Spanked by my Boss
by Pan
Chapter 13
If I hadn’t been concerned it would cause suspicion, I would have turned down Aaden’s advances that night.
Over the past few weeks, I’d been insatiable. I’d practically been forcing myself onto him, so desperate for his touch, his mouth. His cock.
But feeling Mr. Peterson’s hand on my bare ass, being disciplined, being spanked my boss until I came...it was the most satisfying thing I’d ever experienced. I felt complete, both physically and sexually.
The feeling of his hand on my skin made me feel like a woman, and when I came, it was as though all my tensions were being relieved at once.
But I’d essentially trained my husband to expect nightly sex from me, and so I didn’t resist as he moved his hand between my thighs. I did nothing as he removed my panties, spread my legs, and knelt down beside me.
As Aaden ate me out, however, my mind wasn’t there.
It was on Mr. Peterson.
What had he wanted? What had he been about to tell me?
The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced he’d been about to ask me something. He wanted...something from me.
Something inappropriate.
I shivered with pleasure at the thought. My husband, sweet man that he is, interpreted that as a reaction to what his tongue was doing, and redoubled his efforts. As Aaden’s tongue lightly strummed against my clit, I tried to imagine what Mr. Peterson wanted.
For the most part, I’m a sensible woman. I’m not often taken to flights of fancy. I go to work, I do my job, I try to be a good wife and mother, and the best employee I can be.
I try to be a good girl for Mr. Peterson.
But while two of Aaden’s fingers gingerly entered me, I couldn’t help myself, and allowed my fantasies to run wild.
“I want to fuck you,” I imagined Mr. Peterson saying. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted another woman. I know that it’s wrong, but I need you. Spanking you, touching you, seeing you every day—it’s driven me more wild than I can put into words.”
In my reverie, the hesitance I’d seen on his face earlier that day was gone. This was the Mr. Peterson I knew. This was the man of strong resolve, who knew what he wanted, and wasn’t afraid to take it.
And in my imagination, as my husband ate me out, what he wanted was me.
“Yes, sir,” I pictured myself nodding demurely. In my fantasy, I was completely naked. My entire body was on display for my boss. For his pleasure.
He could have me. He could have all of me.
“Lay down on my desk,” I imagined Mr. Peterson growling. There was an animalistic look on his face, one that I’d never seen in real life...but that I’d dreamed of, so many times. “I’m going to take you.”
“Yes, sir,” I repeated.
In my imagination, Mr. Peterson glanced at the large cabinet in the corner of his room, as he’d done so many times while punishing me. But, just as in real life, he turned away from it, as if to say...not yet.
Not until she’s ready.
I’d never seen my boss’s cock—I mean, of course I hadn’t, that would be completely inappropriate. So as Aaden’s tongue ran up and down my pussy-lips, his fingers sawing in and out of me, I couldn’t pretend to imagine what it would look like.
But I could imagine what it would feel like.
My husband grinned at the loud groan that I emitted, imagining the feeling of Mr. Peterson’s cock entering me for the first time. Imagining what it would feel like to really be taken by him, to truly be his. The fullness, as my vaginal muscles stretched to take him inside me.
The feeling of being owned.
“Yesss,” I moaned aloud. “Oh, god, yes...”
I could all but feel it. I could feel Mr. Peterson’s cock, driving inside me. I could see the intense look on his face as he fucked me, as his cock filled me up, throbbing inside me.
My imagination was running wild, and I knew I was about to...I was about to...
And then, just as I was about to crest, it all faded away. My boss, his cock, the office, my orgasm...in an instant, all gone.
“Wha...?”
I could hear how groggy I sounded as I looked around the room. My imaginings had been so vivid, it had felt like I’d just been teleported across town.
“You’re so fucking hot,” Aaden declared. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”
With a grin, my husband licked his fingers clean and stripped off. He didn’t even bother taking my top off, just lay me down on the bed and slid his cock into my wetness.
That’s Mr. Peterson’s... I thought to myself, still discombobulated from the orgasm that I’d lost. Aaden had thought that his mouth and his fingers had caused my arousal, but I knew the truth.
It was for Mr. Peterson. My entire body was for Mr. Peterson.
As my husband crudely thrust inside me, it took serious effort to hide my disappointment. I’d been so close, so close to cumming around Mr. Peterson’s cock. I considered revisiting the fantasy, but I knew there was no point: my husband never takes long. By the time I rebuilt the scene, he’d be done, and I’d be left more frustrated than before.
Instead, I took the time to reflect. Obviously the scenario had been pure fantasy; my workplace had a clear sexual harassment policy…and even if he did want me, he’d never do anything to risk his position.
Also, Mr. Peterson obviously didn’t want me. Even as I’d masturbated in front of him, he’d barely given me a second look. No, if he really wanted me, he wouldn’t have been able to resist.
It was all in my head.
But if, hypothetically, he had wanted me, and he had made a move...
I would’ve said no.
Of course I would have said no. He was my boss. I was happily married.
It would’ve been completely inappropriate.
Aaden let out a shuddering sigh as he came inside me. He raised his head to look at me expectantly, and I tried to fake a look of satisfaction, of pleasure.
I may be bad at hiding my true feelings, but my performance that night was enough to fool Aaden. Before long, he was laying beside me, snoring loudly.
I’d say no, of course. No matter how intense it was, I couldn’t risk my job—my marriage—over a stupid crush.
Even if Mr. Peterson had given me the most fulfilling sexual experiences of my life, I...I couldn’t.
Of course I’d say no.
Of course.
As I entered Mr. Peterson’s room the next day, I don’t know what I was expecting.
He’d decided not to say anything the previous day, and he wasn’t one to go back on his decisions. So while I hadn’t been expecting him to open the conversation with “Amber, good morning! Here’s the problem I decided not to share with you yesterday,” I...
Well, I guess I’d hoped that I’d read him wrong.
But instead, he gestured to his desk, glanced briefly at his cabinet, and watched (or perhaps I’d just hoped he was watching) as I lowered my pants.
“Let me know when you’re ready,” he’d said courteously. After bracing myself, I nodded.
SMACK.
“One, sir.”
The previous night, after Aaden had gone to sleep, I’d considered playing with myself. Imagining Mr. Peterson inside me, I’d been so close...
SMACK.
“Two, sir.”
But I’d decided to sleep, instead. For what felt like months, I’d been so worked up, so frenzied...
SMACK.
“Three, sir.”
I’d practically been running home from work, dragging Aaden into the bedroom.
SMACK.
“Four, sir.”
Stripping him naked, taking him in my mouth, in my pussy.
SMACK.
“Five, sir.”
On the outside, I’d looked like an accountant. A mother of two. A loving, devoted wife.
SMACK.
“Sex, sir.”
But on the inside, I’d been...
Oh, shit.
“Um. Six. Sorry, sir.”
“Don’t let it happen again,” Mr. Peterson replied, a tinge of humor in his voice.
“Of course not, sir.”
SMACK.
“Seven, sir.”
But on the inside, I’d been sex. Just a walking tangle of sex. Needing to be touched. Needing to be fucked. Needing to cum, cum, cum...
SMACK.
“Eight, sir.”
My punishments had lit a flame inside me. A flame that I somehow knew would never go out, not entirely.
SMACK.
“Nine, sir.”
And for a time, the flame had felt like it had consumed me.
SMACK.
“Ten, sir.”
The flame had burned so large, so bright...it was all that I was. My body was alight, aflame. I needed sex, like a fish needed water.
SMACK.
“Eleven, sir.”
But feeling Mr. Peterson’s hand firmly spanking my bare ass...
SMACK.
“Twelve, sir!”
I’d expected it to be like fuel for the fire.
SMACK.
“Thirteen, sir!”
I’d expected it to stoke the flames, until I couldn’t contain it any more. Until I was doing more than begging Aaden for sex...
SMACK.
“Fourteen, sir!”
I’d worried it would make me lose control, sink to my knees in front of my boss, and confess my lust.
SMACK.
“Ungh! Fifteen, sir!”
Admit to Mr. Peterson how much I needed him. Beg him to take me. Throw away the sensible façade and expose myself for the cock-hungry slut I felt like I’d become.
SMACK.
“S-sixteen!”
But somehow, against all reason, it had done the opposite.
SMACK.
“Oh! Seventeen, sir!”
Somehow, my daily punishment had quelled the flames.
SMACK.
“Eight! Teen! Sir!”
Every day, I was coming into Mr. Peterson’s office, presenting my bare ass to him...and he was spanking me until I was completely and utterly satisfied.
SMACK.
“N-nineteen! Sir!”
And so I hadn’t masturbated the previous night. I hadn’t gotten myself off because...I’d known there was no need.
SMACK.
“Twen...twenty! Ohhhh....”
I hadn’t pleasured myself, because I knew that if I just waited a few hours, Mr. Peterson’s hand would do it for me.
By the time the room stopped spinning, Mr. Peterson was already sitting back at his desk. I smiled blearily at him.
My mind is a soggy mess after a particularly powerful orgasm, and that might have been my most intense yet. The strangest thought popped into my head: That was so good, I mused. I wonder if I should leave a tip?
As my vision returned, I quickly sobered up.
It was back.
The look of worry on Mr. Peterson’s face.
I tried to remind myself that our relationship was purely professional. We’d never so much as gone out for after-work drinks together; the entirety of my experiences with this man had been within the Gio walls.
We were colleagues, not friends.
But no matter how insistently I told my head that, my heart didn’t listen. When someone gives you the best orgasms of your life, I think developing feelings for them is inevitable, no matter how stupid it is.
And so when I saw the consternation on his brow, I couldn’t think of him as my boss.
He was just…mine.
He was mine, he was struggling, and I wanted to help.
I’d do whatever I could to help.
I’d do anything.
“Sir,” I said, surprising myself with my confidence. “You have to tell me what’s wrong.”
“I promise, Amber,” he said, brushing it off. “It’s nothing.”
His voice was resolute, but his eyes gave him away. Unlike the piercing stare I was so often met with, my boss was looking askance. And not even at the cabinet in the corner of his room; at his desk, the ceiling, the walls.
Anywhere but me.
“Whatever it is,” I said softly. “I know I can help. Please, sir. Let me help.”
He sighed, and a thrill ran up my spine as his gaze finally met mine.
“I wish that were the case,” he said softly. “But...it just isn’t worth it.”
My heart quickened, but I tried not to let my sudden excitement show on my face. Was it possible? Had my boss been unknowingly sharing my fantasies? Had he been wanting me, as much as I wanted him?
Not that it could ever happen, I reminded myself. The fog had lifted; without the distraction of arousal, I was able to think clearer. Even if my boss suddenly declared his overwhelming lust for me, we could never do anything.
I was married. He was my boss.
It was wrong. No matter how right it felt, I knew...it was wrong.
But just the idea of him wanting me was enough to make me tingle.
“What is it, sir? I’m not leaving until you tell me.”
The steel in my voice seemed to amuse him, and his grin was contagious. I quickly realized the ridiculousness of the situation—I was wearing a white button-down shirt, a black blazer, and my bottom half was as bare as Donald Duck’s as I told my boss that I wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
As well as that, the room still smelled of my juices, and I was breathing heavily from the intensity of my punishment.
Still, I stood firm.
“Amber...”
“Please, sir,” I said demurely, and for some reason that was what broke him.
“Very well,” he replied with a heavy sigh. “I’ll tell you. But I’m not telling you this as my boss. If you walk out the door right now, there won’t be any professional consequences.”
“Of course, sir.” The confusion in my voice was evident, and when he hesitated briefly once more, added a line that had so often worked on my kids: “I promise not to be mad.”
“You’re a...woman,” he said reluctantly. His tone sounded more like he was telling me that his corner-cabinet held a dead body than someone stating a simple biological fact. “And I’m a man.”
The cheekier side of me was tempted to offer him a medal for his incredible observational skills, but I bit my tongue. I wanted to see where he was going with this, what had caused him such stress.
Because so far, I had to admit: I liked where it was going.
“Mm-hmm,” I said noncomittally.
“And obviously these punishments are purely professional,” he continued, and I nodded quickly.
“Yes, sir.”
“After we’re done...”
The hesitance was back. I tried desperately to look as open and non-judgmental as I possibly could, so he would continue.
I needed him to continue.
“...sometimes, you’ve needed to...relieve yourself.”
I bit back a smile. I don’t know exactly how it had happened, but the tables had turned. The first time Mr. Peterson had asked me if I needed to masturbate, it had been all I could do to stop myself fainting. Now, just a few weeks (or had it been a few months?) later, he couldn’t even use the word.
“Yes, sir.”
My boss’s eyes were staring into mine, burning into mine. Even as his words came out haltingly, his gaze was fierce. Strong.
Possessive.
“Well, I’m a man...”
I managed to stop myself from pointing out that he’d already said that, and let him continue.
“And you’re a...very attractive woman.”
Immediately, I felt like we were in familiar ground. The blood drained from my face. Had he just said...had my boss just told me...
Oh, god.
There are about 1.5 gallons of blood in the human body. My eldest son had gone through a phase where more than anything, he wanted to be a doctor, and so I’d spent some time learning creepy facts about the human body on a daily basis.
The blood left my face as quickly as it could, and made its way straight to my nether-regions. Despite having just experienced the most powerful orgasm of my life, I was suddenly throbbing: a job that requires quite a lot of blood.
If the room hadn’t already smelled of my arousal, I guarantee that Mr. Peterson would have been able to tell the effect his words had on me.
“Oh, god,” he groaned. “Amber, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“S-sir?” I stammered, before realizing what had happened. He’d interpreted my reaction as one of repulsion. Disgust.
He was probably terrified I was going to report him to HR.
“You should leave,” he said shortly, but before I knew what was happening, I’d leaned forward.
“Please, sir. Tell me what’s wrong. I want to know.”
I was close enough to my boss that I could kiss him. Not that I would ever do that, of course. He was my superior. We had a purely professional relationship.
Also, I was married.
As I stared into his eyes, matching the intensity he often used to gaze into mine, he took a deep breath, and I could see him make a decision.
“This is not an instruction,” he said cautiously. “This is not something you have to do as part of your job. This is...”
He paused once more, and part of me wanted to throttle him.
“...this is just me telling you about a personal problem I’m having. You have no obligation to do anything about it. Capisce?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
He licked his lips, and my pussy throbbed again. It was so easy to imagine that tongue, those lips...
Down, girl. I told myself. Focus.
“After your punishments, you sometimes need to relieve yourself,” he repeated. My eyes must have flared in worry, because his next words were quick and reassuring. “It’s okay—it’s perfectly natural. Just the body’s natural reaction to stimulation.”
“Of course,” I said, hoping that I didn’t sound as awkward as I felt, even though I knew full well that I did.
“Well, I’m a man, and you’re a very attractive woman. And so after your punishment each day...I have the same needs.”
I took a sharp breath as I realized what he was saying.
“It’s nothing to do with you,” he said in response to my reaction. It was obvious that he thought he was being helpful, but his words couldn’t have been more cutting as he cluelessly doubled down. “I promise, I have no attraction to you personally. Our relationship is purely professional.”
“Of course, sir,” I replied quietly, trying to hide my heartbreak. So often in my life I’d wished I could be the robot that my kids teasingly said I was. I feel like life would be so much easier if I didn’t feel so many damned feelings, and could just go through life getting stuff down without bring encumbered by them.
Of course he didn’t feel any attraction to me. I was nothing to him but a co-worker, a colleague. It would have been completely, completely inappropriate if he felt that way.
If he felt like I did.
My stupid crush was completely unacceptable. I knew that. I’d known that all along. And if Mr. Peterson had known about it, he probably would have...I don’t know, had me moved to another department.
As he should have.
Nothing he was saying was a surprise. I was just one of his employees, one who he was tasked with punishing. He probably would have felt the same way if he’d been punishing Tracey, or...I don’t know, Ricky.
But there’s knowing something, and then there’s hearing it. I could have written an essay about how Mr. Peterson felt about me and probably said exactly what he’d just told me. But hearing it?
Hearing it was like a machete to the heart.
I was surprised to discover I was blinking back tears. As I stood bottomless in front of my boss, and he told me that he didn’t see me that way, my stupid tear ducts were making stupid tears, for no stupid reason.
And so it took me a few moments to process what he said next.
“So please, don’t take this as a come-on, or an indication of inappropriate interest,” Mr. Peterson said, staring at me. I prayed to God that he couldn’t tell that I was on the verge of tears...or worse, that he’d notice and misinterpret them.
My boss had just opened up to me. Admittedly, what he’d shared felt like the worst thing anyone had ever told me, but at least he’d told me something outside of a professional context.
Even with how awful it had been, I didn’t want to undo that. Despite his words telling me that he basically considered me as attractive as his damned laptop, just the act of sharing it with me had been one of closeness.
If he thought that I was crying because he’d been inappropriate, I knew that the wall would go back up. And so I swallowed my tears and tried to force a smile to my face.
“Of course not, sir,” I said, doing all I could to sound cheerful. “I promise.”
“But I would find it extremely helpful if you’d...return the favor, so to speak.”
My brow furrowed, and I stared at Mr. Peterson in confusion.
Did my boss want me to...spank him?
“Sir?”
He licked his lips once more, and my attention was drawn to how soft they were. Such soft lips on such a hard man.
I would have bet my house he was a hell of a kisser.
“It would be...helpful,” he repeated. “If I could relieve myself in front of you.”
My eyes widened, and the full impact of what Mr. Peterson was asking hit me.
He wanted to...he wanted to...
Oh, god.
Oh, god.
I couldn’t. Could I?
I remembered what I’d just been telling myself just a few minutes earlier. That no matter how much I wanted Mr. Peterson, no matter how much I wanted to help him, I...I couldn’t.
There were lines I could never cross. Seeing my boss’s hardness was a fantasy. It was something I idly thought about while my husband went down on me. It was something I pictured while masturbating.
It was just a harmless, idle fantasy.
It wasn’t...I couldn’t...
I couldn’t really.
“No,” I wanted to say. “While I appreciate your candor, sir, that crosses a line for me. I’m a married woman, and it would be completely inappropriate for me to be present while you masturbated yourself. I appreciate that it’s difficult for you, but you were right to be hesitant—that’s not something that I can offer.”
The words began forming on my tongue. It was an eloquent response. Professional. It was what I should say. For my reputation.
For my marriage.
Sometimes when I’m caught at a crossroads, I ask myself: “What would the ideal Amber do?”
And in this case, the answer seemed crystal clear. Even though it would certainly cause a gap to form between us, it was the right thing to do. He would go back to being my boss, and I would go back to being nothing more than the employee he spanked to orgasm every day.
But then, just as I was about to reply, another thought struck me...
I’d said I’d do anything to help him.
Anything.
Mr. Peterson needed my help. Mr. Peterson needed me. Mr. Peterson needed his good girl.
“Of course, sir,” I found myself saying. “Whatever you need.”