« Spanking Stories

Tamsin awakened alone in Jake's blissful bed. Slipping her iPhone from her bedside, she marveled at her 10am waking. Approaching their seven-day statutory flying limit, Diane had declared two whole rest days. Demanding intense concentration and stamina, their medical diversion yesterday had drained them both.

They'd filed yesterday's eventful mission reports on landing. Demands on her today were nil. No flying, maintenance, freight loading or flight reports. Pulling a scribbled note from her bedside, she learned Jake was busy in his computer shed. Sun spreading across her bed, her world clock reported evening for her mom. She tapped her FaceTime app.

Bolstering her pillows, she sat up in bed; her knees up, Jake's giant comforter bunched to support her iPhone. Yesterday's drama stole her headline news. They dissected her relationship with Jake, her mom asking questions she couldn't answer, reminding her to delve deeper. Her mom showed clothes she'd bought, an apricot blouse leading the fashion show. Simple pleasures filled two hours before her mom headed to bed herself.

Tamsin ate cornflakes, mired in a sense of loss. She missed her mom. Unsettled by news of weddings she'd miss and restaurant meals without her, Limit Creek seemed bleak.

Swift showers in the early hours were her norm. Heading into Jake's powerful shower, she gave herself limitless indulgence. Bathing her skin in natural Australian soap, coconut, almond, grape-seed, olive and mandarin oils combined to uplift her mood.

Her spirit boosted her into a cropped white vest top and her short low-rise cotton jeans shorts, their hems folded. Her favorite white lace tanga panties lay smooth under her tight shorts, her t-shirt bra emphasizing her curves.

Thoughts of lunch crushed her momentary mood boost. Limit Creek didn't have restaurants. They prepared meals themselves. Her mom had described restaurant mac and cheese with cayenne pepper, paprika, and thyme, melting her mind into her stomach. With Jake in his shed, lunch appeared up to her. Protesting on principle, she flounced onto his gray corner couch, establishing herself with her iPhone. Scrolling restaurant menus didn't aid her happiness. Saving links to pointless pretty blouses, skirts and dresses multiplied her misery. Even a Celine bag she'd scrutinized at length didn't lift her mood.

Jake studied his research summary screen. Detecting patterns between early news stories, his algorithm predicted where crises were being cultivated by his ex-girlfriend, Angelica.

Long before Angelica, he'd fallen into an unhealthy online crowd. Discovering skilled company in dark internet corners few could locate, he'd developed his techniques, drawing Angelica's displeasure when he'd accessed a global news website, applying subtle absurd alterations to their article headlines.

Among his amendments was an article inserted by her devious influence team. She'd repaired his silliness before it attracted attention to her well-crafted hack, threatening him with violence. Identifying his physical location to build his fear, she'd relented, offering him a job, boosting his ego with online sexual advances before he could gather his breath.

Angelica had lured him from Limit Creek to join her team within four weeks, pandering to his stupid ego. In apartments from New York to St. Petersburg, she'd devoured his body, draining his mind, leaving his bed when it suited her, returning to check his loyalty hadn't wavered.

Hacking for her, their well-paid quests to alter political opinion, had thrilled him. When insidious influence failed to erode trust, they'd create chaos, hacking crucial industries, state services, or key individuals, bringing them to their knees. Crushing oil pipeline computer operations, publishing compromising pictures in articles on fabricated news sites, Angelica peddled their power for phenomenal prices.

Years in her grasp, he'd witnessed horrific human suffering after a magnificent co-ordinated hack attack on the power infrastructure in a country her government contacts had paid them to disrupt. With his morality jolted, he'd watched her recruit a new team member, plying her sensational sexual powers. Critical observer instead of player, he'd recognized his foolishness.

Fleeing her net wasn't practical. Her financial clout was incredible. He'd watched her track prey beyond their digital world, deploying well-paid muscle to exert force when someone had defied her. While less subtle than her digital dominance, he didn't want to feature on her radar without the capability to neutralize her. Targeting her financial infrastructure, he'd weaved a web, diverting interest payments from her various accounts.

Governments outbid wealthy corporations, paying outrageous sums for their legendary results. Familiar with the vast sums entering her accounts, Angelica showed scant regard for the interest generated. Ten percent of one billion was a mere one hundred million. Siphoned into a sophisticated network of company accounts, her interest income flowed through his automated transactions into tiny fragments, re-assembling into his Cayman Islands bank account.

He'd left her angry, betrayed, and seven hundred million lighter. Returning home, he hadn't hidden his location. A muscle team arriving in Limit Creek would raise huge attention before they reached him.

He'd built his computer rigs, waiting weeks for equipment to arrive. His online presence concealed by offshore companies in the Cayman Islands, British Virgin Islands, and Vanuatu, he'd paid specialists to assemble his rigs in his Swiss bunker. His tracking software had run for four years, identifying dozens of her attacks before they'd occurred. He'd watched world events unfold, proving his algorithm. Nobody cared what she'd done yesterday, but revealing where she'd strike tomorrow gave him ultimate leverage.

Despite the four years since he'd left, she'd still be watching his digital footprint. He'd stolen six million from her account on his last day, stashing it via weak moves into his conspicuous Cayman Islands account. He hoped his ruse covered his greater theft, though her failure to recover her six million didn't bode well.

Cleaning his conscience in Limit Creek, he'd snapped up the airline laboring job advertised online. Cautious of female leadership, Diane and Tamsin had revolutionized his opinion.

Swapping his stained history with Angelica for Tamsin's pure perfection, he left his shed hungry for lunch. Entering his house, sexy bare legs adorned his couch in teeny shorts.

"Shall I make lunch?" he asked.

Lowering her phone, she said, "Okay."

Her half-hearted response beat his uncontrollable trip down memory lane. He inquired what she'd prefer.

"Creamy mac and cheese, a tasty filet steak, and seasoned chunky fries," she said.

Sighing, he said, "How about grilled cheese?"

Glancing at her shorts, she pictured substituting them for a delicate designer dress, floating into a cosmopolitan steakhouse on his arm. "I deserve fine cuisine in a smart restaurant."

Ignoring her, he headed into the kitchen, hungry.

Riled by his dismissal, her furious finger swiped spectacular dresses from her phone screen.

Serving grilled cheese and potato salad on the couch, her boyfriend opened conversations about diverse news stories. Seeking her opinions, she gave him nominal replies, her mind stuck in luxury.

Her refusal to discuss world affairs infuriated him. He'd hoped discussing the emerging political situation in Eastern Europe identified by his algorithm might allow him a positive context to present his awful past. Toughening his tone, he said, "Snap out of your selfish mood or I'll strap you."

She succumbed to her emotions. "I deserve luxury instead of dusty heat. Elsewhere, girls dine in fine restaurants wearing stunning dresses."

"Limit Creek is different."

"You're fucking telling me," she said.

"I won't warn you again. Drop your attitude."

"I can't feel depressed?"

"You're not depressed, you're jealous."

His accurate summary enraged her. Raising her voice, she yelled, "Jealous. I'm not jealous."

He let ten seconds of silence follow her outburst. "Fetch the strap, Tamsin."

Her short denim shorts shrunk in her mind, her exposed legs vulnerable to his ruthless tone. Considerable bare skin faced his wrath. "Please, Jake. I'm sorry."

"Sorry was two chances ago. Fetch the strap."

Dumping their empty plates in the kitchen, she slid open his bedroom closet, reaching for their strap on the top shelf. Warned, she'd almost begged for a strapping. He wasn't giving an inch. Unless she ran home to Diane, she was getting strapped.

"I'm waiting," his stern voice swarmed into the bedroom, capturing her flighty mind.

Carrying the strap she'd never felt into their lounge, she stood barefoot before him, her skimpy shorts under his fiery gaze. Resting across her open palms, the three inch wide oxblood-red leather promised enormous pain. Bonded and stitched, the quarter inch thick double-layered strap tapered into a reinforced handle. Eleven oval holes shot through the leather reduced wind resistance, guaranteeing potent impact on her butt. Oiled, the two-foot glistening strap begged to beat her.

Lifting the leather from her proffered palms, he stood. "I gave you multiple chances. You ignored me. You need thrashing, Tamsin."

His strict tone shot through her tight shorts, dampening her guilty sex. Fear funneled into her heart as he raised the strap, assessing its motion. She watched him consider the couch. Its L-shape provided a prominent part to bend over. His gaze veered towards his dining table. They didn't use it often.

"Come," he ordered. Leading her into his bedroom, he piled two pillows central on his bed. "Hand me your shorts."

Nowhere to hide from her attitude, she welcomed his implacable manner. Built to hurt, the strap he held plunged fear into her. Her sweet girlish bottom defenseless to its mighty impact, she'd suffer for her stroppiness. Sighing, she undid her button, unzipping her teeny cotton jean shorts, regretting their loss. Fingers on each side, she eased them down, letting them fall. Stepping from her meagre protection, she folded her shorts, surrendering them.

Placed on a wooden chair, her relinquished shorts drove his authority deep into her core. Reluctant to concede she deserved her strapping, she couldn't deny it to herself.

"Your vest top, please," he said.

Over her head, she gave it up, watching it join her shorts.

His gaze probed her skimpy white lace tanga panties and white bra. "If you'd listened, I wouldn't have to strap you."

His tough verbal assault lanced through her slim protection. She hoped he'd let her keep it.

"Strip," he ordered.

Shuddering, she slid her compliant fingers into her tiny lace-trimmed elastic, easing her tangas down. Unclipping her bra, she caught it, scooping up her white scrap of lace, handing both to him. Seeing her delicate lingerie in his huge hand rammed her into her rightful place.

"Lay over the pillows, your bottom raised," he commanded.

Grateful to hide herself, she climbed onto his bed, presenting her bare bottom raised to receive his strap. Naked, on his orders, she regretted her stroppy attitude. Too late for apologies, she accepted his decision to strap her.

Standing beside the bed, his imposing stature adding to his dominance, he lay the leather over her unblemished bottom, its gentle caress kind. She clutched the comforter, bracing for its imminent return. Lifted away, her breathing raced behind her pounding heart. She didn't know what kind of hurt to expect. Applied hard, her regular belting stung. Imagining ten belts together, fear flooded her.

"Are you regretting your attitude yet?"

Made to answer him, only truth passed her lips. "Yes, sir, very much."

"We'll see," he said.

Without warning, the swift leather slammed into her bare backside, the thunderclap reverberating around their bedroom. Three inches of savage sting branded her backside, compelling her to clasp the comforter as instant heat scorched her skin. Issuing deep, impassioned breaths, she handled her hurt, the leather laying across her punished cheeks.

Raised again, the strap flung fury into her flesh, burning her bottom. Fire ablaze across her chastened skin, she panted hard, powerless to disguise the strap's effect.

"Beautiful clothes belong in cities. You belong in Limit Creek."

She visualized the dresses she'd browsed, none suitable for Limit Creek. He was right. The leather flung its stupendous weight into her vulnerable bottom, blazing sting she must endure.

"You're lucky. You're flying, building your hours."

She knew he was right. She'd swapped messages with fellow students hunting for cockpit opportunities. The heavy punishment strap flew into her flesh, lighting fresh fires across her stinging skin. Smacking down severe strokes, he covered every inch of her exposed buttocks.

"Stop torturing yourself with irrelevant clothes and food."

She would concentrate on her current world. The strap slammed down onto her cheeks, storming sting into her entire bottom, multiplying her pain.

"Are you learning?" he demanded.

"Please Jake, I’ve learned my lesson."

"Oh, I don’t think you have. You're sorry, I'm sure."

Convinced he'd end her torment, his words crushed her hope as the leather laid over both her bare thighs. Her brain yelled for mercy. She summoned her best feminine persuasion skills. "Please Jake. I'm very sorry."

"You ignored two warnings."

Damn. He was right. Threatened with his strap, she hadn't heeded a single warning. Lamenting her attitude, she conceded in her soul, staying quiet as the hot leather promised her thighs shameful heat.

The strap crashed into her silky thighs. Her tender skin exploded in rich agony. She cried out, her yell filling their bedroom.

Showing no mercy, he said, "Ask me for your last stoke. The longer you take, the harder I'll thrash your legs."

She clenched her teeth to take her pain, costing herself vital seconds. Releasing her bite, she said, "I'm sorry, sir. Please lash my legs."

Hot leather cracked into fresh skin. Fierce hurt spread down her soft thighs. She yelled, his displeasure burning away her attitude.

"Now, you've learned your lesson," he said.

Crawling towards him, she kept her flaming thighs off the bed. Dropping to her feet, she padded to him. "I'm sorry, Jake. I deserved my strapping."

"You're forgiven," he said, folding her into his arms. "I strapped you hard because you should revel in your rare downtime."

"I'll try," she said. "My soreness will help me focus. Thank you for being strict with me."

She pressed her sex into him.

"Not right now," he said. "Reflect on your punishment. I want you, and I'll take you before bed."

Backed by his firm promise of sex, she swooned under his strictness. Reveling in her rich denial, she pulled on her lingerie. Adding her tiny cotton jeans shorts and white vest top, she left her strapped thighs on display.

Mirroring her iPhone to Jake's wide-screen TV, they watched a CuriosityStream documentary on Africa, curled up on his couch. Viewing the best destinations from sweeping drone shots, she recognized her vast global future as an international airline pilot. Leaving her browsing through imaginative entertainment, Jake disappeared before dinner. Gone thirty minutes, he returned, a huge white oven dish held with a tea-towel.

Her nose didn't lie, or her heart deny the obvious truth. He loved her. He'd strapped her, and he'd made her Mac and Cheese with cayenne pepper, paprika, and thyme.

She'd scraped every spoonful of creamy cheese pleasure before her sat-phone burst its ringtone from the lounge windowsill. Snapping into service, she answered. Margaret's voice relaxed her. She settled on the rear deck; her strapped thighs stinging against the cushioned seating.

Released from hospital this morning, Margaret described her husband's fresh relationship rules providing stiff penalties for minor infractions, harder penalties for major faults. "I believe you gave him ideas," Margaret said.

"Guilty as charged," Tamsin said, proud of her achievement. "Are you sore?"

"God, yes. Bob bent me over and belted me. It still stings."    

"Sounds effective. Are you feeling punished?"

"Very. He's promised to rein me in. I prefer knowing he won't allow us to argue. I'll obey him. Sex, Tamsin, it's phenomenal. He drove me wild. It was beyond fantastic. You wouldn't believe it."  

"I might," Tamsin grinned. Bob's prompt implementation of her suggestion impressed her. He hadn't given Margaret a simple spanking. He'd followed her advice and belted Margaret hard, finding his wife willing.

"I'm ashamed it took a younger girl to fix my marriage. Thank you, Tamsin. I've long deserved a sound spanking."

"It's my pleasure."

"I was dying to call and thank you."

"Sounds like you enjoy obeying him."

"I love it. He should have imposed his authority years ago."

Tamsin smiled. Thanks to Diane opening her eyes, she'd discovered the enhanced sex she'd always desired.

"You're an amazing girl, Tamsin. The kindest. Thank you for rescuing me and thank you for making me respect Bob."

"It was instinct. You're welcome."

"We're visiting my sister in Limit Creek next month. Can we have dinner together? I'd love to meet your man."

"Lovely idea. Jake makes a mean mac and cheese."

"And he belts you. Lucky girl."

"I'll show you what else he uses to keep me in line."

"I can't wait."