« Spanking Stories

"Its impact doesn't sting for several seconds. It's a cruel delusion. You assume you over-imagined your fears, relaxing. Then it hits you with soaring agony," Moira said, spearing salad onto her fork.

"Okay, it should feel dreadful. I expected that," Chloe said, nodding at Ben's personal assistant. The busy salad kitchen, five minutes from their office, offered loud conversations covering theirs.

Moira shook her head. "Easy, girl. Sting soars where your stroke landed. It's precise. A single stripe of intensifying agony. You force yourself to bear it. Every second, it challenges you, worsening. After maybe thirty seconds, your pain peaks. It doesn't reduce. It stays intense."

"Wow," Chloe said, jabbing her peach and goat cheese salad. "Sounds dramatic"

Moira said. "Getting caned is severe. Prepare yourself for inconceivable hurt. It punishes you, Chloe."

Chloe massaged her favorite word. Punishment balanced her. It cleared problems, settling guilt. In any context, her new favorite word evoked a righteous desire for fundamental suffering. Three weeks had passed since Ben had given her the tennis shoe. "I guess gaps in between strokes help you deal with them," Chloe said.

Moira frowned. "It depends. They keep getting harder to handle. Getting caned fast is fierce intensity. Unbelievable outright agony. However, it's over quicker."

Chloe considered her tennis shoe spanking. Agony during its application, it had become bearable. Her tough journey home had blended into her memory. In retrospect, it seemed her emotions had amplified the sting. Her friends' comments had stuck with her during recent weeks. Intended as supportive, their comparisons had left her feeling disparaged. Her spanking didn't compare to getting caned. Spanking her with his tennis shoe, Ben had belittled her. She said, "I showed appalling judgement."

"Agreed."

"However, he only gave me the tennis shoe."

"I expect he didn't want to scare you." Moira raised a single eyebrow. "Your initial reaction suggests he wasn't wrong."

Unwilling to concede, Chloe said, "He'd have caned you?"

"Twelve hard strokes. Seven days of severe discomfort. Feeling left out?"

Chloe directed her gaze towards her salad. "Perhaps."

"It isn't a joke, Chloe, or an easy upgrade. The cane guarantees profound regrets. It marks you. Very visible proof of your recent punishment. Changing with friends isn't possible. You'd reveal your secret. I've declined shopping trips and swimming, missing beach weekends because he's punished me. It's a salutary experience. Missing out on stuff because you've received the cane teaches you unmistakable humility."

Chloe shifted her fork, missing cucumber, cheese and basil, landing instead with a roasted almond. Her mistake deserved equal recognition. Denied swimming, she'd wallow in her sweet censure. Her brother would know. She'd always confide. His knowing had already caused her very private humiliation.

"You're smart Chloe, but you'll feel the cane sometime. It's inevitable."

'Inevitable' pleased her. 'Sometime' didn't. She wanted to deserve her friends' esteem. They'd included her, surrounding her with shrewd persuasion. Her renewed relationship with Ben allowed her to request his advice without fear. Her stupidity merited the same sophisticated punishment her peers received.

After lunch, their conversation circled her brain. Moira had admitted her tennis shoe spanking was generous. On screen, her chat window remained open with Moira, their lunch plan in focus. Summoning bravery, she tapped, 'Is Ben free at six?'

Ten minutes passed. Her window updated. 'You're in.'

Unable to regret her bravery, her afternoon thoughts amplified her certainty. She needed her friends' respect. Entering Ben's office for her appointment, she found him seated on his couch.

"It seems my generosity missed its mark," Ben said.

Moira had prepared him. Grateful, she relaxed.

"Sit, please," Ben said, waving towards the opposite couch.

Lowering her unmarked butt onto his couch, she crossed her jeans-clad legs. Her mile-high skinny jeans, in light blue denim, stretched. Her bright aqua blouse showcased her newfound confidence.

"You feel I belittled you."

Their direct discussions had sped up her product understanding. Applied to her discipline, their honesty achieve equal simplicity. "Your intentions were kind," she said. "But I didn't deserve your kindness. I deserved a dreadful thrashing. You called my attitude dangerous. I agree." Hanging herself, her proud sex tightened. "I'm aware I didn't give you confidence, given my refusal. None of the girls made me feel inadequate on purpose. However, beneath their kind comments, I can tell they feel I got off easy."

He smiled. He'd asked Moira if they'd pressured Chloe. Moira had sworn they'd only offered passionate support. Chloe's unprompted confirmation closed his concerns. "You don't deserve double punishment."

She'd considered this during her afternoon deliberations. "We reframe my spanking as a test of my obedience. An initiation. I'd never received punishment. I needed to learn its benefits."

He nodded. Her rationalization suggested further arguments were pointless. "You may regret your request."

Moira's warnings echoed. She would. However, she wanted her friends' respect. "I won't, Ben."

He stood, towering over her.

"I must cane you, Chloe. Disguising your short-comings deserves a thorough thrashing."

His decisive declaration stirred sweet submission in her soul. She watched him open his high cupboard, extracting his cane. Her first sight of the golden punishment stick froze her thoughts. Thin, long rattan glistened, reflecting his office lights. Lowered to his side, it gained greater authority.

"Chloe, stand up."

She obeyed, clasping her fingers.

He approached her. "You've earned the cane, but it won't be on your jeans, young lady."

Her brain stored 'Young lady', filing it for frequent reflection. Melting under his stern tone, she swept her long blonde hair over her shoulder. "Understood, sir."

"Drop them, Chloe."

Captivated by his flexing cane, she didn't question unbuttoning her skinny jeans. Shoving her denim down, her jeans bunched at her knees. Rising, she faced him, her bright aqua string panties on display. Low-rise, her edgy panties were invisible beneath jeans, until ordered to lower them. Rightfulness suffused her exposed skin. The cane tip tapped his immense desk. Its threatening bounce claimed her.

"Bend over, Chloe."

Shuffling towards his desk edge, she pictured Belle, Moira, Jenna and Sasha complying. Lowering her weight onto her forearms, she applied for full membership in their elite club.

Ben considered his options. Slow strokes gave generous gaps to appreciate the gravity of their spectacular pain. Mindful of her dissatisfaction with his previous kindness, he decided upon twelve fast strokes. "Bear your punishment, Chloe. I expect you to show dignity despite your substantial suffering. Strokes will come fast, building into unrelenting agony. You'll suffer long after I've finished caning you. Stay still."

His warning chilled her. Her pain wouldn't end fast. Moira had warned her. She pressed her lips together, driving bravery into her bare bottom. Air conditioning pre-cooled her cheeks, boosting her readiness. Unable to maintain her strained tension, she relaxed. Her ears locked onto the incoming savage hiss, storing its unfamiliar sound, delaying her recognition of the hard impact on her bare bottom. Seconds extended into another heavy dent in her cheeks before the first outbreak of acute burn broke beyond her bravery. Screaming agony broke from both lines, a third emptying her courage reservoir. She flung her guilty conscience at her howling torment, bolstering her bravery. The rattan didn't relent. It cracked across her cheeks, each stroke providing pure, visceral pain. Fire shot across her cheeks, searing intensity she couldn't control. Strokes blasted towards their unforgiving peaks, scorching unbearable fury. She bore it, their collective torture a sincere adult punishment. Righteous acceptance forced her palms flat, her fingers spread, and her feet rooted. Ferocious strokes publicized her failure across her bare butt. The savage cane sealed its message in cruel stripes, merging into her perceptive bottom crease. Tears stole her guilt, slithering down her cheeks. She couldn't avoid utter surrender. The rattan rested, leaving its last layered lesson stinging immeasurable suffering deep into her soft skin. Panting, she cried into her worsening pain, accepting its absolute justness. A professional young woman, she'd deceived her boss, keeping her dilemma quiet. He'd honored her contrition with a merciless thrashing. Wetting her lips, she tested her voice. "T T Thank you, sir."

He nodded to himself. Her vocal acceptance proved she'd needed strict severity. "Stand when you're ready."

She stood. Her welts converged, shoving hurt against hurt, compressing her pain. Unable to contain her suffering, she issued a heartfelt groan.

Putting away his cane, he heard her groan. Turning, her tear-streaked face showed appreciation of her continuing situation. "Pull up your jeans," he ordered.

She glanced down, unable to imagine bending again, or rising. Obeying him, she suffered. Dragging her tight denim over her beaten butt delivered a deeper groan. God, it had swollen. Struggling, she buttoned her jeans, sealing in her industrial furnace.

He approached her, offering his hand. She shook. Dropping her grip, she flung her arms around him. Whispering into his shoulder, she said, "Thank you, Ben. I've never felt more sorry."

He held her, marveling at her incredible strength. Bringing Hair Air to market, he'd studied girls. Surrounded by them, he still underestimated their extraordinary capacity for brilliance. Girls powered his awesome business. Chloe offered fresh proof. Releasing her, he hardened his tone. "Remember your pain, Chloe. You'll feel it again if I deem it necessary."

"Yes, sir." Her response snapped out, laden with respect. Her twin words joined her mental collection. Warned while suffering staggering soreness, she worshipped his firmness. Venturing to the restrooms, she didn't dare lower her jeans. Wiping away her modest makeup, she delighted in her fresh face. It showed a sorrowful girl, bearing up under sound punishment. Her stinging butt throbbed its confirmation.

Heading home, her train ride punished her further. Standing, a free seat dared her. She bit her lip, stifling her cry, and sat on the hard plastic seat, spreading her pain. Unrelenting heat accompanied her proud journey. Her boss had caned her, intending her to suffer. She deserved discomfort.

Stepping onto the white shuttle coach, she flung the driver a wide smile to avoid conversation. She couldn't chat and manage her significant discomfort. Two minutes stretched her suffering to Clark Avenue Tower. Rising, her hot welts rubbed against her tight denim, delivering fresh motivation to reach her home.

Arriving at her apartment, her brother sat on a high kitchen stool, shoveling pasta. She wasn't hungry. He reported on his high-school day. Leaning on the kitchen island, she listened, enjoying their natural companionship. His non-reaction proved she displayed no outward sign of her stern suffering. He enquired after her day. She told him, explaining her desire to fit in.

"Your punishment didn't fit your crime."

She smiled, nodding. His perfect summary proved his understanding.

"You must be in agony," he said. "I didn't realize."

"You shouldn't. Bearing my punishment is my duty. It shows respect."

He nodded. "I'm proud of you. I haven't had swats at school, but if I got them, I reckon I'd approach it okay. You make sense."

Nodding, she said, "I stand by my advice. Always take your punishment without fuss." She smiled, leaving him.

In her bedroom, she removed her jeans, freeing her contained fire. Her bottom bared before her mirror, nine red lines decorated her delicate skin. Darker edges lined their rising redness. A wide batch, representing her last three, painted phenomenal pain across the crease with her legs. She set her fingertips on untouched skin, sliding them towards a frightful welt. Crossing the raised border, roughness met her soft fingers, her welt worsening its indelible pain. Gasping, she kept her fingers augmenting her agony, tracing each line. Rightful decency flooded her core. Her boss hadn't hesitated to cause her genuine suffering. She was supposed to feel ashamed. Seeing hard evidence of his disappointment drove a deep appreciation of his fairness, inducing delicious modesty. He'd seen her bare bottom, beating her without remorse. She stood corrected by his cane. Worthiness flooded her spine, spreading deep into her responsible sex.

Leaning against her cool glass floor-to-ceiling windows, she slid her fingers into her aqua string panties. Savage heat warming her windows, she replayed her solemn submission. Addressed as 'young lady', he again ensured her obedience. Speeding her exquisite touch, she acknowledged his duty to strip her. Standing in her panties, her thin cotton offering marginal modesty, she surrendered over his desk. Ordered into place, she delighted in her orderliness. She didn't complain about her exposed bottom, the price of essential shame. She accepted her submission without regret. Her firm clit praised her attentive finger. The cane whistled through her thoughts, bringing fierce cracks across her bare backside. Blazing burn reminded her of its brutal application. Imagining her friends' gazes on her humble bottom rammed grim respect into her hard clit. Rampant pleasure poured into her tight panties. Surfing her extreme satisfaction, she crested. Holding herself still against her glass, she denied her incredible balance until mammoth waves crashed over her, forcing her down her glass into blissful glory, spreading her soreness into the wooden floor.

Panting, she rested her head against the window. She'd received formal adult punishment. Professional correction. Fresh respect for Ben burst through her. He'd etched unsparing criticism of her behavior onto her bare backside. Punished, she'd endure it, praising him with every subtle ache. She struggled off the floor. It wasn't conducive to comfort. Nothing was. She didn't deserve comfort. Her boss was still punishing her.

Crawling onto her bed, she lay front down. Relief swamped her. Her guilt was gone. He'd replaced it with equivalent pain. Pain would fade, its slow decline a purposeful experience, teaching her while it hurt ever less. She had hellish smart friends. Their persuasion proved their friendship. They deserved to see her fresh membership credentials. Imagining them inspecting her punishment sent her finger under her, back into her damp aqua string.

Considered for club membership, she imagined presenting herself before the board of admission. Stripping naked, she bent for their inspection. Hard gazes considered her welts. Humiliated by her official inspection, she shuddered under their heavy judgement. Awarding herself envious acceptance, her pleasure rose alongside her humble self. Facing her judging panel, she reached an epic climax, comprehensive orgasms shattering her shame, delivering her into their splendid shared understanding.