« Spanking Stories

Chloe flicked a loose blonde hair from her bare thigh. Sat at her desk, her high-waisted short black body-con skirt exposed her legs. On the metro, her black blazer had emphasized her bold miniskirt. Her blazer removed, her unassuming white long-sleeve blouse offset her confident legs. Confidence, eroded by the lab report on her laptop screen. Everyone understood their role, Hair Air's clever product, and their place in its exciting future. Everyone except her.

She glanced around the CEO's outer office. Pale wood desks provided ten places for the CEO's team. Glass walls surrounded them, delineating their special space. Beyond the longest wall lay Ben's lair. Equal in size to their space, it contained comfortable couches for uncomfortable conversations. His vast desk, larger than hers, matched the pale wood design. She never entered his office, always waiting for him to call her.

His knowledge of Hair Air intimidated her. In two months, she'd offered two summaries, gleaning meager data from their lab reports. Neither had received much response. Given his obvious product comprehension, her minimal revelations felt inconsequential. She couldn't reconcile her role with her prior experience. At least this job paid well. Her previous hadn't.

From his office, Ben glanced across his team outside. Only Chloe didn't appear busy. He'd disliked her last report. Sat opposite upon his comfortable couches, she'd given vague assertions, lacking in fact. He'd expected interesting details. Telling her to seek detail beyond the scientists' reports, he'd seen her face fall, registering his disapproval. During his recent lab visit, his lead scientist had revealed they'd made Nail Air avoid skin, sticking its vibrant color only to nails. They'd assumed Chloe had told him about their sensational breakthrough. Her lackluster summaries aside, he couldn't ignore her colossal failure.

She hadn't got his message. Instinct had warned him to tread with care. He'd noticed her sensitivity. Inspired by her, yesterday, he'd bought new white tennis shoes, inspecting their rubber soles for flexibility before purchasing, adding one to his office cupboard beside his cane.

Making Chloe his priority, he picked up his desk phone, asking her to join him. Moving to his couches, he watched her approach. Her face betrayed her fear. Of him? Watching her sit, her beautiful legs on display, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. He couldn't help loving girls. Their incredible natural beauty motivated him. "Explain your role to me, Chloe."

"I liaise with our lab."

"Do you enjoy it?"

"Of course."

"Explain."

Chloe clasped her hands. Failing to feel confident, she unclasped them. "I love innovation. New products drive passion. I've always enjoyed the cutting edge of success."

"An edge you missed."

She tilted her head. "Did I?"

Her corporate babble aside, he recognized her honest confusion. She didn't even realize his scientists had solved Nail Air's toughest challenge. "The Nail Air pouches explode colorful mist, similar to Hair Air. Until now it has painted girl's nails and their fingers. I presume you understand that isn't okay."

She nodded.

"The team has solved this impossible problem, making their mist stick to nails, missing skin. They reported it fourteen days ago. I'd consider that priority information. You?"

She realized she'd screwed herself. Among the scientific minutiae, she hadn't recognized the truth. "It's priority information. I didn't understand it from their reports."

"Isn't that your speciality?"

"Their lab reports are complex. I'm not a science major."

Leaning forward, he placed the printed lab report on the low coffee table between them. Turning it, he pointed to a paragraph. "Read that bit."

She did. Using complex terminology, it stated Nail Air mist exploded on impact with skin. "It doesn't say it misses skin," she said.

"Touching skin, it vaporizes," he said, quoting the sentence ending. "You didn't call for clarification?"

She couldn't. She avoided calling the scientists. Their replies made her feel foolish.

"I made clear my dissatisfaction with your prior reports."

She nodded.

"I'm not seeing progress. Your performance is lamentable, Chloe." Watching her defenses jam up, he glanced at his high lateral cupboard behind his desk. She wasn't ready for his gym shoe. She didn't even understand her failure. "Re-read the lab reports two months back, identifying significant achievements. Also, notice their disappointments. They're often important. Failure is success's bed-fellow. Compile a simple one-page summary for me. Show me you understand what you're seeing."

Dismissing Chloe, he headed towards Belle's office. His Chief Crew Officer sat behind her desk. Seeing him, her warm smile improved his temperament. "I've concerns about Chloe."

"Tell me," Belle said.

Sitting, he explained Chloe's massive lapse and prior poor performance.

Belle studied Chloe's resume, spinning her laptop towards him. "Her pedigree is excellent. An assistant in New Product Development for Le Chartres. She interviewed well. Moira interviewed her with me." She often used Ben's assistant in interviews. Astute, she understood Ben's needs. "Our notes say Chloe exhibited substantial confidence."

"Nobody tested her scientific knowledge?"

"It doesn't seem so. She spent four years at Le Chartres."

He'd have expected exemplary skills. Le Chartres was a storied cosmetics company with French heritage.

Belle frowned. "Missing Nail Air's critical breakthrough is fundamental. I presume you've spanked her."

He shook his head. "She was defensive. It didn't seem appropriate."

"She needs a sound caning."

He smiled. "I wanted to. Believe me. She wouldn't have accepted it. I'm sure."

"Silly girl."

"You know I wouldn't hesitate."

Belle grinned. He'd caned her multiple times. It made her humble, very receptive. Spanking should benefit Chloe.

"I've tasked her with completing a one-page report summarizing the past two months."

"It's within her capability," Belle said. "If she fails, I'd thrash her."

At her desk, Chloe began reading old lab reports, their dry terminology and ingredient names making conclusions difficult to extract. In her heart, she knew her performance was inadequate. She'd deserved his tongue lashing. Her gorgeous desk in his bright outer office was the best she'd ever occupied. She spread her fingers on its surface, dispelling her doubts. She hadn't cried, but lamentable wasn't a positive description.

At twenty-two, she was under-qualified to assist Ben. She'd dug her polished fingernails into her career ladder, pulling herself upwards, feeding and clothing her younger brother. Forced into care when their parents had died, their family home destroyed by fire, they'd remained together. For a year, she'd protected him, leaving at eighteen, him under her wing. Brutal hours had kept them fed, housed, and her brother educated, passing frequent bureaucratic inspections. Four years younger, his loyalty rewarded her care.

Wracked by guilt, she felt herself aggravating her problem. She didn't understand her reading. Torn apart inside, she kept struggling to fix her unfixable situation. She loved product development. She hadn't lied to Ben. Le Chartres had kept her siloed in strategy and positioning, far from the science. Painting skin instead of nails was an obvious fail. Solving it, a brilliant success. She'd have enjoyed telling Ben.

Le Chartres had paid poor salaries, demanding long hours for their meager generosity. Hair Air paid substantial money, and she loved belonging. She'd purchased cute skirts, heels, and tops on credit, boosting her appearance to cover her missing skill set. Her new salary supported her step up. She wasn't confident she could keep it.

Ben finished his end-of-day meeting early. The financier had misled his PA, Moira, about his purpose, taking thirty pointless minutes to reveal his false pretenses. Known to reject investment in Hair Air, financiers tried dumb tricks to meet him, despite its utter futility. Remaining polite, he dismissed the arrogant guy, rejecting his manufactured acquisition suggestion, a mere pretext for their meeting. He'd seen the ploy before. Glancing towards Moira, he tilted his head.

Handling his surrounding team, Moira spread calm when chaos appeared. Beautiful, resourceful, and dedicated, she delivered everything Belle had promised him. The first time she'd mistaken his priorities, he'd explained her fault, his tone firm. Accomplished, despite her young age, mistakes disheartened her. Wracked by guilt, she'd grasped his grim solution, bending in her tight blue suit pants for his cane. Before he'd even thrashed her, she'd already thanked him for bothering. Despite her willingness, he hadn't shown her mercy, releasing six ruthless stingers across her lower bottom. Freed from guilt, she'd given critical analysis to her personal performance, asking better questions of him. Established, their painful corrective process protected their vital rapport.

She entered his office, her stunning bright blue cocktail dress revealing her need to leave soon. He told her the financier's true purpose, watching her expression drop.

"I'm sorry, Ben. He's a friend of William at Score National Bank."

He nodded. The bank provided treasury services for Hair Air in some regions. "William played you or got played himself."

Moira swept her brunette hair over her shoulder, preparing herself. The persuasive guy had broken through Ben's last line of defense. Her. She'd failed him. She'd leave his office, sore and humble. It beat festering self-doubt. God, the cane hurt, but she needed it. Professional failure didn't linger at Hair Air.

Gesturing towards her dress, he said, "Going somewhere nice?"

"I'm meeting my girlfriend downtown. An upscale birthday party."

Her rational acceptance of fair discipline nudged him towards leniency. "Would you prefer I deal with you tomorrow?"

"You wouldn't permit others such generosity."

He nodded. "True."

"I don't deserve favors." Discovering his cane's swift ability to repair their relationship, she'd sworn by severe consequences. Her girlfriend also approved, caressing her painful welts, demanding details of her punishments. "I deserve to hurt tonight. It's fair punishment."

Ben reached for his cane, admiring her willingness. They'd discussed her first caning the next day. She'd admitted it had teased out her guilt, leaving her sore, considerate, courteous, and calm. "Bend over my desk, Moira."

She appreciated his firm command. It provided no wriggle room. She must humble herself, accept her pain, and show him she cared about her mistake. After her first caning, he'd ordered her pants down or skirt up. It added phenomenal shame. Her girlfriend loved this extra humiliation heaped upon her. Removing clothing eliminated the last vestige of choice. Knowing he intended to beat her, she cooperated, helping him maximize her hurt.

Facing his desk, she stepped from her silver heeled sandals, a three-inch drop. Her short, flirty, chiffon A-line dress billowed in the rising air. Peering over her pleated bodice, she watched its floating hem settle. In front of her boss, its built-in bra presented a problem. Gathering her hem, she pulled her skirt up. Raising it onto her back, she bent forward over his desk, spreading her arms for support. She'd paid insufficient attention to the financier. Flaming stripes would crucify her tender bottom. Her friends wouldn't notice her physical punishment, or detect any silly self-doubt.

Moving behind her, Ben said, "Cute panties, if unexpected."

Her bright blush outshone her glossy blue dress. She'd forgotten her private punishment. White cotton high briefs patterned in pretty daisies stretched across her exposed bottom, their bright yellow waistband screaming immaturity. A cute bear on her butt confirmed their girlishness, its smaller replica adorning her left hip. Unsuitable underwear for a beautiful young woman, she shared the immature panties with her girlfriend. Sentenced by her girlfriend to their private punishment, the shameful panties rebuked her wretched behavior. Unseen beneath her sexy cocktail dress, their monstrous inappropriateness delivered heavy humiliation.

"My girlfriend is punishing me. I must wear these until bedtime tonight, denying me sexiness. I'll stand beside her tonight, punished by my panties in private, showing her my best self in public."

"May I ask what you did?"

His polite question worsened her humiliation. Her girlfriend would approve. "I swore at her during a minor argument, escalating it. It was pure rudeness, uncalled for."

"Are you pleased she's punishing you?"

Nodding unseen, she said, "She knew they'd humiliate me, but sentenced me, regardless. I'm grateful. I needed it."

He hardened his tone. "It doesn't excuse the caning I must give you,"

"No, sir." Pride strengthened her core. She relied on his tough lessons to straighten out her mistakes.

He laid the cane across her bear's head. "You should have detected that guy's false intent."

His scolding sliced into her needy guilt, dicing it. She pressed her arms deeper into his desk, straightening her long bare legs.

He watched her small shifts, admiring her integrity. Raising the cane, he slashed it into her cute panties.

Her head flew up, twisting to contain her instant distress. Fiery agony stung wicked pain deep into her backside, her significant panties providing paltry protection. She clenched her fists. Hurt spread higher, intensifying its cruel message. The mean rattan rod fired its vicious sting in precise lines, fire licking along their evil length. Slight doubts had emerged. She hadn't followed them. She deserved her punishment. The cane praised her acceptance, inflicting brutal heat. Generous rattan cracked against her taut cotton, ringing through her conscience. Courage stiffened her spine. She'd wasted his time, his most important asset.  

"Regretting your inattentiveness, Moira?"

Forced to respond, fundamental humility emerged. "I'm sorry, sir. I had doubts and didn't follow them."

"Remember your doubts," he said. "Last four."

His scolding soothed her fiery agony. Respect prevented tears, keeping her makeup perfect. Her boss was beating her for laziness. There was nothing to cry about. An adult, twelve strokes was their minimum. He wasn't giving her more. It was generous. Kind, even. Four last lines seared her lower cheeks, leaving burning fury in their wake. The cane stopped. She remained bent, his forgiveness lacing itself between her brutal stripes.

"It's over. You may stand."

Her dress fell, covering her embarrassing panties. Smoothing it over her stinging cheeks, she slipped on her heels. Rising under his gaze, she said, "Thank you for punishing me, Ben. Sorry I let you down." She didn't struggle for words. Her punishment would continue for several days, lessening, delivering its full lesson.

He pulled her close, giving her a brief hug. "I forgive you."

His gentle kindness strengthened her commitment. He hadn't patted her head and accepted a few apologetic words. He'd bent her over and beaten her hard. Violent fury had expunged her guilt, correcting their joint course. Taking her leave, she strutted towards her desk, collecting her silver clutch. Spinning, her dress rose, drawing attention to her long bare legs. Feeling beautiful, she flung him a simple smile.

Heading downtown, her taxi seat offered no relief. She checked her makeup. Flawless. Straightening in her seat, her incongruous panties stretched their tight elastic across her sweet welts. She winced, turning to avoid revealing her pain in the driver's mirror. She exited the taxi before the restaurant's stone steps. Prancing towards her, glorious white proclaimed her girlfriend. Receiving a phenomenal kiss, she softened into her lover, whispering, "Ben caned me."

"The restroom is inside, and left."

Striding towards their urgent destination beside her beautiful lover, her punishing panties humbled her. They slid into an unoccupied stall, slamming the heavy wooden door. Upscale restaurants had magnificent restrooms. Her lover leaned on the solid dividing wall, pulling her in. Generous fingers slipped beneath her dress, sliding up her bare leg. Reaching her welts, they traced her sweet torment. She winced into their kiss. Groaning, her girlfriend squeezed her butt, hard. Agony flared. Perilous pleasure blasted into her starved sex. Pressing her entire body against her girlfriend, she deepened their kiss, approving her savagery.

Her girlfriend's soft palm caressed her generous cotton, acknowledging her humble obedience. Her heart melted.

Breaking their kiss, her girlfriend asked, "Feeling the effect?"

Sincerity dampened her demeaning panties. She whispered, "Thank you. I'm sorry. Very sorry."

Her girlfriend removed her hand. "Good. Arrogance is impossible in little-girl panties. Did Ben like them?"

Her sex inflamed by her girlfriend's rebuke, Moira broke free. Smirking, she said, "You'll find out at home."