The story begins here.
Derek Stevens watched as the twenty-something, fresh-faced Callie Rhodes gulped, her eyes widening as she watched his wife, Jenna, red-faced, tears streaming while being caned. He couldn’t see Jenna’s eyes because he was the one doing the caning, and was therefore deprived of the joys of seeing her face in the throes of her struggle with the pain. But he could observe Jenna’s client as she awaited her psychic advice from the “Spanked Psychic”. He could see how Callie’s sweet, dimpled face dealt with the absurdity of meeting with another person as that person was tied over a bench and being spanked. And then the waves of sympathy and empathy that caused Callie to grimace and bite her lip as if she were the one experiencing the caning, or was perhaps, next in line.
“Do you have a brother… Owww! … named Christopher?” Jenna asked, her voice tremulous with crying. Derek continued the steady swish-whack of the caning.
Callie nodded, “Yes… Well, I did. He died last year in Afghanistan.”
Jenna wore a short dress for these client sessions; one that presented a reputable business “front” and yet short enough to be pulled up over her hips as she was tied over the spanking block. Derek had worked out that with a bit stronger cane stroke and keeping up that steady pace of caning, he could still induce the psychic visions within Jenna and allow her to keep her underpants on for the sake of modesty.
“He… Ooohhh!… wants to give you a message. He says he… Ouch! … loves you very much and… Owww Owww! … look in the file box in the hall closet …. Mmmmph! … the one on the shelf you always had… Ow! … trouble reaching,” Jenna cry-spoke her visions, tears streaming down her the blushing cheeks of her face. She had learned quickly, not to wear makeup for these sessions.
“What does he want me to find there?” Callie asked. “Is it a good or bad thing? I need more detail.”
“Ouch!… He says that you’ll know when you see it,” Jenna replied.
The money Jenna was pulling in from her new business was quite good. She and Derek now had 6-year plan to retirement rather than a 20-year plan. But at times like this – at the end of a long afternoon of caning in front of clients, having her visions spanked out of her – she wondered if it was worth it. “Now”, she thought, “this bitch wants to ask a lot of follow-up questions. Gah!”
“Oh!” Callie said, “I know what he’s talking about. I looked for his rare coin collection for months after he died. Finally I gave up, and I had since forgotten… I can’t believe it! This is wonderful news… “
“Enough!” Jenna cried out, interrupting and startling Callie.
“Sorry,” Jenna continued. “It’s my safe word.” Derek had stopped the caning and left her strapped onto the spanking bench. He picked up a tube of lotion, rubbed it between his palms and began rubbing it over Jenna’s deeply red striped, and bruised bottom. She winced and frowned wishing she could rub her bottom. She would have been more gentle than Derek was being. He seemed to be treating her pain as if it were routine. Of course, it was.
Having given their client the information she wanted, received her Visa payment for the service, and closed down their work computers, Derek and Jenna relaxed on the sofa and put on some videos. She had put her hair up in a pony tail and wore a baby doll nightie as she lay across his lap. This was the time of day that after an afternoon of caning, she could have her bottom pampered instead of punished (although there was the occasional spank or twenty that Derek couldn’t help but give her).
“This seems like an obvious question,” Derek said. “Why don’t we use your powers to get rich? I mean… this is really not some moralistic TV show or movie where you have some kind of arbitrary restriction placed on you to keep you from taking advantage of your obvious advantage.”
“True,” Jenna said. “One problem though.”
“What’s that?”
“I need a person to concentrate on, not an inanimate thing, like an investment or a market,” she continued.
“Do you mean… What if you had a person to focus on? Someone rich? Someone who knew how to make money and you had them at your disposal?” Derek prodded.
“Well I suppose if that were the case… Wait. What are you thinking about?” Jenna asked and tried to push herself up from his lap.
He pushed her back down.
“Relax,” Derek said, “I’m just thinking out loud.”
Laura, having zombied her way through the week, was not looking forward to her next Saturday whipping. She had done a very good, professional job in making herself a very competent, happy zombie, but a zombie none-the-less. The whole time she was dealing with the fact that she had suffered a very painful spanking with a belt, and indeed had seven more coming unless she’d rather risk the jail time.
Greg had the inclination to treat Laura with an extra degree of kindness during the week, having some understanding of the amount of pain he’d put her through when he’d whipped her with his belt. He resisted this impulse, not wanting to draw attention to anything being different between them or to things being different in general within the office.
Wendel, a crushing coworker, had his crush on Laura deepened by something mysterious that had changed in her bearing. She now radiated some kind of romantic sadness that he couldn’t put his finger on. But it was irresistably sexy. There was an air about Laura now that made her less unapproachable and more desirable at the same time – but with a degree of the unattainable, because now the only thing Wendel could think of to do with her was to tie her down and fuck her until he was satisfied. This thought disturbed him to a degree, because he was used to idolizing her, but the fantasy was so delicious to him that he couldn’t bear pushing it out of his mind. He was now becoming obsessed with her, determined to understand whatever it is that happened to her.
Wendel found himself browsing for ropes and handcuffs for no reason…
Saturday came all too quickly for Laura and all too slowly for Greg. Part of him could hardly wait to get her tied over his desk again. He hoped her bruises had all faded so he’d have a fresh canvass. He thought about the word “canvass” and felt a strange kind of guilt in objectifying her like an art project. But it was true. He’d begun thinking of whipping her as a combination of performance art and visual art. Her hips would twist and gyrate. She would cry in that certain way she cried. And somehow it was all perfect; perfect, reasonable, and expected. He felt as if he were fulfilling some destiny by whipping her, but how could that be true?
Laura, in somewhat of a stupor, exited the cab and made her way into the building where she worked again, on Saturday. She signed in with the security guard desk and made her way to the elevator. Not caring anymore who though what, she wore a thigh-length skirt made of a soft, form-fitting cloth that would be easy to pull up over her hips. Underneath it she wore the prescribed french-cut panties. Laura had remembered the uncomfortable feeling of bending over the desk with her pants pulled down. It had felt awkward and undignified. Since she knew he’d semi-bare her bottom either way, she reasoned that it might as well be comfortable and at least project more of a classic spanked-woman look.
Stepping off the elevator and walking into the office suite, both Greg and Laura felt somewhat awkward. The initial respectiver outrage and contrition were both gone at this point, but it seemed somehow wrong to treat this as routine. Greg found himself wanting to hug her or to shake her hand, but neither really seemed appropriate. On the other hand it didn’t seem appropriate to act offended either.
Laura chose to shake his hand, putting her full effort into maintaining a professional demeanor. She then walked right into Greg’s office, hiked up her skirt and bent over the desk, supporting herself on her elbows and forearms. She felt like she just wanted to get on with it and get it over with.
Greg approached the desk and observed, with some degree of admiration, Laura’s bent-over form. She had quite a womanly set of hips and buttocks. Normally a woman who looked like she did would have inspired him to want to pull her panties down and fuck her. There was something about how he felt about her that made that feel wrong. It was almost like he felt paternal towards her. His inner voice told him he should be spanking or belting her, but not penetrating her in any way or playing with her at all in a sexual way.
Greg proceeded to tie her in place over the desk, securing her wrists out in front of her and her legs slightly apart and secured to the desk legs. He rolled up his sleeves and pulled off his heavy leather belt and took his position behind her, measuring the best distance for delivering the belt strokes. He then began whipping her evenly, steadily with that belt.
Contrary to her wishful thinking she had not somehow gotten used to being belted. It still hurt. It still made her want to spill tears almost immediately. It still made her feel sorry for herself as a naughty, punished girl, who could not escape her just desserts.
As he whipped her continually and severely with the belt, she recalled a moment of hesitation that he’d had before when she looked over her shoulder at him. So she tried this again, as a tactic this time. She looked over her shoulder with watery, squinting eyes, and pouted as she cried out.
Seeing this move as an obvious tactic, he began whipping her harder.
“No! No! No!” she exclaimed. “I’m not trying anything! Please don’t spank me harder. Please don’t…”
Greg wanted to spank her harder for many more strokes, but he prudently felt the need to mediate her bruising. With more than 100 strokes remaining to give her, he didn’t want to have to stop due to her need for medical attention. This was punishment, not torture.
He continued spanking her with the belt, lash after steady and reliable lash and listened to her cries turn into steady sobbing. Instinctively he felt that the way you knew you were punishing a woman is when you felt the surrender and desperation in her crying, but you chose to continue anyway, understanding that she can take it, despite what she might think. She won’t break because of a simple belt spanking. This simple truth was the key to true and effective punishment.
As before, he stopped after about 100 strokes to give her water and brush sweat from her forehead. This time he took the opportunity to rub lotion on the exposed skin of her bottom. Laura was grateful for the skin care but realized quickly that the moisture upped the ante in terms of stinging pain.
The renewed belting elicited a series of squeals from her. As each squeal followed a splat of leather against her backside, Greg was put in the mind of old world flogging. As he continued whipping her he wondered if those old judicial floggings were ever given to women on their bottoms rather than their backs. It seemed much more humane this way. Still a terrible punishment if he were using a cat-o-nine, but a woman’s bottom can take it.
Her cries became more throaty and more like grunting as she pounded the desk, determined to get through this with dignity. Ultimately, as the lashes neared 150, she stopped fighting and lay her head down and whimpered until it was over.
Greg wiped the tears from her flushed cheeks and stroked her hair as he loosened her wrist cuffs. Laura sucked the thumb of her left hand as she intermittently shuddered.
When she was free of her bonds he just held her silently allowing her to feel the comfort of his strength and peace. Something had definitely shifted, but neither of them knew why or how.
“What are you going to do to me?” Laura asked her manager and mentor, Greg.
He sat behind his desk, staring at his computer monitor shaking his head. There it was, as plain as could be, the code that Laura had written and embedded in the financial software to embezzle from the company.
He sighed, “You are brilliant, you know.”
Laura felt a lump in her throat and she looked through watery eyes. She definitely was not feeling brilliant at the moment, thinking about what life might be like in prison.
“You’re not really strong in the common sense department,” Greg said, “but you are undeniably brilliant. Your code forces the system to round down a random percentage of payments where it would normally round up to the nearest dollar. And it has the leftover change forwarded to your bank account. But it records both transactions under the same number, for the benefit of the error-checking routine.”
Laura and Greg both realized she had only gotten caught because of the parallel tests being run on a new check-cutting program. Greg had needed to work out why the number of transactions hadn’t equaled the number of transaction identifiers. On the other hand, Greg would be the only person to know about the scheme at this point.
He looked at Laura and said, “Of course I don’t want to call the cops. You’re one of my best programmers. My preference would be to deal with this just between the two of us.”
Laura felt her sense of dread lightening up somewhat. But what did he mean by ‘deal with this’, she wondered.
“But it’s going to be up to you,” he continued. “You’re not getting off scott free. So you’re either going to take your punishment from me or take your chances with the cops.”
Laura’s eyes widened as she asked, “What do you mean by me ‘taking my punishment’ from you? What would that mean exactly?”
“From me it would mean taking a spanking, more specifically a belting,” he said.
Laura’s jaw dropped. She almost laughed out of sheer nervousness and a wishful thought that he might be joking.
“From the looks of it, you’ve already taken in over $1200,” Greg said. “I want to give you a spank with my belt for each dollar you’ve accumulated.”
Laura grabbed the sides of her chair, unconsciously forcing herself deeper into her seat in an effort to protect her bottom. The last time she had been spanked was back in high school when she violated curfew, and driven home drunk. She had gotten spankings from both of her parents that night. Her mom had used a belt and her father had used his hand. Laura remembered how bad 100 or so strokes had hurt. She did not want to think about 1200.
“But…” she said, “That’s too many. I couldn’t take that. I’d end up in the hospital.”
“True,” Greg said, “I can’t afford to have you in the hospital. Besides, I do like you. I care about you, you know.” He avoided eye contact with her as he said this. “I think what I’ll need to do is split the punishment up.”
Laura’s head was swimming as she tried to absorb all that was happening here and how rapidly it was happening. Greg was doing this thing, risking his career and possible criminal charges, not just because she was one of his best programmers, but because he liked and cared for her. But at the same time, he was proposing to give her a hell of a whipping. ‘Why wouldn’t he just let me off if he cares so damn much?’ she asked herself.
Greg was now typing on his computer, pausing for brief intervals while he analyzed code. After a minute or so, he stopped and looked back up at Laura.
“One-thousand-two-hundred-eighty-seven,” he said. “That’s how much money you’ve pilfered so far.”
‘So far?’ she thought. ‘Did that mean he hadn’t deleted her sub-routine?’
“I could give you 160 licks with the belt, eight times…. and seven left over,” Greg said.
Laura swallowed hard, wide-eyed. “But… ” she said, “but… Okay… let’s talk about this. You don’t have to…”
“No, I don’t suppose I have to, but I want you to pay for your unethical and illegal behavior – not to mention putting me and my job at risk,” he said.
“I understand that,” Laura said. She paused a moment to think of something… anything that might dissuade him. “I’m just a girl. I can’t take that kind of pain. It sounds like torture.”
“Look, Laura,” Greg said. “Don’t panic. Let’s think about it for a moment. Whether it’s torture or not depends on how hard the lashes are, doesn’t it?”
Laura looked downward, nodding. She hoped he was thinking about giving her very light lashes.
“I’ll be able to tell by your reactions, whether it’s too hard. I’ve already told you I care about you. I just want you to learn a lesson,” he said. “You’ll come in here every Saturday, starting this Saturday, for eight weeks. I’ll bend you over my desk…” He thought for a moment. “The safest thing to do would be to tie you down so that only your butt gets hit. I wouldn’t want you trying to stand up in the middle of it, and accidentally get hit in the back or something. And, waiting a week between spankings will give any bruises time to heal.”
“You seem like you’ve really thought this through already,” Laura said.
“I have,” he said. “Including, sending copies of my evidence log to a close friend, in case something should happen… like some accident should befall me.”
Remembering the spankings she had received growing up, Laura asked, “Can I ask… Is this going to be bare? Are you going to have me pull my pants down?”
Greg nodded his head from side to side thoughtfully and said, “I’m still working that out. On the one hand, I have no desire to embarrass you by baring your backside. On the other hand, I’ll want to see how badly you’re getting bruised, so I don’t go too far.”
Laura understood and agreed with his logic. She just couldn’t believe she was sitting here listening to him analyze the best ways to spank her with his belt. ‘What about all the pain I’ll be going through?’ she thought. ‘Has any fucking analysis been given to that?’
“Okay, I’ve got it,” Greg continued. “Compromise. You’ll wear high-cut panties… the kind that expose a lot of cheek. That way, you can leave them up and you won’t have to reveal… every thing.”
Laura nodded. The cheeks of her face were already red from the embarrassment of the discussion.
“I’ll see you Saturday,” Greg said.
Laura stood up and turned to walk out. He stopped her by placing a hand on her shoulder. She turned to face him. He pulled her to his chest for a hug. The hug surprised her. She could tell by this hug that he did care about her and it made her tear up.
“Please,” she whispered. “I’m really sorry. Don’t… don’t do this to me. Please don’t spank me this way. Not so severely… please.”
He stroked her hair and placed a finger across her lips.
“Ssshhh,” he said. His voice was soft, but deep. “You are stronger than you realize. You can take this. You aren’t made of glass. Besides, don’t you deserve it?”
She wiped a tear from her cheek and nodded. He held her a bit longer as she regained her composure to go back out into the cube farm. She was already planning to tell any co-workers that asked, that she’d just had a bunch of busy work dumped on her. It might explain the dark cloud that seemed now to inhabit her being.
The wait through the rest of the week to Saturday was a nightmare for Laura. She seemed to be more and more aware of her bottom and any sensations it experienced, as well as whether or not any particular pose she occupied, revealed the shape of her bottom or exposed its vulnerability. On the way back to her apartment, she began making it a habit to buy a bottle of wine in an attempt to induce as much sleep as she could get before the next work day.
Finally Saturday arrived and she dressed herself in her most comfortable business slacks and button-up top. She realized, it being Saturday, that she could have just worn jeans or sweats, but she didn’t want to risk having to explain to a possible Saturday-working coworker, why she was there during non-business if it didn’t have anything to do with a client meeting.
She signed in at Security and proceeded up to her department’s floor. Upon arriving, Laura felt relief that the prediction of no one working on Saturday was actually true. Of course she also knew that if Greg had decided to say… Change plans on her, there would be no one to hear her screams and call police. But somehow she knew Greg would be true to his word – which comforted her and frightened her.
Laura went over to Greg’s office and knocked.
“Come in, Laura,” he said from within.
Laura walked in and stood before Greg and his desk. He had emptied it of all equipment and paper. In their place were several coils of rope and cuffs.
“Welcome, Laura. I’m glad you decided to do the right thing and take your punishment. I’m already feeling more respect for you. Let’s get started.”
Greg pulled a pair of cuffs from his desk and clasped them around Laura’s wrists. Feeling them go on, she began to feel even more helpless and vulnerable. It reminded her of her inability to fight back when one of her parents had spanked her. When she was little, they could simply overpower her and spank her at will for as long as they wanted to. This time, rationally, she knew there would be an end point – 160 strokes.
When her wrist cuffs were tightened sufficiently, Greg pulled Laura forward by the ropes attached to the cuffs until she was bending over the desk with her arms extended in front of her. He tied the rope to the legs of the desk. He then pulled a securing strap across her waist, tightened and buckled it. This would help hold her bottom stable and in the ideal position, her back somewhat arched.
Greg then eased her pants down, so as not to pull her panties with them. As instructed, Laura’s panties were high-cut, revealing about 75% of her bottom cheeks. He then pulled off his belt and doubled it in the traditional spanking form.
Taking aim at the vulnerable, smooth skin of her bottom, he lashed her for the first time with his belt. She almost screamed, but choked it back to a squeak. It was not so much because the belt stroke was that painful. She was simply experiencing the shock of the reality of her punishment.
After 5 or 6 lashes, Laura’s bottom showed several broad, red stripes across it. The reality of this was now dawning on Greg. He would have to moderate his strokes and pace her through this. Her feet had begun to kick up, so he realized he would need to tie her legs down. He grabbed more rope and wrapped it around her lower legs, which put his face at eye level with her bottom. Taking in the sight of her feminine, delicate skin already bearing harsh-looking red stripes, he questioned for a moment whether he could continue with another 154 strokes. Recalling what he had told her about her ability to take it, he knew he couldn’t now disrespect her by letting her go. So he tied the ends of the rope to the legs of the desk. Now she would have to remain in position and take her punishment.
He stood up again and resumed whipping her bottom. After each stroke he listened to her yelp and observed the way her head jerked up and her body tensed. From this information, by trial and error, he was able to find the right strength of lash to make her feel punished and sore, but not tortured. The spanking would be just beyond what she thought she could take, making her long for it to come to an end, but with no choice but to endure.
By the 35th stroke Greg had found his rhythm and his intensity. Laura’s hands pounded the desk intermittently as her yelps and squeaks began to lengthen out into moaning. She was starting to cry. Hearing her crying would be a test of his resolve. She looked back over her shoulder at him, her eyes watery and squinting, her face flushed, and her mouth drawn into a pouting frown. Seeing this, he paused to stroke her hair and lay a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Then he went back to work on her bottom.
Individual red stripes soon all melded together into a deeper and deeper redness that covered her bottom. Her crying was steady now, punctuated by sharp intakes of breath as new lashes brought regular peaks to her waves of pain. Laura was now fully in the mode of girl being spanked severely.
As the number of lashes passed 100, Greg realized that Laura was sweating. It hadn’t occurred to him that taking this much pain was a lot of work for the body. The sheen of perspiration made the lashes sting more, even as she began experiencing a wash of endorphins, making her feel like she probably could endure this belting.
He stopped for a break and gave her water to sip through a straw. She sipped it, blinking, and whimpering some. She then laid her head down to rest it. Greg walked back around her and picked up the belt again.
She cried softly, “No no no no no… How much more?” Her voice was breaking and fluttery because of her crying.
“It’s 35 to go now,” he replied.
He went back to his steady spanking rhythm with the belt. The red hue of her bottom, now began to show stripes again, and some bruising. The endorphins having had time to subside some meant that she was experiencing renewed pain. And each time the belt revisited or crossed a bruised area, her crying got higher in pitch and volume. She was ‘severely spanked girl’ again for another minute or so.
Then it was over. Greg untied her legs and then let her hands out of the cuffs. He couldn’t be sure if she wouldn’t just hall off and punch him or something, but she was barely moving. She managed to push herself up from the desk and as she was pulling her pants back up, she almost fell against him. He held her and steadied her.
“Take your time,” he said.
She wiped tears from her cheek with one hand and rubbed her backside with the other.
“That hurt so much,” she said flatly, wide-eyed. Greg comforted her with an arm around her shoulder as they stood there side by side.
“We’ll stay here as long as you need to recover. I don’t want you driving in this condition,” he said.
“No… shouldn’t drive,” she repeated, dazed.
A minute or two later, Greg helped her to a nearby manager’s lounge where he let her curl up on her side on a sofa. He put a juice box on the table in front of her.
“I’ll be back to check on you in a little while. Feel free to nap if you need to,” he said.
Laura nodded, already looking sleepy. As Greg walked back towards his office, he glanced back at her realizing he did care for her, surprisingly deeply. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he knew that somehow this experience and the Saturdays to come, would somehow make a bond between them that couldn’t be conveyed by any term he knew – not ‘girlfriend/boyfriend’ certainly, and not ‘friend’; at least not ‘just’ friends… But what? But why?
