This gorgeous fantasy about a princess submitting to a public caning is written and read by Pandora Blake. It originally appeared on Dreams of Spanking and is being reproduced here with permission. Note: contains extreme caning, humiliation, 

The road to Zadir was dry and dusty. Sometimes they would stop at one of the walled caravanserais lining the spice road, and Tabina would rinse the sand from her hair and enjoy a day or two of feeling relatively fresh. But no sooner were they on the road again than the wind would start to slap against the canvas coverings, and they would snap and flap until a corner was tugged away, and then the dust and sand would swirl in and they would both be covered all over again.

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Part 2 of this fabulous fantasy spanking story – written by Ozma van Aalsberg, and read aloud by Pandora Blake of Dreams of Spanking. The story originally appeared on Dreams of Spanking and is being published here with permission. Catch up with part 1 here if you haven’t yet heard/read it!

Riva stood up, still a bit dazed. The room around her still seemed incomprehensible, its size and its contents. She could not fathom what information might be held in all these books, or what possible business her new guardian had with them. Even stranger, the woman had seemed to expect her, and had been so prepared as to have a suit waiting, tailor-made, for her and only her. For all her preparations and attempts at secrecy, she had been found out, perhaps before she had even begun. She couldn’t begin to understand what it all meant.

“For god’s sake, girl, pull your britches up. Show a little self-respect.”

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This fabulous fantasy spanking story is written by Ozma van Aalsberg, and read aloud by Pandora Blake of Dreams of Spanking. The story originally appeared on Dreams of Spanking and is being published here with permission. 

A week before her twentieth birthday, Riva Avarith, duchess heir of the Grand Fiefdom of Avarith, had instructed the estate’s staff that she was not to be disturbed until the day of her ascent. The calligraphy with which she printed and signed this pronouncement is said to have been more ornate than the most sacred texts of the most devout hermits. So vital was her privacy, that she refused the company of even a mirror in her bedroom. So serious was her concentration, that she sentenced an invading moth to an immediate beheading, and carried out the sentence herself. In this, her last week of childhood innocence, she was to prepare herself for the responsibilities of adulthood. In service to her own rebirth, she had furnished her own cocoon, a tomb in which a sheltered heiress would die and a benevolent leader — a woman who answered to no one — would emerge.

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