"Miss Johnson, would you please come into my office?"
Tracy rolled her eyes, thinking
What does he want now?
It was fifteen minutes before five-her purse was out, her computer off, and her mind had already left the building. Her friends had a fun night planned-some good food, a few drinks, and of course a great deal of dancing. Mandy even had a 'cool' guy she wanted to introduce to her, in Mandy's never ending quest to help her get over her ex, Jason.
I'm not going to stay a moment past five,
she thought, her lips pressed tight together.
Taking her time, she answered another text from Mandy, then slowly sauntered into Mr. Duhamel's office.
"Have a seat," he said, pointing to one of the chairs in front of his desk. He had an odd look on his face, one she hadn't seen before, and those green eyes always seemed to see right through her. Her stomach suddenly felt queasy. As she sat, she made sure her short skirt rode even higher up on her thighs; he seemed to enjoy looking at her long and lovely legs. She was quite proud of them.
"Miss Johnson, your performance has been rather disappointing of late. Well, in truth, since your first day here," he said. Staring at her, he waited, expecting a response. She didn't know what to say. After a moment, he said, "You show up late every morning, then spend most of your day texting or talking on your phone. You're way behind on every task I've assigned to you, even the filing. Those things you actually get around to are inevitably incorrect. Furthermore, your attitude is condescending and rude." He paused again, and she realized he was very angry with her. "I'm afraid I can't tolerate this behavior any longer."
It took a moment for his last words to sink. She blinked, confused. "But you can't fire me. If you do, my father won't sell you the Duffey property." She smiled, thinking she'd won.
His smile was worse. "Had you actually been paying any attention, you'd know that we closed on that deal this morning. Where do you think I was?"
"My Dad won't be happy if you..." She couldn't even say the words. Her stomach felt as if she'd swallowed a large, rough rock with sharp edges, and it was pushing down through the bottom of her belly. She leaned forward, her chest against her knees.
"Miss Johnson, to be frank with you, I couldn't care less what your father thinks anymore. He seems a decent enough chap, but you're a horrible receptionist. And a spoiled brat. In fact, you remind me of Mrs. Johnson."
Tracy felt like she was being slapped with each sentence. Finally, when he was done, she managed to get angry. "Mrs. Johnson is
not
my mother."
He laughed at her. "So he married a brat and is raising one, too."
Tracy looked down at the carpet, wishing she could crawl under it. She could not lose this job. Her father had clearly said it was her last chance-that he was done fixing her life and her problems. He didn't have the money anymore, with the recession going on and on. Not to mention how much her step-mother spent.
"Please..." she mumbled.
"Please what, Miss Johnson?"
"Please don't fire me." She was crying now. She hated herself for it. Imagined her father kicking her out, and the smile on her step-mother's face as she packed. And then where would she go?
"I'm afraid you've left me no choice. I need a dedicated, hard-working assistant. An asset, not a liability."
"Please," she said again. "I can be. I will be."
When his silence dragged out, she finally lifted her chest off of her knees and dared looking at him. The intensity of those green eyes sent a chill through her.
Finally, he said, "And what of these two and a half months that I've paid you for? What should be done about that?"
She couldn't meet his eyes. She looked down at her shoes. "I'm so sorry," she mumbled.
"I'm afraid that's not good enough. You'll be paid through tomorrow. Good luck."
The tears returned in force. "Please, please, you can't fire me. I'll do anything."
"Really, Miss Johnson, anything?"
She looked up, briefly, into his eyes again.
Fuck, does he want me to suck him off? Or fuck me?
Strangely, she felt a tingle in her clit, and knew her pussy was wet. She licked her lips. Yes, she could survive one blowjob. He was rather attractive, despite his age. What was he, forty-five or forty-six? Fifty?
She nodded. "Yes, anything."
"Somehow I doubt that." He templed his hands in front of his lips, and looked like he was thinking hard.
Come on, just say it. Tell me to get on my knees. It will be over in five minutes, and in a week he'll be wrapped around my finger. Life will be good again.
"Frankly, Miss Johnson, you are quite immature. A child, really, in an adult body. I doubt you can be the diligent receptionist that I need. However, perhaps if we deal with you like a child, and instill some discipline in your behavior, you may yet develop into something worthwhile."
Tracy sat there, open mouthed. She wiped away the tears on her cheek, and sniffled. She had no idea what he was talking about. What happened to that blowjob? What did he mean by discipline? "Discipline?" she asked.
"Yes, you are in dire need of discipline. Perhaps a great deal of it."
"You don't mean spanking me..." She was stunned. No one had ever spanked her. And why was her pussy dripping?
Suddenly he stood up. "Yes, that is exactly what I mean. And what you deserve. However, it is up to you, Miss Johnson. The choice is entirely yours." He walked past her to the door and opened it.
"Wh-what do you mean?"
"It's your choice. You can show up for work tomorrow, knowing that at exactly 5:00 P.M. tomorrow, you will bend over this very desk, lift up your skirt and pull down your panties, and ask-no, beg-for a very hard spanking. Or, you can call up your father and let him know you've been fired. I'm sure he will be happy to help you find another job."
She crossed her legs, hoping he couldn't smell how excited she was. And why was she excited? Because he was taking control? Giving her what she craved, finally? No, she didn't want that.
"Good night, Miss Johnson." He took her by the elbow, gently helped her stand, and walked her to the door.
"And Miss Johnson, it's important that you understand, this will be a very hard spanking. I'm afraid we've two and a half months of your very poor performance to account for. It's doubtful you will be sitting comfortably for days."
The door shut in her face. She was about to say something, she didn't know what, though. She stood staring at the wood door, stunned. Finally, as if in a trance, she walked to her desk, picked up her purse, and walked to the elevator.
***
Two hours later, Tracy sat on her couch, watching TV, yet she had no idea what was on. She had told Mandy that her stomach suddenly hurt, and hurt bad. She hadn't even been lying.
She couldn't let him spank her. And with her panties pulled down? The humiliation made her face red, just thinking about it. But it also made her unbelievably wet. She couldn't even tell how much of it was fear and how much of it was excitement. Her fingers, as if they had a mind of their own, slipped inside her sweats.
Jesus I'm wet.
This created nothing but confusion.
Her phone rang. Her father, still at work, no doubt. The sharp rock returned to her stomach.
"Hi Daddy."
"Hi babe. How are you?"
"I'm fine."
"How's work?"
She swallowed. Then closed her eyes and lied. "It's good."
"No problems today?"
"No. It was just an ordinary day."
"Well that's good. We closed our deal today, and I was worried that bastard might fire you once he had what he wanted."
"No, Daddy. He's quite fair. He wouldn't do that." She had no idea why she said any of that.
"Ok, baby. Maybe Friday I'll swing by and take you to lunch. Would you like that?"
If I can sit down, maybe...
"That would be great."
***
She watched the light move from one number to the next as the elevator took her up and up. It was moving much too fast. She had slept little, playing with herself four times during the night-coming like she'd never come before. And in between, when her blood was cool, she tried to think of every possible way out. Talk him into that blowjob instead? Find another job in the next day or two, and tell her father she'd found a better job? That seemed doubtful, with the economy still in the toilet.
The elevator binged. Her heart jumped halfway up her throat with the noise. The other passenger on the elevator, a sweet, old lady, looked at her expectantly.
"Isn't this your floor, dear?"
"Oh, I guess it is. Sorry."
She walked down the hall and put her hand on the door handle. This didn't seem real. Or it seemed way, way too real.
She closed her eyes and pushed the door open. Like it was any other day, she walked to her desk and sat down. Five minutes later the office door opened.
"Miss Johnson, I'm surprised to see you."
She couldn't meet his eyes. She felt her face going red. "Good morning," she managed.
"You have quite a bit of catching up to do today. Are you up to it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very good." Then he was gone, back into his office.
She pulled open the wide drawer in front of her, for a pen, and her heart leaped up and into her mouth.
Holy Christ.
There was a paddle in the drawer. A very serious paddle. Black, and maybe seven or eight inches across. It had a number of holes in it. She ran her fingertips over it. She was scared. Very scared. And she wanted to go to the bathroom and play with herself.
