preview flashed onto her screen from HR.

She dismissed the succinct preview. It said what she'd expected. She returned to her Damien action plan. Since Alexandra's advice, she'd spent two weeks playing their discussion in her mind. Scenarios played out, receiving slick reworded responses where necessary. Experience had taught her she mustn't ambush Damien. She slotted a fifteen minute appointment into his morning tomorrow. She titled the appointment 'Our Working Patterns'. Pleased with her vagueness, she complimented herself on beginning her plan. Tomorrow, she'd execute it.

Collating quarterly reports, she merged PDFs from different departments into a single document, saving the result in Damien's reading folder. Around 4pm, she made his coffee. Returning towards her desk, carrying his coffee, he burst from his office. Spying her, he yelled, "I didn't give a pay rise to Internal Virtual Networks."

She said, "Internal Visual Media. I emailed HR, giving the department name in full."

"I just received several groveling gratitude emails from IVN team members."

Setting his coffee on her desk, she opened her email to HR, showing him. Reading over her shoulder, he grunted. She opened the confirmation email beside hers.

"IVN," he cried, pointing.

Her heart fell. "Shit," she said. She hadn't checked HR's response. "I'll get it canceled."

"Don't. You'll create a worse disaster."

"I'll call HR and get the correct pay rise in motion."

"You should have caught their mistake. It's obvious. They gave you adequate notice." He peered at the email. "They sent their confirmation four hours ago."

Withering under his blunt denunciation, stratospheric guilt crushed her stomach.

He continued. "Detail is your responsibility. Boring, its essential. You're meant to ensure this shit doesn't happen."

She shriveled in her chair, his overbearing criticism warranted. She couldn't defend herself

"It's not your only petty mistake. Concentrate, Rebecca. I'm not impressed."

Withdrawing into his office, he closed his glass door. She called HR. Sorting the correct pay rise; she ensured they didn't correct their earlier mistake, making matters worse.

Using her calculator app, she multiplied average salary numbers from HR by team sizes. Damien's generosity had cost him ten thousand a month. Human Resources had cost the company twice that, giving the wrong pay rise. The ongoing cost totaled a quarter million per year. Reading their email response would have taken her ten seconds. Ten seconds to prevent a quarter million mistake, five in reality. It was a one-line email. Saving five pointless seconds, she'd cost her boss a quarter million per year.

Keeping her head down, she didn't notice Clare arrive until her friend coughed. Meeting Clare's gaze, she didn't recognize its unexpected determination.

"Damien called me. He isn't happy. He's asked me to supervise you."

Rebecca gasped. "Oh, no."

"I'm afraid it's true. This is bad, babe. I'm coming over tonight. We'll discuss it."

"Oh, okay," Rebecca said. Embarrassed, she couldn't keep Clare's gaze. Forced to obey her peer, her elite stature crumbled into dust. She didn't dare glance into Damien's office. Via Clare, he'd spoken.

She walked home, dazed by her humiliation. Subject to supervision. It was an epic reprimand. Pausing, she withdrew her phone from her bag, deleting tomorrow's appointment from his calendar. 'Our Working Patterns' no longer had relevance.

In her studio apartment, she stripped off her suit, putting herself in her shower. She thought best under storming water. Repeated assessments whirled, utter humiliation preventing basic reasoning. She emerged unchanged. Damien had remembered her various mistakes. None major, all unacceptable. Making Clare supervise her, he'd shown his exasperation. Personal assistant to the CEO, Clare was renowned. She didn't make mistakes. Not even small ones. Mark, their CEO, caned his personal assistant. Privileged to know this detail, her relationship with Clare was equal.

Clare had got her this job. Witnessing her downfall hadn't impressed her friend. Her friend's sharp tone this afternoon had made her opinion clear. Surveying her underwear drawer, dull gray panties tempted her. Selecting bright fuchsia pink bikini panties, she forced herself into them. She must lift her mood before Clare arrived. Slipping black sweatpants and a matching tee over her bright underwear, she tidied her tiny studio.

An hour later, she buzzed Clare up. Her friend scanned her small space. Glad she'd made her bed, its massive white comforter fell over the sides, ruby and white pillows decorating it. In skinny black jeans, Clare's demeanor radiated dissatisfaction.

Clare dumped her tote beside the bed, spinning to face Rebecca. "You've let me down."

Rebecca's stomach curled in on itself, compressing her gut. Wine didn't suit. She'd expected to offer coffee. Neither mattered. "I'm very sorry, Clare. I've fucked up on a monumental scale." She had no defense. She leaned beside her window, creating space for her scolding.

Clare bristled. "You think? Getting supervised is shocking. You're an elite personal assistant. Next step, Damien fires you. I shouldn't need to supervise you. You've created a catastrophe."

Rebecca said. "It was one mistake."

"Don't lie to me. Damien described several. I can't hear excuses."

Rebecca shivered. Her friend's rising anger prevented prevarication. "Okay, several. I'm sorry. Screwing up is embarrassing. I didn't tell you."

Clare toughened her tone. "If you want my help, you must accept our revised relationship, Rebecca." Understanding her friend's unusual incompetence required reaching the underlying truth. Rebecca's responses didn't feel honest. "Take responsibility for your mistakes. Show me you're sorry."

Rebecca straightened her stance. Her friend's direct plea hit her hard. Accounting for herself felt essential, respectful, correct. "I'm sorry, Clare. I'll do whatever you need."

"Better," Clare said. "I wonder if you mean it."

Stumped, Rebecca struggled for words. She meant it. She watched Clare reach into her tote, removing a heavy paddle hairbrush. Staring at the deep orange wood, she recognized her friend's intent. "You can't spank me."

"Does your conduct deserve any less, or our friendship?"

Rebecca gasped, searching for a reasonable response. Her conduct merited far worse. Their friendship. Truth dawned. She'd let Clare down. Keeping her mistakes secret, she hadn't valued their personal connection. Now, their official relationship affected their friendship. The latter required a serious reckoning. Her friend had stood up to her. In the pit of her stomach, respect grew. She stepped towards Clare. "I'm sorry, Clare."

Clare sat on the bed. Avoiding further discussion, she ordered, "Sweatpants down."

Rebecca shifted beside her friend. Meeting Clare's hard gaze, she held it. Slipping her fingers into her waistband, she lowered her sweatpants to her ankles. A graceful surrender. Standing in her fuchsia pink panties before her friend's knee, shame saturated her.

Clare kept her friend standing. She respected her cooperation. However, making it easy wasn't kind. This experience must hurt her friend. "I expect obedience while I spank you. Don't fight it. Our relationship requires a brutal reset."

Rebecca nodded.

"Bend over," Clare commanded.

Rebecca grimaced. Slow inches reduced her height. Bending over her friend's knee, shame remained her stalwart companion. Prostrating herself, she said, "You're right, Clare."

Clare inspected her friend's pink panties. Presented on her lap, their side seam pressed against her hip. Their brief coverage ensured she'd strike her friend's bare bottom. She tapped the heavy hairbrush on her friend's tight, bright cotton. She hated getting spanked with it. Over Mark's knee, she'd learned its painful power. Correcting a white lie, its clever combination of penetrating pain and vicious sting had forced her heartfelt surrender. Rebecca would loathe it after this evening.

Rebecca felt the gentle taps, her humiliation complete. Her position proved their changed relationship. A loud splat filled her studio. Heavy wood smashed into her thin cotton. She winced. Four fierce smacks outlined their future relationship. Ignominy surged against the savage sting. She gasped.

"You lied to me, Rebecca. Damien told me everything. Wrong calls and other mistakes."

The brutal brush slammed into her cheeks, blasting vicious stings into her bottom. Settling herself, she met it with honest regret. She'd lied. Her bare-faced attempt at mitigation dishonored their friendship. Forced to deal with her lies, Clare must spank her. Ten vigorous smacks spread agreement across her bottom, deepening her pain. She panted, trying hard not to cry out. She focused on keeping her dignity.

"You require supervision, Rebecca. I hope you're ashamed."

The hairbrush lambasted fire into her mistake-ridden bottom. Raining down, relentless spanks counted her failures. She pictured Damien greeting his financial advisor as a department head. Biting her lip, she met its fury with passionate respect. She deserved her spanking. Miss Roberts had strapped and caned her for her phone debacle. It wasn't sufficient. Building her agony without relief, the brush blasted its opinion. She'd neglected to discuss her deficiency with her friend. Clare may have helped her. Her friend wasn't giving an inch. Sorrow spread. "I'm sorry, Clare."

"Thank me for spanking you."

Rebecca remained quiet. Expecting gratitude to flood her, its absence confused her.

"I didn't think so."

Hairbrush shaped hurt buried itself across her bottom. Overlapping swats stung the fury she needed to feel. Shifting onto her bare cheeks, the cruel brush spread pain beyond her panties, burning fresh skin. Unable to escape this escalation, tears welled. Clare's legs shifted for comfort. The stark reminder of her humble position broke her tears. "Thank you, Clare. Thank you. I'm so sorry. Thank you for spanking me." Ten blazing smacks ripped across her bare skin, complimenting her delayed obedience.

"Ready to explain your mistakes to me?"

Sobbing with shame, Rebecca described the phone call debacle. Heaving a hard breath, she admitted its underlying cause. "Damien affects me. I'm not excusing myself. It's my fault. I find him too attractive."

Clare slammed the hard wood into her friend's sore bottom. "Next."

Rebecca explained each mistake she remembered. Hard punctuations in between kept her on track. Reaching today's pay rise disaster, she admitted his dominant doorway stance had robbed her concentration.

Blazing heat stung her bottom, imposing fresh fire on her tender cheeks. She welcomed her friend's furious recognition. Cruel smacks proved she hadn't escaped judgement. Fresh tears gushed. Sadness spread at her shameful fall from grace. Wracked by weeping, she heaved. Merciless spanks studded her cheeks. Powerless to feel more pain, she succumbed. "Sorry, Clare. With all my heart, I'm sorry. Thank you."

"How many more spanks shall I give you?"

Rebecca slumped. "Spank me all night, Clare. I deserve it. I'm so sorry."

Clare landed an explosive spank on her friend's panties. "Remember, I'm unafraid to spank you, friend."

"Thank you, Clare," Rebecca said. She respected Clare's tough stance. She wanted their friendship, whatever it required.

"Get up," Clare ordered.

Rebecca rose, kicking off her sweatpants. Mopping tears, she said, "Thank you for spanking me. You're a genuine friend. I deserved it. Thank you with all my heart."

Clare's heart softened. "We're friends. Tell me stuff. I'll help you."

"I visited Miss Roberts after screwing up Damien's phone call. She gave me Flaming Valleys."

Clare's eyebrows shot up. "It didn't cure you?"

"I've got it bad."

Clare smiled. "You have, babe. I don't blame you, Damien's gorgeous."

"Weeks ago, I destroyed a decent date, talking about him. Miss Roberts has new disciplinarians. I met Alexandra. She spanked me hard for my immaturity. The gym shoe too. She suggested I approach Damien about our relationship. I'd planned it for tomorrow. No point now."

Clare stood, replacing her hairbrush in her tote. She stroked Rebecca's arm. "Babe, I'll help you. I'll sleep on it. Tomorrow, I'll figure us a plan. In the meantime, concentrate. Your bottom should help."

Rebecca grimaced. Clare smiled.

Seeing Clare out, Rebecca stood in her studio in her pink panties and black tee, her bottom blazing red. Her tension had dissipated into pleasant respect. Performing her supervisory duty, Clare had blasted her bottom. Damien's second hand punishment stung. Delegated to discipline her, Clare had honored her responsibility. Her boss didn't know how powerful his punishment was. Submitting to her friend had stimulated her sex. She cupped herself, savoring her humiliation.

Pressing against herself, damp appreciation for her situation assembled. She shifted to her bed, acknowledging her shame. She'd received formal discipline for her office conduct. Spanked by her supervisor, she'd bent over her knee, stripped to her panties. Fiery heat proved her pain. Sliding her fingers into her panties, she admired their tight pink cotton. She hoped her bottom had looked attractive in them.

She ripped up her tee, sliding her hand into her bra. Teasing her nipples, she panted, pleasure rising in her panties. Spanked by her friend, she'd submitted, accepting her punishment. Proud of her obedience, she replayed Clare's physical fury. Her friend had beaten her. A salutary experience. A sound, formal beating for her workplace disobedience. Acceptance felt good. She'd deserved every spank. Her bottom ached deep. Her buttocks stung.

Light swirls on her desperate clit mounted into firm circles she couldn't deny. Poised upon her fiery punishment, she held herself in balanced respect, acknowledging its fairness and its pain. Holding still, she teased herself, keeping delicious orgasms at bay. Twenty wonderful minutes celebrated her appropriate punishment. Beautiful respect exploded, plunging endless pleasure into her core. Flowing with her honor, she swam in her sea of respect, cascading into utter calm.

Snapping her panties in place, she spread her arms, feeling lighter. A silly girl, she'd failed to lean on her friends. Clare had crushed her shame over her workplace demotion, discharged her guilt over their friendship, and offered her hope. If anyone could help her navigate complex desires, Clare could.