« Spanking Stories

Belle flopped on her couch. Her fourth floor penthouse didn't provide an elevator. The stairs hadn't exhausted her. She had. Three full days of constant contemplation. She feared her flogging. Unlike Brandon, she knew it was imminent. He'd messaged her earlier, announcing their flogger's arrival. Tonight, they'd mark the event by marking her.

Hearing Brandon on the phone, she stretched her lithe legs onto their cushioned stool, studying her stone-washed black jeans. Her moment had arrived. She couldn't escape her obligation. She'd lied by omission and cheated in her mind. Letting Brandon imagine she had no spanking experience would compound her lies beyond recovery. She'd known her confession must come. Her insincerity would hurt him. She must throw herself on his mercy. Reality would suck. She prayed he'd bring to bear painful consequences. Only her truest agony deserved his forgiveness.

Before her boss, she'd bent, her bottom bared by her underwear choice. Her boyfriend deserved no less. An avid wearer of strings rough denim against her bare bottom kept her aware of her sexiness. Sexiness which had driven her astray. She deserved hard justice. No mitigation of her pain, humiliation, or suffering. She prayed reality would strike down her private deviance, earn his sincere forgiveness, and grow their intimacy.

Brandon appeared carrying a white cardboard box. She smiled. It took effort. She didn't deserve to smile. Sitting beside her, he placed their package between them.

"Nice day?"

She said, "Nothing special." Another lie. She'd functioned on autopilot, rephrasing her confession, recognizing crucial points she must make clear.

"Perhaps you should open our present," he said.

Her throat constricted. "They're yours," she said. Her voice still worked. Adopting a kinder tone, she said, "You'll use them."

He ripped the tape, lifting the sides. In pink tissue paper rested two chocolate leather floggers. He removed the first, stroking its long, wide bison lashes. Silver weaved into chocolate along its handle, differentiating it from the other. He lifted the second. Its weight proved its label. The bull-hide flogger's tails offered less softness. Thinner, they gave greater sting. Yellow leather weaved its warning into the beautiful chocolate handle. He passed her the kinder bison flogger.

Bunching its tails, she counted twenty. Softness spread into her fingers, decrying their collective purpose. Designed to sting, each soft leather strand felt tender.

"It's garment weight leather," he said, watching her.

Weighing it on her fingers, she imagined it may prove kinder than she'd feared.

He handed her the Bull-hide flogger. Heaviness proved its yellow woven handle's warning.

She caressed its thinner, temper-filled tails. Carrying anger, they promised brutal impressions on her soft skin. Shudders shot down her body. Fear crossed into need. This flogger would teach her. She needed teaching. She draped their floggers on the couch arm, letting their threatening presence bolster her wavering courage. Her slew of crimes couldn't entice his forgiveness. She must earn it. Lifting both lashes, she turned, presenting them to him. "I love you, Brandon. I'm very sorry, I need to confess something. You'll want to whip me."

Hardening his tone, he demanded, "An affair?"

"No," she shrieked. Unable to slow, she couldn't risk losing her flow. "But I've deceived you. I've always found hard spankings attractive. Something deep in my psyche suits being forced to comply. Its correctiveness is cleansing."

He hardened his expression. Her phrasing suggested recent experience.

She didn't delay. "One night ages ago, Ben caned Kate in his office, jeans down. I'd visited the restroom. They thought they were alone. I hid in my office, watching them. Brandon, I masturbated while he thrashed her. I heard her humble cries, stealing intense pleasure from her misery."

"Very inappropriate," he said.

His scolding sliced into her. She wrapped her conscience in it. Nodding her agreement, she continued, "Later, when Jenna disappointed Ben, I suggested she ask him to punish her. He did. However, it raised the obvious question of how I knew to suggest it. He confronted me. I had to confess I'd seen him deal with Kate."

"He didn't fire you?"

"Brandon, he caned me. He offered me a choice; leaving or getting caned. That evening, with Kate watching, he bent me over his desk. They made me strip to my underwear. In my string, I got it bare. Full force cane strokes. True punishment. Pure, native agony. The experience humbled me. I apologized to him and Kate, thanking him for caning me. I deserved it, Brandon. They were fair."

"I'm not pleased," he said. "With him or you. But your punishment fitted the crime."

"I'm very sorry I've kept this secret. Getting dealt with turns me on. I'm embarrassed by it. Cooperating deepens my submission. Afterwards, it's an insane turn on, feeling sore and stimulated."

"You kept your marks hidden."

"Pajamas."

"Ahh, hence your love of them."

She nodded, adding another deceit to her deserving repertoire. "I respect Ben's decision to cane me. I want you to approve, too. It has become routine among senior crew. Crisp, simple fault correction." She studied his expression. His eyes bored into her, delivering deep criticism. Four full seconds extended. Hope evaporating, his first slow nod appeared. Her heart stilled. She dared her hope to risk rising. More nods followed.

"I'm reluctant, but I can't fault his solution. Your comfort with it is clear. Does he realize it excites you?"

She nodded. "He learned. He caned me again. I requested it. This is worse."

His eyebrows rose.

She didn't dare collapse under his gaze. She didn't deserve tears. "The day he promoted me to Chief Crew Officer. During sex with you the evening before, I imagined getting an unsatisfactory performance review and receiving stringent punishment." She dropped her gaze to her jeans. They offered no relief. "It was unforgivable." Her voice cracked. "I obsessed over getting thrashed while you fucked me."

"Who was punishing you?" he demanded.

"Anyone. You. Someone harsh. It didn't matter. I deserved it. During my review, Ben asked how he could help me. My conscience answered for me. I blurted out 'you could punish me'."

"I presume he did?"

She nodded. "My betrayal had kept me awake. Telling him humiliated me. He caned me, touching my toes, bare in my string. Twelve brutal strokes for my disgusting deceit. I needed them. You gripped my caned butt in bed, delivering dreadful pain I deserved. You turned me on so hard, I almost confessed. I just couldn't tell you."

"Deceit doesn't suit you, Belle. You've crossed many lines."

Crumbling beneath his crushing denunciation, she struggled to surface some semblance of courage.

"You need flogging, Belle." He returned the bison flogger to its pink cushioned lair. She hadn't earned his sympathy. "You cheated in your mind, kept secrets, and sought pleasure elsewhere. I accept pleasure wasn't your purpose, but I will hurt you, Belle."

"Please," she pleaded. "Just don't leave me."

"I'm not leaving you, babe. I'm angry with you."

"Use your anger. Be cruel. The cruelest. Don't forgive me until I deserve it." She met his gaze. "I'm sorry I kept secrets. I admire strict leadership, welcome its hard enforcement, and love obeying. Flog me. Demand my obedience. Also, sometimes do it on a whim. Make me suffer just for your pleasure."

Rising, he pulled a wooden dining chair from their table, untying its cream seat cushion. Carrying the sturdy chair into the center of their worn wooden floor, he set it alone. He'd imagined using it while reading flogging advice. A firm surface would support his kneeling girl. Something Lord Culverton had already known. Collecting the bull-hide flogger, twenty inches of bitter leather hung from the chocolate and yellow woven handle, fibrous tails packing savage temper.

She watched his determined male movements. His black suit pants screamed his authority over her worn jeans. Respect plummeted deep, exploding in her stomach. He was about to beat her. Everything she'd craved. Everything she deserved. She'd strive beyond herself to maintain her dignity, honoring him. It wouldn't prove easy. Her unthinkable sins transcended simple caricatures.

Flinging his hard gaze onto her, he ordered, "Come here, Belle."

His sternness drove instant compliance. Riding above her worn jeans, her fitted black blouse emphasized her pert breasts. The casual combo served up smartness or comfort, satisfying everyone. His firm left hand clamped onto her shoulder, holding her still. Commanding fingers traversed her blouse buttons, undoing each. Her stomach lurched.

Releasing her, he said, "Take it off."

She obeyed, revealing her black lace-edged bralette.

His strict fingers shoved its slim straps from her shoulders. "This too."

She rejoiced in his inflexibility, sliding it over her head, discarding it beside her fallen blouse.

"Lose your jeans," he commanded.

Four metal buttons released her tight denim. She shimmied them down, showing her black cotton string panties decorated in tiny white and pink moons, stitched into a slim pink lace waistband. Its tiny rear triangle exposed her bare butt cheeks, accentuating her surrender.

Lowering her arms beside her, she stood bare-breasted before him, her skimpy string her only modesty.

Reaching for the thick seat cushion he'd discarded on the dining table, he flung it before the chair. "Kneel, Belle."

Driven to her knees, stunning gratitude swamped her. She didn't deserve the comfortable cushion. Facing the heavy chair seat, her back straight, she drowned in humility.

Shifting into her view, he said, "I must flog you, Belle. It's your deepest duty to respect my decision and take your punishment. You'll experience atrocious agony. You deserve it. Show dignity."

Commitment flooded her core. Her boyfriend had spoken. His status conferred rights. Rights to honesty, respect, love, and the right to punish her. She gave her heart to him, desperate to find herself worthy. Their only route forward must hurt.

"Lean on the seat," he commanded.

Retreat long gone, she bent from her hips. Lowering her arms onto the solid wood, she folded them, creating a platform for her humble head. Sinking her head, she surrendered, stretching her bare back straight, exposing her bottom. A perfect canvas for him to paint in purifying pain. Offering herself unimpeded, dignity burst deep within. Tiny tears blossomed, honoring his toughness. Pity wasn't hers. Pain was. He disappeared from her view. Light leather strands settled high on her bare back, warning where she'd hurt first.

He said, "You've lost the luxury of leniency, Belle. No matter how much it hurts, accept your pain."

His strict tone chased down her spine, quivering hot fear through her core. Blazing fire struck. Twenty individual brands burst in perfect symmetry, lighting her bare back ablaze. She breathed in wicked flames, begging their mercy. Twenty more denied her request. Vicious sting burst in orchestrated harmony. She gritted her teeth, measuring their anger, deepening her courage. Lethal heat landed lower, leather caressing her skin into lawless agony. Repeating its cruelty, it doubled its intensity. She gasped. It changed nothing. The flogger lashed her guilty skin, its chocolate tails leaving a bitter sting in their determined path.

Humility kept her still. Unmovable beneath his anger, she honored him, celebrating his uncompromising cruelty. Indecent pleasure had driven her towards discipline. She'd welcomed its purity, needing its shame. Her boss had caned her. Rightful. Necessary. It didn't remove her shameless pleasure. Leather lit up her deceit. Blazes brooked no debate, giving her boyfriend's unequivocal opinion. He didn't decry her receiving official punishment. He expected honesty. She'd failed to deliver. Whipped afresh, her bare back screamed her shame. Nothing could move her from beneath his lash. She'd earned his anger. Brutal fire leaped across her shoulders, spreading its flaming wall down the length of her exposed back. Her untouched bottom amplified her burning back.

Brandon paused, studying his angry red landscape. He hadn't found it hard to hurt her. He hadn't held back. She didn't deserve generosity. Laying the lash just above her buttocks, he lifted it over his shoulder. Slamming it south, vicious bright red agony burst above her bottom. Despite her stillness, her panting and desperate head movements shouted her distress. The second she'd bent, knowing he'd flog her, she'd stolen his heart. He'd had to re-summon his anger. Painted across her beautiful back, it had dissipated. Her honor consumed him. Respect replaced his anger. Their relationship had changed the moment she'd bent. They would never retreat. Humility burst through her redness, honoring him.

"Secrets, Belle," he scolded.

Her voice rose from deep within. "I'm sorry, Brandon. I'm guilty. Beat me harder. Don't forgive me until I deserve it."

His heart hurt. Her utter submission screamed the truth. Fulfilling his duty, he raised the flogger. He stuck her shoulders, landing furious fires along her already inflamed back, adding intensity to every inch until the leather lay still above her beautiful bare butt.

Panting beneath his concerted symphony, she wallowed in her tremendous agony. He'd shown her no mercy. Forest fires raged the length of her exposed back, driving painful punishment deep into her sorry skin. Her spirit soared. Only her hidden need had marred their relationship. Now nothing superceded her need for him. The leather flung fury into her tender back, gifting her absolution buried in utter agony. Her heart cried for him. The flogger rested above her bottom, settling into her fervent sting.

"I forgive you, Belle."

His powerful baritone resonated through her, delivering the ultimate gift. Unrestrained by doubts, burdens, or fears, she rose to her knees, spinning on her cushion. Her gaze crossed his slim waist, climbing. Navigating his powerful torso, it landing on his tender expression. Reading forgiveness, trust, and undeniable love, her voice discovered infinite strength. Unknown, unplanned, and unreserved, she said, "Brandon, will you marry me?"

Brandon blinked. Given every picturesque location on earth, she'd chosen the absolute ultimate. On her knees, humble, whipped, and beyond beautiful, she'd ripped his heart from him. Tears welled. Blinking them back, he shouted, "Yes. I love you." Pulling her up, he swallowed her in his arms, stunned. Caressing her cheek, he tested his newest term. "Fiancé." Tasting its simplicity, he landed his lips on hers.

Devoured by his blazing lips, her fiery back screamed its satisfaction. Marriage, a distant concept, had slammed into her heart, refusing removal. Powerless to escape his consummate command, wonderful words had emerged. She flung her arms around his neck, jumping into his. Landing in safety, she wrapped her bare legs around him, pressing her captivated sex into his hard body.

Carried towards their bedroom, she nuzzled his neck. Sizzling in his mighty arms, her burning back praised him. Pressing her sudden grin into his neck, she whispered, "People will ask how I proposed."