« Spanking Stories

Towering black speaker units injected occasional drum rolls across Hair Air's twelfth floor terrace, concentrating attention on the coming show. In the L-shaped extension, crew stood three deep. Lucky crew crowded the comfortable cushioned seating areas along the terrace edge, the rest lined the office windows, late arrivals standing on desks behind.

Late afternoon sun streamed down on beautiful bodies. Milling in three groups, ultra-fit female dancers displayed their allegiance in tiny, tight, bright-colored glittery shorts and matching sports bras, their feet clad in coordinated flat champion sneakers.

Emma stood by the building corner, checking over her teams. She'd removed herself as lead dancer of her purple squad, assuming a training role. She'd brought aboard the green squad, followed by orange. Dyeing sneakers to match, and removing their floor slide, she'd developed their choreography for any surface.

Leaning next to Emma, Jenna watched their three dance groups embody her marketing plan. Caned by Ben, she'd adopted his idea, making it her own, powering brilliant revolution throughout her entire marketing strategy.

Ben and Kate arrived beside Jenna. At Emma's nod, the soundtrack cued her squads. Ringed by colorful Hair Air cardboard stands overflowing with pouches, three color coordinated dance teams aligned, their point dancers cuing off the next squad, led by purple.

Four brisk beats launched a powerful female rapper. Dramatic shoulder tilts transitioned into flawless motion. Sparkling hair flew to solid beats as baseball caps revealed flawless tresses teeming with attitude. Ben watched their crew respond. Girls' eyes tracked the dancers, coveting the prettiness on display. Guys gawked at the girls. Faces filled windows in neighboring skyscrapers. Beside him, Jenna's shoulders moved to the beat. He smiled. Kate squeezed his hand.

Synchronized beauty back flipped into their colored circles, feet landing in immaculate perfection on the last beat, right arms punching Hair Air pouches sky high. Uproar broke out. Yelling, whistling and applause dominated their sun-drenched terrace.

Emma grinned, the riot cheering her heart. She'd worked serious hours, reproducing the joy she'd felt from her first Hair Air pouch. Ben shook her hand. She'd adored him from their first conversation. Calling on her skills, he'd enthused her with a passion for his product.

She'd spotted three mistakes, one by Petra, leader of her green squad. The skillful dancer had rebelled against her overall leadership, finding fault with her choreography, uniforms, and travel plans. Emma sighed. She wouldn't excuse mistakes. They'd debrief after her dancers had stopped getting mobbed.

Chatting with her boss Jenna, she allowed her dancers to lap up their adulation. They deserved it. The terrace emptied over fifteen minutes. Calling them together, bright colored girls surrounded her spot beside the huge glass office windows.

"You were awesome," she said. "Accurate, passionate, worthy of public performance."

Twenty-four faces lit up under her sincere praise.

"Three minor points." She described a mistake in the orange squad, calling out a misplaced foot. Her purple team didn't escape judgement. A friend had misaligned her legs during their spectacular synchronized backflip.

Shifting her gaze to Petra, she said, "Your shoulder tilts were a second late."

"It's a dumb competition move," Petra spat.

Emma sighed. She'd designed coquettish shoulder tilts to attract attention as the dance started. Petra despised them, her one second dissent showing her continued disgust. Most dancers gained experience in college dance programs and conservatories. In modern concert dance, they no longer considered their old competitive moves stylish.

Emma tried a fresh approach to end their tired argument. "Arms up for changing our shoulder tilts?"

Nobody agreed. Embarrassed, Petra thrust her palm into Emma's chest, slamming her into the glass window, yelling, "You're a lame competition dancer." The sudden thud of a girl upon glass attracted massive attention from inside.

"Oy!" Jenna yelled. She'd respected Emma's sophisticated management gamble. Several crew came onto the terrace offering to help. She waved them away. "Emma, Petra. In my office. The rest of you, studio practice tomorrow as usual."

Leaving her combative dancers to sweat, Jenna sought Ben's advice. Describing the girls' altercation, she explained Emma's continuing issue with Petra's disagreeable attitude.

"Is it solvable?"

She nodded. "Petra is an outstanding professional dancer. Her squad respects her. She challenges Emma's authority because she's competitive."

He stroked his chin, visualizing a complete solution. "Emma needs to quash Petra's challenge to preserve her authority." He explained his concept.

Jenna gasped. "Emma doesn't deserve that."

"I agree. However, this will cement her authority. Details will leak. Nobody will dare mess with her."

"I'll talk to her," Jenna said.

Returning to her office, she said, "Petra, wait outside while I talk to Emma."

Alone, she complimented Emma's excellent leadership. She confessed her original, pitiful marketing plan. Describing her deep regret, she told Emma about her punishment from Ben, shame throbbing her humbled sex.

Emma digested her shock, asking, "How awful was it?"

"Pretty terrible. It stings like mental. It helped me. I felt I'd received appropriate punishment. You don't deserve it, which makes this tougher."

"Ben thinks this will sort Petra out?"

Jenna nodded.

Emma considered her future. She loved her pivotal role. Petra's nagging nuisance threatened everything. She should have managed her better. Summoning supreme bravery, she said. "I'll do it."

"We'll cancel Petra's contract, if she doesn't agree. I can't condone violence."

Emma nodded, hoping her valuable green squad leader would see sense.

"Grab a drink," Jenna said. "Give me ten minutes to persuade Petra."

Petra sauntered in.

Jenna shot a grim glare at the aggressive girl in her skimpy green dance outfit. "Shall I call Human Resources?"

Petra panicked. Shoving her boss into a window was unacceptable behavior. Seen by everybody, she couldn't deny it. They'd end her contract. She needed this gig. Her year-long contract guaranteed steady income and massive exposure.

"No," Petra said. "I'm sorry."

"We can't allow you to escape punishment. Everyone saw your rude, aggressive behavior. You should be ashamed. Emma brought our vision alive."

"Will Emma demote me from squad leader?"

"You're a good squad leader. Your team respect you. However, I noticed they didn't support your shoulder tilt argument."

Petra slumped. Her loss of support had embarrassed her.

"Ben isn't pleased. However, he has offered a solution. Emma has agreed to support it. You have no choice unless you'd prefer I call HR?"

Petra shook her head.

Jenna summarized the solution. Petra gasped several times. "You deserve a sound spanking," Jenna said, fixing the aggressive girl under her firm gaze.

"I know I do," Petra whispered, humbled to hear it said aloud.

Fear collided with excitement as Petra paced the office, contemplating her immediate future. They'd given her no choice. She couldn't lose her squad, the contract, her entire future. Her firm sexy bottom was getting caned. Searching stories for masturbation, she'd found spankings sexy. Reality scared her. Losing face twice would destroy her. Losing to Emma was unthinkable. Gathering courage, she scolded herself for shoving Emma. Her behavior warranted proper punishment. It would teach her a serious lesson.

Emma sat sipping water in the ninth floor kitchen. Her corporate dance contract didn't stipulate she'd get her bottom caned, nor prohibit it. She admired Ben's crazy challenge. She must beat Petra. Failure wasn't an option. She'd failed to manage the tricky girl. She must dig deeper. Getting spanked was tough. Her failure to control Petra in public merited it. She'd fantasized about a school punishment, but facing serious sanction, savage fear imprisoned her pleasure.

Ben waved Jenna towards his office couches at 6pm, fixing the two pretty dancers with his solid stare. Emma in purple, Petra in green, competitive colors suited their situation.

"Petra, I understand you've accepted your guilt."

His thunderous voice riveted her to her spot. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

"Emma. I admire your agreement to accept punishment beside Petra. Her failure is yours, too."

Emma nodded, words defeating her. About to get caned, her quivering sex offered tentative approval, shocking her into silence.

"Petra, prove you're better than Emma. I'll cane you together. You're getting six strokes, that's non-negotiable. I'll add one stroke each until someone calls stop. Whoever concedes loses. Consider it a dance off, over my desk."

Petra flexed her arms, limbering her mind. He'd turned her punishment into an opportunity. She'd show she should be their dance leader.

"Shorts off. Bend together over my desk."

Emma didn't hesitate. Half naked already, surrendering her shorts made scant difference. She shoved her tight purple shorts down. Stepping from them, she spread them on a couch arm.

Petra paused, fingers in her waistband. She pictured her lower butt cheeks, visible below her skimpy shorts. Baring her bottom was humiliating, but in practical terms didn't matter. Watching Emma's lead, she obeyed, arranging her green shorts beside Emma's.

Emma bent first, her purple string panties presenting her bare cheeks to her ultimate boss.

Petra assumed the submissive position she'd dreamed about, her green string exposing her bare behind. Pressing her sports bra into the desk, she gripped the far side, copying Emma. Grip would help her win. Besting Emma might give her the top job.

Jenna's perfect view of two beautiful, obedient bare bottoms made her sex clench. Moist, she worshipped Ben's consummate authority. He belonged to Kate, but his authority had pervaded her bedroom thoughts. She'd upgraded her boyfriend expectations since he'd caned her. Searching for a suitable disciplinarian to fill her gap and deal with her three wasted years had proved fruitless. Watching Ben, she realized why she hadn't found a solution. She'd missed a vital ingredient.

"Do you both understand our dance off rules?" Ben asked.

"Yes, sir," Petra said.

Emma felt Petra's intense submission. Her own deepening, she said, "Yes, sir." Spoken aloud, her words drove ultimate surrender. She'd failed, letting a team member usurp her authority. He should cane her hardest.

Ben removed his pale yellow cane from the horizontal cupboard above his desk. Two raised pairs of eyes followed his flexible three-foot punishment stick.

Seeing the cane in his powerful grip, Emma's heart thumped. Designed to hurt her, its authority stilled her sex. She was about to discover its real sting.

Petra measured her challenge. His command of her was sexy despite his promise to hurt her bottom. She'd never seen an actual cane. It promised definitive results. She hoped in her favor.

"You'll take your six strokes with a dancer's discipline. Any fuss and I'll add extras. After six strokes, you stand, you lose. Emma, I'll cane you first. Every stroke puts you ahead until Petra takes hers."

Emma checked her breathing. The cane tapped her bare cheeks, its regular rhythm terrifying. She held rigid. An explosive crack shattered the quiet office, echoing off the glass walls. Fire blazed across her bottom, forcing furious pants. Her single line of fire burst into a virulent blaze, scorching heat she'd only imagined.

Petra tensed up. Hearing Emma pant only increased her fear. One stroke had caused Emma to struggle. The cane rested against Petra's bottom. She studied the desk, clutching its edge. A sharp line of burning sting erupted, soaring to a blazing crescendo. She panted her pain, holding herself tight as agony tore through her tender skin. Fuck, it wasn't sexy.

Grateful for recovery time, Emma held her bottom in the firing line, tension ruling her body.

Ben watched. He couldn't let Emma lose. "Relax your bottom," he said. "Let it hurt you. Your management was lacking."

Emma appreciated his scolding. Obeying him, she let her anxiety dissipate. The cane sliced into her backside, exploding another fiery line of harsh discipline. She panted, pain washing through her.

Petra stressed her body, holding tight. Keeping her contract demanded six strokes. Winning required more. The cane scythed through the office air, its thin whistle preluded her pain. A fierce force impacted her butt. Her ears still processing the sound, she tensed, forcing her pain away, panting her exhaustion onto the desk.

Emma counted her strokes as the cane cycled through their bottoms, applying relentless heat and soaring hurt. Devastated by her management deficiency, she swallowed her pain. For letting Petra undermine her, she deserved the severest of thrashings. Embarrassed, bent and beaten in front of Petra and Jenna, she accepted her humiliation, determined to improve.

Petra granted herself a moment of relaxation as her sixth searing stroke burned hell into her aggressive bottom. Physical assault merited punishment. Accepting her discipline helped manage her pain. Conscience Jenna was observing her performance, she focused ahead.

"Well done Petra," Ben said. "You deserved your punishment."

"I'm sorry. Thank you, sir."

"Emma. Your punishment was harsh, but management is tough. Well done."

"Thank you, sir," Emma replied.

Pride soared from his compliment. Her bottom burning under its formal beating, she respected his plan. Relaxing into her punishment had helped her deal with her pain. Each stroke became bearable in time, making slow additions to her overall agony. This was a marathon. The cane tapped fresh skin. She loosened her grip on the desk, planting her feet for support. Tight on the crest of her cheeks, her concentrated strokes delivered deep agony. The rattan whipped into her flesh, burning fresh fire. She measured her breathing, handling her pain. She pictured her purple squad. They'd expect her to win. Doubling down on her commitment to hurt, she relaxed.

Petra took her first competitive stroke. Slashed into her bare behind, it flashed heat into escalating pain. She held herself still, fighting her desperation to relinquish control.

Strokes hurt Emma, driving her pride deep, demanding she endure intense agony. Beside her rival, she humbled herself, accepting the cane must decide.

Petra battled through each bout of agony, her smoldering heat inflamed by fresh lines of feverish pain.

Ben admired their determination, rewarding their persistence with harder strokes. He'd predicted ten would break them. Watching their striped bottoms burn beneath nineteen severe cane strokes, he respected their tenacity, Petra rising in his estimation.

He raised his eyebrows at Jenna, seated on the couch. She responded, shrugging her shoulders.

The cane leveled across Emma's cheeks. She regulated her body's response. She'd heard her challenger struggle, Petra's determined fight earning her respect. Rattan scorched her skin, firing intense agony deep into her bottom. Panting into her dampened section of the desk, she refused to concede. She was born to lead her dance squads.

Petra's bottom twitched under the cane. The ruthless rattan struck her low cheeks. Sting seethed across her firm backside, biting deep into her butt, draining her dry of determination. She burst off the desk, slamming her palms into her fresh line of acute pain. Her face fell, recognizing defeat.

Ben said, "Emma, one stroke to win."

Nodding, Emma stayed still. The flexible stick struck hard, declaring her worthy. She held herself bent over, her fresh storm raging. Disappointment swamped her. She'd needed to win, but hadn't wanted to beat her worthy opponent.

"You may stand, Emma."

Obeying Ben, she rose, her fit butt muscles handling her pain. Stepping towards Petra, she said, "Bend over, babe. Take one stroke and we'll never know."

Petra's mouth fell open. Her butt demanded she decline, her brain urged her to accept. In silence, she obeyed Emma, pressing her thighs into the warm desk, bending into place.

Admiration for his lead dancer's maturity besieged Ben's brain. She was a class act, gracious in victory and wise beyond words. He laid the cane across Petra's striped cheeks.

Petra gripped the desk. The cane exploded with wicked heat. Below her last burning line, agony surged into her soul, honoring her supervisor. Rising with grace, she hugged Emma. "I'm sorry."

"Shh. We're even." Emma stroked her friend's back, avoiding her beaten bare bottom. "I respect you. Practice tomorrow will embarrass us both. Our shorts can't hide our punishment."

"I don't care," Petra said. "Everyone will see we're friends."