« Spanking Stories

Chloe closed the leather-bound room service menu. Leaving it on the round glass-topped casual table, she leaned back in the orange leather bucket chair, staring at its pair. Lifting her tired arms, she straightened her white cotton over-sized sleep tee. Waking, she'd flung it on over her white string panties to combat the air conditioning in Evan's downtown apartment.

Perched above a charming waterfront park, rivers converged in her view. Distant land held back the ocean beyond. Watery sunshine rose across the vast windows, ousting early darkness. Married to the Blaise Hotel below, his apartment benefited from five-star secluded luxury, white-gloved doormen, maid, and room service. She'd ordered their breakfast. Struggling to choose for him, she'd replayed his latest decision. Yesterday, he'd switched to a healthier choice. 'Healthy Start' promised an egg white omelet, seasonal fruit, orange juice, and coffee. She'd chosen the same for herself.

Three weeks of continuous sex had consumed their existence. Spanked over his knee, often, his hard hand delivered unbeatable personal contact. He'd unleashed her fantasy box set, employing his man-sized tennis shoe, a heavy paddle, and his school cane. Engineering spankable disobedience required only a teasing glance. Bruised by his hard paddle, she'd wallowed in her increasing ache for four days, admiring his muscles, feeling their wonderful effect. Inducing strictness kept it playful. It still hurt. His cane had marked her bottom, later requiring extra aloe cream and his soothing touch. Gorgeous consequences. Just discussing her potential naughtiness led to savage sex. They'd filled soulful hours, replaying his beautiful severity. Home fun lacked the seriousness of her workplace punishments. Beneath their glorious games, she hadn't misbehaved and didn't deserve her pain, despite her imagination declaring her guilty as sin. They'd christened his couch, dining table, wooden floor, and bed, all benefiting from luxurious river views. Half her closet hung in his. Dedicated bedroom drawers declared her presence, yet she'd struggled to order his breakfast.

Evan sang in his granite shower. He never sang in his shower. Ceiling speakers and thunderous subwoofers throbbed Meghan Trainor's power beat. Spinning for his soap, his playful baritone burst against the modern walls. Celebrating unabashed girlishness, the super-powered pop tune characterized his positive mood. Fresh fried eggs burst into his brain. Bacon added itself. Pork and apple sausages joined the party. Hash browns denied their exclusion. He regretted yesterday's attempt to impress Chloe. He'd keep the banana and raspberry fruit smoothie. It beat orange juice. Dipping his head to the infectious beat, he sang, 'My morning hair's a mess'. It wasn't. Grinning, he flicked off his powerful rainfall. In full flow, the music sped up his drying.

From the orange bucket chairs, Chloe couldn't see her apartment. It lay further north along the river. Last week, she'd sat with her brother, asking probing questions. Occasional hard conversations had kept their course clear. She'd given a very sanitized version of her relentless carnal adventures with Evan. Her brother's comfort with her absence hadn't eased her guilt.

The doorbell spread its refined chime, interrupting his thoughts. A cute, dark-haired waitress carried their healthy breakfasts to the brightening breakfast room, off the kitchen, laying places on their round glass table. Thanking the waitress, she pulled out her white leather armchair, enjoying the river view through his curved living room beyond. In only tight white boxers, Evan enhanced her view. His power-packed bare chest launched instant lethality in her subservient sex.

Evan appreciated her thrilled expression. Younger than his previous girlfriends, her maturity was far greater. Spying the seasonal fruit decimated his happiness. Lifting his silver domed cloche, an egg white omelet greeted him. Parsley decoration didn't make it better.

She watched his smile die even before he discovered his omelet. Disappointment swamped her. She'd got his breakfast wrong. She didn't know him. "You don't look happy."

"I am," he said, batting away her unease. It made his breakfast even less appetizing.

His limited response fed her fears. Over-sized tension spread beneath her sleep tee, saturating her in uncertainty. Destabilized, she scowled. "Only two words."

"I'm fine," he said, her anxiety adding to his disappointment.

Her utter failure swelled. Visceral anger built. He was lying. Trust broken. Flinging her native fear across his glass table, she raised her voice to full force. "Two words. Again. Fine never means fine. Ever."

Spinning her verbal assault into a sharp response, he raised his head to target it. Un-corralled blonde tresses cascaded over slender shoulders, softening into delicate curves. Tender beauty radiated across his breakfast. He swallowed his response. Stepping into his world, she'd changed everything. He noticed even momentary absences, anticipating her return. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'd dreamed of full city breakfast, bacon, sausages, etc. I regretted ordering this yesterday to impress you."

She steadied herself. He'd tried to impress her. He wanted her. A smile teased her cheeks, evaporating her tension. "Sorry."

He smiled, adrenaline dispersing. Simple honesty had defused her explosion. Refusing to accept his minimalist answers, she'd shown her smartness. He needed that. But angst wasn't attractive. She'd raised her voice to him. Also, unattractive. He loathed arguments. They'd ended many relationships. He watched her soft cheeks refill with pleasant rosiness. His honesty had settled her. It showed the true source of her angst. Their situation was unreal. She hadn't moved in. He hadn't defined their future. A future which didn't involve her shouting. A future they would never attain unless he held her to account, spanking her as needed. "Chloe, learning to impress you is an ongoing project. I want our relationship. I want you, but I won't tolerate you raising your voice to me."

His admitted desire settled her. His tough tone grounded her. "I'm sorry."

"Fetch the cane."

Sliding her chair back, she rose before her mind caught up. She didn't even consider questioning his command. It had brooked no debate. She wanted none. His stern order beat her healthy breakfast. Heading into their bedroom, she opened the familiar closet. He'd hung his huge white tennis shoe on a hook, its partner missing. Beside it, his yellow school cane hung by its crooked handle. This time, she deserved it. No debate. No choice. He would cane her. She unhooked it, indebted to him.

Glimpsing herself in the tall wall mirror, she smiled. Unkempt hair proved he even wanted her unpolished version. Her white string panties showed through her thin sleep tee. He was going to hurt her. Severe pain, well earned. A formal punishment, fitting their strict relationship. She grasped the rattan rod tighter, appreciating its stern menace.

The breakfast room pocket doors hid their argument, breakfast abandoned behind. In only his tight white boxers, he stood beside his dark dining table. A white cloth-covered dining chair stood separated, its comfortable seat facing away. His strict gaze drew her to him. She handed him the cane.

"Thank you," he said. "This is punishment, Chloe. I intend to thrash you."

His pronouncement comforted her. It offered no discussion. She smiled. "Yes, sir. Sorry. I understand. I'll show you the compliant attitude our relationship deserves."

Desperate to hug her, he instead ordered her to stand behind the lonely chair.

Her thighs touched the chair back, its height matching her hips.

"Bend over," he commanded.

Rising onto her toes, she reached for the chair seat. Formality flooding her spine, she bent forward. Discomfort proved her disgrace. His rough touch shimmied her tee up. She raised her hips in compliance. Solid fingers inserted themselves into her panty elastic. Her white string slid over her hips, removing her last vestige of modesty. Humiliation spread, serving its intended purpose. She regretted her need to be beaten, but she didn't deny it. Slithering down her long, bare legs, her panties dropped around her ankles, declaring her ready.

He circling her, inspecting her humble position. Blushing, she didn't hide from her shame. She accepted his decision to punish her. His survey complete, he stood in her eyeline.

"I'm your boyfriend, Chloe. Often it's my pleasure, but sometimes it's also my duty to punish you."

His declaration ripped through her bare body. He'd titled himself. Their rapid relationship had outrun definition. Lapping her lips around his precious words, she tasted them, exploring their spectacular appeal. Boyfriend. Duty. The dining table blocked her river view. She lowered her head, respecting his responsibility.

The rattan tapped her cheeks, warning her. Obeying her boyfriend consumed her. The bouncing rod departed. Nothing could prevent its brisk return. Nothing should. The rattan cane snapped into her bare backside. A sharp crack zinged off the tall windows. Evil heat ripped across her behind, exploding deep dissatisfaction into her bare butt. She gasped. The searing line he'd placed across her girlish bottom fit her deplorable conduct. She bit her lip, forcing herself to stay silent.

Branding her where it would deliver lasting private pain, she wallowed in her suffering, respect exploding her heart. Her boyfriend sliced ruthless hurt into her argumentative bottom. Brutal burn delivered mounting agony. She forced herself to handle its unrelenting application, condemning her silly anxiety. Her pain soared, multiplying her commitment to somber silence. Four severe strokes burned harsh criticism into her, making their mark.

"Stand up," he ordered.

She obeyed. Her long tee fell to her hips. She left it. Turning, she stood before her boyfriend, punished, her panties pooled around her ankles.

"Only four strokes, Chloe. Very hard strokes."

She smiled. Containing intense criticism, their fierce burn was already worsening. Gluing her arms against her sides, she said, "I deserved them, Evan. Thank you for your mercy."

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her into him. "No sex, girlfriend. Just punishing hurt. I'll make love to you tonight."

Imbibing his musky smell, she appreciated his toughness. She wouldn't touch herself today. No matter her desire, she'd honor his intent to punish her. Her pride would replace sexual satisfaction. Her boyfriend had punished her. In him, she trusted. She softened into his arms, chastened. "You're a wonderful boyfriend." Tasting her fresh use of his official title, her heart signed it.

She watched him return the dining chair to its correct position. Sliding her panties up beneath her tee, she gasped. Her backside proved him worthy of boyfriend status. He'd delivered decisive discipline. He hadn't questioned his right. She loved him. Shocking shivers proved her undeniable truth.

He took her slender hand in his grip, leading her toward the twin orange leather bucket chairs. His favorite spot. Releasing her, they sat opposite each other. He watched her wince as she settled. It didn't hurt him. She'd needed caning. Her instant acceptance had ratified their future. "Our breakfast argument wasn't about breakfast. Prioritizing our bedroom compatibility, we've left behind many relationship basics. My fault. I also don't care. You're perfect, Chloe. I was trying not to pressure you."

"Pressure me," she said. "I want our relationship, too."

He smiled. "I imagine your Clark Avenue apartment lease contains a right-to-buy clause?"

She nodded. "I can't afford it."

Nodding, he acknowledged her point. He'd already considered various future paths for them. Understanding the falseness beneath their breakfast argument, he'd revived his ideas between the dining table and their current position. He hadn't needed the six feet. "Four things."

Her agonizing stripes burned into her chair, but his decision-making tone delivered significant comfort.

"One. I'll give you the money. You'll buy Clark Avenue outright and keep it. Should we ever fall apart, you'll remain secure. I don't want that outcome. It's insurance for you."

Her heart lurched, his scale of generosity stunning her. Clark Ave's reliable presence would support their relationship.

"Two. I'll buy an apartment anywhere your brother wants and gift it to him. It's my thanks for his supporting you. You've made his importance clear. However, he must wish to move forward someday."

Her brother added unavoidable stress to potential relationships. She didn't resent him. She came with baggage. "It isn't necessary."

"I disagree. Call it selfish, but accept it." He paused, giving her space to dissent. She didn't. "Three, move in. Our compatibility has shot way beyond our bedroom."

Pent up years of responsibility exploded. Tears poured down her cheeks, speaking for her. He'd washed away her strain, leaving behind flawless freedom.

He slipped forward. Kneeling beside her chair, he brushed aside her tears. "Four. I'll punish you as I see fit."

"Agreed," she whispered, "without reservation. Thank you."

Touching his lips to hers, he grazed their softness, tracing her wonderful words.

Her lips gave him her heart. She shifted, flowing beneath him. Sublime agony surged from her four formal stripes, physical proof of their rich relationship. Lost in him, six solid minutes cemented their hard-won future.

Breaking free, he pulled the leather-bound room service menu towards the chair they shared, flipping it open. "Shall we try breakfast again? I'll order."

Full-sized breakfast powered her into Ben's outer office, radiating her relationship. Everybody knew she was dating someone. She'd hadn't revealed it was Evan. Settling into her seat, her cute black miniskirt stretched around her sore cheeks. The discomfort strengthened her. Her boyfriend had punished her for raising her voice to him. Hardening welts continued his just sentence. The lab had declared Nail Air ready. Production for stock had begun, shifting their new product beyond her purview.

She glanced towards Ben's office. His presence reassured her. Under his tutelage, she'd improved, no longer afraid of her inexperience. Instead, she gathered information, learning stuff she didn't understand until she did. Asking questions didn't phase her. Sometimes she looked stupid. It lasted seconds before producing fresh learning. Their lab contained clever people.

Clever girls surrounded her. They all received Ben's cane. Often. Its crucial encouragement had broken her fear, forcing her to face herself. Sting taught, firing her forward. Shame did too. She welcomed formal correction. Without it, she wouldn't have understood her need. In her bedroom, she'd studied her astonishing desires, supporting them.

Her original failure had brought staggering benefits. Ben's punishments had prepared her for Evan. Her boyfriend. Powerful pain charged through her punished cheeks, proving his existence. She didn't wince. She swallowed her pain, savoring its punitive taste. Evan had warned he'd disclose their relationship to Ben today. A message had just confirmed 11am. Others would hear she had a billionaire boyfriend. They'd wallow in his wealth, unaware she was also subject to his strict discipline. Unbridled joy breached her defenses, bursting into a radiant smile.

Moira noticed. Calling across their shared office, she said, "What's making you smile?"

Chloe didn't hesitate. "I got caned during breakfast."

Moira's curiosity peaked. Breakfast made little sense. "Ben?"

Chloe shook her head.

Moira issued a piercing gaze, "Details. Give, babe."

Chloe grinned. "I'm sworn to secrecy. I promise you'll know soon after eleven."

Moira glanced down at her diary. She'd just booked Evan in for 11am. Open-mouthed, she stared at Chloe. "Oh. My. God."

Remaining silent, Chloe sat grinning.