« Spanking Stories

Belle stretched on her brown leather couch, wrapped in Brandon's powerful arms, watching tv. The rigors of handling Hair Air crew issues demanded hard downtime. She wasn't the Chief Crew Officer tonight, just Belle. High ceilings gave her upscale prewar building substantial proportions. Artistic, worn wooden floors stretched across her lounge, drapes drawn. Their giant flat-screen tv showed Culverton, a period drama, split into ten parts. Strategic speakers delivered crisp audio.

Culverton had seduced them, driving unbelievable audience figures. The 1800s drama led watchlists, further increasing its popularity. After her family's sudden death from deadly disease, young orphan Amy's plight had gripped the national consciousness. Rescued by Lord Culverton, waif Amy was coming of age in his formal house. Hard on his household, he kept tight command.

In tonight's episode, Amy had let loose her precocious nature. Drawing caricatures of Lord Culverton, she'd neglected her studies. Sent to her bedroom, the scene switched. Amy stared from her window in her heavy work dress. Behind her, his lordship placed a heavy wooden chair. Ordered to kneel, her arms on the chair seat, she lowered herself, obeying him. Her utter compliance conveyed unavoidable fear. Belle tensed. Lord Culverton's implicit firmness hardened her clit.

His lordship unbuttoned the back of Amy's heavy emerald green dress. She stayed still, her compliance unaltered by his actions. Shoving aside her dress, he removed it from her shoulders, baring her back. Belle's breathing stopped, her imagination pre-drawing the scene.

Picking up the leather whip he'd brought unseen, Lord Culverton approached her. Amy's sorrowful expression showed it wasn't her first lesson from him. He gave her pleading eyes short shrift, resting the inch-wide leather lash across her bare back. Belle locked her gaze on the screen, afraid to move.

Brutal lashes cracked through their lounge, landing unequivocal agony in their ears. Amy cried out. Fierce suffering stormed her face. A fresh red weal lanced across her chaste white skin. Her head resting on folded arms, she didn't stray from her assigned position. In corridors, servants paused, hearing Amy's flogging.

Lord Culverton lashed Amy again. Brandon shifted position, his manhood hardening. Amy's stunning humility stole his soul. He wanted to whip her harder, demand tougher obedience from her dutiful depths.

Belle's sex throbbed. Her clit demanded touching. The cruel leather struck Amy's bare back. Four full lashes left indisputable lines across her beautiful skin. Marked by his lordship, Belle's sex raged. She froze. Her senses screamed. She felt Brandon's hardness touch her bottom. Brief, she assumed she'd imagined it.

Brandon shuffled, separating their bodies. He must say something. Anything. Show he understood disciplining girls wasn't acceptable, despite his reaction. "Cruel," he said.

"She can take it," Belle said.

Brandon relaxed. "She deserved it, I suppose."

Reaching for the small silver remote, Belle paused the scene, Amy's tear-stained face evidencing her very sound spanking. "Do you think I do sometimes?" she asked. Her breath stilled. Silence overpowered the stopped soundtrack. Proposing her deepest desire aloud suspended her entire existence. Surging fear parted her lips, freeing her held breath to retract her foolish question.

Brandon pictured Belle kneeling, resting her head on her folded arms, a chair seat providing support, her back bared under his cruel lash. Satisfaction suffused him. "Sometimes."

Flames ripped through her sex, lighting fires she couldn't control. Her heart beat beyond her chest, pounding its delight. "Next time you feel I deserve it, beat me, Brandon. Like her, I can take it. Do it hard. Punish me."

"You're serious?"

She rolled, facing him. "I wouldn't mind feeling your dominance, being forced to obey you, knowing you must punish me."

"I guess some spanking wouldn't hurt you."

"It would, I hope. It should devastate me. Force me into line." Sliding her hand south, she stroked his slacks.

He groaned. "You enjoyed it too?"

"I wanted to be Amy."

"Was her whipping too much?"

She shook her head, still stroking his manhood through his pants. "If you love me, you'll hurt me."

He nodded. "You'd better not find yourself in a foul mood. I'll beat it out of you." His firm hand cupped her sex, thrusting male heat through her thin black leggings.

She smiled. "Don't be generous. Hold me to account. I promise to obey." His fingers slid beneath her waistband, slipping down her g-string. Landing on her lips, he spread her love juice, circling her clit. Moaning under his piercing gaze, she unbuckled his belt.

Withdrawing his hand, he undid his pants, shoving them down.

Tight navy shorts held his manhood, straining for her. She eased him free, stroking his undeniable strength. She wanted his substantial hardness in her fresh honesty. His brawny biceps slid her beneath him. Strong fingers ripped down her black leggings, taking her matching g-string too.

"You're going to whip me," she moaned, receiving him deep inside.

"Tough lashes. Proper punishment, Belle. Marks which sting."

Rumbling deep in her throat, her wildest need emerged. "Beat me, Brandon. Lay your leather on me. Teach me obedience."

Her words drew deeper thrusts. His unwavering commitment drove her against her control. Held in suspension, she pictured herself kneeling before a dining chair, back bared, accepting his decisive discipline. "I'll go to work, my bare back welted with your judgement."

"You'll carry my marks," he panted.

His manhood touched deep nerves. She screamed, "With pride." Uncontrolled orgasms blasted into her. His response came full-bore. Ramming her deepest parts, he exploded, celebrating her honesty. Her flood delivered delight down her legs. She settled under his weight, wallowing in her blissful release.

Tender fingers caressed her cheek. She softened into his gorgeous touch.

"You can change your mind."

Shaking her head, she said, "I can't." Seizing her unexpected opportunity, she'd conquered her greatest fear. Her deep-seated need had surfaced, amplified by his robust response. Offering quiet thanks to Amy, she admired the streaming service's gutsy original content. She'd renew their subscription.

When morning came, Brandon stayed home. Business consultancy didn't require his office presence. Eight weeks into his current project for a consumer bank, his team had moved beyond research. They were designing an attractive new credit card targeting young female clients. Their marketing message was still undefined. Perhaps it should center upon disciplined spending decisions. Tapping a quick note, he set aside his planning document.

Sitting on their brown leather couch, the drapes now wide, he opened a fresh browser window. Projects began with a question. He searched 'Whips'. Horse riding consumed his results. False starts plagued research. Reading descriptions below images, he noticed the verb flog used twice. Restarting his search, he typed 'Flogger.' His screen filled with pictures, many resembling Lord Culverton's fierce leather punishment tool. His pulse rose. Belle had stunned him last night.

Sent to her bedroom, he'd realized Amy was in trouble. Seeing her kneel, he'd understood she would receive a beating. He'd expected the scene to dissolve, leaving his imagination to deliver Amy's pain. The harsh crack had sliced through their lounge, redefining their relationship. Genuine floggers filling his screen, he focused on his research.

Meticulous exclusion brought him to an artisan website dedicated to floggers. He'd eliminated websites carrying huge product ranges. Expertise was required. He'd paused over paddles, aware they performed similar tasks. Belle had reacted to Amy's whipping. Stick to first principles.

Firmness felt natural. His brain had assumed Lord Culverton's role. Amy had needed beating. Her precociousness had overcome her respectfulness. He'd agreed with her severe sentence. Unable to express his approval, Belle's spirited defense of Lord Culverton had astonished him, giving him freedom to agree.

The obtuse website headline screamed 'Creating Bliss'. He smiled, recalling Amy's final tiny, tearful smile. Bliss was right. Bliss or Harmony. Experience had taught him not to oversimplify. Subtleties often defined entire businesses. Flogger weren't just leather. He must choose between American Bison, bull-hide, cowhide, deer, elk, moose or buffalo.

Making coffee for his deep dive into leather variations, he stared at his choice filled screen. Submissive women were beautiful. Belle had lit up, declaring her willingness to obey him. He hadn't demurred, his manhood proving him unable to lie. He'd sometimes treated her to his tough tone. Had she always needed whipping?

Skimming the surface of flogging knowledge, cowhide established a standard. Harder or softer floggers existed. Sting-thud combinations structured his decision framework. Sting felt crucial. However, Lord Culverton had delivered heavy cracks. His ears replayed Amy's vicious impacts.

Smooth and lustrous leathers promised blissful kindness, hardening his manhood. Bull-hide guaranteed an impression Belle wouldn't forget. Her words had left no doubt. She'd committed to bending before him, expecting severity. Dismissing his over excitement, he researched American Bison. Less intense than bull-hide, softer tail edges delivered less sting. He noted it on his emerging scale of measurable pain.

He'd imagined black leather. Offered color choice, he contemplated them. Red felt frivolous. Chocolate felt luxurious. It also matched their dark wood floors. He settled on a bull-hide flogger. Belle would deserve it, if not soon. Bison felt smart in case he'd over committed to her pain. Ordering both floggers, he printed his receipt. Three-day shipping didn't bother him. In bed this morning, she'd draped him in her soft curves, her beautiful body unworthy of whipping.

Belle arrived home. Disbelief had permeated her day, peppering her thoughts during meetings. Forced to focus, mere moments had passed before her glory had retaken control. Amy's courage has released hers. She'd told him. Their bodies hadn't lied. She placed her bag beneath their basic brown entrance table. On its surface lay a single sheet of paper. Two small pictures stole her breath. Both showed multi-tailed leather whips, their rich chocolate color unique. Theirs. In her home. Kicking off her shoes, she strutted into their lounge. Her firm boyfriend sat on their couch. She smiled. "Two?"

"One tough. It will cause you severe regret. The other, less fierce, but don't underestimate it. I've researched them." He'd read for hours, learning techniques. In his hand, their new floggers gifted him power. Power to deliver consistent command through painful guidance.

"I appreciate your efforts."

"They'll arrive in three days."

His words followed her into the kitchen, gifting her an approximate timetable. He'd warned her against foul moods, promising her pain. She would accept his punishment, but her mood wouldn't trigger it. She'd felt so close this morning, held in his arms, knowing those generous arms would soon hurt her. Necessary pain. Fair punishment.

Sliding her wok onto her cooktop, she grabbed vegetables from her fridge. While chopping mushrooms, her thoughts drifted. Absolution. Her route lay open to confess her sins and receive ultimate forgiveness. Correction had torn at her soul, demanding recognition.

Watching Kate's office caning had reawakened her crazy interest. Unable to ignore her learning, she'd ended up over Ben's desk. For invading their privacy, she'd deserved her caning, treasuring her genuine pain. Ben had thrashed her. No meagre token event. He'd left harsh marks scored across her bare bottom. Hidden beneath her pajama shorts, they'd remained her secret. She'd used her learning to guide their crew, advising Jenna and others to bend over Ben's desk. Bent where she'd sent others, she'd found sufficient suffering.

Not telling Brandon she'd received formal, dignified, official discipline had eaten into her conscience. He deserved her openness. Almost telling him didn't count. Approaching her performance review, she'd compounded her omission. Imagining her boss's discipline while in Brandon's bed was reprehensible. She'd bear Brandon's disappointment, accepting his hardest anger with ultimate humility. Hideous guilt had plagued her, despite Ben's ruthless caning during her review. Guilty of monstrous deceit, her bare back would pay. Every part of her body would submit, welcoming her boyfriend's private fury. She wouldn't limit her surrender.

Carrying steaming plates of stir-fry, she passed him. Placing them on the small dining table, she turned. His eyes traveled up her body. Warmth filled her. He desired her, despite learning she needed strict discipline.