Nicole Chooses Corporal Punishment

All persons and places in this story are fictitious, and bear no resemblance to any existing person or place.

These events were related to me by my neighbor and close friend Nicole. While she was clearly embarrassed to be relating this to me, a man 12 years her senior, she said she needed to talk to someone about her conflicted feelings.

At times when she was reluctant to continue, I had to ask her pointed questions and urge her to tell me every detail. That caused her severe embarrassment, but she eventually got through the entire story. I promised her confidentiality, and she trusts me.

Finally, she gave me permission to tell her story publicly in order to spare other working women the same fate.

The following is her story.

I was warned, and I foolishly disregarded the warnings. Being late to a few meetings and playing solitaire in my cube over the past few months was bad judgment. My company was flexible and forgiving, but only up to a point. I knew I would eventually pay the price for my disobedience.

I'm Nicole, a 32-year-old woman who is usually quiet and on the shy side. I stand five feet seven inches tall and weigh 125 pounds on an average day. I get along well with my co-workers, especially the men, with my 34-C breasts, trim waist and 34-inch hips due to regular gym workouts.

While I'm conscious of my looks, I'm careful not to flirt at work because I don't want to complicate things. In spite of being reserved, I am making my written confession here to admit my guilt and shame, and also to be a warning to others in my circumstances.

I was called into my manager's office this morning, where we were joined by a Human Resources representative. He is a few years older than me, nice looking and professional. I correctly suspected that I was going to be admonished for my below-par performance.

After discussing my peccadilloes, my manager told me that my work in general was very good, but it wasn't consistent. He referred to the Employee Handbook, which I had signed when I joined the company three years ago. The HR representative asked me if I was familiar with the section on discipline, and I replied I was.

I had not read the fine print, which my manager read to me: "Section 6. An employee could elect to receive counseling and discipline by the company, or opt for submitting to a discipline contractor outside the company." He also emphasized that discipline could include counseling, retraining, or up to and including corporal punishment. Corporal punishment?! I don't remember reading that part!

I didn't have time to carefully consider the various options; my mind was racing with the consequences of in-house versus outside punishment. What I came down to was that I would be totally embarrassed to be disciplined on the premises, where everyone would know what happened.

I conceded my guilt and settled on the third-party discipline. I would regret that decision later.

I was told nothing further about the punishment, other than that I was to report to a place called Corporate Performance Enhancement in the next town to ours. After a quick phone call by the HR rep to CPE, I was scheduled for my appointment at 10 a.m. the next day. Don't be late, he added. He said it would be a good idea to wear slacks and a comfortable blouse, but bring nothing else, not even a handbag.

The next day, I dutifully reported to CPE, a modern stand-alone two-story brick and glass building in a lightly wooded area, at the appointed time, wearing black slacks and a dark blue blouse. My shoulder-length auburn hair was tied back in a ponytail.

I reported to the reception desk where a young lady about 25 years old took my information. She searched a stack of manila folders on her desk and pulled out one with my name on it. Giving a quick look inside, she said everything was in order, and to listen carefully to some preliminary instructions.

She stood up and looked at what I was wearing. She pointed to a sign in large bold red lettering on a door to my left, which read, "DISCIPLINE BEGINS HERE!"

"You will enter that waiting room and sit quietly until you are summoned. Before you sit down, you will lower your slacks and panties to below your knees. Your arms must remain on the chair's armrests at all times, feet apart, flat on the floor. Do you understand me?"

I was shocked not only at what she told me, but the tone she used--it was an order, not an invitation.

"I understand, but why am I supposed to do that? I don't need to be exposed like that!" I replied.

"That's your first test of obedience and discipline. No talking in the waiting room. Go in, find a seat, and position yourself like the others waiting there," she instructed. "We'll be watching you on camera, and disobedience of these instructions will be dealt with immediately."

Oh, no! There were OTHERS in that room??

I thought about leaving and resigning from the company, but I liked the job and people there, so I may as well get this over with. How bad can this be? Some harsh counseling maybe?

I stopped in front of the door and took a deep breath. Upon pushing the door open and stepping through, I noticed a moderate size room with carpet and subdued fluorescent lighting, with wooden armchairs along three walls. There were two middle-aged men and one woman already waiting. They sat still, barely looking at me as I walked over to a chair separated from the others.

I noticed that they were all sitting with their arms on the armrests, both feet apart, flat on the floor, and...OH, NO!...their pants and underpants were down at their ankles! I could see the men's penises between their spread legs, and the woman's trimmed pubic hair between hers.

I looked frantically for a seat where I wouldn't be visible as I stripped, but there was nowhere to hide. The surveillance camera in the upper left corner was visible to remind all of us that we were being monitored.

Swallowing nervously, I unbuckled my belt, unzipped the zipper, and pulled my slacks down to my ankles. Closing my eyes, I reluctantly slipped my fingers under the elastic waistband of my red panties and pushed them down to join my slacks.

My blouse was short, so I was left standing there with my shaved pubic area on display, contrasted with my white thighs and the blue blouse. I sat down with my feet on the floor and put my arms on the armrests like the others. I noticed the two men, who were keeping their eyes lowered, finally look up at me as I sat down. Did I detect a slight quivering of their cocks? Now we waited.

The wooden chair was smooth and cold on my bare skin, enhancing my public embarrassment.

Soon, two women came through an inner door marked "Procedure Area," escorting a naked man. One of the women was holding a pile of clothes, which she dropped on one of the chairs. They told the man his punishment was concluded and to quietly get dressed and check in with the front desk on the way out.

I observed that the man's penis was fairly erect as he began to slip on his underpants. When he turned, I saw that his bottom cheeks were quite red, just like his cheeks were red with obvious embarrassment. While I studied him, he refused to make eye contact with any of us, nervously anticipating what we would be subjected to.

One woman tech looked to the older seated man's groin area and said, "It looks like you're trying to tuck your cock down so I can't see it. That's not allowed." She went to him, reached down, took his penis in hand, and raised it up and out, moving it away from his groin. Now fully elongated and visible, she laid it down on his testicles where it could be clearly seen. "Leave it like that until you're called," she admonished.

The two women shifted their attention and told the younger man to come with them. He stood and tried to raise his jeans, but one woman told him to hold them against his thighs so he could walk while still having them lowered. He looked troubled, but he obeyed and went through the door with his genitals swaying between his legs, and bare buttocks on display.

Similarly, the other woman waiting with me was summoned by a man and a woman, and disappeared through the same door. I was getting more nervous anticipating what was beyond that door.

The next pair to enter the room were a man of about 40 and a woman of about 30, dressed in blue hospital scrubs. It was my turn to find out what was behind the door.

"Nicole, come with us," the man said curtly.

Following the others' examples, I stood, raised my slacks and panties to thigh level, and followed them past the door. When the door closed behind us, I heard the faint click of an electronic lock. I also saw that there was another door in front of us which opened when the man swiped his keycard across the sensor pad. There was no way to escape now.

What I saw before me gave me a start. We were now in a large, brightly lit room divided into about twelve clear polycarbonate cubicles, each with its own door. Just from my vantage point, I could easily see what I would call "disciplinary technicians" tending to men and women who were obviously being punished. Those men and women were all completely naked!

I was escorted to a door marked "Room #8" and led inside. The cubicle measured about twelve by fifteen feet, with an odd-looking adjustable table in the center and a clear cabinet on the floor. The cabinet held what I could only describe as instruments of pain.

I was told to stand still. The man and woman removed my clothing, starting with my blouse and bra, then worked downward to my slacks, shoes, and finally panties. As they were undressing me, I saw in the cubicle next to me a naked middle-aged man facing me, hands on his head and legs spread, with two women fitting some type of restraining device to his semi-hard cock and balls. Then it hit me--I knew everyone else around could see me just as well! My privacy and modesty were completely gone.

I started to ask why all my clothes had to be removed, but after the first few words, the woman quickly placed her hand over my mouth and said, "Quiet! You will only speak when spoken to. Do you understand?"

I silently nodded "yes," and she removed her hand while looking me sternly in the eye.

My responses to their instructions and orders thus far puzzled me for a moment. I know I had been submissive to several boyfriends in the past, and I was comfortable in those circumstances. But here, meekly submitting to strangers who were about to punish and humiliate me, was new and surprising. Maybe it was a little exciting? Maybe I am a true submissive in all circumstances, not only sexually, I realized.

The technicians smoothly continued their preparations, retrieving various straps, restraints and other items from the compartment. In the hallway, I observed a man holding a clipboard, who must have been a supervisor, stop outside my cubicle, look me up and down, and nod slightly to the two techs before continuing on.

The male tech took me by my ear, led me to the punishment table and told me to lie face down. He and the woman tech pulled out thin movable platforms on the sides of each end of the table and began securing my wrists, biceps, forearms, thighs and ankles to them with leather straps. One wide strap was placed around my waist, and I ended up immobile in the shape of an X.

The table was raised to a vertical position, which made me suspended with my feet almost touching the floor. The man approached me holding what appeared to be two foil packets of alcohol prep pads. Within a few moments, I felt him begin swabbing my buttocks with the wipes, covering them from waist to thighs.

"Spread her cheeks for me, would you?" he said to the woman tech. The fingers of both her hands slowly slipped into the crevice between my cheeks before pulling them apart and holding them wide open. The man carefully swabbed up and down along the cleft, paying particular attention to my anus, which clenched every time he ran over it. I could feel the cool alcohol evaporating from my skin.

My head was turned to my right, so I could not really see what they were doing. What I did see, however, were some people in the next cubicle behind me, watching me being exposed and worked on. After a moment, those people, who looked like another male-female pair of techs, looked away and began preparing a young male subject for his punishment. I had my own troubles to worry about.

The woman approached me with some clips on a light chain. "These clips will go on your nipples. As you struggle, they will tighten and tug your nipples to cause you more pain," she explained. I felt a pinch on each nipple as she fastened them to my nipples, which she had made hard by rolling them between her fingers first.

The woman dug through the transparent floor box and came up with a stainless steel device resembling a "T", with the top spread out in thickness. She coated the longer part of the T, shaped like a butt plug, with lubricant. At the same time, the man lowered me back to horizontal and spread my cheeks. She inserted the device in my tight anus with a twisting motion and steady pressure. When it was securely seated with my anus gripping the plug's recess, the wide top fit snugly between my butt cheeks along the cleft, having the effect of separating my cheeks.

I was mortified, imagining the view I presented to others in their transparent cubicles. The woman handed a thick leather strap with a handle to the man. "She's ready now," she said to the man. He approached my head and lifted my chin so I could see him.

"I'm only going to say this once. You are getting the strap, and it will hurt. I don't want any screaming from you. You can struggle all you want, but it won't make a difference. If you scream, I will gag you before continuing. You are scheduled for six strokes of the strap. Do you understand?"

The full impact of my punishment was sinking in. I nodded yes and closed my eyes, waiting for the pain to begin.

He moved to my left side with the strap in his right hand, and gently laid the leather across my bare bottom. It felt as heavy as it looked.

The strap was raised, and suddenly came down with a hard CRACK!

I jumped and struggled against the straps until the sting went away.

CRACK! The second stroke made me strain against the straps even harder, and much to my horror, a loud cry escaped from my lips as tears began to roll down my cheeks. The man placed the strap on the low shelf and turned to me.

"I told you not to cry out, and you disobeyed. We will have to fit you with a dental gag for your last four strokes."

He and the woman unbuckled the straps holding me down, one taking the left side and one the right. They took my arms and told me to turn over on my back.

Once on my back, they refastened my wrists and biceps to the side panels placed straight out laterally from my shoulders and placed the wide leather strap across my waist. The lower side boards were reconfigured to act as stirrups, so my legs were flexed at the knees and my knees drawn back to my chest. My ankles and thighs were strapped down to the stirrups as before, and my legs spread wide.

I was totally embarrassed, and it must have shown on my face. I could imagine my pussy lips spread and visible to everyone who happened to look; all the while, the silver cheek spreader was calling attention to my impalement.

The woman approached me with a rigid stainless steel device with a ratchet, and told me to open my mouth wide. I later found out that this device was called a Whitehead Dental Gag. It was more or less oval in shape.

She inserted the gag into my mouth with the parallel metal bars between my teeth. She secured the device by fastening a leather strap around the back of my head. She told me to open wide, and then squeezed the levers until the bars pressed tight against my teeth, forcing my jaw down and my mouth to remain wide open.

I found it hard to make any sounds, which was their intended effect. That completed my total immobilization.

The man brought over a full-length dressing mirror and placed it at the end of the table, adjusting it so I could see my own spread-open pussy and asshole. I was even more humiliated to see that there was a string of moisture spanning my outer pussy lips. How in the world could I be aroused at a time like this?

"You have four more strokes remaining. You will watch as I deliver them," he said. With that, he picked up the strap again.

Standing to my right side, he placed the strap against my buttocks and measured his reach. The woman came behind me and firmly steadied my head with her hands on either side.

Then it began. I saw him wind up, and the strap came down on my poor bare bottom with a loud CRACK and a jolt of pain. "Three!"

The next three seemed to be delivered with the same enthusiasm, increasing in pain until the sixth stroke was administered. I was straining against the straps, my jaw was clenching down as I tried to scream, but my efforts were futile. The woman held my head so I couldn't even thrash back and forth.

Looking in the mirror, I saw my bare cheeks were bright red, and they felt very hot.

They gave me a moment to catch my breath as the woman released the dental gag, and they began unbuckling the restraints. She took a tissue to wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth and jaw. That was really humiliating! I felt sore from straining against the straps. I was relieved that I had gotten through that ordeal as well as I did.

They helped me stand up, and made me bend over the table while they pulled the cheek separator out of my anus. I could feel my anal sphincter resisting the wide part of the plug until it finally came out.

"That concludes the punishment phase. We will now begin the motivation portion," the woman explained.

'I'm not done yet?' I thought tearfully. 'Why did I ever consent to this?'

I noticed a new arrival in the transparent cube next to mine, a woman of about 40. I saw her as my butt cheek separator was removed, and watched the two male techs undressing her. She looked shocked and could only stare back at me with eyes pleading for help.

I was brought back to reality by a knock on the door. It was the intern from my company HR; why in hell was HE here? My first instinct was to cover myself and escape, but that was impossible.

The woman opened the door for him and greeted him as if he was expected. I think they knew he was coming, but kept that secret from me. He came in just as I was standing there completely naked with a red bottom.

"How are things going?" he asked. The male tech told him what they had done so far, and that I tolerated the strapping well. "We're just beginning the motivation phase now, so it won't be long. You're welcome to witness her spanking if you want to."

The HR intern nodded his head with a grin as he looked me up and down, relishing the sight of his female co-worker naked and punished in front of everyone.

The male tech sat down on a wooden straight-back chair as his woman counterpart told me to bend over his lap. They positioned me so that my bottom was facing the HR rep, and they spread my legs. The woman reached under my chest and felt my breasts to be sure they were hanging freely and the nipple clamps were still attached..

She put her hand under my chin and raised my head so she could look me in the eyes. At the same time, I felt the man spread my cheeks wide and apply some cool gel to my anus. He gradually worked his finger into my bottom hole, and I started to feel heat back there. As he massaged my insides, I realized that the gel was something like hot muscle liniment. The heat was rising. I knew my HR rep was getting an eyeful.

The woman holding my chin said, "Stay still and be quiet. You will be getting ten spanks on each cheek. If you squirm too much, we'll gag and restrain you again and complete the spanking that way, understood?" I nodded.