« Spanking Stories

Chloe ran away from her apartment. Pacing along the riverside path, her long bare legs sliced through the night air, street lighting illuminating her paved route. Loose-fit teal running shorts gripped her waist, Gymshark branding shaded into their high waistband. Stretch fabric side panels offered comfortable slits, spreading pleasant vulnerability around their curved hem. Her ruched pale pink sports bra gave gentle support, presenting a flattering scrunch.

Across the river, city lights sparkled. Behind her stood Clark Avenue Tower, desirable sky-high apartments for rising professionals. Finished four years ago, the developer had offered limited rent-stabilized apartments, a legal requirement. Stuck in care, she'd already scraped together enough courage and conviction to snare her product development assistant role with Le Chartres. Her ultra low starting salary had qualified her for an affordable housing lottery. Its only advantage. She'd submitted her pay records and tax returns online without telling her brother.

Leaving social care had proved essential to her future. She'd discovered her younger brother needed stability after losing their parents. Called by the housing lottery, she'd declined a viewing. She wouldn't dream if she couldn't attain Clark Avenue Tower. The lady had corrected her. They'd approved her application. She needed to choose her apartment. In secrecy, driven from disbelief, she'd visited. Sunset from the twenty-seventh floor had brought fundamental tears. Returning to their care home, she'd extracted her brother, spent precious saving on basic furniture and moved them into Clark Avenue Tower.

Clark Ave was hers while she paid her rent. Below the market rate, her fixed rent had afforded her limited disposable income. The building's desirable amenities were beyond their budget. Her brother didn't desire the luxury gym, stylish clubroom, opulent cinema or games zone. During recent heat, his hungry eyes had devoured the rooftop pool. Despite her substantial Hair Air salary, she hadn't relaxed her restrictions, aware she was flailing. Too proud to admit her dilemma, she'd battled onward. Ben wasn't firing her, but their professional relationship didn't yet feel solid enough to risk pool club membership.

Her twenty-eight minute metro commute under the river had helped her career progress. Hair Air represented definite success. This afternoon, between emailing focus group companies, outlining their needs, her thoughts had drifted to her lunch conversation. Belle, Jenna, Moira and Sasha had orchestrated their lunch. No doubt. She felt grateful. Included.

Bare legs cutting through the evening air, she imagined feeling a fresh sting beneath her thin shorts. Her pale pink string panties wouldn't irritate any soreness. They'd leave her shorts shifting over her spanked skin. She stretched her pace, accommodating her imagined discomfort. Her lunch companions considered her guilty of deceit. She agreed. She deserved punishment. Its nature was in question.

She ran harder, punishing herself for her foolishness. Her path ended in a reliable enclave. Enclosed in trees, she sat alone on the mowed grass, regaining her breath. Distant city lights twinkled, celebrating her rise through its ranks.

She imagined her mom's advice. 'Face your mistake'. She wished her mom had spanked her, so she understood its feelings. Visualizing herself bent over her mom's knee, in total surrender, she felt hope, kindness, and caring, alongside obvious embarrassment. Developing her vision, she pictured herself bereft of protection, skimpy string panties gifting her nothing. Washed in profound humility, she praised her obedience. Unable to imagine the sting, she couldn't continue her mental journey.

Standing, she wandered towards her rock. The giant boulder, shielded by trees, provided a higher view along the path she'd run. Scrambling up its uneven surface, she sat atop of her private thinking spot in the half light. Bearing total responsibility for her brother, she often solved her problems here.

Wrapping her arms around her knees, she measured reality, picturing her butt bent over Ben's vast desk. Imagining his enormous tennis shoe slamming into her bent bottom, she shivered. His muscular arm gripping that punitive shoe flooded her vision. Refusing to reject it, she played out her situation. He hadn't guaranteed her skirt. He hadn't said. She wore strings beneath her skirts. Forced to raise her black, stretchy skirt, she'd get her spanking bare. Shudders trembled down her spine, delivering unexpected electricity into her uncontrolled sex. Gentle throbs granted her unexpected pleasure.

She studied her odd reaction. Was her sex proud of her for submitting? Wrapping her arms tighter around her knees, she kept her pleasure contained, permitting its growth. She pictured her black, stretchy miniskirt. It didn't follow the classic fingertip rule. Far from three inches below her fingers, hers skimmed her fingertips. Hair Air didn't believe in stuffy dress-code rules. Her hemline skimmed her upper thighs, stretching her legs. Heels and blouses upped her professional appearance. Confident clothing had covered her workplace confusion.

Her sex remained fixated on her office attire, dragging her before her boss. The tremendous emotional release of utter surrender was unimaginable. Since seventeen, she'd led. She'd struck out upon her own course, without support, towing her brother behind her. Unwilling to date while her brother was younger, she'd kept herself comfortable, her imagination fertile. As he'd grown up, she'd stayed overnight with occasional boyfriends. She didn't bring men home.

She credited her mom for her sexual confidence. Discussing sex had demystified it. They'd always discussed relationships, neither knowing it would prove crucial. Her mom had taught her to pleasure herself, encouraging her sexual confidence. She hoped her mom was proud of the young woman she'd become.

Promised relief from her guilt, her potent sex flung her across Ben's magnificent desk. Losing all control, palpable relief flooded her. She admitted one solid fact. She deserved punishment. Steadying the thought, she held it, massaging it, circling it, accepting it. Loosening her tight arms, her knees fell apart. Cupping her sex through her thin nylon shorts, her warm hand multiplied her desire. Closing her knees, she locked her hand tight over herself. Opposing her obvious mistake, punishment's presence balanced her, spreading common sense into her guilt quest.

Visualizing his supreme authority, the tennis shoe grew in his grip. Wielded with phenomenal force, it slammed definite punishment into her skirt. Her sex throbbed hard. Shaken by her undeniable reaction, she kept her knees wrapped in one arm, her hand tight over her sizzling sex. She shouldn't enjoy this. It was crazy. She recalled Ben's tough expression, promising to impose punishment. Her conscientious sex stole her vision. She glanced around her. Sparse trees provided dubious privacy. Darkness aided her seclusion. She released her knees, sliding her fingers into her shorts, beneath her pale pink panties, onto her pronounced clit.

Knees splayed, she circled herself. Rampant need pulsed wet heat. She pictured herself complying, stepping towards his desk. Unsure if her skirt was appropriate, her sex decided. She raised the tight, stretchy fabric to her waist, presenting her bare cheeks bisected by her black string panties. On her rock, warmth seeped through her thin nylon. She accepted being stripped by Ben, celebrating his unequivocal control of her.

Obeying him, she bent over his desk, shame swamping her. Her passion praised his purpose. Sweet humility overtook responsibility. Honesty flooded her sex. Panting as she pleasured herself, his tennis shoe smacked her bare skin. She imagined a tortuous sting, worse than burning herself. Essential to her correction, hurt flourished. Damp heat flooded her sex. Flinging back her head, her long blonde hair touched her rock. Outrageous pleasure built in her panties. His punishment layered pain onto her bare bottom, honoring her obedience. Completing her desperate struggle, she watched herself rise on his orders, straightening her skirt. Guilt dispersed. Embarrassment fled, replaced by utter honesty between them. Forced to bend to his will, she'd cooperated. Pain delivered, their air had cleared. Humbled by her overt submission, she thanked him. It felt wonderful. On her rock, her sex soared on her personal honesty. Thrusting its determination beyond her control, it burst glory over her vision, smothering it in undeniable success. Pleasure waves cascading through her core, she rode her euphoria to stunning relaxation.

Withdrawing her hand, she leaned on her elbows, surveying the glittering city horizon, letting her afternoon learning settle over her. Her fresh friends hadn't brought up feeling sexy about their punishments. They wouldn't. Sasha had commented on straight, sexy legs. She replayed their sudden amusement after Sasha's comment. Maybe nobody mentioned their shared sensations. Perhaps only she found it sexy. Ben had challenged her to suggest other punishments. She'd failed. She still failed. Nothing compared to his suggestion. Everyone had agreed. Guilty as charged, she should have humbled herself. Serenity flooded her sex, declaring its healthy agreement.

She slid from her rock, bouncing onto her sneaker-clad feet. Building to a comfortable pace, she headed towards home, pondering Ben. He'd surprised her. A sensible girl, she'd recoiled. As he'd predicted, her slow dissipation of regret was harming her performance. She couldn't swan into his office, declaring her change of heart. She'd crumble. Their discussion needed his strength. Her lunch partners had praised his fairness. Softening her pace, she bought herself contemplation time. Emailing him created digital records she didn't desire. Phoning him wasn't better. Old school communication held distinct benefits over their modern world. Picking up her pace, she smiled. Perfect. She'd write him a discreet note.

Reaching home, her twenty-seventh floor view infused happiness, her empty mind adding beautiful simplicity. Stripping in the bathroom, she showered, her decision final. Four girls knew her present predicament. Failing to act would earn their disdain. She couldn't bear the thought.

Toweling herself dry, she padded into her bedroom. Unwrapping her towel, she studied her bare bottom in her tall mirror. She'd have obvious red marks designed to hurt her, applied for the precise purpose. She hadn't moved past her stupid failure. Ben had warned she wouldn't. Rejecting his sensible suggestion warranted worse punishment. The supportive atmosphere of lunchtime rekindled her self-respect. She needed punishing, hard.

Sitting at her small bedroom desk, suburban lights spreading below her, she wrote a simple note. 'You were right. Please suggest it again. Chloe.' In foreign hands, it would mean nothing. She prayed Ben would understand her secret meaning. Folding it into a neat white envelope, she sealed her fate.

Next morning, she picked the early train, arriving before any senior crew members. Entering Ben's office, she positioned her envelope square on his desk, returning to hers. Moira arrived next.

Approaching, Moira said, "I hope we didn't embarrass you at lunch yesterday."

Desperate to hide her unsettled status, Chloe shrugged. "It seems we shared plenty of embarrassment between us."

Moira smiled. "I like your attitude."

Her courage boosted, Chloe grinned.

Moira tidied Ben's desk. The prominent envelope didn't surprise her, it thrilled her. Yesterday, they'd put themselves on the line for Chloe. Handwriting aside, she'd half expected it. Discreet, resourceful, and intelligent, Chloe's neat envelope justified her place among them. Leaving it untouched, she returned to her desk, maintaining her discretion.

Chloe's morning burst into activity. Two focus group providers phoned her, keen for her business. She negotiated pricing, scheduling, group sizes and composition. Both companies pleased her. She hired both to reduce natural bias in their group selection approach. She called the lab leader, seeking availability of sample colors. He suggested this month.

Before lunch, Moira approached her. "Ben wishes to see you at 6pm."

She blushed. Caught in her progress, she'd forgotten her plan. The PA's whispered tone conveyed clear understanding. Pretending their conversation hadn't just condemned her bottom to immeasurable pain, she said, "Thanks."

During the afternoon, she questioned her strange underwear choice. Unsure if he'd choose today, she'd kept her integrity. Had Ben spanked her when he'd suggested, he'd have discovered black string panties beneath her matching, stretchy miniskirt. Maybe he wouldn't make her raise her skirt. Regardless, she'd committed to the fierce honesty she'd felt on her rock. If she didn't deserve her skirt, she didn't deserve false coverage. This morning, she'd replaced her lenient bikini panties in her drawer, slipping on her usual string instead. Undeserved modesty mustn't corrupt her capitulation. She must bend before him, and if required, bare her bottom.

Observing the office floor become empty, she focused on her laptop screen. As 6pm approached, she rose, checking no crew members remained. Entering Ben's office, she smiled, unable to muster a confident greeting. He didn't make her.

He pointed towards the carpet before his desk. "Chloe, stand there."

She'd got herself here, exhausting her bravery. His stern command spread appreciation through her. She'd needed him to seize control. Stood before him, she held herself still, honoring his strictness. Gratitude renewing her strength, her courage began rebuilding.

Closing his laptop, he stood. Pacing towards his window in thought, he returned, facing her. "Chloe, you and I must revisit your recent reticence."

"Yes, sir." Words spilled without thought. Formal submission felt fantastic. It beat her shameless retreat.

"Has your guilt grown?"

She nodded. It felt weak. Clawing for her courage, she said, "Yes, sir." Her voice sounded solid. It flooded pride into her. She met his gaze. Its intensity gripped her. She didn't wilt.

"Hiding secrets from me is unacceptable, Chloe. Your disgraceful behavior has serious consequences."

Thrust deep into her core, his harsh criticism seized her. Her friends had promised her a stiff dressing down. Firing deep into her humble conscience, it settled their situation, leaving her no escape. "I'm sorry, sir. I deserve my punishment."

He hid the smile he felt. Conviction radiated from her, carrying profound regret sheathed in genuine contrition. Reading her note, he'd hoped she'd meant her simple words. He'd asked Moira's advice. She'd said, 'Trust her, Ben'. Her enigmatic smile had suggested understanding beyond his need. Minimal words from Moira meant massive support. He opened his high cupboard, removing the unused white tennis shoe. Placing it on his desk, he allowed its presence to threaten her.

She faced her fate, welcoming its clarity. The clean canvas upper hid the enormous white rubber sole below. She wouldn't try to run. She needed his stiff sanction. The shoe took on a veneer of miserable kindness, offering reliable support at a painful price, one she'd chosen to pay.

He said, "Chloe, I propose to spank you."

His familiar words landed her in the same spot she'd stood before. Respect demanded she respond differently. She didn't step back, nor hesitate. His stern tone drew her response from deep within, coating it with unmistakable shyness. "Thank you, sir. I'm sorry I need it."

He nodded, grabbing the huge tennis shoe, coming around his desk.

Watching him, she embraced her descent into ignominy. She needed her shame delivered.

He admired her exquisite black miniskirt. Stretched tight over her prominent buttocks, it celebrated their curvature, promoting her slender bare legs below. He'd planned to spank her over her skirt, minimizing her embarrassment. Two days later, her humility deserved full recognition. "Chloe, I'd intended to spank you over your skirt. A generous introduction to practical punishment. But you disrespected my offer. Raise your skirt."

Despite preparing herself, monstrous shock shuddered through her, trailing tender trembles in its wake. She twisted towards him.