It was the day of the Christmas party at the office, and Helen had come dressed for it in a short, red dress and Santa hat. She liked to turn heads, and the dress clung to her curves, plentiful as they were. She had decided that the dress was too tight for a bra or panties, and she was only wearing a pair of tights underneath it, much to her delight. Office life could be dull, and she liked to spice it up.
She was having a flirty conversation with John from accounting (or was it sales?) when she heard her name being called. She turned around to see her line manager, furiously coming towards her, holding his phone to his ear and a wad of papers in his other hand. She excused herself and mouthed ‘What?’ to Ben, her boss. He lifted a finger, telling her to wait, and pressed mute on his phone.
‘In my office. Now.‘ he said, ominously.
She blushed at the tone, and followed him in. There was another man there, waiting for them. He turned around, revealing himself to be the CEO of the company. Her dress suddenly felt very short, and she tugged on it. The door closed with a clack that sent a shiver up her spine.
‘Mr. Jacobs!’ she said, ‘it’s a—
‘Take a seat, Helen,’ Ben interrupted. He pointed to one of the chairs in front of his desk. Mr Jacobs remained standing, eyeing her up and down. She blushed and did as she was bidden. Suddenly, the hat felt very silly. This didn’t look like a merry occasion. She didn’t dare move to remove it, and she felt her cheeks blushing to match the stupid hat’s colour.
‘Do you know why you’re here, Miss Clemens?’ Mr Jacobs asked. His voice was soft, gentle even, but she could tell by the steely gaze of his blue-grey eyes that he was anything but.
‘I…’ she hesitated, trying to think of what could have landed her in such a meeting. Ben, her manager, turned from the window where he was finishing his phone conversation, and put his phone on the large, glass desk that throned in the middle of the room. The view outside was gorgeous, and she noticed none of it, flinching instead as the phone thudded on the glass.
‘I… I have no idea, Mr Jacobs, S-Sir,’ she stammered.
He rolled his eyes and tutted in annoyance. He waved a hand for Ben to take over and went to the window to admire the view, his hands joined behind his back.
‘Helen,’ Ben said, ‘You’ve been here what, five years now?’
‘Six…’ she said, sheepishly.
‘Six years. That’s a long time, isn’t it? That shows commitment, that shows loyalty.’
‘And in turn, you have been treated well here, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Of course, Sir!’
‘We are a forward-thinking, modern company, with values we’re proud of, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Yes, Sir, I agree…’ she said, completely lost as to where he was going with that.
‘And one of these values,’ Mr Jacobs said, still looking out, ‘is a zero-tolerance policy towards sexual harassment in our offices.’
‘Sex-sexual harassment? Sir?’ Helen blushed, and tugged on her dress, biting her lip.
‘Four colleagues, Helen! It’s all in there!’ Ben said, loudly, shaking the papers. ‘How long did you think you would get away with it?’
‘Spanking the members of your team, Helen? Is that what you consider acceptable behaviour in this company?’
She said nothing, staring at the floor.
‘And taking pictures as well! You thought they wouldn’t dare report you! Well! HR has a pretty clear-cut case!’
‘B… b-ut…’ she stuttered, ‘they all agreed to it in… in writing when they joined my t-team and…’
‘You can’t make them sign a piece of paper and get away with something like this!’ Mr Jacobs said, his tone icy.
Chewing her lip, Helen’s gaze stayed down.
‘However,’ Ben said, ‘Given your track record, and given that you seemed to treat them well in every other respect, they have accepted to drop their complaint under one condition.’
‘One con-condition, S-sir?’ she said, looking up.
‘Unsurprisingly,’ Ben continued, ‘They want what happened to them to happen to you. They are willing to drop the claim if you submit yourself to a spanking of your own.’
Her eyes opened wide. ‘But… Sir…’ she said, her voice trembling.
‘Mr Jacobs and I will administer it. Your other option is to be fired for gross misconduct, with no severance pay and possible civil lawsuit. Your choice, Helen.’
‘I would say I’m sorry, Miss Clemens’ said Mr Jacobs, ‘but you clearly brought that on yourself.’
Helen thought of her skimpy dress, and the panties that she was not wearing. Surely there was another way. She looked at them in turn. She felt her world crumbling.
‘And… And if I accept?’
‘Then you will keep you position. With a different team, of course, and a year on probation.’
‘That… That’s it?’
‘We reward loyalty, and results, Miss Clemens,’ Mr Jacobs said with a dry smile.
He shoulders dropped and she nodded.
‘Do you accept the terms?’
‘Yes…’ she said, tears in her eyes.
Having signed a waiver without even reading it, she bent over the desk as Mr Jacobs instructed. She could feel her dress riding up and had no doubt the two men would soon be able to appreciate how little she was wearing underneath her already skimpy dress.
The first slap got her by surprise, and she let a little cry out. More soon followed, and she grabbed the other end of the desk, screwing her eyes shut not to yelp with each heavy slap. Soon, her bottom was warm, burning, and she was having a hard time trying not to kick her legs. Both men stayed silent, letting the noise of the barely muffled slaps fill the office. She knew people outside could hear them. She just knew, and her shame was instantly multiplied.
After what felt like an eternity, the slaps stopped. Her bottom was on fire, and tears had long ruined her make-up, pooling on the glass desk. She heard Ben say, ‘I think you should have a go, Sir…’ The relief she had felt at the pause vanished when she heard the sound of a belt buckle being undone. No no no no no… she thought. All of a sudden, she felt like a child again, like the bratty teenager she had been, coming home late to find the belt waiting for her. She shivered. Right when she thought things couldn’t be worse, she felt a hand grabbing the end of her dress and pulling it up to her waist.
There was a silent instant when time seemingly froze as the men realised quite what they were looking at. She felt a pang of desire and knew that she was wet as could be. Mortified, she buried her head in her hands, sobbing.
If she thought that would mollify the CEO, she thought wrong. The belt came whipping down a few seconds later, and she couldn’t help but yell loudly. A second smack of the belt fell down on her crimson bottom, and a third. By the fourth, she wasn’t trying to stifle her yelling anymore, and she was panting, trying to catch her breath between each agonising strike. She clenched and unclenched her buttocks, hoping to attenuate the pain, but the belt bit like a firebrand every time.
After twenty lashes, her tights were torn, and she felt like she had cried every tear in her body. Ten lashes later, she could barely stand on her trembling legs, and she was repeating ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry’ between sobs.
Finally, it stopped. She stayed down on the desk, her legs spread, her lips parted, dripping. She didn’t even care anymore. It was finally over. And it hurt, It hurt more than she thought it could. Her bottom hurt, her eyes, her thighs, the shame hurt. But at least it was over.
‘Now,’ Ben said, ‘as stipulated in the document you signed earlier…’ he unzipped her dress and passed it over her head, ‘You are going to stand in the corner of the open space for the duration of the office party.’
‘Merry Christmas!’ Mr Jacobs said.