The Boss

Not that the silky shorts lasted long, for he peeled them down until her bottom was bare and they rested just above her lace stocking tops. Now her arse was cunningly framed by the suspender belt and straps, with the froth of silk and lace three-quarters of the way down her thighs.

She was ready to begin. And so was I. My finger was on the button. Three, two, one …

But he wanted to lecture her first, it seemed, while his hand moved idly round and round her vulnerable cheeks. He spoke about mindfulness of rules, respect, discipline and duty. She chimed in only to say ‘Yes, Sir’ and ‘No, Sir’ but he seemed satisfied with this.

His palm flattened against her buttocks, which tensed immediately. I imagined her teeth and fists clenched in concert.

‘Now this is just to start us off,’ he warned her, starting in with quick, sharp smacks across the centre of her quivering bum. He did not seem to be putting a great deal of effort into it, lifting his arm only to chest height before swooping his hand down to meet her flesh, but the sound was music to my ears, as were Mara’s wails and complaints.

‘Oh! Ouch! Ouch! It hurts!’

‘Don’t be silly, Mara, this is a gentle warm-up. I haven’t even started.’

A long, despairing moan met this statement, but I could see that the boss was warming to his work now, laying on harder and harder strokes, at times leaving handprints. It was strangely aesthetically pleasing to watch Mara’s bum jiggling around and changing to a deep-pink colour under her employer’s chastising hand and I watched transfixed, hoping that he would carry on for a very long time. Much as Mara disliked the slow, hard strokes, she seemed to hate the sudden volleys of speedy ones even more, for these made her wriggle and twist like fury, calling out for him to please, stop, please, it was too much, she would be good, oh, she would. But he was utterly resolute and no amount of gasping, pleading or tearful contrition would deflect him from his purpose. Only when Mara’s poor bottom was fully and blazingly reddened and her kicking legs limp and spent did he begin to stay his hand.

For my part, my hand was hard at work, stuffed eagerly inside my cotton boyshorts, and I knelt with my fingers stroking the wiry curls of my muff and my longing clit, excited beyond expectation at Mara’s humiliation.

Oh, why did it have to end? I silently protested. Mara’s bottom had taken ten long minutes of this summary treatment, but I wanted to see more.

I uttered mute thanks to an unnamed deity when the boss, helping his subdued secretary to her feet, instructed her to go and bend over the side of the bed with her bottom high and her feet apart. This was not the end!

My joy was not matched by Mara, whose lower lip stuck out a mile.

I wondered about this dynamic. Surely it must be consensual. They would have a safeword, presumably. He seemed highly experienced, at least, and they had clearly developed their own rituals.

‘Mara, a spanking by my hand is the least you can expect for petty rulebreaking. Breaking one of the golden rules of obedience merits the application of something a little more forceful. If you are to learn, I must be strict and consistent with you. Do you understand?’

‘I am too sore,’ she snuffled.

‘Do you understand, or shall I be harder on you than I originally intended? There will be extra strokes for defiance.’

Mara let out a great howl of anguish, but she went to the bed and obediently bent herself over the side, grasping the frame. Her sore bottom glowed like a beacon amid the pale-pink frilliness that framed it. I sucked in a breath on her behalf, then another when Mara parted her feet, as instructed. All at once, that gorgeous little slut’s most secret and intimate parts were visible, tender pink lips spread and vulnerable. To me they looked edible and I imagined my teeth nipping and tongue licking at the tempting array.

But it seemed that Mara could not expect anything so pleasurable, as the boss had picked up that wicked-looking brown leather strap and stood testing it for bend and snappiness.

‘Do you ever go anywhere without those nasty things?’ blurted Mara, fearfully watching him stroke the supple hide then bend and flex it against his palm before slapping it gently down.

He looked over at her, strap in hand, without answering.

‘You will count,’ he said briskly, crossing to stand at her rear. ‘I plan to apply twenty strokes, but I will give extra for broken position or disobedience of any kind. Now then.’

He swung the strap through the air a few times before allowing it to whistle down and snap across Mara’s backside, causing her to sing out in pain and rock on her heels until she could count out a shaky ‘One, Sir’.

I noted the wide red stripe left to burn across Mara’s bottom and watched agog as the rest were delivered, slowly and with decorum, sometimes leaving a little pause for Mara to recollect herself, falling across the full width of her bum and down to the upper thighs, which appeared especially painful. I fidgeted furiously with my needful bud while I watched Mara lift her feet, clutch the bed frame and yelp into the mattress, as her bottom received stripe after stripe. The air around me smoked and snapped with the sounds and scents of punishment and arousal; the shocking crack of the strap urged my fingers on to the completion of the quest.

Mara earned herself two extra strokes by jumping up straight and rubbing her bottom furiously, and, by the time the twenty-second was applied and counted, I had found my moment of sweet release, biting my lip as she doubled over on the floor, intent on allowing no sound to betray me.

I shuffled back to my knees for a final glimpse of Mara’s crimson bum with its pattern of long rectangles. The girl was panting and mewling, still bent over, while bossman was issuing some words of wisdom or other which went over my head, so transfixed was I by the obvious changes that had been wrought to Mara’s cunt. Now it was deeper in colour, swollen and glistening slightly with what must surely be her female juices. It certainly seemed that Mara had taken some pleasure from the pain. It wasn’t my bag – I used to think it was some myth made up to suit the purpose of cruelly inclined men. But I had seen enough juicy little pain sluts over the years, and here was Mara, almost dripping …

I watched the errant secretary slowly uncurl her spine and stand, head bowed and bum burning, before her master.

He bent and whispered something into her ear. She grimaced and turned towards me and – oh, shit! – she was coming straight towards the door.

I didn’t have time to stand straight, still less back away, before the handle turned. It was unlocked. I hadn’t thought it would be unlocked. In my haste to scramble out of view, somewhere, anywhere, I fell backwards.

When the door opened, my fingers were still struggling to escape my knickers and my skirt was hiked around my waist.

Mara’s hands flew to her mouth and she aimed a desperate look at her boss. So did I.

What the hell was going to happen now?

I retrieved my juice-stained fingers and tried to stand, blabbing out incoherent apologies. At least, they might have been apologies, or I might have just repeated ‘Oh, God’over and over.

The boss, surprisingly unruffled, simply folded his arms and watched me. ‘What have we here?’ he said. Then he crooked a finger.

‘Please don’t report me,’ I whispered, finally managing to arrange my legs and my skirt so as to allow me to get up.

He shook his head and shushed me.

I walked past the curious Mara and presented myself to the boss. I couldn’t look at him, focusing instead on my fingers, which gripped each other so tightly they whitened around the knuckles.

‘Who are you?’

‘A chambermaid. Sir.’

‘No, I mean what’s your name?’

‘Kim, Sir.’

‘And what were you doing, crouched down there by the door?’

‘I was … polishing the handle, Sir.’

Even as I said the words, I knew lying was a bad idea, but I felt I had to make the token gesture, or he’d think I was some kind of pushover.

‘Polishing the handle? Look at me.’

I twisted my neck to the side, but he repeated the instruction and I lifted my eyes with much reluctance to his.

‘Do you often polish things with your hands down your knickers, Kim?’

I could do nothing but shrug.

‘You were watching us, weren’t you?’

‘I couldn’t help but notice …’

‘No, I’m sure,’ he said dryly. ‘And what did you notice?’