« Spanking Stories

Hundreds of tiny bulbs reflected off thousands of diamonds. Suspended by chains from the lofty ceiling, eight gigantic chandeliers lit the packed fifth-floor regency entertainment suite of the Belmont Palace Hotel.

Louise swept into the hotel suite on Andrew's powerful arm, her tight red asymmetrical cocktail dress defying competition. Rewarding her ten effortless seconds in Hair Air's cool, colorful cloud, her lustrous blonde mane outshone all the chandeliers, her flawless sparkling strands glistening like moonlight tracking across the sea.

Andrew's hand slid around her waist, steering her towards safe company. Six inches below, her bare bottom burned as her dress skimmed her six fresh cane welts unhindered by her red cotton Calvin Klein thong panties.

Washing her face after her severe caning, she'd endured her punishing pain. Dark red ridges branded across her bare cheeks had delivered deep difficulty as she dressed. Being disciplined humbled her, calming her powerful, driven demeanor. She loved their formal list of offenses deserving of punishment. She'd earned a lengthy penance wearing her ordinary white panties. Released from that obligation early for tonight's crucial event, her replacement agony delivered a dutiful sense of honor.

Her man had beaten her for her behavior. Without context, she appeared in constant awe of him, humility cast deep in her soul. Sweeping her a passing champagne flute, he introduced two colleagues he trusted. Both married, she doused their wives' prior competition in a beaming smile.

"You won the Crowley case," she said to the guys.

Pleased by her recognition, they drove the conversation, contributing anecdotes about their victorious defamation lawsuit. Engaging their wives, she segued into elegant small talk.

Prepped by Andrew, her head held anecdotes for key players. Armed and dangerous, she'd pulled off her first perfect play on the corporate battlefield.

Shifting her golden strappy sandals, she adjusted her stance to ease her aching bottom. She discussed the balance of celery, garlic and onion in boeuf bourguignon. Passionate about proportions, the brunette's cut-glass voice carried their conversation. Appearing to care, she took part, deflecting exploratory judgements as her caned bottom stung. A blazing source of profound pride, her stinging welts powered her dutiful attention on their mundane conversation.

The brunette's classic black cocktail dress covered an attractive bottom. Imagining terrible mistaken proportions in her beef bourguignon destroying an important dinner, Louise pictured ten powerful paddle swats packing pain deep into the deserving wife's cheeks. Doubtless a g-string beneath, she imagined the brunette submitting to her husband, bending with exquisite elegance, accepting his necessary discipline for her unacceptable fault. Glancing at his biceps, his suit confirmed he could give serious swats.

The polite, likely unpunished brunette guided her into a broader female group. Subjected to competitive scrutiny, she scanned the well-dressed women, seeking potential role models. An experienced wife held her peers' attention, describing two decades of corporate networking. Louise collected valuable tips on the strategic choice of designer outfits, storing them. She studied her live examples of stay-at-home corporate wives, determined to define her identity in Andrew's corporate environment. Across the crowd, she caught his eye, her shameful stripes transmitting an intense smile.

Sitting down to enjoy their banquet, hosted to honor two new partners, her delicate dress punished her. Taking her deserved discipline, she kept her smile as her heart leaped at Andrew beside her. He'd made her sore, teaching her a deserved lesson, extending it into beneficial public embarrassment. Stretching her welted cheeks as she sat, her pride rose.

"Tender?" he whispered.

"Very sore."

"You look exquisite."

She grinned, relishing his decisive compliment. Small talk around their circular white-clothed table focused on the best schools. Unable to contribute, she enquired about their children, sparking easy listening conversations.

A woman complimented her hair, her clear envy delivering underlying dismissal. Challenged to reveal her stylist, she replied they weren't local. True and clever, Andrew stroked her thigh, expressing praise and a subtle warning. Her stinging cane stripes recognized his multiple messages. Throbbing with deep ache, they commanded her not to rise to the talented bitch's bait.

Unchallenged, her mask as a dutiful corporate girlfriend led nobody to enquire about her powerful career. She deployed her selling skills, directing conversation away from herself.

A pretty dark-haired waitress bent over, placing pomegranate honey-glazed ham before her. Thanking the girl, she watched her beautiful buttocks bend as she served their table. Encased in a short black dress, she wondered if anybody had thrashed the younger girl's temping cheeks. Her serious discomfort powering her one-track mind, she hoped someone had. Every girl should receive frequent discipline.

After sumptuous roasted duck breast, she slipped away to momentary privacy in the restroom. Speckled dark-gray marble held a row of six sinks below a shining mirrored wall. Interspersed with white tiles, the stylish marble pattern striped the pleasant space.

Complimenting herself on her calm, measured performance, she relaxed. Pulling up her sexy red thong panties, her tight red dress still hitched, she listened. She hadn't checked the other stalls, but utter silence greeted her ears.

Teasing her fingers over her prominent ridges, she felt Andrew's awesome command of her. He'd made her present herself in public, caned. Humiliating soreness pervading her cheeks, self-respect blossomed. Desperate to see her punishment again, witness its rich, hidden presence beneath her thin dress, she exited her stall, swinging her bare bottom to the mirrors.

Six demarcations of discipline striped her exposed backside. Intense pride engulfed her shame. Hearing the door swish, she shimmied down her asymmetrical dress. Caught in its hem, she lifted her dress, clearing her sensational red arrow pointing down her bare right thigh. Brief exposure broadcast her caned backside in the mirrored wall. Blushing, she met the startled gaze of the young waitress who'd served her.

Abashed, the flustered girl said, "Sorry."

"My boyfriend caned me," Louise said. It felt essential to explain.

"My mom canes me. Never that bad."

Louise smiled. "I deserved serious punishment."

"Why?"

"I stole something. He made me wear ordinary white cotton bikini panties. Having my underwear chosen for me is very humiliating. I couldn't bear visible panty lines tonight. He allowed my thong panties for a severe caning. I couldn't handle a preventable wardrobe malfunction in front of those ladies."

The waitress grinned. "They are quite opinionated."

"Tactful," Louise grinned. Pleasant shame shivered through her body while the waitress used the facilities. Absorbing her humiliation, she kept herself busy until the younger girl returned. "Shall I adjust my dress again?"

Washing her hands, the waitress nodded.

Louise hitched her dress, shimmying it over her hips, revealing her punished bottom. Using the mirror, she marveled at her proud marks again. Each throbbed a flaming thrill into her humbled sex.

"That's fierce," the younger girl said.

Stroking an angry welt, Louise said, "You're telling me."

"I couldn't serve dinner with those sore stripes. Bumping doors with my butt, I'd scream."

"If it were your duty, you'd handle the pain, respecting its necessity." Covering her shameful marks with extraordinary care, Louise asked, "Is it embarrassing when your mom canes you?"

"I'm eighteen, so hell yes."

"And afterward?"

"She holds me." Pursing her lips, the younger girl said, "I always deserve it. I relax into my pain, almost grateful."

"My boyfriend holds me. I feel his forgiveness. You're never too old for proper punishment."

Smiling, the waitress said, "Your hair is also fantastic."

Louise grinned. "It's an amazing secret product. You can't buy it yet. It transforms your hair in ten seconds."

"Ten seconds?" gasped the girl, her eyes glued to Louise's sparkling strands.

Slipping her cell phone from her Jimmy Choo gold ice dust glitter clutch, Louise said, "Give me your number. I'll message you when it's available."

"I couldn't afford it."

Louise shook her head. "It's designed for everyday use." Checking her dress, she added, "Please don't tell anyone about my sore bottom."

Tapping her number into Louise's phone, the waitress smiled. "Your secret is safe. Thanks for trusting me."

Entering their apartment after a successful evening, Andrew said, "You were brilliant."

"My bottom kept me humble."

Running his hand over her sensuous bottom, his touch made her wince.

"I'm still sore," she said.

"You were remarkable."

His suit pants revealed his huge approval.

Stroking his hardness, she grinned. "I stood, and sat, in shameful, demure obedience all evening. I'm fucking horny."

Sympathetic to her soreness, he didn't sweep her into his arms. Taking her hand, he led her to their modern four-poster paradise. His fingers flicked her spaghetti straps from her shoulders. Peeling her dress from her breasts, he kissed each prominent nipple.

Gasping, she shrank away. Easing her dress over her hips, she stepped from it. Laying it for dry cleaning on her chest of drawers, he came up behind her, his suit gone, his hardness pressing his shorts against her punishing welts.

Aching and stinging under his control, his warm hands grasped her breasts. She bent forward, legs spread, her palms planted on her brown oak drawers. His hand dove into her red cotton thong.

Glancing down, pleasure thrust through her core. Having his huge male hand in her delicate red thong panties turned her on. His invasion of her private protection poured vulnerability into her deserving sex. She'd experimented with a teeny gold g-string. Its rounded waist string had shown under her dress. Twisting and bending before her mirror, her smooth cotton thong had remained secret. More comfortable, she'd felt secure in its modest front coverage.

Pressing against her still stinging butt, his cotton covered hardness rubbed her agonizing stripes as his finger rubbed her clit harder.

"I beat you, Louise."

His ruthless word thundered under her clit, forcing her against his finger. He had beaten her. It was the perfect word. He'd thrashed unmitigated pain into her bottom. Its sole purpose to punish her. Not a mild sting, or a brief searing burn, but fierce, deep hurt teaching her a significant lesson. For escaping her already serious punishment, he'd delivered proper pain. Her mind circled his firm word. He had beaten her.

Panting against his finger, she grazed her nipples, one-handed, blurring the pain from her serious stripes into the pleasure pouring into her sex. Her nipple tips screeched under her fingers as she thrust her hips into his powerful digit, exploding her evening-wide pleasure into her red thong. Orgasms throbbing through her, she spun into his arms, pressing her serviced sex against his offered hardness.

"I love your hand," she moaned.

His rampant manhood pulsed against her sex. She shoved her hand into his white shorts, freeing his hardness to rub bare against her thin red cotton.

He hustled his shorts off. Falling back on their bed, he pulled her on top of him, her beaten bottom in the air. Kissing him, she plundered her tongue deep in his mouth, twisting and teasing with his, as her eager sex taunted his solid manhood. Sitting up on his hard body, she rose on her knees, drew aside her red cotton and eased him into her.

"I had to soak my panties in the sink, so my caning hurt more," she groaned, sliding down his length, driving him deep inside her. Rising, her sex seized his hardness, taking his sexy strength into her.

Shifting him to hit her spot, she plunged herself, riots seizing her sex as his hardness struck its goal. "I had to make my punishment hurt me more, and I obeyed."

"I thrashed your wet panties, knowing I must hurt you."

"You kept caning me, despite my struggle," she gasped, hitting home on his hardness again.

"As I must," he groaned.

"And I was a good corporate girlfriend. I carried out an excellent performance."

"Perfect," he panted, driving himself deeper inside her.

Her pride soared under his sincere verdict. Her sex sped up, consuming his powerful trigger. Slamming onto him, orgasms blasted into a sea of euphoria, obliterating her sore behind with waves of overwhelming pleasure.

Laying on his gorgeous hard body, she described her naughty steps from the restroom stall to view her punished bottom in the enormous mirror.

"I should spank you for your silly risk."

Her heart pounded against his chest. What was coming was undeniable and inescapable. She recounted her dress faux pas, her intimate exchange with their waitress, and her subtle humiliation baring her caned bottom to the younger girl.

"You showed her your bottom again?" he asked.

She nodded.

He rolled her off him, depositing her beside him on the bed. "Roll over," he ordered.

On her side, his command forced her onto her front. She rested her arms under her pillow, relaxing her bare body to receive his serious sanction.

"Your initial mistake was risky silliness. Revealing your bottom again for your pleasure was pure madness."

His massive hand rested on her left cheek. Hard flesh on soft skin fired a gunshot around their bedroom. Sting dived into her welts, spreading between them. Hard spanks cracked without mercy across her risk-taking bottom. She pictured her delicious humiliation before the pretty, young waitress.

Her red ridges released fresh sting, suffusing her bare backside. Humbled, she cried, "I'm sorry, Andrew. It was silly."

"Ask me to spank you harder."

His firmness shuddered through her soul. Her heart demanded she pay for her pleasure. "I am sorry, Andrew. Please spank me harder. I deserve it."

"As you wish."

His full open palm stung fresh fire into her bare backside. Ten solid spanks landed across her sore cheeks until stillness filled their bedroom.

"Sorry, Andrew. Had I got caught, I'd have damaged your reputation. I deserved my spanking. Thank you."

Pulling her into his arms, he whispered, "I forgive you. Was it amazing?"

"Shameful beyond belief. I'm twenty-five. I shouldn't need punishing, but my bottom proved I do."

"Your bottom is beautiful."

"Even covered in cane stripes?"

"More beautiful. It shows your humility."

Snuggling into his arms, she felt his hardness edge against her sex. Shucking her thong panties, she drew him into her, his smooth, loving strokes celebrating her victorious evening. His same dominating hardness delivered strong, gentle thrusts, penetrating her naughtiness, permeating it with understanding, and confirming his utter forgiveness.

Driven into gentle swathes of serene pleasure, orgasms rippled through her honored body, tears brimming at his infinite kindness. Passing into ultimate pleasure together, their tender love making proved he owned her deepest soul.

Held by him, she imagined her evening without her sensitive caned cheeks. Under competitive female assault, she'd have struggled to maintain a dignified silence.

She whispered, "Thank you for altering my punishment. I much preferred being sore."

"Thank you for supporting me. You were wonderful."

She landed a jubilant kiss on his lips. "When you require your dutiful corporate girlfriend, I'll need you to beat me."

He smiled. "Maybe less severe."

Her face fell, "No, Andrew. I'll need a severe thrashing. I perform best when sore."