In the early eighties I was running an estate agents in a small coastal town in Sussex (UK), and had been for about nine years. The business had been started by my father in the late fifties and was left to me as part of a legacy. I had originally intended to be a building surveyor, but ended up abandoning the course to keep the estate agency running.
The business had one other employee, Ron Richards, who did most of the house calls to inspect, measure up and record the details of the properties for sale, including taking photographs, calculating an asking price, and producing the information summaries. I also did some of this work myself, but it was usually me that manned the office, doing consultations, paperwork, etc.
In the summer, things got busier, and Ron and I ended up doing overtime, and Ron suggested we take on a student for the summer, to deal with general enquiries and to take on some of the other work. He had someone in mind; the daughter of an old friend of his, who was doing a course in estate management. She had just completed the first year, and was just starting her summer break.
The following Monday, Natasha arrived for an interview. She was twenty years old, about five foot six, and had straight ash-blonde hair that came down to mid-shoulder-blade level, with bright blue eyes and a beautiful smile. She was slim and fit, with long legs, wearing a tight black miniskirt, and a loose-fitting top. Needless to say, she got the job.
Over the summer, Natasha learned the ropes and became very useful, allowing Ron and myself to go out and visit properties, without closing the office. At less busy times she would accompany Ron and hold the tape measure. She became so good at all Ron’s functions, that when Ron went off on his holiday for two weeks, she was able to fill in for him, and did a very good job of it.
By the end of the summer, we noticed that there was more work coming in, and we were considering taking someone on full-time to replace her when she went back to university. However, Natasha said she could take a year off, and resume her studies the following year if it was okay with us, since she was enjoying working for us so much. Naturally, we agreed. I also arranged to let out one of the agency’s own flats to her, (at a minuscule rent), in a nearby village, so she didn’t have such a long daily commute.
One Saturday in the middle of October, Natasha rang in to say she wasn’t feeling well, and would have to take the day off. “No problem, let me know tomorrow if you will be back on Monday,” I said. In actual fact, it was a problem, since we had to close the office for four hours while Ron and I both visited various properties. I was also in a bad mood due to having marital difficulties. It was a sunny day – warm for October - and I was on my way back to the office, at about two p.m., having just looked round a cottage that was to be put on the market. I was driving past a village pub, The Plough, when I noticed Natasha sitting at a table outside the pub, with a drink, eating a ploughman’s lunch, while gazing into the eyes of a young man. I recognised him as one of our previous clients whose house had recently sold. I slowed down while driving past, and she looked up. Our eyes met briefly just before some trees got in the line of vision.
Next day, I checked my expensive new telephone answering machine to find an apologetic message from Natasha saying she was very sorry and would be in on Monday morning.
At nine a.m. the next day, Natasha came into my office. I asked her to close the door, then told her I was very disappointed to see her apparently on a date when she had taken the day off sick – a very busy day too, as it happened. She stood with her hands behind her, looking at the desk. She looked mortified as she glanced up at me, and explained that the man, John, was moving to his new home the following day, and that they had found a spark between them when she arranged his sale, but this was the only opportunity to meet, and she didn’t want it to slip past.
As she spoke, I suddenly felt a lump in my throat and a tightening of the stomach muscles, and realised I felt jealous of this John fellow. I hadn’t allowed the feeling to materialise before, since I was a married man, but my wife had, just a week previously, announced that she would be leaving me and moving in with an old flame she had been secretly seeing. I felt ashamed, took a deep breath and just looked up at Natasha's captivating blue eyes and said not to worry and we would put it behind us. She heaved a sigh of relief, pressed her palms together, and thanked me sincerely, with a tear in her eye.
The business was working well after that, and Natasha really brought laughter and fun into the office. She and John were having a long-distance relationship and it didn’t seem to bother me at all – in fact, I was happy for her. My wife had left, and it was such a relief to be free again.
The following March, Ron came into my office looking angry. He said that one of our clients whose house was up for sale with us had complained that Natasha had told a potential buyer that when she first viewed the house, it had a rats nest in the garden, and that as a result, the buyer had withdrawn their offer and the sale had fallen through. Ron said I should give Natasha a “darn good talking-to”.
I asked Natasha to step into my office, told her the situation, and waited for a response. She was standing in front of my desk, with her hands at her sides, and looking me in the eyes. Her brows were crossed and she said, “Oh… well that is true. But I didn’t think it would matter, since the pest control people had been in and got rid of it.” I explained that in this case, the whole truth was not required, and that she should be more careful in future regarding information shared with buyers. She apologised and went back to her desk.
Just three weeks after this, Ron came storming into the office and said “That’s the last straw! Natasha has done it again!” I asked him to close the door and explain. It turned out that Ron had found out through a member of his club, that one of Natasha’s friends had viewed a large property with a conservatory that Ron had spent a lot of time surveying and preparing the summary. The friend had wanted to make an offer, but Natasha had negotiated with the seller, so that he could surreptitiously withdraw the house from the market and the deal could be done avoiding agency fees, which would then be subtracted from the asking price. This had lost our business £4,750. “She will just have to be sacked!” said Ron, and he walked out, slamming the door behind him.
I waited until the main office was free of customers, and walked to the door and put up the ”Gone to Lunch” sign, and then turned to look at Natasha, who had a worried look on her face. “My office, please, Natasha!” She got up from her desk and followed me in.
I explained what Ron had just told me. Natasha shut her eyes and sighed, looking down, and told me how sorry she was, but her friend really wanted the place but just couldn't afford the asking price, and that if it was just under five thousand pounds less, that would make it possible. I told her that this was no way to run a business, and that she should have consulted me first and we might have been able to come up with some other way round it, but that just arranging to cut out the estate agent fee with no discussion was out of the question. “So,” I said, “this is the third time I have had to have you in here for a dressing-down. The other two incidents would normally constitute a verbal warning and a written warning, though we don’t have that disciplinary structure here. However, this constitutes gross misconduct, which normally requires instant dismissal.”
“Oh no!” she exclaimed, and her eyes became watery. “You aren’t going to give me the sack, are you? Isn’t there some other way?”
I hesitated. “Hmm… well, I suppose if you could pay the agency fee that we would have – in fact that we did earn – in this case, £4,750, then we can keep you on. Ron is very angry about this, as he did all the preparation work on this one.”
Natasha gasped and then mumbled, “I’m sorry, I haven’t got that kind of money.” Her mouth turned down and a tear fell from one eye. “Well, I’m sorry Natasha, it’s been a joy to have you here, but this really is unacceptable. Ron is furious, and wants to see the back of you. Those are the only real options. We can save your job if you pay the fee; otherwise it’s “goodbye”. And I suppose you will have to give up your flat, unless you are able to pay a standard rent on it.”
Natasha was trembling slightly. I felt sorry for her. “Isn’t there some other way?” she asked, “Couldn’t you find some alternative punishment for me?” I started to reply, “It’s not about punish…” but she continued, “Couldn’t you just give me a spanking or something?”
There was silence for a long moment, as I felt my heart visibly thumping out of my shirt. My breathing had changed, so I breathed in deeply and looked her in the eyes, unable to believe this wasn’t a joke, or a trick. “Is that a joke?” I managed to ask. She sniffed, her eyes were still watery, “No… I went to a private school… and… er… one time, we were caught with alcohol in the dormitory. The whole dorm… got a spanking… and it was…” She hesitated, flushed slightly, and looked at the floor “…on the bare bottom…. I have been virtually tea-total ever since then.”
I didn’t know what to say. I tried not to visualise what she had just described. “Erm… I… well, I mean… legally speaking that would leave me very open to err…” She could see I was vacillating, so there was a chance her offer might work. She interrupted my awkward anxious mumblings. “Peter, I realise I’ve badly screwed up here and I’m so very, very sorry for it. I can’t pay the fee – my family are in no position to find those funds, and I don’t actually want them to know about this.” She had regained her composure, but continued, ”I love this job – I have even looked into taking another year away from university so I can continue here. I admit I deserve punishment. And I don’t blame Ron for being upset. I just suddenly thought this might be a way to put things right. After all, the property was also on with another agent too, so if they had found a buyer – and they did have one wanting to view – then we would probably have lost the fee anyway.”
She had a good point there, but this suggestion, though very tempting, was worrying. “But what about the legal position? And how do I placate Ron?” She looked away for a moment, and then said, “Well… you could draft out an agreement form that I would sign – I will also sign to say it was my idea and I was not coerced. And I… actually I don’t want Ron to know about this.”
I was stunned. I would think of some other story to tell Ron. I agreed that she should come to my office at 6pm, well after Ron had gone home. She went back to her desk, and I spent some time drafting the agreement form. I also re-arranged the desk and chair slightly, and the position of the mirror on the bookshelf, (on my right as I sat at the desk), so that I would be able to look to my right and observe exactly what was going on down there, while she was across my knee (just to ensure I wasn’t causing any bruising of course!). I also placed a small mirror next to the clock on the desk so I could see her face while she was bent over it, (vacillating on whether to do the “over-the-desk or the “over-the knee” approach, I had decided on both), and then I wrote out an additional note for Natasha.
I was fairly distracted until six o’clock came. Finally, she knocked on the door and came in, closing the door behind her. I went across the room and locked the door. Then I offered her the chair behind the desk so she could sit and read the agreement before signing it. She sat down and started to read it. As she was reading it I said, “So, I put in the agreement that it won’t go on longer than ten minutes, and I’ll put a clock in front of you so you know how long you’ve got left. It won’t be too hard, and we can start off over your skirt, then pull the skirt up, and after a couple of minutes…” I hesitated. “You’ll pull my knickers down,” she said for me. “Er… yes, I said, feeling my heart thumping again. Then we’ll finish off with you over my knee in the traditional fashion.” “Okay”, she said quietly, looking at the floor.
I went to the window, feeling my face redden a bit, and adjusted the blind so nobody could see in. “Okay”, I said, as she put the pen down, “If you just lean forward over the desk…” I cleared the agreement and pen away, leaving the desk completely clutter-free, (except the clock and mirror) since I had cleared everything else off it during the afternoon. “… and put your hands flat on the middle of it.” She moved round the right side of the desk, where I pointed. She was wearing the same tight black mini-skirt that she had on the day I interviewed her, and on her upper half she had a baggy mauve sweatshirt.
I walked round the desk and stood behind her as she leaned onto the desk and laid her hands flat on the desktop. The sweatshirt was still obscuring the top part of her backside, and I moved it up slightly, to reveal the whole of her miniskirt. Then I put my left hand on the small of her back, and said, “Right Natasha. Can you stick your bottom out, please?” She arched her back, presenting her bottom towards me. I laid my right hand on her bottom very gently, barely touching it, and moved it from left to right, and gently patted each cheek, watching the very slight ripple. She gasped almost inaudibly. I was going to give her the traditional reprimand and remind her what a naughty girl she had been, but I seemed unable to speak.
After a few seconds, I raised my hand and brought it down firmly on her left buttock. There was a thudding noise, and a more visible ripple, as she jumped slightly and said, “Ah!” I repeated this on the right, and her “Ah!” was quieter, and the jump much smaller. She glanced back over her shoulder at me briefly. After a few slaps, the “Ah!” sounds were only every three or four slaps; and then the sweatshirt fell back over the miniskirt, so I said, “I’ll have to get your top out of the way… I’ll roll it up and tuck it under your bra-strap - okay?”
“Oh!” she said. “… Well… I’m not actually wearing a bra today. Um… It’s a loose top and quite warm weather …”. “Oh… right”, I said, and reached over to the bookshelf to grab a binder clip. “I’ll fix it with this clip, then.” As I took the sweatshirt hem in my hands, my fingers lightly brushed her derriere and she moved very slightly and there was a sharp in-breath. I rolled it up to mid-shoulder-blade level and clipped it in position, revealing the curve of her hips, a narrow waist and a tanned midriff.
I moved to her left, placing my left hand on her left hipbone, and my right hand lightly on her right buttock. After a few more slaps, accompanied by sharp breaths, or low grunts, I could see that the skirt was not only absorbing the impact, but also restraining her whole bottom from movement. “Right, I’m going to pull your skirt up, now.” I said. “Yes, Mr Simms,” she replied. Good, she had reverted to a more respectful form of address.
I put my fingers under the hem of her skirt and again there was a sharp in-breath as I touched her bare thighs… then I slowly pulled the skirt up around her waist, and almost gasped as her bottom was revealed, just covered by some pale blue hipster briefs, with darker blue spots and a red lacy trim. Her waist was small, and her bottom amazingly pert, with a wide gap where her thighs met. The knickers had ridden up slightly and cut across her buttocks revealing the full curve of the hips and they were as tight as if they had been painted onto her flesh, sitting right up the bottom crack and then widening into the gusset. The lower buttocks had blushed slightly from the slapping. In the gap, a full pair of lips stretched the gusset into a rounded bulge.
I stood back to admire the view, and moved to the left and then the right. This was the sexiest thing I had ever seen in my life. As I moved back to her left, I noticed that where I had clipped her sweatshirt, it was so high that her slight wriggles had caused her breasts to start appearing from under the fabric, which now revealed two small, but perfectly formed mounds and the lower halves of two pointy nipples. I gulped and replaced my left hand half on the rolled-up skirt and half on the bare flesh of her waist. I said, “Bottom out!” and Natasha again curved her back.
My right hand again went up and came down on the left buttock, half on the knickers, and half on the bare flesh. This time it jumped and moved to the left, then right, then left, then right, like a jelly; the sound was almost like a gunshot. She yelped, ”Ow!” quite loudly. I repeated on the right buttock with the same result.
After a few of these, I started to strike at an upward angle, which accentuated the buttock wobble and made them dance more, though it was slightly less severe. She jumped and flinched a bit more and her “Ouch!” and “Oooh!” sounds were at every slap. I paused. “Right, “I said, “ I want you to move your bottom from left to right while I spank you.” “Oh!... why?” she asked, and looked back at me over her shoulder. Her hair was disarrayed and her cheeks were red. I could not tell her the actual reason, which was that the resultant view would intensify feelings of arousal in me to levels beyond imagining. “Errr… it’s a practice used by some headmistresses to increase humiliation in the case of very badly behaved girls… it helps sustain a rhythm… and let’s face it: you have been a very bad girl!” I replied, “…haven't you?” “Oh… Yes sir.” She said, turning her head to the front again, and she started to rhythmically sway her heavenly posterior from left to right and back. I got in with the rhythm and spanked each buttock in turn. Now I could see her bulging labia-filled gusset at alternate swings. “Ooh! Aaah! Mmm! Uh!” The knickers were slowly sliding further up into the crevice, and the buttocks were getting red hand-prints now, with a clearly visible thumb shape appearing.
I paused again and watched as a little shudder traveled through Natasha’s body. “Guess what I’m going to do now Natasha!” I said. She paused for about four seconds as she struggled to speak. “Err… are you... going to er… take… my… knickers down… Sir?” She managed. “Yes,” I said, “and I want you to read this out loud while I spank your bare bottom.” I put the note I had prepared in front of her. “Yes Mr Simms”. She looked at it for a moment, while I very slowly and carefully moved my hands to the red frill at the top of her knickers. I slipped my forefingers under the band and moved them horizontally, until they were at each hip. Then, going down on one knee, I pulled the panties down in slow motion, with my face only a few inches away. She shivered as she felt my breath traveling down the cleft between her flushed cheeks.
The knickers turned inside out as they came down, and the gusset clung to her sex for a second before it twanged downwards, revealing her beautiful flower. The reddened buttocks curved away from each other until they met the top of her thighs, making a gap of about three inches before the tops of her thighs curved in towards each other. In the gap two plump naked, hairless labia pouted downwards, and just peeking out between them were the tips of her inner lips. It was like the tips of two steaks sandwiched between two plump buns, and I was transfixed, trying to resist its magnetic pull (fully shaved lady-parts were rare in the eighties). I continued pulling her pants down until I got to the mid thighs. I sighed and she shivered again as she felt my breath brushing her intimate parts.
I stood up again. What a view! Naked from the armpits to the thighs, except for the rolled up skirt round her waist, her perfect female shape vee-ing down from her shoulder blades to her narrow waist and out again to those fantastic buttocks with their central forbidden fruit. My office would never be the same again!
“Are you ready?” I asked. “Yes Sir”, she replied, and started reading out loud:
“I’ve been a very naughty girl…” I spanked her on the left buttock, with the upward stroke (!) “Oooh!” and she drew air in a short gasp “ffff!… and I lost the company … (!) mmmm!...fff!” “thousands of pounds… (!) “aaah! …ffff!” “I need to be punished… (!) ahooo! fff!...with a…” (I increased the tempo)… (!) “oooh!... spanking on the… (!) aaaha! … bare… (!) owww!... bottom. Spank me… (!) oh! … (!) ahhaa! hard please (!) aaaha! (!) Fuck!… Sir!
The slaps echoed slightly louder with no fabric to muffle them. “Now repeat it, with bottom out and swinging side to side but faster!” She obeyed and her noises were becoming more like moans and whimpers and I wasn’t sure if she was actually starting to enjoy it… or if she was starting to cry.
I could see her face in the mirror on the desk and her eyes were tightly closed one minute, then there was a frown, then her mouth opened in a gasp and moan, then her eyes caught mine… there were tears and her mascara was running slightly. I paused briefly, then continued slapping those wobbly flesh jellies, while her nipples slowly worked their way further out with every little jump she made.
I looked at the clock. We had about four minutes left. “Right Natasha. Its time to put you over my knee now.” Yes Mr Simms” she said, and straightened up, as I walked round and sat in the chair behind the desk, moving the small mirror onto the carpet on my left. Her facial cheeks were nearly as red as her bottom cheeks, (which she held in both hands), and her eyes were wide, glazed and wet as she stepped out of her knickers, which had fallen to the floor, (her deck-style shoes had also fallen off). She moved next to me and slowly leaned forward over my lap, grabbing my thighs to steady herself until her hands were on the carpet and her toe tips were also touching the carpet. Her red-hot cheeks were sticking up in the air. I checked the rear view mirror. Her thighs were only slightly parted but her wide thigh gap was framing her flesh petals in their entirety.
Her skirt had unrolled slightly as she mounted my knee, and I quickly got hold of it and pulled it downwards. “Sorry Natasha, this skirt is getting in the way!” She raised her hips to aid its trip past her hips and it slid down her legs to the floor. Now she was totally naked from her armpits to her toes. Her breasts had completely popped out under the sweatshirt and wobbled, as she got comfortable.
I put my left hand gently on her left cheek, which was very warm, (she breathed out hard), and slid it over, slowly and hardly touching, to her right cheek, then slid it up over the mounds and down the incline to her bare waist and rested it there. I moved my right hand so it was centrally cupping the underside of her deep pink bisected blancmange, then slowly raised it again and continued the spanking. Again, she moaned and whimpered with each slap, and started to wriggle her hips with each one. Her mouth was opening and shutting in the front mirror and she was gritting her teeth on and off. The hip wriggle turned into a rhythmic circular grinding movement as she massaged her clitoris into my leg while gasping and sobbing. It became obvious she was on her way to a climax and I increased the hardness and tempo of the slaps, watching the view in the rear view mirror. The buttocks were flying apart, then slapping back together, then repeating the movement in an echo ripple, allowing quick glimpses of her rosebud and plump fruit – and the tunnel of love itself, which was opening and shutting slightly, like a little mouth blowing kisses at me.
Her bottom was red hot and her screams of ecstasy reached a crescendo while a huge quiver traveled right through her body, followed by smaller shudders and she went all limp, with only seconds left on the clock. I rested my hand on her burning mounds and noticed tears on her face and also one trickling down her inner thigh and soaking into my trousers.
She lay there for about thirty seconds, letting a low murmur of pleasure escape with her breath. Then she twitched… then relaxed again with another murmur. Eventually she slowly pulled each hand up onto my thighs and pushed herself into a vertical position. She stood virtually full frontal naked before me – just her arms and neck covered by the rolled-up shirt. She was looking deep into my eyes with her pupils dilated; her eyes all wet and dreamy, looking from my left eye to my right eye and back, as if searching for some sign. Then her eyes moved down and she looked at my lap.
Her brows crossed and her cheek dimpled slightly as she looked back at my eyes. “What’s that?” she asked, nodding downwards to my lap. I looked down and saw the damp spot where her juices had flowed… then I realized my trousers were standing up like a marquee. “Aaah! …Erm… that’s a…a hard one!” I said, and then we both started laughing. “It certainly is!” she said, and picked up her knickers, wiping away the stream of mascara from her cheek. I stood up, adjusting myself, and un-clipped her sweatshirt so it fell back down over her chest. “You’ve missed the last bus,” I said, “I’ll give you a lift home.” "Thank you Sir,” she said, while carefully pulling up her mini-skirt, “I’ll be better behaved from now on.” She looked up at me with a hint of a smile though her ash-blond tresses… “Maybe.”
The business had one other employee, Ron Richards, who did most of the house calls to inspect, measure up and record the details of the properties for sale, including taking photographs, calculating an asking price, and producing the information summaries. I also did some of this work myself, but it was usually me that manned the office, doing consultations, paperwork, etc.
In the summer, things got busier, and Ron and I ended up doing overtime, and Ron suggested we take on a student for the summer, to deal with general enquiries and to take on some of the other work. He had someone in mind; the daughter of an old friend of his, who was doing a course in estate management. She had just completed the first year, and was just starting her summer break.
The following Monday, Natasha arrived for an interview. She was twenty years old, about five foot six, and had straight ash-blonde hair that came down to mid-shoulder-blade level, with bright blue eyes and a beautiful smile. She was slim and fit, with long legs, wearing a tight black miniskirt, and a loose-fitting top. Needless to say, she got the job.
Over the summer, Natasha learned the ropes and became very useful, allowing Ron and myself to go out and visit properties, without closing the office. At less busy times she would accompany Ron and hold the tape measure. She became so good at all Ron’s functions, that when Ron went off on his holiday for two weeks, she was able to fill in for him, and did a very good job of it.
By the end of the summer, we noticed that there was more work coming in, and we were considering taking someone on full-time to replace her when she went back to university. However, Natasha said she could take a year off, and resume her studies the following year if it was okay with us, since she was enjoying working for us so much. Naturally, we agreed. I also arranged to let out one of the agency’s own flats to her, (at a minuscule rent), in a nearby village, so she didn’t have such a long daily commute.
One Saturday in the middle of October, Natasha rang in to say she wasn’t feeling well, and would have to take the day off. “No problem, let me know tomorrow if you will be back on Monday,” I said. In actual fact, it was a problem, since we had to close the office for four hours while Ron and I both visited various properties. I was also in a bad mood due to having marital difficulties. It was a sunny day – warm for October - and I was on my way back to the office, at about two p.m., having just looked round a cottage that was to be put on the market. I was driving past a village pub, The Plough, when I noticed Natasha sitting at a table outside the pub, with a drink, eating a ploughman’s lunch, while gazing into the eyes of a young man. I recognised him as one of our previous clients whose house had recently sold. I slowed down while driving past, and she looked up. Our eyes met briefly just before some trees got in the line of vision.
Next day, I checked my expensive new telephone answering machine to find an apologetic message from Natasha saying she was very sorry and would be in on Monday morning.
At nine a.m. the next day, Natasha came into my office. I asked her to close the door, then told her I was very disappointed to see her apparently on a date when she had taken the day off sick – a very busy day too, as it happened. She stood with her hands behind her, looking at the desk. She looked mortified as she glanced up at me, and explained that the man, John, was moving to his new home the following day, and that they had found a spark between them when she arranged his sale, but this was the only opportunity to meet, and she didn’t want it to slip past.
As she spoke, I suddenly felt a lump in my throat and a tightening of the stomach muscles, and realised I felt jealous of this John fellow. I hadn’t allowed the feeling to materialise before, since I was a married man, but my wife had, just a week previously, announced that she would be leaving me and moving in with an old flame she had been secretly seeing. I felt ashamed, took a deep breath and just looked up at Natasha's captivating blue eyes and said not to worry and we would put it behind us. She heaved a sigh of relief, pressed her palms together, and thanked me sincerely, with a tear in her eye.
The business was working well after that, and Natasha really brought laughter and fun into the office. She and John were having a long-distance relationship and it didn’t seem to bother me at all – in fact, I was happy for her. My wife had left, and it was such a relief to be free again.
The following March, Ron came into my office looking angry. He said that one of our clients whose house was up for sale with us had complained that Natasha had told a potential buyer that when she first viewed the house, it had a rats nest in the garden, and that as a result, the buyer had withdrawn their offer and the sale had fallen through. Ron said I should give Natasha a “darn good talking-to”.
I asked Natasha to step into my office, told her the situation, and waited for a response. She was standing in front of my desk, with her hands at her sides, and looking me in the eyes. Her brows were crossed and she said, “Oh… well that is true. But I didn’t think it would matter, since the pest control people had been in and got rid of it.” I explained that in this case, the whole truth was not required, and that she should be more careful in future regarding information shared with buyers. She apologised and went back to her desk.
Just three weeks after this, Ron came storming into the office and said “That’s the last straw! Natasha has done it again!” I asked him to close the door and explain. It turned out that Ron had found out through a member of his club, that one of Natasha’s friends had viewed a large property with a conservatory that Ron had spent a lot of time surveying and preparing the summary. The friend had wanted to make an offer, but Natasha had negotiated with the seller, so that he could surreptitiously withdraw the house from the market and the deal could be done avoiding agency fees, which would then be subtracted from the asking price. This had lost our business £4,750. “She will just have to be sacked!” said Ron, and he walked out, slamming the door behind him.
I waited until the main office was free of customers, and walked to the door and put up the ”Gone to Lunch” sign, and then turned to look at Natasha, who had a worried look on her face. “My office, please, Natasha!” She got up from her desk and followed me in.
I explained what Ron had just told me. Natasha shut her eyes and sighed, looking down, and told me how sorry she was, but her friend really wanted the place but just couldn't afford the asking price, and that if it was just under five thousand pounds less, that would make it possible. I told her that this was no way to run a business, and that she should have consulted me first and we might have been able to come up with some other way round it, but that just arranging to cut out the estate agent fee with no discussion was out of the question. “So,” I said, “this is the third time I have had to have you in here for a dressing-down. The other two incidents would normally constitute a verbal warning and a written warning, though we don’t have that disciplinary structure here. However, this constitutes gross misconduct, which normally requires instant dismissal.”
“Oh no!” she exclaimed, and her eyes became watery. “You aren’t going to give me the sack, are you? Isn’t there some other way?”
I hesitated. “Hmm… well, I suppose if you could pay the agency fee that we would have – in fact that we did earn – in this case, £4,750, then we can keep you on. Ron is very angry about this, as he did all the preparation work on this one.”
Natasha gasped and then mumbled, “I’m sorry, I haven’t got that kind of money.” Her mouth turned down and a tear fell from one eye. “Well, I’m sorry Natasha, it’s been a joy to have you here, but this really is unacceptable. Ron is furious, and wants to see the back of you. Those are the only real options. We can save your job if you pay the fee; otherwise it’s “goodbye”. And I suppose you will have to give up your flat, unless you are able to pay a standard rent on it.”
Natasha was trembling slightly. I felt sorry for her. “Isn’t there some other way?” she asked, “Couldn’t you find some alternative punishment for me?” I started to reply, “It’s not about punish…” but she continued, “Couldn’t you just give me a spanking or something?”
There was silence for a long moment, as I felt my heart visibly thumping out of my shirt. My breathing had changed, so I breathed in deeply and looked her in the eyes, unable to believe this wasn’t a joke, or a trick. “Is that a joke?” I managed to ask. She sniffed, her eyes were still watery, “No… I went to a private school… and… er… one time, we were caught with alcohol in the dormitory. The whole dorm… got a spanking… and it was…” She hesitated, flushed slightly, and looked at the floor “…on the bare bottom…. I have been virtually tea-total ever since then.”
I didn’t know what to say. I tried not to visualise what she had just described. “Erm… I… well, I mean… legally speaking that would leave me very open to err…” She could see I was vacillating, so there was a chance her offer might work. She interrupted my awkward anxious mumblings. “Peter, I realise I’ve badly screwed up here and I’m so very, very sorry for it. I can’t pay the fee – my family are in no position to find those funds, and I don’t actually want them to know about this.” She had regained her composure, but continued, ”I love this job – I have even looked into taking another year away from university so I can continue here. I admit I deserve punishment. And I don’t blame Ron for being upset. I just suddenly thought this might be a way to put things right. After all, the property was also on with another agent too, so if they had found a buyer – and they did have one wanting to view – then we would probably have lost the fee anyway.”
She had a good point there, but this suggestion, though very tempting, was worrying. “But what about the legal position? And how do I placate Ron?” She looked away for a moment, and then said, “Well… you could draft out an agreement form that I would sign – I will also sign to say it was my idea and I was not coerced. And I… actually I don’t want Ron to know about this.”
I was stunned. I would think of some other story to tell Ron. I agreed that she should come to my office at 6pm, well after Ron had gone home. She went back to her desk, and I spent some time drafting the agreement form. I also re-arranged the desk and chair slightly, and the position of the mirror on the bookshelf, (on my right as I sat at the desk), so that I would be able to look to my right and observe exactly what was going on down there, while she was across my knee (just to ensure I wasn’t causing any bruising of course!). I also placed a small mirror next to the clock on the desk so I could see her face while she was bent over it, (vacillating on whether to do the “over-the-desk or the “over-the knee” approach, I had decided on both), and then I wrote out an additional note for Natasha.
I was fairly distracted until six o’clock came. Finally, she knocked on the door and came in, closing the door behind her. I went across the room and locked the door. Then I offered her the chair behind the desk so she could sit and read the agreement before signing it. She sat down and started to read it. As she was reading it I said, “So, I put in the agreement that it won’t go on longer than ten minutes, and I’ll put a clock in front of you so you know how long you’ve got left. It won’t be too hard, and we can start off over your skirt, then pull the skirt up, and after a couple of minutes…” I hesitated. “You’ll pull my knickers down,” she said for me. “Er… yes, I said, feeling my heart thumping again. Then we’ll finish off with you over my knee in the traditional fashion.” “Okay”, she said quietly, looking at the floor.
I went to the window, feeling my face redden a bit, and adjusted the blind so nobody could see in. “Okay”, I said, as she put the pen down, “If you just lean forward over the desk…” I cleared the agreement and pen away, leaving the desk completely clutter-free, (except the clock and mirror) since I had cleared everything else off it during the afternoon. “… and put your hands flat on the middle of it.” She moved round the right side of the desk, where I pointed. She was wearing the same tight black mini-skirt that she had on the day I interviewed her, and on her upper half she had a baggy mauve sweatshirt.
I walked round the desk and stood behind her as she leaned onto the desk and laid her hands flat on the desktop. The sweatshirt was still obscuring the top part of her backside, and I moved it up slightly, to reveal the whole of her miniskirt. Then I put my left hand on the small of her back, and said, “Right Natasha. Can you stick your bottom out, please?” She arched her back, presenting her bottom towards me. I laid my right hand on her bottom very gently, barely touching it, and moved it from left to right, and gently patted each cheek, watching the very slight ripple. She gasped almost inaudibly. I was going to give her the traditional reprimand and remind her what a naughty girl she had been, but I seemed unable to speak.
After a few seconds, I raised my hand and brought it down firmly on her left buttock. There was a thudding noise, and a more visible ripple, as she jumped slightly and said, “Ah!” I repeated this on the right, and her “Ah!” was quieter, and the jump much smaller. She glanced back over her shoulder at me briefly. After a few slaps, the “Ah!” sounds were only every three or four slaps; and then the sweatshirt fell back over the miniskirt, so I said, “I’ll have to get your top out of the way… I’ll roll it up and tuck it under your bra-strap - okay?”
“Oh!” she said. “… Well… I’m not actually wearing a bra today. Um… It’s a loose top and quite warm weather …”. “Oh… right”, I said, and reached over to the bookshelf to grab a binder clip. “I’ll fix it with this clip, then.” As I took the sweatshirt hem in my hands, my fingers lightly brushed her derriere and she moved very slightly and there was a sharp in-breath. I rolled it up to mid-shoulder-blade level and clipped it in position, revealing the curve of her hips, a narrow waist and a tanned midriff.
I moved to her left, placing my left hand on her left hipbone, and my right hand lightly on her right buttock. After a few more slaps, accompanied by sharp breaths, or low grunts, I could see that the skirt was not only absorbing the impact, but also restraining her whole bottom from movement. “Right, I’m going to pull your skirt up, now.” I said. “Yes, Mr Simms,” she replied. Good, she had reverted to a more respectful form of address.
I put my fingers under the hem of her skirt and again there was a sharp in-breath as I touched her bare thighs… then I slowly pulled the skirt up around her waist, and almost gasped as her bottom was revealed, just covered by some pale blue hipster briefs, with darker blue spots and a red lacy trim. Her waist was small, and her bottom amazingly pert, with a wide gap where her thighs met. The knickers had ridden up slightly and cut across her buttocks revealing the full curve of the hips and they were as tight as if they had been painted onto her flesh, sitting right up the bottom crack and then widening into the gusset. The lower buttocks had blushed slightly from the slapping. In the gap, a full pair of lips stretched the gusset into a rounded bulge.
I stood back to admire the view, and moved to the left and then the right. This was the sexiest thing I had ever seen in my life. As I moved back to her left, I noticed that where I had clipped her sweatshirt, it was so high that her slight wriggles had caused her breasts to start appearing from under the fabric, which now revealed two small, but perfectly formed mounds and the lower halves of two pointy nipples. I gulped and replaced my left hand half on the rolled-up skirt and half on the bare flesh of her waist. I said, “Bottom out!” and Natasha again curved her back.
My right hand again went up and came down on the left buttock, half on the knickers, and half on the bare flesh. This time it jumped and moved to the left, then right, then left, then right, like a jelly; the sound was almost like a gunshot. She yelped, ”Ow!” quite loudly. I repeated on the right buttock with the same result.
After a few of these, I started to strike at an upward angle, which accentuated the buttock wobble and made them dance more, though it was slightly less severe. She jumped and flinched a bit more and her “Ouch!” and “Oooh!” sounds were at every slap. I paused. “Right, “I said, “ I want you to move your bottom from left to right while I spank you.” “Oh!... why?” she asked, and looked back at me over her shoulder. Her hair was disarrayed and her cheeks were red. I could not tell her the actual reason, which was that the resultant view would intensify feelings of arousal in me to levels beyond imagining. “Errr… it’s a practice used by some headmistresses to increase humiliation in the case of very badly behaved girls… it helps sustain a rhythm… and let’s face it: you have been a very bad girl!” I replied, “…haven't you?” “Oh… Yes sir.” She said, turning her head to the front again, and she started to rhythmically sway her heavenly posterior from left to right and back. I got in with the rhythm and spanked each buttock in turn. Now I could see her bulging labia-filled gusset at alternate swings. “Ooh! Aaah! Mmm! Uh!” The knickers were slowly sliding further up into the crevice, and the buttocks were getting red hand-prints now, with a clearly visible thumb shape appearing.
I paused again and watched as a little shudder traveled through Natasha’s body. “Guess what I’m going to do now Natasha!” I said. She paused for about four seconds as she struggled to speak. “Err… are you... going to er… take… my… knickers down… Sir?” She managed. “Yes,” I said, “and I want you to read this out loud while I spank your bare bottom.” I put the note I had prepared in front of her. “Yes Mr Simms”. She looked at it for a moment, while I very slowly and carefully moved my hands to the red frill at the top of her knickers. I slipped my forefingers under the band and moved them horizontally, until they were at each hip. Then, going down on one knee, I pulled the panties down in slow motion, with my face only a few inches away. She shivered as she felt my breath traveling down the cleft between her flushed cheeks.
The knickers turned inside out as they came down, and the gusset clung to her sex for a second before it twanged downwards, revealing her beautiful flower. The reddened buttocks curved away from each other until they met the top of her thighs, making a gap of about three inches before the tops of her thighs curved in towards each other. In the gap two plump naked, hairless labia pouted downwards, and just peeking out between them were the tips of her inner lips. It was like the tips of two steaks sandwiched between two plump buns, and I was transfixed, trying to resist its magnetic pull (fully shaved lady-parts were rare in the eighties). I continued pulling her pants down until I got to the mid thighs. I sighed and she shivered again as she felt my breath brushing her intimate parts.
I stood up again. What a view! Naked from the armpits to the thighs, except for the rolled up skirt round her waist, her perfect female shape vee-ing down from her shoulder blades to her narrow waist and out again to those fantastic buttocks with their central forbidden fruit. My office would never be the same again!
“Are you ready?” I asked. “Yes Sir”, she replied, and started reading out loud:
“I’ve been a very naughty girl…” I spanked her on the left buttock, with the upward stroke (!) “Oooh!” and she drew air in a short gasp “ffff!… and I lost the company … (!) mmmm!...fff!” “thousands of pounds… (!) “aaah! …ffff!” “I need to be punished… (!) ahooo! fff!...with a…” (I increased the tempo)… (!) “oooh!... spanking on the… (!) aaaha! … bare… (!) owww!... bottom. Spank me… (!) oh! … (!) ahhaa! hard please (!) aaaha! (!) Fuck!… Sir!
The slaps echoed slightly louder with no fabric to muffle them. “Now repeat it, with bottom out and swinging side to side but faster!” She obeyed and her noises were becoming more like moans and whimpers and I wasn’t sure if she was actually starting to enjoy it… or if she was starting to cry.
I could see her face in the mirror on the desk and her eyes were tightly closed one minute, then there was a frown, then her mouth opened in a gasp and moan, then her eyes caught mine… there were tears and her mascara was running slightly. I paused briefly, then continued slapping those wobbly flesh jellies, while her nipples slowly worked their way further out with every little jump she made.
I looked at the clock. We had about four minutes left. “Right Natasha. Its time to put you over my knee now.” Yes Mr Simms” she said, and straightened up, as I walked round and sat in the chair behind the desk, moving the small mirror onto the carpet on my left. Her facial cheeks were nearly as red as her bottom cheeks, (which she held in both hands), and her eyes were wide, glazed and wet as she stepped out of her knickers, which had fallen to the floor, (her deck-style shoes had also fallen off). She moved next to me and slowly leaned forward over my lap, grabbing my thighs to steady herself until her hands were on the carpet and her toe tips were also touching the carpet. Her red-hot cheeks were sticking up in the air. I checked the rear view mirror. Her thighs were only slightly parted but her wide thigh gap was framing her flesh petals in their entirety.
Her skirt had unrolled slightly as she mounted my knee, and I quickly got hold of it and pulled it downwards. “Sorry Natasha, this skirt is getting in the way!” She raised her hips to aid its trip past her hips and it slid down her legs to the floor. Now she was totally naked from her armpits to her toes. Her breasts had completely popped out under the sweatshirt and wobbled, as she got comfortable.
I put my left hand gently on her left cheek, which was very warm, (she breathed out hard), and slid it over, slowly and hardly touching, to her right cheek, then slid it up over the mounds and down the incline to her bare waist and rested it there. I moved my right hand so it was centrally cupping the underside of her deep pink bisected blancmange, then slowly raised it again and continued the spanking. Again, she moaned and whimpered with each slap, and started to wriggle her hips with each one. Her mouth was opening and shutting in the front mirror and she was gritting her teeth on and off. The hip wriggle turned into a rhythmic circular grinding movement as she massaged her clitoris into my leg while gasping and sobbing. It became obvious she was on her way to a climax and I increased the hardness and tempo of the slaps, watching the view in the rear view mirror. The buttocks were flying apart, then slapping back together, then repeating the movement in an echo ripple, allowing quick glimpses of her rosebud and plump fruit – and the tunnel of love itself, which was opening and shutting slightly, like a little mouth blowing kisses at me.
Her bottom was red hot and her screams of ecstasy reached a crescendo while a huge quiver traveled right through her body, followed by smaller shudders and she went all limp, with only seconds left on the clock. I rested my hand on her burning mounds and noticed tears on her face and also one trickling down her inner thigh and soaking into my trousers.
She lay there for about thirty seconds, letting a low murmur of pleasure escape with her breath. Then she twitched… then relaxed again with another murmur. Eventually she slowly pulled each hand up onto my thighs and pushed herself into a vertical position. She stood virtually full frontal naked before me – just her arms and neck covered by the rolled-up shirt. She was looking deep into my eyes with her pupils dilated; her eyes all wet and dreamy, looking from my left eye to my right eye and back, as if searching for some sign. Then her eyes moved down and she looked at my lap.
Her brows crossed and her cheek dimpled slightly as she looked back at my eyes. “What’s that?” she asked, nodding downwards to my lap. I looked down and saw the damp spot where her juices had flowed… then I realized my trousers were standing up like a marquee. “Aaah! …Erm… that’s a…a hard one!” I said, and then we both started laughing. “It certainly is!” she said, and picked up her knickers, wiping away the stream of mascara from her cheek. I stood up, adjusting myself, and un-clipped her sweatshirt so it fell back down over her chest. “You’ve missed the last bus,” I said, “I’ll give you a lift home.” "Thank you Sir,” she said, while carefully pulling up her mini-skirt, “I’ll be better behaved from now on.” She looked up at me with a hint of a smile though her ash-blond tresses… “Maybe.”
Statistics: Posted by horace — Sun Mar 04, 2018 3:10 am