"OK, 5.15pm, no sign of either of them leaving the building, better check things are going to plan. Hang on a minute, whoops, wrong camera. Ah that's better, floor two, deputy MD's office; turn up the sound, tighten the focus and voila, tonight's in-house entertainment..."
"I'm sure you know why I've asked you to stay behind, Claire."
"Yes, Ms Morrison."
"One might have thought the last time would have taught you a lesson, but it seems not." The older woman paces the floor angrily. "Evidently a session with this," she waves a thick plastic ruler, "wasn't sufficient to make my message clear.
"Since when I've caught you making personal phone calls on at least two occasions, which no doubt explains why you were late typing up my notes from Wednesday's meeting. Well, if you want to keep this job you're going to have to shape up. I've obviously been too lenient thus far, but not this week my girl, oh no. I've something guaranteed to instill some discipline into you."
Eyes gleaming with barely suppressed excitement, she reaches behind the desk and produces a thin, whippy cane bending to almost a full circle in her well-manicured hands.
Claire turns pale but still says nothing.
"Right, you know the routine, into the middle of the room, feet slightly apart, bend over and touch your toes," commands Sally Morrison.
Petite Claire hesitantly grasps her ankles; the awkward position emphasized her slender waist and long legs, naturally blonde hair obscuring her pretty face.
Imperiously Ms Morrison strides to the center of the room, flicks the girl's short tartan skirt up to her waist and appraises her small, firm bottom.
"You can keep those skimpy knickers on. They won't offer any protection but we'll have these out of the way," said Ms Morrison pulling sheer tights towards the tops of Claire's fashionable, knee-length boots.
A small moan of trepidation escapes her victim.
"Yes you might well be nervous," snarls her smartly suited superior. "Keep still, you're getting six. Stand up, move your hands or make too much noise and I shall take great pleasure in starting all over again. And don't forget, girl, you agreed to this rather than be dismissed."
Standing back, she flexes the cane once more before slicing the air with a couple of practice strokes that made the unfortunate Claire wince. With a look of steely determination Ms Morrison measures her distance, lifts the bamboo high and rapidly delivers the promised half a dozen strokes in quick succession.
Claire barely has time to experience the first impact before a second blazes a searing line of fire across her hindquarters. Ms. Morrison is right, the high-cut knickers afford little protection and her sun-tanned posterior is soon patterned with livid red stripes. Each scalding blow is forcefully applied. At the third stroke she cries out, by the sixth poor little Claire is rocking back on her heels, sobbing with pain and distress.
"Stand up," orders her punisher curtly. The girl slowly straightens, hands desperately rubbing her burning bottom in a futile bid to soothe the soreness.
Dramatically the office door flies open and in strides a tall, fair-haired young man.
Ms. Morrison gives a shout of astonishment, "Michael!"
"I don't believe it," he exclaims, genuinely shocked by the scene before him. "I came as soon as you texted Claire, but it seems I'm too late." Michael puts a comforting arm around the girl, discreetly lowering his gaze to look in horror at the livid purple lines criss-crossing her pert buttocks.
"Well, this certainly substantiates everything you told me, you certainly weren't exaggerating." He passes her a large handkerchief. "Don't let me detain you further," he adds gently, "You've obviously been through enough for one day. Go home, but don't worry, I won't let this matter drop. It's high time Ms. Morrison and I had a full and frank exchange of views."
"Thank you." With considerable dignity Claire walks stiffly from the room leaving him to confront the eponymous Ms. Morrison. Seizing the moment, Michael snatches the cane while she remains rooted to the spot, transfixed with surprise.
"So this is your idea of management? What the hell do you think you're doing, Sally, running some sort of personal crusade to return to Victorian values? God knows what the Chairman will think of this."
A look of fear crosses Sally's face. "You wouldn't let on?" she says desperately, "I mean we're equals, you can't tell tales."
"Stopping you beating your temp is hardly telling tales. Bloody hell, woman, I knew you were ambitious, it's been obvious for some time you were taking the job far too seriously, working all hours, no social life. But this!" He sounded incredulous.
"It's not easy being the only woman at this level of management," Sally mutters defensively, "Besides, the girl was sloppy."
"Temps are lucky to earn a quarter of what you get, but at least she managed to be pleasant," Michael replies levelly. "How dare you abuse your position as deputy MD to take your frustrations out on the most junior staff."
"Oh, typical male. If I'm serious about work I must be a battle-axe..."
"I don't for a moment think it's that simple," cuts in Michael. "When you were appointed a few months back, I was introduced to an intelligent, highly-capable professional. It's no secret that you subsequently broke up with a long-standing partner because of the hours you put in here. Colleagues were sympathetic but you just buried yourself in the job. People who tried to help - including me - got the rough edge of your tongue and eventually gave up. Now you've lost the plot completely"
Sally's shoulders slump; momentarily she sinks her head into her hands then, decisively, shakes her dark hair and fixes Michael with a candid gaze.
"There's not much there I can disagree with," she begins dejectedly. "I thought I had to prove myself and go it alone, but instead of appearing tough and capable I've become isolated and aloof. Now you're off to the boss and I've blown my chance. The other female staff won't care. All those years forging a career down the drain."
"A possible scenario, but the future doesn't have to be like that," says Michael carefully. "In fact I'm still prepared to help, if you want."
With the look of a drowning woman grasping at a straw, Sally's reply is unhesitating. "Oh I do, I do."
Michael affords her an unblinking stare. After a minute's tense silence, he speaks. "I believe you, others might not, but just because I'm prepared to show some compassion doesn't mean you can escape the consequences of your actions. To ensure a complete change of attitude you'll need a change of heart. It's not your staff that deserve punishment, it's you.
"Accept the same punishment as you gave your PA," he continues, "and the incident is forgotten. You can move on and I'll give any assistance I can. Refuse and I'll have no hesitation in shopping you."
For a moment Sally looks aghast. "You mean cane me," she whispers finally.
"Certainly," replies Michael.
"But, but," she hesitates, brain in turmoil. "Surely there must be another way?" An impatient look on Michael's face tells her time is running short. There's no alternative to accepting his ultimatum.
"You're right," she concedes, "A little humility won't go amiss, I agree to your terms."
"Good," says Michael briskly, "and there's no time like the present. However, since you're a grown woman, not some slip of a girl, I'm going to reinforce the lesson by spanking you first. Come here."
Michael sits in a straight-backed chair, his steely grey eyes drawing her hypnotically towards him. "Take off your jacket."
She does so, revealing unexpectedly full and prominent breasts.
"Now lift your skirt."
Reluctantly Sally hoists up her knee-length black skirt to reveal black stockings, suspenders and silk French knickers, a far more exotic taste in underwear than Michael would ever have guessed.
"Very nice," he said dryly, tipping her over his lap.
"Am I in time, Joe? What've I missed?"
"Yes, and not a lot. So far things have panned out pretty much as you predicted. Michael read the riot act and threatened to tell the boss, unless..."
"She accepts his punishment."
"Exactly. You know, for a resting actress you're no mean psychologist."
"Thanks for the compliment, kind sir. For a resting actor you make a fine security guard. I love a man in uniform," Claire smiles wickedly. "Actually, I put my accurate predictions down to good old feminine intuition. I can recognize a dominant man when I see one. You're proof enough of that, Joe."
"True," he agrees amiably. "But to continue the story so far: Sally initially tried to bluff it out but eventually realized the situation was hopeless. Strangely she almost looks relieved."
"Well, he is quite a dish..."
"She's rather gorgeous too."
"Mm, methinks that's male speak for 'certainly not last in the queue when they doled out the boobs.' I wonder if she's got a bum to match?"
"Miaow! Anyway hush, or we'll never find out. Sit down and watch."
"Sit down! No thank you."
"0ops sorry I forgot. Alright, lean on the desk in front of the monitor and I'll rub some cold cream into those stripes."
"Mmm, yes please..."
Five minutes on, Sally is discovering to her cost the pointlessness of trying to escape Michael's muscular grasp. Her attempts to wriggle from his lap and avoid the steady onslaught of slaps stinging her rearmost curves like a patch of nettles only result in further indignities.
Michael grasps Sally's flailing hands firmly behind her back, swinging his leg to trap her two shapely, nylon-clad pins, kicking so vigorously he's been in danger of being pierced by a flying high heel.
Further humiliation follows as he hikes her knickers up hard into the crease between her haunches, exposing even more taut pale flesh to be reddened by his relentless right hand.
Suddenly the fight goes out of her, Sally ceases struggling, Michael releases her pinioned limbs and strokes her beleaguered behind. As his fingers softly traced the sore contours Sally feel libidinous warmth overwhelm the pain in her tender bottom, stimulating her sex with urgent desire. With an atavistic groan she surrenders to this thrilling, long-repressed sensation.
"I do rather think Ms Morrison is beginning to enjoy the experience," comments Joe laconically.
"Um, I know how she feels," sighs Claire dreamily as her own bottom is gently massaged. "The young master certainly seems to know what he's about and if I'm not mistaken Sally has reached the point where pain and pleasure become blurred. Right now she'll be aching for something to fill that void inside, secretly hoping he'll slide a hand between her legs and pay some attention to that sadly neglected pussy."
"Like this you mean," murmurs Joe, skillfully slipping two cream-slicked fingers into her sopping sex while a third gently teases her engorged clitoris."
Claire clenches her thighs tightly together and sighs deeply in mute reply.
Just as a desperately needed climax builds within her, so Sally is decanted from Michael's lap to kneel, confused and frustrated before him, her present appearance a stark contrast to the ice maiden of some quarter of an hour previously.
Several buttons on her now creased white blouse are undone, revealing a generous expanse of breast, heaving from her exertions. Contrary to its advertised claims, the expensive non-smudge lipstick has failed its consumer test, her eye makeup runs and her carefully styled hair looks windswept. Sally is appalled at the sight of her crimson streaked buttocks, liberally decorated with the overlapping handprints of the man towering resolutely above her.
"Let's not forget the primary purpose of this encounter, Ms Morrison," Michael continues sternly, very much in command of the situation.
"You are here to be punished. This, as I indicated at the start, is merely a warm-up to get you in a receptive state of mind and body. You'll find the cane considerably more severe."
Michael pauses for theatrical effect, conscious his last statement will finally dash any hopes of mercy Sally might entertain. Extending a hand he hauls her inelegantly up.
"Skirt and knickers off, I don't want anything in the way. Get over the desk and grasp the far edge, knees together, legs straight and push that bottom right out," Michael orders brusquely.
Unaccustomed to being spoken to in such authoritarian terms, Sally complies robotically; curiously she feels a strange sense of freedom, almost as if a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. As instructed Sally stretches penitently across the polished wooden top.
"Gorgeous bum you have to admit," Claire comments as she avidly watches the drama unfold. Joe's left hand is deftly creating pleasurable havoc between her widely spread legs while his right toys with prominently erect nipples, sending further jolts of desire through her willowy frame.
"Not a patch on your cute little butt," replies her beau chivalrously. "But Ms Morrison is possessed of a fine legs."
"Ah the seductive lure of the mature woman, or are you just a sucker for stockings and suspenders?" giggles Claire. "Tell you what, I'll wear some on our day off together tomorrow, with high, strappy sandals and no knickers, how about that?"
The mere thought hardens Joe's growing erection further so it's just as well their erotic tête-a-tête is interrupted by a resumption of action on the screen.
"Now that's finesse," said Joe admiringly as Michael lays a wristy cane stroke across the center of Claire's pert posterior. "None of the hard and fast brutality the mare used on you." He runs his tongue delicately across each of the cane marks still vividly etched across her bottom cheeks.
"Don't remind me," groans Claire, squirming ecstatically as his lips reach her glistening cleft, "My bum's going to be marked for days. I reckon I'll be eating standing up all weekend."
"Not the only thing you'll be doing standing up..." Joe whispers archly.
"Patience young man, they're not finished yet," laughs Claire, reaching behind her to grasp his rock hard erection. "Don't get so carried away with lust you forget what this little game was all about in the first place. Do you reckon our idea's worked?"
"Can't see it going wrong, in return for copies of this recording I reckon our two ambitious, upwardly mobile deputy MDs will be pleased to shell out enough to top up our grants until we take final exams next summer."
Knuckles white from gripping the edge so tightly, brow beaded with sweat, Sally lies across the desk struggling to regain her composure, her posterior scored by six fiery stripes, each flashing a painful message to every nerve-ending in her lower body. It takes several minutes before her toes at last stop drumming on the carpet and her ragged breathing returns to something approaching normal.
"You may get up now," allows her tormentor.
"Michael," Sally's voice sounds to her somehow disembodied, like listening to oneself on the radio. She continues, as surprised as he by what she has to say, "You gave me six strokes, the same number as Claire. But as I abused my authority and trust, I deserve more."
Could she really have said that she wonders? Invited further chastisement when every inch of her soundly beaten behind is sore to even the most tentative touch.
"She wants more," says Joe incredulously as they watched enraptured from the security office, "I don't understand it."
"I do," murmurs Claire.
"Very well," Michael's tone is solicitous. For a moment time seems to stand still then a familiar whistling sound rends the air. Sally arches her body to meet the molten bands of hurt biting sharply into her haunches.
Finally, eyes blurred with tears, Sally turns to face the tall young man.
"There's one more thing you can do for me," she breathes seductively reaching for his zip. "I think I've earned an executive bonus."
Michael's strong hands lift her effortlessly. Sally gasps as her ravaged rear met the desk's unrelenting surface, then again as the full throbbing length of his cock enters and fills her to the hilt with a single thrust.
"My turn now," moans Claire urgently, "I want to be fucked too." Obediently Joe holds her hips and eases his erection into her passion-swollen pussy from behind. "Oh it's so big," Claire gasps, forced up on to the tip of her toes as she struggled to accommodate him. "I'm only little, I may not be able to take it all." But she does. Twice.
Afterwards, as they lay together in satiated content Sally notices the wall-mounted camera. "Oh no, we're being filmed," she gasps.
Michael doesn't even bother to stop kissing her exquisite breasts: "Watched possibly, recorded no," he states calmly. "We'd a report of some computer discs being stolen, I checked and switched of the security camera recording function at lunch time." Unhurriedly he continues to explore her body...
"And I switched it back on again," whispers Joe to Claire -- both still avidly watching the scene unfold.
