« Spanking Stories

Remains of dessert covered Jake's dining table. Tamsin sat smiling at Margaret. "You're getting caned. I'm afraid you deserve it."

Margaret enjoyed Tamsin's solemn tone. Condemned by her friend, she faced a caning from her husband. Glancing at the black cushioned stool placed for her benefit, she said, "I hope I don't embarrass myself. Any advice?"

"Cane strokes get hotter. Together they're tough. Try to avoid tensing. Let it hurt you."

Sat beside Tamsin, Margaret's tension built. Belted in private, her necessary correction had improved her behavior. She treated Bob with the deep respect she'd often failed to show. Having Tamsin and Jake witness her humble submission to her husband's authority stirred intense humiliation, unparalleled fear, and heavenly heat between her legs.

Visualizing herself bent over the stool set aside for her public humiliation, panic descended. She was wearing thong panties. Her evening underwear ripened her fear. She'd put herself in this situation. She must accept her humiliation.

"Margaret," Bob said, emerging from the bedroom.

She stood. The flexible rattan in his grip imposed absolute order on her. She needed her husband to cane her. In front of Tamsin, his stern authority would return her self-respect.

Bob led her towards the stool as Jake sat opposite Tamsin.

Margaret faced her husband. Bob's cane tapped against her dress covered thigh. "Raise your dress to your waist."

Shimmying the tight black fabric, she obeyed her husband, exposing her bare thighs, blushing as her black satin thong panties came into view. Conscience of their subtle black lace around her hips, only she knew a tiny satin triangle plunged between her bare butt cheeks. Bared by her husband, shame swallowed her.

"Your tantrum interrupted Tamsin's working day. At thirty-five you should be ashamed," Bob said.

His reminder Tamsin was twelve years younger disgraced her. Stripped to her skimpy panties before the younger girl, her smart dress raised, intense shame blended with her husband's scolding, yielding sweet pride.

Bob flexed the cane. "Tamsin, my wife wasted your working hours. How many strokes do you feel she deserves?"

Tamsin enjoyed her unexpected role. Fixing her friend beneath her firmest gaze, she said, "You aren't a schoolgirl, Margaret. Your overreaction had real-world repercussions. We risked landing on an unproven airstrip to rescue you."

Margaret stood taller under the qualified aviator's scolding, her maturity in obvious question.

"Your shrewd plan, signaling us with your mirror, showed perseverance under challenging circumstances. However, your punishment must fit the immaturity you displayed. Eighteen strokes."

Margaret gasped. Bob's astonished expression queried her.

She said, "Schoolgirls handle six strokes for simple misbehavior. You're an adult, you deserve twelve strokes anyway. You put lives at risk. Eighteen strokes is a fair punishment. You need them."

Margaret nodded, humbled by Tamsin's tough explanation.

"Bend over," Bob ordered, strengthening his resolve. He'd have given her six strokes. Under Tamsin's well-reasoned judgement, he must thrash his wife. Circumstances demanded it.

Margaret turned, bending over the comfortable cushioned stool. Her fingers clutched the low silver metal bar. Cool air confirmed her exposed bottom. Shame sank through her core. Sentenced by her friend to a severe caning, her bareness suited her shame. She hoped her taut tendons stilled her wobbling thighs.

Tamsin studied her humbled friend, admiring her swift obedience. Bob hadn't needed to coax her over the stool. She'd obeyed his command, accepting their joint judgement. She ran her gaze up Margaret's sensational legs, determined she'd also have well-toned thighs at thirty-five.

Rattan rested across Margaret's tan lines. She wished she'd had a full body spray tan to cover her white bits. The cane didn't care, tapping a light warning rhythm. Its incredible authority plundered her core. She'd let down everyone.

A sharp whistle pierced her heart. The cane's warning sounded evil. Blazing fire exploded across her defenseless cheeks. Heat roasted her skin, igniting fury she'd never known. White knuckled, she gripped the silver bar, panting, fierce torment driving faster breaths as she bore the adult agony imposed upon her.

The flexible punishment stick slid above her central stinging line. It whacked into her flesh, its cruel crack echoing around her friend's house. Sizzling her soft skin, pain punished her immaturity. Sentenced to severe strokes, she appreciated Tamsin's harsh judgement. She needed to prove herself deserving of the younger girl's respect.

The cane seared its painful lesson across her lower cheeks. She loosened her grip on the silver bar. Remembering Tamsin's advice, she let her punishment hurt her. Agony soared, taming her immaturity.

Cane strokes blistered her bare backside, lining her with unmistakable adult punishment. Scorching stripes corrected her wickedness. Her selfish escape from their marital argument had tripled her problems. Her husband's firm hand solved everything. Heat saturated her cheeks, leaving nowhere untouched. Coping with her pain, she hadn't counted her strokes.

Bob said, "Well done, Margaret. Last two strokes. I'll make them count."

Her mind absorbed his compliment, soothing it over her burning bottom. Grasping her bar, she refused to fail. The rod rested in the crease of her bottom and thighs, giving bitter warning to her tenderness. She replayed the distant white plane turning towards her. Murderous agony blasted into her sensitive skin, soaring skyward. The plane circled overhead, easing her pain. The cane lashed her delicate crease. Scalding heat surged into incandescent agony as the white plane swept by, signaling her to walk towards survival. Slumped over the stool, she regulated her breathing. Pain ruled her bare backside, but she'd taken her punishment.

"Stand up, Margaret."

She obeyed, struggling to stand still. "Thank you for caning me. I'm sorry I needed it."

"You took it well." He hugged her, his arms conveying his intense approval.

Safe in his arms, her raging bottom delivered pleasing public embarrassment. Carrying his compliment towards Tamsin, she said, "Thank you. You were right."

Tamsin rose. Smiling, she led her caned friend towards the bathroom. "You should see your bottom. It's beautiful."

In the bathroom, Margaret stared over her shoulder. The mirror showed darkening red stripes spanning her tan lines, patterning her bum in official sanction for her immature behavior. "Tamsin, I'm sorry."

"Hush," Tamsin said, drawing her half-dressed friend into a hug. "I believe you. Your bottom proves it. You took your caning with mature grace. I respect you."

"Thank you. It means everything. You're a genuine friend. You didn't excuse me, you sentenced me to eighteen strokes."

"Discipline demands respect."

Margaret nodded, flinching as her fingertips traced her severe stripe in her sensitive crease.

"Your legs are amazing," Tamsin said. "I adored watching your cute butt get caned."

"I looked okay?"

"You're stunning, Margaret. Even more stunning, with magnificent stripes stinging your bottom."

Margaret smiled.

Left alone in the bathroom, her dress still around her waist, humble acceptance soothed her painful cheeks. She caressed her welts. Packed tight, sixteen lined her bare bottom. Double agony defined her crease, taunting the tops of her unblemished thighs. She'd never need rescuing again. She wouldn't run away from her husband. Should she dissatisfy him, she'd accept her spanking, restoring order to their relationship. Sore, she'd discuss her concerns. If her bottom hadn't merited its spanking, she thank him for it, anyway.

Sweet humility swamping her sex, she rammed her hand into her black satin panties, watching herself masturbate in the mirror. God, he'd caned her hard. Touching her stripes without care, she gasped, harsh pain pulsing into frenzied pleasure. Turning, her smarting stripes drove another gasp. Being bared before Tamsin engulfed her in heady shame. Her maturity denounced by the younger girl, her finger drove reverence into her hard clit. Pumped on humiliation, orgasms plundered her satin panties, celebrating her bare, beaten bottom, confirming her deference towards the younger girl.

Sore, calm, and collected, Margaret discovered Bob chatting with Jake on the rear deck. Bending down beside the glass table, she kissed him hard. "Thank you for caning me. I love you."

"Is your bottom okay?"

She grinned. "The cane is far worse than your belt. I deserved it."

"We'll get one tomorrow."

Recalling Tamsin's description, she shivered, picturing her public humiliation. Desperate to clamber onto his lap, spread her legs and get speared on his hardness, she excused herself. She joined Tamsin in the gray cushioned seating area. Accented with green cushions, the welcoming space suited her mood. Accepting a wineglass, she savored the dry white, her sex hot as hell.

Tamsin smiled. Her friend's relaxed composure only had one explanation. She grinned. "Are your panties damp?"

Blushing, Margaret studied her wineglass.

Tamsin said, "Getting punished rams my hand into my panties."

"I couldn't help it," Margaret said.

"Of course not. Your husband thrashed you. That kind of special soreness induces ultimate respect."

"I was thinking about you. You've revolutionized my marriage. Despite being older, I feel tremendous deference towards you."

Tamsin understood her friend's wonderful feeling. She described Diane's astonishing emergency landing without experience, explaining how she yielded to her friend's decisions. She admitted to reading Diane's private letter, discovering her friend got paddled.

Margaret gasped. "She should have thrashed your beautiful backside."

Tamsin blushed.

"Wait. She did, didn't she?"

Tamsin nodded. She described touching her toes twice for severe canings from her friend for her atrocious violation of privacy. "My lucky break, building my flight hours, came from Diane's extreme guts. So, I understand deferring to a friend. I don't fight it."

"Nor shall I," Margaret said. Shifting position on her sore bottom, she grinned. "Even though we're staying at my sisters, I'm going to shag his brains out tonight."

Tamsin enjoyed their conversation. Eighteen severe cane strokes had induced attractive modesty in Margaret. They shared knowing smiles when her friend altered position, easing her discomfort. At 10pm, Margaret thanked them for a wonderful evening, dragging Bob towards their recovered ute.

Jake hitched Tamsin's cute red dress to her waist, lifting her into his arms.

"My panties are damp," she whispered. Carried to bed, she kissed him through the house, holding his lips as he bent, laying her on his bed, keeping them as he dropped beside her.

Surrendering her rich hold on him, she said, "Exceptional after-dinner entertainment."

"I got hard," he confessed.

Undoing his slacks, she slipped her small hand into his tight underpants, stroking his rock-solid manhood. "It's okay. She was awesome. She made me wet."

"Eighteen strokes was harsh."

Storing his opinion, she said. "Fuck me hard."

He shoved down his pants, unbuttoning his white shirt.

His warm hands rolled her into his arms, sliding down her hidden zip. She wriggled out of her beautiful red dress, revealing bare breasts and red cotton thong panties. He tormented her hard nipples, kissing her between forays. Desperate, she hustled off her thong panties, rolling onto her knees.

He entered her, his firm grasp on her slender hips. She held the solid wood bed frame, her sex resisting him. Hard thrusts overtook her, dominating her deep. Gripping his invading hardness, her tension built.

"She got it hard," he murmured.

"She deserved it."

"He forced her to face us in her panties. She only wore a thong. Got caned bare."

She gasped. "Scold me in only a thong. I'd love it."

Her arms holding against his vigorous thrusts, she soared onto her perilous ledge, her sex pleading for release.

"Wear a white thong under your gorgeous uniform. I'll strip you almost bare."

"And scold me," she panted.

"The severest tongue lashing ever, and I'll cane you over a stool."

"God, yes," she screamed. His hardness detonated deep inside her. Stiffening, her uncontainable climax burst into waves of orgasms ravaging her body. Falling onto the bed, her sex pulsed pleasure over his manhood still inside her. Her body calming, she grinned. "White thong?"

"Wear it beneath your uniform."

She nodded. "Yes, sir. It'll turn me on, knowing I'm obedient."

"Report to me even a modest flying mistake and I'll give you my severest scolding plus eighteen strokes."

"I deserve it. I was a little hard on Margaret."