Rachel’s First Time (Hardwood Academy)

It’s not fair. That’s all I can think of. It’s bad enough that I was sent to this so-called “school”, now they expect me to wear a uniform and do homework like I’m still a fucking teenager… Pfft, even in my mind swearing makes me tense, like one of the so-called teachers in this place could hear me. They call it the “Hardwood Academy for Troubled Girls”. The Shitwood Shittydemy for Unfairly Treated Girls, more like.

I sigh. The bench is uncomfortable. I can’t believe I’m sitting by the Headmistress’ office, at 22 years of age, like some kind of schoolgirl. I tug on my ugly, scratchy skirt. I sigh again. Bloody uniform. I guess I am a schoolgirl at the minute… Still, it’s better than juvie, I guess. Barely… A reform school, the last chance at redemption, queue the strings and emotional music…

It’s not a fun place. It’s work, work, work, and you get in trouble for the slightest thing. They had me write “I must not smoke” a hundred times. By hand as well, like, have they never heard of copy and paste? Jokes aside, it’s pretty miserable. At least most of the other girls are all right. There’s even one teacher who’s got a nice ass, Mr Scott. He’s well boring, mind you, but he’s something to look at while the minutes go by. Slowly.

Still, it’s not fair. One, I shouldn’t even be there. Yes, I messed up, blah blah blah, driving without a license, blah-dee-blah, under the influence, yada-yada… Like they’ve never been young or something? There wasn’t even anyone in the car I hit. So yeah, I shouldn’t be here. In this… School, Academy, whatever.

But more importantly, I shouldn’t be here, waiting by the door to be called-in and scolded by that old bat, the Headmistress. Madame Dubois, they call her. She’s French or something. Don’t know, don’t care. She’s old, and she thinks she’s better than you, that’s what I know. She wears tight skirts and blouses, and peers at you from behind her frames, like an old owl. I haven’t had the pleasure of being called to her office yet, besides the introduction on the first day. They had my parents in as well; that was really uncalled for. I swear they were relieved to be rid of me for a few months. Rude. I haven’t had a party at home for months, I don’t know what they’re complaining about. Plus, if they want me to move out, in this economy, they can pay my rent. Boomers.

Anyway, I keep getting distracted. I didn’t do it. I didn’t bring the smokes in, I didn’t steal Nicole’s money or whatever, and I didn’t flood the toilets on the second floor. I’ve been here a week and I swear they’re just trying to pin stuff on me like it’s beasting season on Rachel’s bloody back. Oh yeah, I’m Rachel, by the way. Nice to meet you and all that, but please leave me alone, yeah? I’m not in the mood. I don’t know why I’m even here and it’s not f—

“Rachel?” comes the voice from inside. Sounds French. I don’t like it. I get up, nonetheless. Deep down, I know that if I behave, I’ll be out of here faster, so I might as well try, for now, and see what she wants.

I shuffle in, uncomfortable and stand in front of Madame Dubois’s desk. I don’t know what to do with my hands. I don’t think she’ll like me crossing my arms. Do I put them behind my back? I miss jeans and pockets. In the end, I just let my arms hang loosely and try not to think about it. I feel pathetic. She hasn’t said anything, and she’s already made me mad. This is going to be fun…

“Rachel, how long have you been with us?” she asks. I know that she knows, I wish she would get to the bloody point.

“A week,” I reply.

“A week ma’am,” she corrects me. Does she think she’s the Queen or something? R.I.P., by the way.

“A week, ma’am,” I repeat back like a frigging parrot.

“Better” she says with a smile that cracks her old wrinkly face. She’s like, ancient. Older than my mum, which isn’t saying much, really, she had me young. That’s probably why I’m so troubled, the bloody counsellor told me. Can you believe it? Bang out of order, that.

I say nothing. If she’s got something to say, she can just say it, I’m not here for a little tea party and a chinwag.

“A week,” she says again like I’m deaf or something. “And already your teachers have been reporting to me that your behaviour is causing trouble.”

“Who said that?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Does it matter?” she answers. I shrug.

“I haven’t done anything,” I say, and it’s true, I haven’t. Not really.

“Let’s see…” she says, opening a notebook. Not a computer file, no-no, a green notebook with a handwritten sticker on it. I swear these people hate technology. Everything is musty and old. Old classroom with tables and benches, blackboards and chalk, the whole shebang. I think I visited a school museum as a kid that had more modern equipment than that. Oh, and no phones allowed, of course. I guess they’re afraid that we’ll call for help to escape this hellhole.

She flips a few pages of dense handwriting. It looks alright, I guess. I do like calligraphy, it’s about the only fun thing they have us do. That and the showers after P.E., but I don’t think we’re supposed to do that the way that we do. Finally, she finds the page. It has my name at the top. There’s a lot of lines filled in. I feel a knot in my stomach. It can’t be all bad stuff, right.

“Well,” she says with a very dry smile, “it seems that every teacher had something to report, miss Bennet.”

Rachel Bennett, that’s me. My friends call me Rach. Don’t call me Rach, we’re not friends. I shrug again.

“Just getting used to the rules, I guess…” I say, “Ma’am,” I add.

She nods. Her finger goes down the list of things that I’ve supposedly done. She tuts and shakes her head slightly. I blush in spite of myself. She seems genuinely disappointed, and for some reason, I seem to care. Bloody nonsense. I shuffle on my feet.

“Have the other girls told you about how we deal with behaviour here, miss Bennett?” she asks, her gaze fixing me. Kind of intense, the old lady. I swallow.

“I’ve… heard… things…” I say, unsure. It’s true, I have heard things, but it’s mostly been stuff that’s been made up to wind me up. Like, I know they’re old school, but they’re not that backwards.

“What sort of things?” she asks, crossing her arms.

“I… Some of the girls say that you still do, like, corporal punishment and stuff…” I say, “I can give you their names, if you want, like, they’re spreading rumours…”

“Rumours are unfounded pieces of information, my dear,” Madame Dubois says, “And this is anything but. Corporal punishment is a fundamental part of our process here at Hardwood Academy. It’s written there, in your agreement, the one that you signed.”

I scratch my hand uncomfortably. Yeah, I did sign that thing, it was better than jail, but did I read it? Did I read it bollocks. Still, I would have remembered something about getting my ass spanked in there. Right, there was this girl the other night, Helena, who was crying, and Nicole told me that it was because she had been spanked, yeah? But I didn’t believe her, of course, because that’s ridiculous. I did notice she didn’t shower with us the next day, but that must have been unrelated, right?…

Right?

“Anything to say, Rachel?” the old bat asks.

“No ma’am,” I say, “I’ve done nothing, like I told you.”

“Rude comments to Mr O’Leary, drawing a penis in your book in Mrs Schwartz’s class, hiding your classmate’s underwear in P.E., caught smoking by Mr Lewis,” she enumerates, “Need I go on?”

All right, there were a few things. The schlong was funny, though, it had veins and everything. Haley found it hilarious, that why Mrs Schwartz saw it. I try not to smile at the memory. I fail.

“Oh, you think this is funny, do you, young lady?” she says, the tip of her fingers on her desk.

“N-no…” I say. She might be ancient, but there’s something scary about her, I don’t know what it is. She glares, and a shiver runs up my spine. “I’m sorry, ma’am…” I say a sincerely as I can, which is not much. I shouldn’t be here, and if I wasn’t, then I wouldn’t be drawing dicks and hiding Molly’s fugly knickers. She’s got a fat ass anyway, Molly. I don’t like Molly.

“Well,” Madame Dubois says, “I think that once you understand exactly how things are done here, your behaviour is bound to improve dramatically.”

The knot in my stomach tightens as she drags a chair from behind her desk.

“Please, ma’am…” I say, “Just… like, give me a chance. I’ll earn it back, okay? There’s really no need for…” I can’t even say it. I’m not getting spanked. I’m 22, not 12, and even then, my mum never did. I wonder what the counsellor would think of that. Wanker.

“Harwood Academy is your chance, Rachel,” she says, and sits down. She can dream on; I’m not going to go over her lap. I’m not.

“You, like all the girls here, have got an opportunity to seize,” she continues, “and it is my duty, as is the duty of every other teacher here, to make sure that you do. We all want you to succeed, Rachel, and if that means punishing you when you go astray then, well, we’ll do it.”

She’s got a point, it’s pretty much my last chance before things get bad bad. Still. No way.

“I-I don’t think there’s any need for… This…” I say, still unable to say it.

“A spanking,” she says, looking at me past her glasses. It sounds weird in her accent. “You are going to come over my knees and get spanked over your skirt. Then, I’ll lift that skirt, and your knickers will go down. A bare-bottom spanking, young lady. That’s what’s going to happen.”

She doesn’t smile, but I swear that there is a glint in her eyes. She’s loving this, isn’t she? Perverted old lady…

“And if I refuse?” I say. I wish I could sound more confident.

“Then all that you’ll achieve is making the punishment harder, my dear.” Now she’s smiling. “I haven’t used the cane in a long time, but rest assured it is ready.”

I shake my head “N-no, not the cane…” I stutter. I’m embarrassing myself.

“Then over my lap, young lady,” she says sternly.

“No…” I say, unable to argue further.

“One condition of your remaining here in our care is that you abide by the rules that you signed. If not, I’m afraid there is only one way out… And even if you think this place is not to your taste, let me tell you that His Majesty’s Prisons are a lot less… Refined.”

That’s low. Straight to the prison threats. It’s also pretty effective. I take a step towards her. She says nothing, like she knows what’s going through my head at the moment. Okay. I messed up. It’s been a week and I didn’t really try to keep a low-profile. Maybe she cares. Maybe. She’s not even mad. She’s not yelling. It’s bloody awful. At least with my dad, I knew where I stood. When the door slams, you know, you know? But she’s just calm, she’s just telling me that’s she’s going to spank my naked arse like it’s nothing…

I take another step. I disgust myself. I should run away from this bloody office, and that smug French woman. But I don’t. I take one more step. She’s still saying nothing. I suddenly notice she has a ruler in one hand. Bloody brilliant… I stand two steps away from her.

“I’m sorry,” I say. She nods.

“Do you want to tell me why?” she asks. I chew on my lip.

“For not trying very hard…” I finally say. I leave it at that. There’s no need to go through the whole list, is there? She doesn’t care about the list. Well, she might care, I don’t know, but I don’t. I don’t think it’s what I did that’s getting me the… spanking. It’s that I’m not making any progress, or any change at all. Shit. I feel… bad about it.

“Do you want to try harder?” she asks, and her voice seems surprisingly soft. I feel tears coming to my eyes. I nod and sniffle. I shuffle two steps forward and lower myself over her knees. That seems to answer her question.

Her hand pats my skirt a few times as a adjust my position over her lap, then she holds my hip firmly and slams her palm into my ass. I let out a cry of surprise and tears start running down my face. It’s not the pain, though the following quick succession of slaps make my bum warm-up in no time. No, it’s not the pain but the sudden realisation that makes me cry. It’s that for the first time, I realise that I’m really in trouble; I fucked up badly and it’s taken me this long to realise it. Not when the police got drunk old me out of the car. Not when I saw the judge, not even when my dad started yelling at my mum because of me. I shrugged it all off back then. But look at me now? How low do you have to get to find yourself over an old woman’s knees, getting your bottom battered? She keeps spanking me, and the tears keep coming.

I fucked up. Badly.

Soon, my skirt comes up, and I don’t even think about the embarrassment of it. I don’t think I have any more shame left to wallow in. Her hand feels cold against my warmed-up cheeks, even with my pants still on. I know it won’t last, and that she’s not even nearly done with me. The pain is brutal, radiating from my bottom upwards. My eyes hurt as well, my whole face is burning in wet embarrassment. This whole time, she hasn’t said anything. Does she know what I’m thinking?

I suddenly realise that the slaps have stopped echoing around the wood-panelled office. I sniffle and turn my head round to look up at Madame Dubois.

“Are we learning something, miss Bennett?” she asks.

I noddle and try to wipe my nose. I feel like a year 7. “Yes ma’am…” I say between the tears.

“You know what’s going to happen now, don’t you?”

I nod again and clench my buttocks in anticipation.

“Y-you’re going to… take my pants down…” I say. I can’t believe it. Rachel, how have you let it go this far?

“I am,” she confirms, “And I will spank you with the ruler.”

“Oh ma’am… Please…” That’s all the protest I can muster. My ass is already on fire, and that was just a warm-up to her.

“A bare-bottomed spanking, young lady, that’s how it’s done. And that’s how it will be done any time that you need to be reminded to keep your behaviour to the straight and narrow.”

“Please…” I try again, knowing full well that it won’t change a thing. She doesn’t even reply, and I feel her fingers grabbing the elastic band of my knickers and pulling them down to my thighs. The tears roll down my cheeks once more. She takes the ruler that was resting over the small of my back in her hand.

The pain is like nothing I’ve felt before. It’s like fire raining down on my bottom every time the wooden ruler smacks it, and it does so hard and quickly. Right, left, right, left, Madame Dubois is relentless and systematic. Soon, there isn’t an inch of my round cheeks that isn’t marked and painful. She continues. I’ve long since abandoned any pretence of dignity, and I’m bawling like a baby, promising to whomever is listening that I’ll be good, that I’ll try hard.

And I do mean it. For one, I never want to be over her lap again, it hurts so much I know I won’t be able to sit for the next ten years. I know why Helena didn’t come to shower that night; these marks are going to be there a while. And it burns. I never want to feel so much pain again. I bet that childbirth is nothing compared to this. I cry all the tears I have left.

But I do mean it because I want to try. I owe it to myself. It’s my last chance to make a choice for myself. I need to— fuuuuuuck, she hits my thighs with that damn ruler, and I bellow in pain. I hate her. So much. But I stay over her lap and take it. She does it again, and again. I take the pain. I’ll do better.

No matter what, I’m never getting spanked again. I swear. Never.

At least not for a month.

A girl’s gotta start somewhere.

Her Boss’ Mistress

Janet checked the clasp of her garter-belt’s strap one last time. She wanted everything to look good for Him. No, not good, perfect. She pulled on the strap and let it snap against her thigh with a satisfying clack. A delicious shiver ran up her spine at the thought of His eyes running up and down her long legs clad in their dark stockings, of His gaze admiring her lacy corset and the smoky make-up look that she had spent an hour perfecting. She imagined His hands caressing the small of her back, tracing lines across her legs, the nape of her neck. She dreamt of His lips kissing her neck, her chest, and of His teeth biting her lips, teasing her with promises of pleasures to come.

She checked herself in the mirror one last time. Getting dressed in the office’s bathroom was not the most ideal of situations, but when you were having an affair with your boss, some sacrifices had to be made. Besides, He treated her really well, and that was not just the mind-bending sex. What could she say? A man who knew what he was doing was worth all the trouble, the secrets, the lies… And the fact that she found herself in a company bathroom at eleven at night wearing a rather naughty lingerie ensemble. She smacked her lips after applying a last touch of red to them. She was ready for Him.

Her heels click-clacking on the floor, she made her way to her boss’ office. The workspaces around her were dark, save the glow of a few computer screens that had not been turned off. Through the large windows beyond, she could see the lights of the skyscrapers of the city below. With a frisson of naughtiness, she wondered if a late-night worker in another building would catch a glimpse of her hips swaying in her skimpy outfit. Smothering a giggle, she placed her hand on the doorknob and knocked softly. She opened the door.

The office was dark. He did like the theatricality of it. It was part of His charm, really. He would always make her feel like every part of their secret time together was lifted from the pages of a book. Every minute an adventure, and she always loved the endings. The thought made her smile. The lights suddenly turned on, and she smiled broadly, her hand shooting to cover her eyes.

“Ooh!” she purred, “You surprised m—”

She cut herself short when she saw that the person sat behind the large oak desk was not her boss at all. It was…

“Sally? W-what are you doing here?” she asked, an arm covering the ample bosom that her corset flattered. The attempt at modesty was somewhat defeated by the rest of the outfit, frilly panties and all, but her mind was busy racing to find anything to say, and trying to understand why Sally, her boss’ personal assistant, was sitting there instead of Him.

“Hello, Janet,” Sally said, with venom in her voice as she spoke her name. “I was hoping to have a chat with you…”

“A… chat?” Janet asked, troubled by the other woman’s commanding tone. She was nothing like the demure, discreet assistant that she was used to seeing during the day.

“Yes… A chat. You seem surprised to see me here? Maybe you were expecting someone else?”

“I think you already know…” Janet answered, blushing. Her secrets didn’t seem so well guarded after all…

Sally got up from behind the desk and walked to her. With a smirk, she looked up and down the embarrassed younger woman.

“Yes. I’m afraid Jim won’t be coming… He has a dinner tonight,” Sally said after an uncomfortably long silence.

“D-does he?” Janet stuttered.

“Yes, he does… With his wife.”

Janet said nothing. Right. Think, what could Sally want? Money? She wasn’t particularly rich, but He had made her gifts that she could sell for good money. Maybe Sally would stay quiet for that pair of diamond earrings that He had gotten her last time. Think, think! She needed to stall for time.

“Did… did she send you?” she asked, “Does she know about… this?” she pointed to herself and to her outfit as she said the last word.

“What?” Sally scoffed, “That stupid frigid hag doesn’t know anything, nor does she care, really.”

Janet gasped, and Sally went on: “As long as he keeps her bank account well cushioned, I don’t think she gives a damn what he does, really. Or who.”

“But then… What’s all this? Why are you here? And… What do you want?”

Sally came closer, glaring. She frowned and cusped Janet’s chin between two fingers.

“Jim is mine,” she hissed, “and he has been mine for much longer than you have even worked here.”

“Wh-what?!” Janet said, blushing at her other woman’s touch.

“I’ve been his mistress for years and I’m not about to let him ruin everything for some bimbo who thinks dressing like that is what he likes!”

Janet was too stunned to speak. Sally? Sweet, boring, in-the-background Sally? She couldn’t imagine Him with her, no. No. That was a lie, it had to be! Janet had been seeing Him for over a month, she would have noticed something, she…

“I won’t let you have him,” Sally said again, “and I’m going to teach you a lesson…”

Without another word, her hand flew to Janet’s ear, and she was dragging her towards the desk. With cries of pain, Janet followed.

“Stop! What are you doing!” she moaned, to no avail.

“I’ll show you what little sluts like you deserve…” Sally muttered through gritted teeth. Sitting down in His chair, she forced the younger girl over her knees.

“You can’t be serious!” Janet protested, incredulous, “who do you think you—”

The first slap landing on her ample bottom broke her train of thought. It hurt! She kicked her legs and tried to get off, but Sally was surprisingly strong, and, peppering her bottom with one hand, she held her firmly with the other. Within seconds, the pain seemed to spread, and Sally was not stopping.

“You can’t do this!” Janet cried out, somewhat unconvincingly. Her eyes were tearing up as her bottom was warming, and she tried to cover it with her hand. Scoffing, Sally pushed it away, and it only made her spank harder. The panties, as nice as they were, offered little protection against the ire of the scorned woman.

“Jim deserves the best,” Sally said, “and I always make sure he gets it…”

“Well, then,” Janet said defiantly, “then you should let him have me, rather than having to deal with your saggy tits…”

Silence. The slaps stopped as both Sally and Janet fell silent. The latter couldn’t believe that she had just said that. The former stunned into apoplexy that this girl, this airhead, this slut would dare talk to her like that.

“You did NOT just say that,” she roared, and grabbed Janet’s panties to lower them down to her thighs. “I’ll show you just what you deserve…”

The slaps fell fast and hard, as did the scolding, the belittling, the insults. Clearly, Janet had unknowingly struck a nerve. Unfortunately for her, she was in too much pain to appreciate it. Her bottom was burning, her sit spots were on fire, and Sally was not stopping. Tears were now running down Janet’s face, and she didn’t know how this was all going to end.

“Please…” she begged between two sobs, “I’ll do whatever you want…”

“You won’t see Jim again?” Sally asked, holding her hand up menacingly.

“Well, I…” Janet hesitated. Sally hand slapped her offered bottom once again.

“Shouldn’t He get to decide?” Janet sobbed, “Why did He get with me in the first place, huh?”

“He…” Sally hesitated, “He can be like that, sometimes… He gets distracted…”

Janet waited for the slaps to come. The silence stretched. Taking deep breaths to try and calm the raging fire in her behind, she asked:

“Has… Has this happened before? I mean, am I the first one that—”

“No.” Sally cut her, bitterly. “No, you’re not the first… mistake… that he made. I had to… Correct some other girls’ silly ideas… Like I said, he gets distracted…”

She fell silent once more. Janet didn’t dare move to soothe her blistered behind, for fear that the other woman would start spanking her again.

“But…” Sally began, “He always comes back to me…”

Janet could hear the hurt in that voice, the slightest twitch of regret. Her hatred of the other woman seemed to fly away in that instant.

“Oh, Sally…” she said, moving to get up. The older woman said nothing and didn’t stop her. Janet stood up in front of her tormentor, her hands unconsciously flying to clutch her bruised bottom. She winced, then looked at Sally. Tears were running down her face as well.

“Oh, Sally…” Janet said again, and against all instincts, she took the woman in her arms.

“Sally, you deserve so much better…”

“I don’t want better,” Sally sobbed, “I want him.”

***

In the end, it turned out that when both women brought proof of what Jim had been doing for all these years, his wife did actually care about it very much. Far form the stupid, pampered bimbo that Janet had imagined from Sally’s description, his wife had been generous and empathetic. Most importantly, she had gotten mad at him rather than at the other women. As the high-profile divorce made headline for months, all three women found themselves forming an unexpected friendship, and saw each other often long after.

More surprisingly still, Janet found herself over Sally’s lap again, numerous times. That night in the office had opened doors in her that she hadn’t known existed, and she had been eager to cross that threshold again, but with a friend, a lover, that time. Sally, it turned out, had been just as eager.

Horoscope

“Is it… Is it really necessary, Sir?” Ryleigh asked, her panties only slightly pulled down, the elastic band taught in her fingers.

“Down they go, Ryleigh,” he said firmly. Mr Wright was not in the habit of repeating himself.

“But it’s so… humiliating,” she pleaded, “I’m in my underwear already, surely that is—”

“Did I ask for an opinion, or did I ask you to take your panties off, young lady?” came the reply, cutting her short.

“Yes, Sir,” she mouthed, and she felt the caress of the fabric on her long, shapely legs as the panties fell to the floor. Despite her embarrassment —or was it because of it? — she shivered.

Without another word, he indicated his lap and, blushing red, she shuffled towards him and her impending punishment. “This can’t be happening”, she thought. And yet, it was. A spanking, she was going to get a spanking like a misbehaving child, her bottom bared for her boss to see and punish as he saw fit.

This was not how she had pictured the day going. In fact, according to the horoscope that she was reading with her breakfast that morning, it was going to be “a day to try new things”. That had sounded exciting then! On her way to work, she had decided to take that advice to heart and instead of her usual black coffee, no sugar, no milk, thank you very much, she had even ordered a fancy, multisyllabic, sort-of-Italian-sounding monstrosity of a drink. Sipping on the surprisingly tasty sugary drink, she had wondered what else she might discover she liked that day.

The morning had been her usual mix of boring admin and exciting gossip with Samantha, who always had the tea to spill. Mr Wright had fired his assistant; she had told him. Apparently, said assistant had made a mess of a big client’s account, and Mr Wright had had to spend two days patching things up. But that was not the juicy part! According to Samantha —who had a reputation for embellishing the truth for dramatic effect, in all fairness—, Mr Wright had given her assistant a choice: being fired on the spot, and possibly sued by the company, or receiving a punishment and being let go with a generous severance package. Giggling like a schoolgirl at a sleepover, Ryleigh had asked Samantha what she meant by “a punishment”, to which the latter had answered, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “A big ol’ fashioned spanking!”

Ryleigh had laughed out loud at the absurdity. Samantha really had a wild imagination, but she was good fun.

Later that day, a company-wide email had been sent, advertising the position of Mr Wright’s assistant. It came with quite a few benefits, flexible hours, and a big pay increase. Ryleigh remembered the horoscope. “A day to try new things.” Maybe that was the opportunity she had been waiting for? After all, there was nothing to lose. Gathering her courage, she had gone and knocked on Mr Wright’s door.

She estimated that he was in his early 40s, with dark hair just starting to turn grey. Tall, athletic, she had never seen him in anything but smart clothes, even on casual Fridays. Mr Wright was someone who took pride in his work, and who expected a lot of those under him. Samantha had told her that she had tried to invite him on a date —such a Samantha thing to do—, but he had told her that he had, quote, “no time for dating.” Not that that had stopped Samantha trying again several times, but to no avail.

“Ah, Ryleigh, is it?” Mr Wright had said as he opened the door to his office to let her in. She had been pleasantly surprised that he even knew who she was. “Yes, Sir,” she’d said, feeling like a schoolgirl in front of a headmaster. “I would like to apply for the position…”

“Of course, of course”, he’d said, sitting down behind his impeccably kept desk. In fact, the entire office was tidy. There was not a scrap of paper out of place, the books on the shelves were organised alphabetically, the plants symmetrically arranged on the windowsill. “Well,” he continued, “we can certainly give it a go today and see how it goes. But I have to warn you: I have high expectations. If you are not prepared to give this your all, then I would not bother trying.”

She had nodded, “Of course, Sir, I wouldn’t expect anything else!”

“I can assume you have read the job description and all its conditions?” he asked.

“Yes of course.” She hadn’t, really, not all of it. It was a PA job, nothing too novel, and the tasks and duties were the normal fare. Or so she had thought.

“Perfect, let’s sign your contract and you can begin your trial period, shall we?”

And just like that, she had become Mr Wright’s assistant. That had been four hours previously.

The memories still rushing through her mind, she lowered herself onto his lap, trying to ignore the shame, the mere idea that she was laying over her boss’ lap, her bare bottom on display… All that she was wearing now were a pair of high heels and her bra. Her skirt and blouse were on the desk, neatly folded. Her panties were still on the floor where they had fallen off her legs. Somehow, it was worse than being naked. She shivered again. His hand felt warm against her waist where he held her in place. She could smell his cologne, and she caught herself thinking that it smelled quite nice, like Samantha had said it did. “What the hell is wrong with me?” she thought, “Of all the things to be thinking of…”

Her train of thought was immediately interrupted as his other hand tapped her perky bottom a few times, surprisingly gentle. “Was that it, then? Had it all been a big joke to see how far she would go? That was quite—” His hand slammed into her bottom, and she let out a loud cry. The pain was as immediate as it was searing.  Without giving her time to catch her breath, another slap came down, targeting her other cheek, then came another, and another, and one more, relentless, heavy, painful slaps that made her kick her legs and brought tears to her eyes.

The new job had started easily. Her task had been to get acquainted with the accounts that her new boss was handling personally. Ryleigh an eye for detail, numbers, facts, and she was eager to please. Within the hour, she had written a memo detailing the most important aspects of each client, and he had praised her on her diligence. She had even found an error that the previous assistant, Clara, had made. He had muttered something about Clara getting off easy, but she had not dared enquire further. Ryleigh was positively glowing. This was going to be a great career move; she was sure of it. Then things had started to get more complex, and she had made a few mistakes. Nothing big: typos, files in the wrong folder, or in the wrong order. Mr Wright hadn’t said anything bad to her then, but simply tutted as he had rearranged the pages or pointed the mistakes. Blushing, she had made all the changes immediately, of course. Thinking back, the blushing had been foreshadowing, it seemed. From then, it had only gotten more complex, and she found herself struggling to keep up with the amount of detail that she was expected to remember. But all would have been fine if not for the email. The one email that clearly said “confidential”, the same email that had now been forwarded to the company’s entire mailing-list. The problem with working for people high up at a company was that mistakes came with a lot more consequences, as she had been about to painfully find out.

The moment the send confirmation sound had pinged off the computer, she had known that she was in trouble. Blushing still, head bowed and eyes wet with incoming tears, she had knocked softly on Mr Wright’s door. He hadn’t raised his voice. He hadn’t needed to. She knew that she was going to be fired, that was clear. Not even half a day into the job, and she had made the biggest blunder of her career.

“You know what your contract says,” he had said, an affirmation rather than a question.

“A-about termination?” she had said, sheepishly.

“About dealing with grave misconduct or severe mistakes.”

“I…” she had hesitated, “I don’t…”

“Let’s have a look again, shall we?”

And there it was, black on white, with her signature right underneath: “In case of gross negligence, the employee acknowledges that they will submit themselves to corporal punishment, namely one (1) bare bottomed spanking taken over the knees of their direct line manager.”

Her eyes had widened as she had read and re-read the passage several times. It couldn’t be true. And yet, that was the contract that she had signed. She had swallowed, not daring to look Mr Wright in the eyes, and thought of Samantha’s silly gossip. Not so silly after all…

“I think that is pretty clear, yes?” he had asked.

“I-I…” she had stammered.

“To be clear, you are not being fired, miss Collins.”

“I… I’m not?”

“No, but you understand that mistakes must have consequences.”

“Yes but… A spanking, Sir?”

“A time-tested method, absolutely.”

“But Sir…”

“It’s your career and your reputation on the line, Ryleigh. I would rather shoulder the responsibility for that mistake and keep you as my assistant, but I cannot tolerate mistakes going unpunished.”

“Is that… Is that what happened to Clara? Did she choose not to be punished like… that?”

“Clara was… How could I put it… Clara kept a tube of soothing cream in her desk drawer.”

“For…”

“For her bottom, yes… That’s how often it had to happen. I do not think you will need it quite as much…”

“I…”

“Unless you’d rather walk out the door and pack your things, that is entirely up to you…”

“No I…”

A day to try new things, the horoscope had said. That was all bollocks, right? Stars didn’t really control anything… And yet, here she was, pondering whether a spanking was so bad after all…

Without a word, she had nodded.

“Right!” he had said, slapping his thigh and getting up from behind the desk. “Your skirt and blouse, if you please,” he had continued.

“Ex-excuse me?” she had stuttered, getting more flustered by the minute.

“It’s standard procedure… Blouse and skirt off.”

She hadn’t even thought of protesting further. She had already accepted her fate, what more was that now? With trembling fingers, she had unbuttoned her blouse, and folded it on the desk. Her pencil skirt had been next, and within a minute, she was standing in her underwear in front of Mr Wright, her boss. “What would Sam give to be in that position?” she thought. It almost made her grin. Almost.

Then he had said it. “Your panties too, Ryleigh. It’s a bare bottomed spanking.”

“Is it… Is it really necessary, Sir?”

The slaps kept coming and coming. The tears were freely rolling down her blushing cheeks now, and the burn form her bottom was overwhelming all her senses. Seeing that the only effect kicking her legs had had was to make him spank her harder, she had stopped struggling within minutes of the spanking starting, and had now fully submitted herself to his discipline.

“I expect you to learn from this!” he was saying, and in her mind, she was answering “Yes! Yes, I will!” But all that came out of her mouth were sobs and little cries of pain. She couldn’t see, but she imagined her bottom was crimson by now. She didn’t think she would be able to sit in days.

“With Clara, I had to resort to using a wooden paddle…” he continued, half-comment, half-warning.

She couldn’t even imagine what that would be like. That alone had her promise herself to never have a slip-up that bad again. There were mysteries that were best left alone, and the feeling of a paddle on her bare cheeks was definitely one of them.

After a few more interminable minutes of agony, shame, tears and a good deal of pleading for it to stop, Mr Wright finally did so. She didn’t dare get up, in case he was just taking a break, but a few gentle taps gave her the go-ahead. She got herself up, then let him guide her to the corner of his office were she naturally found herself, hands on her head. Despite never having been punished before, it had seemed like a natural continuation to the punishment. A moment to reflect and gather herself while her bottom cooled. As she would later discover, Clara had left her cream in the desk, a fact that she would be forever thankful for.

Years later, and after many more spankings of varying intensity over Mr Wright’s lap, Ryleigh found herself in the corner once again, and randomly thought back to that silly horoscope, on that fateful day. A day to try new things, it had said, and, thinking about it, it was probably the best advice she’d ever gotten.

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day!

Remember, what happens in Supermac’s stays in Supermac’s!

Have a good time, everyone, and enjoy the craic (and the buttcraic, in this case!)

Is breá liom sibh go léir!

Last time, mom!

Melany had had enough. It just had to stop, and it would stop tonight. She had spent an hour or so getting ready, putting her makeup on, straightening her long, dark hair, changing her outfit three times before settling on the first one that she had tried. The usual. She hadn’t been out in ages and she was intending on having fun. What she was not intending on was her mum coming along for the ride. Again.

It had started in the summer. Her parents had gotten divorced (for the best, really), and her mum had needed a chance of place (her words). Therefore, she had decided to join her daughter Melany in California, where the young brunette was attending college. At first, Melany had been quite happy to have her mum around, as Michigan was too far for regular visits. Her mum worked from home, and she offered to move in together, even do her laundry like when she was still living at home in the Great Lake State. It was cute, and the two had always gotten along. So Melany had said yes.

Then her mum had started feeling lonely. To Melany’s horror, she had downloader Tinder, and even gone on a few dates. Thankfully, none that had gone so well that she’d brought a man to their cosy flat. But the thought made Melany shiver. Still, she was supportive. Her mum deserved to be happy, that wasn’t the issue. No, the issues had started when Sheila —her mum— had suggested they go out together.

“You want to go have diner some place?” Melany had asked.

“No, go out out,” her mum had answered.

And so they’d done just that. Once, twice, five times. Now every time Melany got herself ready, her mum ran to the bathroom and started doing the same. Not only that, her mum partied hard. After a few weeks, she was already getting a reputation, and not a particularly good one. The shots of tequila and the borderline grinding on boys at the club had forced Melany to drag her mum home the last time they’d been out.

So tonight, it would stop.

Melany admired herself one last time in the mirror —long legs clad in a short skirt, hair and eyebrows on fleek, revealing but-not-too-revealing top, she was ready for a fun night. She stepped out of her bedroom. Her mother was in the corridor, putting her heels on. She was wearing a short dress that was way too tight for Melany’s comfort. To be fair to her mother, Sheila had kept herself in shape, and was a beautiful woman still. The milf jokes in college had been relentless.

“Mom…” Melany started.

“Oh please, sweetie! I know you said last time that I embarrassed you, but I promise I will be on my best behavior tonight!”

“Mom… I love you, but maybe I could have one night out on my own, for a change?”

“Oh but sweetie, I got myself all pretty and…”

Melany sighed.

“I’m not dragging you out of the club again!” she said,

“No no, I promise! Best behavior, nothing embarrassing,” her mum replied.

Melany pouted.

“You remember what would happen when I misbehaved as a kid?” she asked, innocently.

“When bratty Melany came out?” her mother said with a smile.

“Yeah, that…”

“Well, I…” her mum stuttered

“You spanked me, right?”

“Well, hum, yes…”

“So, if you don’t behave tonight…”

“Oh, you can’t possibly mean…” Sheila said, blushing.

Melany crossed her arms.

“Either you agree to it or I’m going alone.”

It was Sheila’s turn to pout, blushing hard.

“I’m not going to embarrass you…” she started.

“Mom! Promise me,” the young girl insisted.

“I promise!”

“And if you do embarrass me?” asked Melany again.

“Then… you can s-spank me…” her mum stammered, a nervous finger on her lips.

Melany nodded, “I’ll hold you to it!” she said, then went to the door, and they both left for the club.

Not two hours later, the door opened again, and a furious Melany was dragging her mother in by the wrist.

“But sweeeetie!” the older woman was saying, “It was just a couple shots and…”

“You were GRABBING his BUTT in middle of the dancefloor, MOM!” Melany yelled.

“Well, it was quite firm, really…”

“Mom, you’re drunk!”

“Oh, maybe, but it’s so fun!”

“That guy is in my class, mom!”

“Well, you didn’t tell me they had nice asses in your class, you know!”

“MOM!”

“Whaaat?” Sheila asked, smiling.

“You remember what we said, right?”

“About what?”

“About you embarrassing me again!”

“Oh that… You didn’t really mean it, sweetie, did you?”

“Oh, didn’t I?” Melany said with a glare.

“You wouldn’t spank your own mother…” Sheila said, shaking her head with a grin. “Now if that boy was to put me over his knees…”

“MOM!” Melany yelled again, and still holding her mum’s wrist, she pulled a chair. Sitting down, she forced the older woman over her lap. Drunk as she was, it took Sheila until the first slap landed on her firm behind to realise what was going on.

“Oww!” she cried out, “Melany? What are you doing?”

“What I should have done a while ago,” her daughter said, landing five slaps in quick succession on her mother’s rear. The woman wriggled her bottom, trying to escape or avoid the heavy slaps somehow, but Melany was holding her firmly in place, and slap after hard slap landed with only the thin fabric of the dress and panties to shield her bottom.

After twenty more, Sheila was feeling the warmth growing in her behind. “All right, okay!” she cried out, “You’ve made your point! I’ll be good.”

“Really, mom?” Melany frowned. “I think I remember my spankings being a lot more bare.”

“Y-yes but…”

“Oh no ifs or buts, mom,” said her daughter with a vicious grin. How she had dreamed of this as a teenager when her mum pulled her over her lap. This was payback, she thought, for spanking her in front of her friends that one time. The dress came up, and her hand fell down hard again, and again, and again. By then, her mother was clearly sobering up, and feeling the pain and humiliation much more clearly. The amused comments became little cried, became pleas, became tears.

“All right! I’m sorry! Melany, please…”

The pink cheeks were turning red, much to Melany’s delight, but she wasn’t done yet. The panties were still covering most of her mother’s round, toned bottom, and there was no way they would stay up. “If you’re really sorry, you’ll agree that your panties must come down as well, right?” she asked.

Her mother gasped. “No, please…” she said, “this is so humiliating already…”

“Oh is it?” Melany said with a frown, “And you think my mom groping boys in the club in front of me isn’t?”

“Melany, sweetie…”

“Men your own age from now on, Mom!”

“Yes, sweetie…”

“And don’t even think about bringing one in here!”

“Y-yes, sweetie” her mother sobbed.

“Am I taking your panties down?”

“I…”

“Do you deserve a good, bare bottom spanking?”

Sheila didn’t answer but didn’t protest further when her daughter grabbed her panties’ waist band and lowered them to mid-thigh. From then on, there was nothing but raw pain and the sound of hard slaps filling the room, punctuated by Sheila’s sobs and sniffles. She knew her daughter and how she always achieved what she set her mind to. This spanking was going to end when Melany decided it would, and not a second before. Sheila’s bottom and thighs were burning, probably bright red by now, and she wondered if she would be able to sit at all come the morning. At the very least, she would be sleeping on her side tonight, she knew.

Still, she thought, that boy in the club had had one hell of a cute ass.