« Spanking Stories

Next morning, Chloe chose black tailored slacks, checking them in her bedroom mirror. Although thin, their softness beat her rough jeans. Red, purple, and cream, her tight, striped top broadcast confident beauty. Yesterday's caning from Ben still smoldered. Sharp sting had woken her twice. Both times, she'd masturbated, savoring his thoroughness. The crease above her legs burned worst. She appreciated its brutal generosity. She'd tried tempting soft black bikini panties. They'd curved across her cane marks, promising a generous softness she didn't deserve. She'd selected black string panties, baring her bottom as usual, proud of her honorableness. Nobody would realize her backside carried cane marks beneath her professional pants. Except Ben. And Moira. She'd see her this afternoon.

Reaching the office, Ben met her outside, his town car lurking on the curb. Sliding into the back seat, her bottom protested. She welcomed its punishment. The driver passed them both takeaway coffees. Thanking him, she tipped her lid, smelling fresh Mocha perfection, whipped cream nudging above her cup rim. Sipping her favorite coffee, she detected Moira's influence, appreciating her kindness. They progressed upstate towards the serum factory, Hair Air's true source. Their Imagination Lab was based there. Liaising with the lab no longer fazed her. She misunderstood often. Calling various scientists always clarified her knowledge. She apologized and thanked them for teaching her, progressing her individual relationships.

Passing the city limits, Ben leaned towards her and whispered, "Okay?"

She nodded. "Thank you for being firm. I needed it."

He nodded.

On arrival, security cleared them. Wide cream corridors separated serum production from imagination, florescent lighting shining down from suspended ceilings. Wooden steps led them above the imagination lab into the leaders' shared office. Desks shoved to the edges contained buffet food she'd suggested. Comfortable swivel chairs spread in curves before the vast glass window, offering a convenient view of the lab below. Smoked glass ensured privacy. She wandered towards the window, checking below. The view was perfect. Broad wooden work benches formed lines, their scientific contents removed. Scattered across their surfaces, thousands of professional photographs showed women's fingers, their nail color varying. Stamped with identification numbers, the photos lay organized in color genres.

Greeting guests, she introduced herself, meeting distributors, retail buyers, and the focus group managers. Ben introduced her to Evan. Several other suits surrounded their principal investor. She discovered they were part of Evan's consortium, each contributing tens of millions to Hair Air. Beside her, Ben's simple confidence settled her among wealthy company. He knew her bottom hurt. He'd made it so. Comfortable in her corrected status, she rose to the conversation level, enjoying it.

Evan drew them towards the window, complimenting the phenomenal color choice displayed below. Selecting a seat, he tilted his head, glancing towards the chair beside him.

She joined him. Fifty girls began sifting through photos, extracting favorites. Cameras on high stands filmed them, recording expressions and body language cues, giving vital detail on their desire levels. Color photos accrued on the single empty table. Permitted twenty choices, several requested increases from the focus group supervisors. Their extra choices revealed extraordinary determination for dramatic colors. Passion. Ben had warned her to measure every decision against passion. She watched his wisdom play out. She'd designed this simple process. Watching it deliver results thrilled her.

Evan leaned towards her. "You didn't show them computer images."

His deep baritone echoed in her hardening clit. Visceral desire shocked her core. Maybe her sore bottom had spread special sensitivity. "Vibrant printed colors reflect the true product better. Girls like touching stuff. We lose interest in sterile screens."

He nodded. Her long blonde hair hid beautiful brains. She was bright, lovely, and brilliant. A killer combination. He stood. "Excuse me." Escaping towards the buffet, he selected several canapes, calming his distracted attention. Grabbing her a bottle of Fiji water, he returned. He'd noticed she had drunk nothing since arriving. Handing her the water, he settled back beside her.

She smiled. Attentive. His muscles described their complicated presence, bulging his suit. Settling beside her, his powerful legs laid claim to his space. Her skittish sex throbbed clear admiration. Her butt forced her sex into line, reminding it she was a punished girl. Riven with duty, she appreciated her pain. Sharp stabs delivered instant reminders during simple movements. General ache spread deep. When she'd sat, her slacks had tightened against her butt, her hardened welts declaring their dominance over her day.

Evan loved watching spirited girls. Despite being strangers, they congregated, discussing colors. Chloe's exciting email had led him to invite his investment partners. She was making him look good. The full focus-group report would analyze video feedback, examined by human behavior experts. Twisting to see her better, he studied Chloe. Her respectful attitude towards Ben had impressed him. Neither subservient nor argumentative, she'd held her own in their conversation. Her soft deference, respectful nature, and smart insights drew his focus. He couldn't determine her age. Maybe ten years younger. Her bottom was beautiful. Presented in tight black slacks, she didn't hide it. Pert pleasure followed her, demanding attention. Seated, her lithe legs suggested incredible fitness. Her confidence ruled her beauty, dropping its enticing net over him. He projected his fantasies onto her, bending her over the huge workbenches below, ordering her smart pants down. She obeyed. Invisible panty lines suggested bare cheeks. Overpowering himself, he forced his focused elsewhere.

Early afternoon, she returned to Hair Air's office, her color choice exercise a stratospheric success. Compliments had poured towards Ben. He'd deflected them her way. She'd enjoyed meeting everyone. Evan the most.

Passing Moira's desk, she paused, thanking her for her morning coffee. Her mocha had powered her day into utter brilliance.

Moira smiled. "Fine coffee helps a caned bottom."

Chloe feigned ignorance. "Does it?"

"It should," Moira said. Whispering, she added, "He did cane you, didn't he?"

She nodded, smiling. "I have evidence." Almost twenty-four hours old, her unequivocal stripes deserved recognition. Smiling at Moira, she tilted her head. The imperceptible movement rose Moira from her desk. Entering the restroom, she checked they were alone, twisting the door lock. Unbuttoning her black slacks, she lowered them, unembarrassed to share her caned bottom. She'd dreamed of being seen beaten. She leaned forward over the sinks, her plain black cotton string baring her marked cheeks.

Moira gasped. "An absolute thrashing."

Chloe bent further, delight infusing her. "He gave me no choice."

"Fitting," Moira said, "He's tough. I bet that's agony."

"I sat for several hours this morning."

"Definite punishment," Moira said. "Your low stripes must have killed you." She admired the thick band crossing Chloe's soft crease, recognizing the bitching pain it brought.

Staring in the mirror, Chloe met her friend's gaze. "I earned it." She watched clear envy cross Moira's face. Did they share similar positive pleasure? Via the mirror, she said. "I sort of... enjoy it hurting me."

Moira cracked a fresh smile. "It's healthy, babe. A strict man has beaten you hard. It ratifies our needs. My girlfriend always inspects my stripes, extracting every tiny detail about my punishment."

Chloe stood, turning towards her friend. "Oh, thank god. I was worried about myself."

"Don't be. It doesn't stop your punishment from hurting you, embarrassing you, and teaching you a tough lesson."

Facing Moira in her panties, she stepped forward, giving her friend a full hug. "I appreciated your generous intervention. It cost you all significant embarrassment. Thanks for bothering. I promise it was worth it."

Moira gave an extra squeeze. She'd felt confident their lunch discussion would deliver long-term friendship. Seeing Chloe's caning justified her risks. "Should I tell Belle?"

Chloe softened against her friend, warmth flooding her. Moira's generous offer proved she was among real friends. "They all deserve to hear Ben caned me."

She left early, triumphant. Reaching her empty apartment, she enjoyed her freedom. Her brother had an after-school date. She'd reminded him to return before midnight, knowing he wouldn't violate their trust.

Spreading her weary body naked on her bed, fresh assurance permeated her with permission. She masturbated fast, recalling her suffering through today. She'd stood beside Ben, her caned backside burning huge agony through her tight pants, his presence stirring deep humility. Nobody present knew he'd caned her bare bottom last night, the definitive evidence buried beneath her smart pants. Circling herself, pleasurable surges rushed forth, vying to overwhelm her. She slowed her intense finger, tormenting herself worse. She gave up, accepting waves of pleasure pouring through her sex, tunneling down her frenzied bare legs.

After a brief break, she rolled onto her keen finger, summoning Ben's familiar desk. Scene of her spanking, and her caning, its vast landscape defined obedience. Evan replaced Ben. She indulged. His fascinating muscles brought merciless strokes. One handed, she caressed her cheeks, tracing her angry stripes. Brutal cane strokes bit deep into her bare bottom, judging her. His rich, reverberating tone issued her dastardly scoldings for something, anything, nothing. Her buried finger forced her to twist onto her back.

Skimming her nipples, she teased her dangerous sex. Evan's firm voice ordered her across Ben's desk. She obeyed. Sad to have disappointed him, she bent, proud of her honesty. Her sore stripes rubbed against her bed covers, aggravating her excitement. She welcomed her duty. Unlimited pain must punish her. An entire hour passed in Evan's imaginary company. He gave her endless merciless thrashings, keeping her under his tough command. She imagined full blown offenses worthy of severe spankings, playing them out on her hard clit. He didn't relent for any of her mistakes, taking his cane to her, his belt, and even a brutal whip. She wouldn't want a real whipping, but her imagination demanded its cruel lashes land across her bare back, score their cruelty on her prominent cheeks, and line her exquisite legs with their brazen torment. Arching on her shoulders and toes, her fit body burst into spectacular glory. Crashing onto her bed, thunderous orgasms wrecked her, tearing away her energy, leaving her lost in wonder at her, now acceptable, desire.

Bliss ebbing away, she struggled to her unsteady feet, seeking food. She grabbed her cute teal running shorts, adding a white tee from her floor. Slipping naked into them, she hid from her crazy imagination. Evan was worth billions. She was a simple Lab Liaison executive. He'd have forgotten her already.