« Spanking Stories

On one thousand square meters, Jake's three-bedroom home sat central to his lot. From the rear deck, Tamsin pondered his cream corrugated iron shed in the fading light. Under a single gum tree, its matching slanted roof left a considerable air gap.

"Does your shed contain garden equipment?" she asked.

He weighed his options. If exploration showed a lie, it would focus her on his shed. The truth opened a door to his past. But hidden in plain sight, it may allay her interest. Hoping he sounded relaxed, he opted for truth. "My computer rigs live there."

"It isn't secure."

"The roof gap creates airflow. Inside is a second shed."

She said, "I'd love to see."

Leaving their drinks on his outdoor glass dining table, they stood. In the dark, he escorted her over his scrappy, patchy grass. Lit by a bare bulb, the cream corrugated iron door opened to a chipped dark-gray painted concrete floor. Inside rested a rectangular cream box inches from every wall.

She watched as he unlocked the three locks securing his inner shed. Flipping switches, bright light saturated his secret sanctum. He motioned her in, closing the door. She shivered at the sudden chill.

"Pipes below the garden send air conditioning from my house units," he said.

She nodded, scanning his fourteen black screens, stacked in pairs above matching black keyboards on his white formica surface, filling the entire left and far walls. Ducts above carried cables to smoked glass racks, packed with computing power, occupying the right wall. Teeming with tiny lights, they flashed relaxed patterns. A single black leather swivel chair on castors sat capable of reaching every keyboard.

"Wow. You use all this?"

"I set different tasks running. It saves time." Tapping each spacebar, he woke the sleeping screens. Pale blue backgrounds lit up, showing no action, except for the pair nearest the computer racks. Green text flowed over black backgrounds. Moving upward at a steady pace, their progress marked time.

"What are they busy doing?" she pointed at his moving screens.

"Solving a significant computational problem. It may take years." He'd adopted a dismissive tone, hoping his openness would hide his true quest. Mapping patterns in world news, the paired corner screens hunted for articles hiding complementary goals within their subtle subtext. Matches formed a chain. At its ultimate head sat his ex-girlfriend. Her bedroom moves had exemplified her artful manipulation. Compared to the girl observing his hidden research, his nemesis had never been a true girlfriend.

"Do you still write programs?"

"I dabble."

Stepping from his den, she said, "Your gear looked expensive."

"I earned a bit doing contract programming before banking sucked me in." His reliable cover story also handled his teenage years, explaining his early earnings. Relieved he'd revealed some of his true self unscathed, he locked his inner shed.

She headed towards her Tuesday evening shower, marveling at his impressive computing power. He must have written massive amounts of code. No wonder a boutique bank had grabbed him. On Tuesday evenings, she showered before bed. Her bedtime belting wasn't a game. Her responsibility to respect their strict relationship delivered a thoughtful, dignified mood. Obliged to present herself nude, she went through her detailed shower routine twice. On her damp skin, his belt would sting more, impeccable cleanliness worth her self-inflicted pain increase.

Sliding her natural white soap bar down her slim legs, its sweet union of coconut, almond, grape-seed, olive and mandarin oils pleased her nose, creamy lather gracing her limbs. She'd discovered the original solid shampoo bar from The Australian Natural Soap Company on Mrs. Fraser's shelves. Jake's shower thundered into her skin. She and Diane lived well, but Jake's home was nicer. He'd spent money where it mattered.

Reflecting on her forthcoming belt spanking, she realized Jake hadn't punished her yet. He played games with her. She loved him for it. He was gifted, spontaneous, intelligent, and prepared to punish her for pleasure. She loved him. Standing tall under his warm shower, she made herself a solemn promise. When actual events demanded he thrash her, she'd take her spanking with supreme grace, proving herself his worthy girlfriend.

She padded into his mint colored bedroom wrapped in a white towel, her long black hair swathed in another. Sat on their bed in his jeans, he'd removed his black leather belt. Wrapped in his hands, its leather judgement called to her. He'd taught her a simple routine. She loved its raw honesty. Shedding her twin towels, she walked to him, stood still, her hands clasped behind her back, no attempt at modesty, her naked body his to admire in all its glory, her open heart his to hold.

"Our relationship is strict," he said. "You must obey me, even if it's difficult."

"I must," she said, proud to admit her obedience.

"Bend over our bed," he ordered, standing.

Her bare forearms rested on his stripy bed cover. Rough on her skin, it deepened her obedience.

"Four strokes," he said.

She shifted her feet to secure her stance. It was always four strokes. They weren't a token marking of her bottom. His leather lashes would sting her soft, damp flesh, showing his magnificent power to punish her.

His narrow leather belt wasn't a punishment strap. They'd ordered a thick leather strap, her sex throbbing as he'd hit buy on his laptop, alongside the paddle he'd chosen for her long delayed school paddling. Despite its reduced ability to hurt, his leather belt's caress of her delicate skin induced fear as he measured his position. Combined with his biceps, its fierce sting always brought her to heel. Readying herself, she breathed in, easing it out.

His belt slammed into her offered bottom. Sting stole across her fresh flesh, scorching heat into her sensitive skin. Feeling lazy, she hadn't offered to cook dinner on Sunday. She wasn't obliged to, nor had he complained. Fiery heat flooded her bottom, spreading his belt's punitive benefit. A dutiful girlfriend wasn't lazy. In agreement, his leather lashed an inch lower, hard.

Her mind commended his sincerity as her cheeks smarted. He'd laid it on hard, respecting their strict relationship. Compelled to consider her commitment during her Tuesday reflection, any anxiety vanished behind his painful pledge to enforce her obedience.

She exhaled in long, smooth patterns, refusing to yield a single suffering sound. He struck her bottom with his harsh belt, forcing air from her lungs as fiery pain spread into an angry burn.

She loved feeling his leather's lesson. Getting caned pleased her. She looked forward to feeling their strap. Her paddling was certain, soon. But on Tuesdays he used his worn belt to beat her behind, reminding her she was his obedient girlfriend, expected to obey, subject to punishment.

Kissed by cruel leather, her last stroke blistered her bare bottom. Deep in humble submission, her serious soul lapped up her pain, praising him in silence for loving her enough to demand it.

She heard his belt drop on the floor. Bent over their bed, this part of their ritual soothed her. His clothes rustled as he removed them. Required to present herself naked to her clothed man, their routine marked their relative positions within their relationship. Coming to her, after belting her, proved he respected her obedience. He never commanded her to stand or expected her to thank him. Instead, he slid naked onto their bed beside her, drawing her into his wonderful arms.

Her bare bottom belted, his tight grasp satisfied her loving sex. Her bottom in acute agony, she kissed him. Delving her tongue, she met his. Her beaten backside softened her into a passionate kiss. She'd chosen to bend and let him belt her without cause. Steeped in virtue, her sex wanted his hardness.

Held on his hard body, her sex welcomed his manhood deep inside her, eliciting her first noisy gasp. Her hips gripped from below, his hardness electrified her pleasure zone. Tiny touches worshipped her sex. Evoking savage hunger, his gifted pleasure surpassed her prescribed pain.

"I love you belting me," she whispered.

"I love your obedience. You're beautiful."

Potent power thrust behind his words. Her exquisite tension locked in fierce denial, begging to last for eternity. Failing in glorious wonder, orgasms crashed through her body, bursting endless pleasure into her substantial pain, her eternal mix of joyous trust assured every Tuesday bedtime.

Four days later, rising from her Sunday slumber, Tamsin wandered into Jake's kitchen in pink lace tanga panties. Fresh waffle scent wafting towards her nose, the reality slid onto her plate. Sitting at his breakfast bar, her breasts bare, she scooped four spoonfuls of fresh whipped cream onto her warm waffles. "I love having a boyfriend."

He grinned. "You're so easy to please. But," his tone deepened, "today you're in detention."

Their paddle had arrived on Thursday. Collecting his long awaited parcel from Mrs. Fraser's General Store, they'd unwrapped the substantial oak. Drilled with twelve holes to aid its speed, she'd stroked its smooth surface in awe.

They'd each inspected the oxblood-red leather strap. Oiled before delivery, it still required regular care. He'd assigned her the task. Appreciating her duty, she'd felt its smooth surface, keen to experience its painful power. He'd denied her a test, promising that when she needed it, her first actual stroke would evoke fear.

He'd scheduled her overdue school paddling for today. Three days of anticipation had built her tension. Criticized for her lack of cockpit concentration, yesterday Diane had threatened to cane her. Ruthless concentration had saved her deserving bottom. Today, she could spend three boring hours sitting still or receive the vice-principal's merciless paddle.

"When?" she asked, filling her mouth with a warm, creamy waffle.

"After breakfast." He pointed to his basic wooden home-office desk, moved into his open-plan lounge, a single dining chair six feet beyond it. On the desk rested their gigantic paddle.

Fear jolted her stomach. Someone had crafted that paddle to punish misbehavior. Polishing its three-foot length, they'd known it would hurt its beneficiary. They'd calculated holes to speed its journey towards her disobedient bottom, planning to maximize her pain. Their care had created a handle for Jake to grip, ensuring its severe impact on her deserving cheeks.

Had her vice-principal paddled her at school, she'd have stood before him, pain permeating her bottom, promising perfect behavior. She'd deserved punishment for slapping her blonde classmate. Fern had deserved it too, for her retaliation. The shared humiliation of getting paddled in front of each other might have brought them closer.

Showered and dressed, thirty minutes later, she returned to the lounge. Her white blouse and low pale blue jeans felt eighteen. Facing Jake in his chinos and blue shirt, her heart cherished his effort. He'd asked her about her dishy vice-principal. His outfit was almost perfect, his stern expression more than perfect.

"Tamsin, I'm very disappointed you're in detention."

His verbal thrashing shuddered her spine into her sex. Disappointed in herself, she lowered her head.

"A long afternoon or a sore bottom?" he demanded.

She'd dreamed up her choice during three tedious hours. Presented for real, she said, "Swats, please, sir."

"Bend over my desk, please."

His politeness stung her soul, delivering a pointed lesson in manners. About to cause her extreme pain, his order had still contained inherent civility.

Sunlight saturating the lounge, she bent over his desk. Her white cotton panties emerged from her low jeans. She could sense her embarrassing exposure. Fern's gaze would have mocked her chosen innocence.

"Turn your head, look behind you," he ordered.

Following his voice, she glanced towards him. His finger pointed to the windowsill. A video camera, its recording light red, stared at her. Directed on her bent bottom, it had a perfect view of her peeping panties.

"Your fellow detention attendees would have watched your paddling. Instead, this camera will witness your punishment."

Ashamed, she shuddered, staring straight ahead.

"Ten swats, Tamsin. Slapping another girl is violence. We don't tolerate violence in school."

Despite her fear, moist pleasure met his stern words. She rested on her forearms, her fingers spread, her tight jeans presented for pain. The huge polished wood glided over her bent backside, warning all her curves they'd hurt. Humbled by her position, even before her pain, she respected his power to punish her.

The paddle left her bottom. Her nerve endings trembled, awaiting its impact. Oak crashed into her jeans. A resounding bang filled their silence. Fire blazed over her entire backside, rivaling the pain driving deep inside her butt. She fought her devastating agony, gasping at its relentless pursuit of hurt.

The paddle settled against her stinging butt. Her fear surged. Slapping Fern merited this shame. She pushed her palms into his desk, restraining her urge to rub her burning butt. The board demolished her jeans. Pain flowed into her punished bottom, sweeping hurt deep as sting spread, missing nowhere.

Her basic panties peeking above her jeans, she was receiving shameful punishment she deserved. In school, she'd have hidden her pain, protecting her reputation. Under the camera's watchful eye, her determination to appear resilient ran deep.

Acknowledging her crime helped her handle her savage swats. Pain rained down, each impact forcing agony deeper into her butt. Lower swats stung fresh skin, showing she hadn't received a thorough paddling yet.

Sting built, firing blazing heat at her loyal sex. Moist before her paddling, wallowing in her suffering, soaked her sex. Eaten up by her foolish slap, she allowed the sturdy paddle to hurt her ten brutal times.

"Stand up," he ordered.

She obeyed, facing her vice-principal. Her burning jeans demanded humble gratitude. "Thank you. I'm sorry you had to paddle me, sir." Thanking him for hurting her, intense humility spiraled in her sex.

"You may go," he said, pointing to their bedroom.

Heading as ordered, she rubbed her butt. Her futile motion didn't ease her striking pain.

Following her into their bedroom, he said, "You took your ten swats. Good girl."

She smiled. "My butt's on fire."

"You deserved it," he said, his firm tone teasing her soaking sex.

Hustling off her jeans, she surveyed her panties in the bedroom mirror. Simple panties for an eighteen-year-old schoolgirl who needed paddling. Shoving them off, she admired her bright red burning butt. Naked beside her, he smoothed his hand over her bare cheeks. His firm touch elicited thrilling agony.

His voice heavy, he said, "You're a naughty girlfriend, getting paddled at school."

"It hurts," she groaned. "Please, fuck me. I need it."

"You're lucky I already belted you on our date. Imagine getting belted now."

"God," she cried, falling into his arms. "I couldn't bear it."

"You'd have to."

Pushed back onto their bed, his solid torso rose over her, his manhood piercing her desperate sex while she unbuttoned her blouse. Freeing her nipples, she panted under his core strength. Skimming her solid buds, she gorged on his hardness.

"School paddled me," she moaned. "My classmate saw my innocent girlish panties."

Wallowing in her humiliation, his forceful fucking rubbed her redness into their bed. Punished as she should have been, his dominance surrounded her. "I'd have let you belt me, if you'd insisted," she panted.

"Another time."

His promise stiffened her grip on his manhood. Poised for a single blissful second on his hardness, her perfect balance heightened her desperate need. Torrents of pleasure gushed through her sex. He exploded his desire into her furious flow as she rode her wonderful rapids, her necessary pain soothed by her generous boyfriend.

Under his solid body, she slumped. Her paddled bottom throbbed, a punishment made to last. "You're incredible," she said, touching her fingertips to his rough cheek. "Please, may I have the video?"

He grinned. "I'll put it on your phone. Don't wear yourself out."