Spaned by My Boss

I've spent a week trying to think of something terrible to do, something bad enough to get her attention, but not so bad there's actual consequences for me or anyone else.

I try a few things. I daringly ignore the angry sign in the office kitchen about everyone washing their own cups. I speak rudely to someone who was never going to be an actual client, where everyone can hear. I come in late two days running, without an explanation.

None of it seems to be working. I try these things, and a few more days pass, and my boss doesn't say a thing.

Then, unexpectedly, just as I'm leaving for the day, she tells me to wait. She say she needs to speak to me.

I sit down, breathless with excitement. I sit down, achily wet, with my hands shaking, my knees trembling. I say goodbye to the few people who are still around, with a dry mouth. I check my makeup quickly and redo my eyes.

I wait, and get more nervous, and more excited, and wonder what I'm doing. I wonder why I want this.

I wish I'd known it would be today. I would have worn a skirt again, if I'd known. I'm wearing a suit with trousers, and that seems wrong, for what I think is going to happen.

I wait, nervous.

I wait, and almost want to touch myself as I do. I wait, and wait, and in the end she opens her office door and tells me to come in.

I go in, uncertainly.

She ignores me for a moment. The she looks at me.

She looks at me, then says, impatient, "Come over here."

I do, where I stood the last time, right beside her chair.

She looks at me again. She looks down, at my trousers. "Those are nice," she says, touches my trousers, halfway up my thigh.

"Thank you," I say.

She slides her hand. She slides her fingers up the front of my thigh, so I shiver. She slides, until she almost touches my pussy, through the cloth.

"They're very nice," she says. "Take them off."

I hesitate, and then I do. I take them off, and fold them quickly. I look around, then go and drape the trousers over one of the chairs on the other side of the desk, and then move back to where I was standing.

I stand there, and she looks at my underwear. Nice underwear again, because I'd hoped for this, even though I hadn't expected it enough to wear a skirt.

"Those are nice too," she says.

"Thank you," I whisper, assuming I know what she'll say next.

She does. "Take them off too."

I bite my lip, and then do. I'm not sure what to think. I go and tuck them into my trousers pocket, just because that seems tidiest, and then I go back to standing where I was, beside her.

"Lean here," she says, and pats her lap, and I do.

I take a moment to arrange myself. I slide onto her, and hold the arm of her chair. She waits, and watches me, then she slides my shirt up, where the end of it has covered my ass.

"Move your foot," she says. "Further apart."

I do that too.

She reaches between my legs, and slides her finger along me wetly. "That's very nice, too," she says.

"Thank you," I whisper.

"But you're not doing any better with your work," she says, her voice changing, now stern.

"I know," I say. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't help," she says. "What are we going to do with you?"

"I don't know," I say.

She spanks me. I lie there, gripping her chair arm, gasping and wincing as she does. She spanks me more roughly this time, hitting harder, hitting me more. She spanks me carefully, moving her hand around, so I'm sore from the top of my ass all the way down to the top of my legs.

She spanks me, and between times she fingers me too.

I'm so wet I can feel it on her fingers sometimes as she hits me. I'm so wet I can smell myself, and hope I'm not rubbing it onto her trousers.

She spanks me until I'm sobbing, until I'm begging her to stop, until I'm aching and sore all over my ass, and aching inside with wanting her too. She spanks me until I'm excited all over, warm all over, slippery wet on her hands, then she stops, and fingers me, holding me there across her lap, with her arm over my back.

She fingers me, until I sigh and groan and come sharply on her hand.

Then she helps me up, and hands me a box of tissues, because I'm crying, and tells me to get dressed and go and not to make so many mistakes.

"I won't, I'm sorry," I say, and go back to my desk, planning my next mistake already.