« Spanking Stories

Standing on the metro, her butt burning in her tight black jeans, Jenna clutched the pole to avoid soothing her caned bottom. Pride settled her dilemma. Her bottom should hurt. She didn't deserve relief. Punished by her CEO for her inadequate performance, a fresh surge of pride eased her uncomfortable stance. He'd intended her to experience an awkward journey home. It was part of being punished. Uptown six stops, she walked to her two-bedroom apartment. Her new job paid her rent. Her roommate had moved upstate six months ago, a decent banker in her grasp.

Dumping her laptop and handbag, she bathed her bathroom in bright white light. Unsnapping her jeans, she pushed them down for the second time tonight, carrying her black bikini panties with them. The mirror told her serious story. Ridged in red, her buttocks were no longer smooth. Decorated in severe discipline, each raised welt provided separate pain. Together, her deep tapestry of hurt marked her as a punished girl.

Caressing her sex as she examined her beaten bottom over her shoulder, she slipped her finger onto her hardening clit, applauding what her boss had done to her. Reading about discipline had stirred her sex. Supreme heat in her caned cheeks forced fury against her finger. Circling herself hard, she rose onto her toes, feeling along each stripe, tormenting herself, riding her pleasure. Trembling on her tiptoes, she landed on her heals, shattering orgasms through her thankful sex. Satisfaction soothed her until she caught sight of her bare bottom in the mirror. Marked by his serious discipline, her sex clenched hard, demanding she honor herself.

She shifted her standing mirror to face her bed. She often watched herself masturbate, imagining a powerful man had ordered her to observe her sexy self. Kneeling on her bed, she looked back, teasing her sex as she adjusted her position, nudging her caned bottom into view, an obedient girl who'd taken her punishment. Her clit thrust hard demands on her finger. Her bottom commended her professionalism. She'd needed a hard lesson. Her boss had caned her. Fervent heat pulsing from her sex, she held herself poised admiring her professional punishment. Flexing, she tumbled onto her bed, raging orgasms pouring perpetual pleasure.

Stripping naked, she grazed her nipples, watching herself tease delicate pleasure. Keeping herself turned on she fantasized about dominant men. In her dreams, they'd ordered her to wear skimpy clothing, spread her legs, and masturbate for their pleasure.

Her boyfriends, scarce on the scene, hadn't delivered true domination. Her stinging stripes ridiculed her pathetic dominant fantasies. She needed stern commands with ruthless penalties if she failed to comply, penalties with real pain, leaving her marked for days.

Proper punishment was a reasonable response to her lazy business attitude. She respected Ben for caning her. Showing her boss she cared had required her utter submission, satisfying her urgent need to atone, earning his clear respect with genuine grit.

A layer of extreme pleasure rested over her experience. Facing her inevitable pain, she'd surrendered to a man. She'd summoned her bravery, staying still as he beat her bottom. Her prominent red nipples radiated passion into her mirror. She understood herself for the first time. She hadn't demanded outright strictness from her boyfriends. That changed today. They must backup their orders with severe, painful punishment. They must mark her bottom. Perhaps she'd choose disobedience to feel their wrath. Play mustn't provide an excuse. They must punish her for non-compliance without mercy.

Rolling, she marveled at her beaten bottom. Tracing her dark red stripes, honor thrust into her heart. She'd wasted years with boyfriends who only dominated her in bed. She'd neglected to figure out her greatest need. She hadn't forced herself to explore her desires, letting boyfriends satisfy her without seeking everything in her soul. Her wasted years must cost her a serious price. Someone had mentioned professional disciplinarians in her reading today. When she discovered a professional she trusted, she'd submit to their most severe sanction. She owed it to herself. Lifting her hips, she forced her finger faster on her desperate clit, proud of her gutsy private pledge.

Her destiny clear, she slept for six beautiful hours, waking to her fresh dawn.

Choosing a slate colored tee, she slipped on her black skinny jeans again. Their rough denim irritated her red ridges. Black bikini panties held a special place in her heart. Scraping tight elastic across her sore stripes, unpredictable twinges delivered sharp pain, pumping her pride.

On her metro ride downtown, she sat, sucking up her discomfort. She was a spanked executive.

At 10am, between stores hawking cheap suitcases and wholesale souvenirs, Jenna hit the buzzer marked 'House of Dance' beside a spotless white door. Climbing worn stairs, Ben met her, leading her towards studio A. Nothing in his greeting showed he'd caned her last night. Eight flawless girls stood around in tight purple sports bras and tiny matching skin-tight shorts, their gorgeous bottoms bearing no signs of spankings, their outfits sparkling silver sequins.

Her gaze swept around the dance studio. Hard black floor met white walls. Sunlit windows gave neighboring offices a constant free show. Behind her, a mirrored wall showed the dancers their performance. Tall stools covered in Hair Air pouches surrounded the dance floor, sixteen in all. She transported the scene, placing it in the storied stone architecture of the central train terminal, busy passengers passing by, Hair Air stands defining the dance floor, flawless hair defining each dancer. These girls had used Hair Air. Their blonde, brunette, black, and brown tresses matched their scanty, sparkling outfits.

A ferocious rap beat broke across the studio, the female artist declaring her supreme independence. Eight female dancers strode together forming a perfect group aligned in the center, stepping in sequence, their bold female personas matching their charged soundtrack.

Miming synchronized makeup moves, they told a tale of dressing to impress. Shaking their hair with pronounced dissatisfaction, they spread apart, seizing a Hair Air pouch. Miming its dramatic action, they rubbed their pouches. She noticed they didn't rub them right, avoiding bursting them for real. Stepping into a splayed sequence, they conveyed to their imaginary surrounding audience their colorful clouds with sweeping hands.

The tallest brunette plucked purple baseball caps from a corner stack, firing them towards each dancer. Caught on the beat, they rammed their tight caps into their perfect hair. Sideways, identical steps returned their caps to the corner, revealing splendid hair. Every tress reforming its proper shape, their cunning sales message blew Jenna away.

Dipping their heads, they flung their long manes to the measured beat, stepping backward to reform their neat configuration. Jigging to their hair satisfaction, they highlighted their sparkling beauty, stroking their strands. Spinning into a circle, they picked pouches from the stands, giving them to imaginary audience members bursting with hair attitude.  

Impressive ballet steps harmonized their beauty as they back flipped into a perfect line, luscious bare legs parted. Power beat pumping, the rearmost girl, a delicious blonde, slid through her teammate's spread legs, bouncing to her feet as they synchronized into a tight circle. Landing on the last beat, their right arms punched the sky, holding Hair Air pouches.

Jenna erupted into applause. The vivid, energetic drama demanded respect. Her heart cried out for a Hair Air pouch, desperate to feel like a pretty purple girl.

Leaning towards Jenna, Ben pointed out the fit blonde sipping her water bottle. "Emma's boyfriend works for Neil. I met her devouring Hair Air pouches at our party. You saw frenzied girls grabbing pouches. Imagine this show in city centers, train terminals, airports, anywhere permitted. Emma reckons she can train an experienced dance squad in a week. Get them tour buses. Fly dance squads to international cities. Give away Hair Air."

His excitement contagious, Jenna said, "Girls will film it, spreading it across social media for free."

"Beats your influencers," he grinned. "Also, hire your own film crews for major locations. Put ultra high quality videos on YouTube."

"Brilliant," she said. "Retailers will call us, begging for Hair Air."

He nodded, watching her mind expand. "I still want your billboards, media interviews. Start from here. Create drama. Give away one hundred million free pouches. I trust you to figure it out."

"Ben, Thank you."

He smiled. "You're welcome."

She pulled him aside. "Thank you for thrashing me. I've never deserved it more."

"I hope you're still sore."

She grinned. "I am, but I appreciate it. If I disappoint you, I'll expect a summons to your office."

He grinned. "It was a bold idea."

"It wasn't mine. Belle suggested it."

"I must commend her," he said, covering his surprise. How had Belle known he'd approve?

Alongside Jenna, he thanked Emma for their free performance. "Your choreography, including our pouches, was exceptional. We want to hire you."

"Thank you."

"Would you sign an exclusive contract dancing for Hair Air?"

"Three months," Emma wagered. Uncertainty spread their income over dry periods. Three reliable months was an ambitious goal.

He smiled. "I want your hearts and souls breathing Hair Air. Agree to train other teams, and I'll offer your squad a two-year contract."

She huddled with her teammates, whispering.

"Plus travel expenses," she called.

He admired her chutzpah. "I imagine you traveling in style. Let Jenna paint you a vision."

Marketing set on a fresh course, Ben returned to the office, finding Kate on his couch. She bounced up when he entered. He kissed her, crushing her tight.

"I've only been away overnight," she said, grinning. Inside, his keenness to hold her fluttered her heart.

She'd accompanied her wordsmith to their factory. A skilled writer, he'd reworded the tech team's initial phrasing, perfecting each personalized card inside finished Hair Air packages. Possible to achieve from the office, her writer needed to bond with their crew to influence and guide their future writing.

Choosing an armchair, Ben told Kate about punishing Jenna yesterday.

She smiled. He'd set a course with her original co-founder caning, touching her toes at home. Her silliness sorted, she'd envisaged how his management coaching could benefit other girls. "She marched in and asked you?"

He nodded. "I had to cane her."

"Damn right," Kate said. "She showed phenomenal spunk. She deserved her caning. Her presentation was boring. Odd, she chose punishment to solve her problem."

"Belle suggested it to her."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Great HR management. It reset Jenna." He described his dance filled morning, Jenna's epic enthusiasm, and his mad plan to spread Hair Air love.

"You'd better speak to Belle," Kate said.

He nodded. Wandering to his desk, he tapped Belle's extension. "Belle, can you spare me a minute?"

Belle strode in with confidence, her bright pink blouse and low black heels dressing up her sexy mat-black coated skinny jeans. He offered her an armchair. "Yesterday, you gave Jenna some unusual advice."

"I did." Belle's heart thumped. She'd hoped Jenna might reveal her role, dreading this discussion, and desperate for it. She'd vowed she'd tell the truth whatever the consequences. Her disgusting voyeurism deserved painful repercussions. Powerless to ask for punishment, she prayed Ben would order it.

"Jenna took your advice."

Belle smiled inside. Proud of her professional guidance, she hadn't known its outcome. She hadn't seen Jenna this morning.

"Somehow you knew I'd approve," Ben said. "I expect an explanation."

Belle glanced at Kate. "I'm sorry, Kate." She described her late restroom visit many weeks ago, and hearing him scolding his co-founder. Shame drew her gaze into her lap as she reported watching Kate bend over his desk.

Kate's sex clenched in her tight jeans. Embarrassment vied with pleasure. Belle witnessing her serious shame and gorgeous pain deepened its impact even now. Caned for neglecting to bolster her teams, her Human Resources Chief had seen Ben thrash her. It added healthy humiliation, suffusing her sex with sweet shame.

"It mesmerized me," Belle said. "I've never seen someone punished."

"Except in your imagination, I expect," Kate said, her tone biting. She hadn't meant to sound mean.

Belle blushed.

Ben glanced at Kate, his question unspoken. She nodded.

"Belle, your advice to Jenna was smart. I appreciate your perception. It has already solved her problem. You'll hear her fresh marketing strategy soon. To be clear, she dropped her jeans, bent over my desk, and I caned her. She got twelve hard strokes, suffering with grace. I'm proud of her."

Belle's sex tightened. The obedient, cute young marketing manager taking her caning would furnish real fantasies. Her brain saved the picture. His definitive praise meant everything. She'd given Jenna genuine advice, knowing it required guts.

"You invaded Kate's privacy," Ben said. "You may resign now, or take my cane yourself."

Belle froze. She'd told Jenna she would welcome his cane. She couldn't resign. Unable to summon the words, she sat, her brain whirling.

"I'm waiting, Belle."

She met Kate's gaze. Kind eyes criticized her despicable behavior, giving stern guidance.

Striving to meet her obligation to herself, she summoned her courage, measured out her bravery, and said, "Your cane please, sir."

"Report to me after everyone has gone home."

In her office, Belle gathered her thoughts. No longer a dream, she'd accepted actual punishment. He'd forced a response from her soul. She was getting caned tonight. Actual pain, certain to hurt. Her fantasies demanded she confront reality and prove herself. Her reliable memory of Kate's caning danced onto her mental screen. The beautiful co-founder had taken her terrible strokes without fuss, a role model for dignified grace.

Panicked, she realized her pink panties were brighter than Kate's pastel pink string bikinis. They also provided no protection. Beneath her favorite mat coated skinny jeans, she wore thongs, preferring her tight pants to tease her bare cheeks. Contemplating a hasty shopping spree, she chided herself. Girls deserving punishment didn't get to choose their outfit. They must accept having their private underwear choice revealed. Her bare bottom cheeks would honor Kate. She wondered if Kate would be there. Embarrassed to have her punishment witnessed, she couldn't deny she deserved it.