Spanked by my Boss
by Pan
Chapter 11
“Enter,” Mr. Peterson said, strangely formal.
As I stepped into his office, my eyes widened.
We weren’t alone.
“Uh, sir...” I said, and Mr. Peterson raised one eyebrow.
“Yes, Amber?”
“Who’s...”
“Oh, this is Ricky. He’s thinking of interning with us next year, and so he’s shadowing me for the day.”
My boss turned to the young man standing beside his desk, who couldn’t have been more than twenty or twenty-one at the oldest, and gestured in my direction. “This is Amber, one of our accountants. Do you remember I mentioned how strict Gio is when it comes to precision and reports, that kind of thing? Amber made a typo, and, well...”
Ricky nodded, and the pair of them turned back at me expectantly.
My eyes widened. He couldn’t...he couldn’t be expecting me to...
“Come now, Amber,” my boss nodded, and my heart sank. “We haven’t got all day.”
It was deathly silent, but I felt like my ears were ringing loud enough to fill the room with sound. Just like I had the day before, I felt this overwhelming urge to push back, to resist...but it was like I was swimming in molasses. My vocal cords froze, and all I could do was obey.
Instead of turning and running, instead of asking Mr. Peterson if we could have a moment alone, I just...moved towards his desk. Step by step, I shuffled forward, until my hands were planted on the warm oak surface.
No. No. What was I doing? I couldn’t...not while...
“Pants, Amber,” Mr. Peterson reminded me gently, and I nodded.
God help me, I nodded.
Ricky was standing just two feet away, watching curiously. I tried to tell myself that it was okay, that I was just an ordinary employee getting an ordinary punishment. There was nothing strange going on here. Nothing I’d be embarrassed to have someone watch.
This was all perfectly normal.
So why did it all feel so...
Wrong? No, definitely not. No matter how weird it might have felt, I knew to my bones that this was all very, very right.
Odd. That was the word. There was something odd about what was going on.
But before I could put my finger on exactly what it was, Mr. Peterson coughed, a gentle reminder of what my role was in this situation, and so I closed my eyes, unbuttoned my jeans, and slowly lowered them to my ankles.
My clit was throbbing. Mostly, I tried to tell myself, because of the workout I’d given it the previous night, but I knew there was more to it than that.
My panties had tried to follow my jeans, but gotten caught halfway down. Without a word, Mr. Peterson leaned down and pushed them down the rest of the way for me.
Could he smell my arousal?
Could Ricky?
My eyes were still tightly closed, and my cheeks burned with the embarrassment of exposing myself to a complete stranger. He must have been a decade younger than me.
“Amber has been having some trouble with accuracy,” my boss said, his voice a low rumble. “And so we’ve had to move to some more extreme punishments for her.”
“Oh,” Ricky said knowingly. “Like in the...”
“No,” Mr. Peterson interrupted. “No, she’s not at that stage. Not yet.”
Yet?
Before I could properly process the thought, I felt Mr. Peterson into position, and moments later a loud SMACK filled the room.
“One, sir,” I gasped, the words wrested from me before I even felt it.
It wasn’t pain, not really. There was a hint of pain, like even the most mild curry dish has a hint of spice, but it wasn’t overwhelming.
SMACK.
“Two, sir.”
What was overwhelming was the warmth. Not at first, admittedly, but as soon as my boss’s hand hit my ass, I felt it starting to build.
SMACK.
“Three, sir.”
It came in waves, almost sneakily. With each new spank, I could feel Mr. Peterson’s hand with an increased intensity...and the warmth grew at the exact same rate.
SMACK.
“Four, sir.”
But I couldn’t cum. Not again. Not with a stranger in the room. I had to ignore the warmth, ignore its shielding comfort. I hadn’t been strong enough yesterday, but today I was prepared.
SMACK.
“Five, sir.”
Unable to stop myself, I opened my eyes, desperate for a distraction. With my eyes closed, all I could think about was my boss standing behind me, the boss I’d spent all night fantasizing about.
SMACK.
“Six, sir.”
I’d tried to use my stupid crush as fuel, but it had backfired. The goal had been to get it out of my system, but now I was more aware of his presence than ever before...and the sexual associations were stronger than they’d ever, ever been.
SMACK.
“Seven, sir.”
With my eyes open, I could see the rest of the room. I could see Mr. Peterson’s desk, where he’d sat and watched me masturbate. I could see the EED, the document that clearly stated he was allowed to do what he was doing to me right now.
SMACK.
“Eight, sir.”
And I could see Ricky. I could see the perfect stranger watching me get spanked. Despite having exchanged less than a dozen words, here he was, seeing me at my most vulnerable.
SMACK.
“Nine, sir.”
He had a front-seat view of my bare ass, as Mr. Peterson’s hand repeatedly struck it, firmly and relentlessly. He could probably see the red marks forming where my boss was expertly landing his blows, again and again.
SMACK.
“Ten, sir.”
And there was no doubt in my mind that he could tell the effect it was having on me. From where he was standing, I wasn’t sure if he could see my...my pussy.
But I knew with full certainty that he could smell it.
“That’s halfway,” Mr. Peterson said, surprising me. He’d never interrupted a punishment before. Perhaps I wasn’t the only one hyperaware that we had company. “Would you like a break?”
“No, sir,” I said breathily. “We should...we should get it over with.”
“Would you like a turn?”
Mr. Peterson’s question confused me, until I realized that he wasn’t addressing it to me. My eyes widened in horror—he was offering Ricky, a literal stranger, the chance to spank my bare ass.
My heart was in my throat as I turned to Ricky, who looked just as shocked at the question as I was. Again, I was hit with that feeling that I should object, that I should say something—anything!—to preserve whatever was left of my dignity.
But after a few moments, my brain was unable to come up with a single good reason he shouldn’t.
I needed to be disciplined, we all agreed on that. And Mr. Peterson and I had agreed that this—a bare-assed spanking—was a completely appropriate form for my punishment to take.
So why did it really matter who performed it? After all, it wasn’t like it was anything sexual. It was just a punishment—in the same way as it doesn’t really matter who writes the parking fine, as long as I received my dues, it didn’t matter if the task was carried out by Mr. Peterson, Ricky...or hell, Tracy.
No, my hesitance was coming from the wrong place entirely.
My stupid, stupid crush.
For reasons that made no sense, my body had taken my crush on Mr. Peterson and imbued his actions with a strange sexual energy. Now, even though he was just administering a punishment that anyone could deliver, every smack against my bare skin carried with it a package of endorphins.
And as yesterday had evidenced, that confusion had been enough to actually make me cum.
Ridiculous. Maybe Ricky taking over would actually be a good thing. If my punishment was being delivered by someone other than Mr. Peterson, maybe my body would calm down and everything would go back to normal. I’d be spanked twenty times and be able to return to work, not distracted at all.
Except by the embarrassment of having a complete stranger spank my bare ass ten times.
“No,” Ricky finally responded, his voice a nervous squeak. My heart simultaneously leapt and sank as Mr. Peterson nodded.
“Very well,” he said. “Then we’d better get back to it.”
SMACK.
“Eleven, sir,” I yelped. I hadn’t realized we’d started again until I’d felt the blow.
Ricky, perhaps subconsciously, licked his lips at the sight of Mr. Peterson’s hand landing on my bare butt. I wanted to be annoyed, but...well, he was new to this, and his body was probably just as confused as mine. Mr. Peterson was the only one completely in control—my pussy was throbbing, telling me that this was sexual, and clearly Ricky was not viewing this as the perfectly professional interaction that it was, but as some kind of erotic show.
SMACK.
“Twelve, sir.”
And who could blame him? If you didn’t know better, you wouldn’t see this as a demonstration of Gio’s dedication to high standards. Instead, you’d see an attractive woman (if I do say so myself) bending over a desk pantless, being spanked while she practically leaked all over the carpet.
SMACK.
“Thirteen, sir.”
Fuck. The warmth was back. There had been a slight reprieve during the pause, but as the embarrassing realization of how this must look to Ricky filled my body, the warmth provided the only refuge.
SMACK.
“Fourteen, sir.”
I wanted to sink through the floor in shame.
SMACK.
“Fifteen, sir.”
I wanted to leave Gio and never look back.
SMACK.
“Sixteen, sir.”
I wanted to beg Mr. Peterson to stop spanking me and just fuck me already.
SMACK.
“Seventeen, sir.”
I wanted to cum.
SMACK.
“Eighteen, sir.”
Had Mr. Peterson sped up, or had each strike just started to blur with the last? Ricky looked redfaced, like he’d been caught looking at a dirty magazine. I couldn’t bring myself to look at his pants, but I would have bet a month’s salary that I would have seen a tent.
SMACK.
“Nineteen, sir.”
If I looked at Mr. Peterson’s pants, would the outline of his cock be visible?
SMACK.
“Twenty, sir.”
My pussy was throbbing. My entire body was throbbing. The warmth felt like it had entered my nervous system, my blood, my every muscle and every synapse of my brain. The thought of my boss’s arousal—the images of his cock that had lived in my mind for so long the previous night—took over, and I could tell that my resistance was now paper-thin.
“Good girl,” Mr. Peterson said, and that was the last straw.
The sound of his words echoed through my brain, meeting the memory of his hand on my bare skin, and I found myself cumming, collapsing to the floor and convulsing with pleasure, as my boss and a twenty-year old stranger watched me.
This time, to my great relief I didn’t completely black out. (Perhaps my efforts the previous night had not been completely in vain, after all)
I lay on the ground, my body twitching in the aftershocks of pleasure. My mind was hazy—I was vaguely aware of Mr. Peterson and Ricky discussing the details of what had just happened, but I simply didn’t have the processing power to make out exactly what was being said.
Finally, after several minutes had passed, I gathered myself enough to pull my panties back up. How long had I been exposing myself to my boss and a man I’d never met before?
“Do you need anything else?” Mr. Peterson asked as I pulled my jeans back up, and I hesitated.
Was he...was he suggesting...
No. No, I had to keep reminding myself—this was an entirely professional activity for him. Even if he was offering me the chance to pleasure myself on his chair, he was doing it for me.
Mr. Peterson was just trying to save me the embarrassment of asking...or worse, sneaking away to get off in the ladies room.
Again.
“No, sir,” I replied demurely, and Mr. Peterson dismissed me with a nod.
When I arrived back at my desk, I realized that I was experiencing an unfamiliar feeling. The feeling I’d spent the entire previous night chasing without ever getting close.
Satisfaction.
The orgasm in Mr. Peterson’s office, the climax which had consumed my entire body...it had finally managed to extinguish the flame of arousal that I’d been carrying around with me all day.
A smile flitted across my face, and I settled in to do a solid few hours of uninterrupted work.
* * *