Spanked by my Boss
by Pan
Chapter 5
I was tempted to go back and quickly skim the last half-dozen messages I’d sent, but Mr. Peterson’s message had been crystal clear, and I didn’t want to leave him waiting.
I wanted to be his good girl.
When I entered, there it was—that disappointed look that filled my heart with dread, even as my panties soaked with the knowledge of what was coming next.
“Sir?” I asked, my voice trembling.
In response, he simply pointed. My eyes widened, and I dutifully bent over his desk, warmth quickly filling my body.
“No...” he said gently. “I meant…sit down.”
My face went red, and I silently dropped into the seat he’d pointed at. God, what was wrong with me? I was so excited to be disciplined that I’d completely misinterpreted his innocent gesture.
Embarrassing yourself in front of your boss is bad enough. Your boss that you have a crush on? I wanted to sink through the floor.
“Amber,” he said, avoiding eye-contact. “I got a...report.”
My mind began racing. Sales report? Analytics report? I’d been so, so careful, I knew I had. They were flawless, I was sure of it.
“Sir?”
“From one of the other...”
He coughed, and stared at the ground. My forehead creased as I stared at him. Was Mr. Peterson...embarrassed?
“...from one of the other women in the office,” he said.
He was! My heart melted at the idea of my dear, sweet Mr. Peterson being embarrassed.
Not that he was mine, of course.
But he was always so strict, so professional. Sometimes I jokingly thought of him as a robot.
Sometimes, when I was alone in the bathroom stall, I thought of him as a sex robot. But that was neither here nor there.
To see him like this, embarrassed, it was...cute. It made him far more human.
I smiled at the sight of a slight blush appearing on his face.
And then my heart skipped a beat as I realized what he was talking about.
One of the other women. Giving him a report that had embarrassed him.
Oh, no.
Oh no.
I wanted to bury my face in my hands, sink through the floor. I wanted to slink away and move to a town in the middle of nowhere, and never have to talk to anyone I knew, ever again.
I couldn’t believe it. I was a professional—a woman of standing. I was a Certified Professional Accountant.
And now here I was, sitting in front of my boss, about to be disciplined for...masturbating in the office bathroom.
I couldn’t have been more embarrassed if he’d told me I had to strip naked in front of my entire team. In front of the CEO. In front of everyone.
For what felt like a year, I just sat there, turning redder and redder, unable to look away from my boss. He, in turn, was unable to look at me. We just sat there in the World’s Most Awkward Silence, my mouth opening and closing like a fish. I’d thought I felt guilty after cumming on Aaden’s cock with Mr. Peterson’s face—and powerful hands—on my mind...but this was something else.
Finally I realized I had to say something.
“Sir...” I started, but he held up one hand.
“Amber...” he replied.
Oh, god. I’d learned to deal with the disappointment. My confused libido had, somehow, even managed to find it somewhat hot.
But the note of pity in his voice?
I had no way of dealing with pity.
“Sir,” I gasped, speaking quickly despite feeling like all the air had been sucked out of the room. “Mr. Peterson, please. I can...explain.”
He looked at me, and a part of me wished that he hadn’t. As he stared at me, his dark brown eyes seeming to drink me in, I realized that I’d lied.
I couldn’t explain what I’d done. I mean, what explanation was there? I was a fully-grown woman who had—for reasons even I couldn’t fully comprehend—begun masturbating in the bathroom, sometimes three times in a single day.
And, if I’m being honest...I wasn’t exactly being discreet about it. I wasn’t even quiet. I’ve always been one to gasp and pant as I get off, and despite being in a public place, I had done nothing to hold back.
My cheeks impossibly burned even redder as I wondered...had I cried out my boss’s name?
Oh, god…
There was another long, long silence as Mr. Peterson waited for an explanation I had no way of providing. Finally, he sighed—a sigh of disappointment that I knew I’d remember until my dying day—and handed me a copy of the Employee Expectation Document.
As if my hands were on autopilot, I took it and quickly—far more quickly than logic dictated I’d be able to—found the relevant passage.
There it was. Point 8.11.87.
Employees suspected of masturbating in the restrooms would be punished by their direct supervisor.
Which for me, of course...was Mr. Peterson.
He looked at me, and for a moment I thought I saw it...a gleam of hunger, like he wanted this to happen. It was gone almost instantly, and I shook the feeling off. Of course my boss didn’t want me to be caught...masturbating...in the company restroom. Who would want that?
Yes, he’d have to punish me, but it wasn’t like he was enjoying the process. He was just doing his job, nothing more.
“It doesn’t specify the punishment, sir,” I said meekly, and Mr. Peterson held out his hand.
For a moment I was filled with a ridiculous impulse—I wanted to stand up, and move my body into his outstretched hand. I wanted to place my breast on his palm, allow him to grope and roughly fondle me as he’d done in my fantasies so many times.
I wanted his hand between my legs. I wanted to make his fingers slick with my juices, then suck them clean, show him what my tongue was capable of. I wanted to lean over his desk, as I had dreamed about for what felt like years...
Shaking my head, I escaped my reverie. I didn’t do any of the things I’d fantasized about.
Instead, I handed him the document.
“That’s right,” he said, placing it beside on him the desk. “That means it’s at my discretion.”
He glanced at the cupboard in the corner of his room, and there it was again. For a moment, I could have sworn his eyes darkened with lust. I’d never particularly noticed the cupboard before—it was made of a dark wood, and had always been closed.
All of a sudden, I was filled with a desperate desire to know what was inside it.
But again, as soon as I noticed the expression, it was gone, and he was back to being my placid—and extremely cute—boss once more.
“This is a much more serious offense than a typo, of course,” he said, and I nodded. I’d screwed up...I knew it, he knew it, and I was prepared to pay the price for my mistake.
More than anything, I wanted to go back to being his good girl. I wanted to be good for Mr. Peterson. For my boss.
I wanted to make him happy.
I wanted to obey.
“How much more serious would you say it is?” he asked, staring straight at me.
“Um...”
I felt like an idiot. I’m a numbers gal; always have been. I’m never happier than when sitting down in front of a spreadsheet, or a Sudoku puzzle. Give me numbers, I can make them dance. They were, after all, my job.
But all of a sudden, my mind was blank. How much more serious was masturbating in the office bathroom than a typo? How was I even meant to answer that?
“Ten times more serious?” Mr. Peterson prompted. “Twenty?”
“Twenty!” I squeaked, wanting to answer him. Wanting to give my boss what he wanted.
God I wanted to give my boss what he wanted. Whatever he wanted.
“Very well,” he said with a nod. “I gave you five spanks for each typo. Masturbating in the office will be one hundred.”
My eyes widened. After just five spanks, I was a walking puddle. After one hundred?
I’d either soak his floor with my juices or die, and I honestly couldn’t tell you which would be worse.
“Sir!” I gasped, and he once more silenced me with a gesture of his hand.
“Not all at once,” he said, throwing me a kind smile.
God, his smile. It made me melt. I felt giddy as a schoolgirl. It was almost embarrassing.
“How does ten each day sound? That’s all of this week and next.”
“Yes, sir,” I nodded, my heart racing.
Ten? Ten, all at once? My nipples tightened just thinking about it.
Ten smacks from my boss...and I wouldn’t even be able to go to the bathroom and masturbate afterwards. I couldn’t.
Not if I wanted to be a good girl.
Mr. Peterson gestured at the desk once more. This time I hesitated, not wanting to make a fool of myself.
“Go ahead,” he said, sensing my reluctance. “Let’s get today’s out of the way. I’ll have you count them for me once more.”
“Of course, sir,” I responded.
My legs were shaky as I stood; if Mr. Peterson was watching, he would definitely have seen the tremble. I felt like an old woman.
Somehow, my boss simultaneously made me feel as shaky as an old woman and as giddy as a little girl.
I got into position, leaning over Mr. Peterson’s desk, spreading my legs, and allowing him access to my ass.
SMACK.
“One, sir,” I said with a groan.
Mr. Peterson’s hand was exactly as I remembered, exactly as I’d been fantasizing about. It had been so long. Until I felt the sharp pain begin to spread across my buttocks, followed inevitably by the soft warmth coursing through my body, I hadn’t realized how desperately I’d been craving it.
SMACK.
“Two, sir.”
Part of me wanted to march out of the office and straight back into the bathroom. Just two spanks in, I was practically glowing.
I couldn’t imagine how I’d feel after one hundred.
SMACK.
“Three, sir.”
My voice was soft, and pliant. It was the voice of a good girl. It was the voice of someone who wanted to obey her boss.
SMACK. SMACK.
“Four, sir. Five...”
My body felt electrified. It was like I’d been sleeping for weeks, and my boss’s hand was jolting me awake.
SMACK.
“Six! Sir!”
I was suddenly so full of energy. In that moment, I felt like I could run a marathon, or climb a mountain.
I felt awake, electrified...and very, very warm.
SMACK.
“Seven, sir!”
I bit my lip as I realized how my body was going to interpret this. The endorphins that were rushing into my brain...they would just reinforce the stupid crush I had on my boss.
SMACK.
“Eight, sir!”
After this, I didn’t know how I was going to ever think about Aaden during sex again.
SMACK. SMACK.
“Nine! Ten, sir. That’s ten.”
With that, Mr. Peterson stepped back, and I collapsed face-first into his desk. I was just lucky that there hadn’t been a pen sticking up, or I could have lost an eye.
As it was, I was smearing my eyeliner into his the Employee Expectations Document (my husband hadn’t noticed that I’d started wearing makeup to work, though he had complimented me on ‘looking good today’ a few times. Men, right?)
I wanted to stand up, but I just didn’t have the energy. My legs felt like wet noodles, while my nether regions felt like...well, just plain ol’ wet. I was so turned on, I wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that I’d soaked through my jeans.
Not that what we’d done was sexual, of course. It was just a boss disciplining his employee. It wasn’t Mr. Peterson’s fault that my stupid body couldn’t tell the stupid difference.
I tried once more to stand, but—to my great embarrassment—simply slithered off the desk.
My eyes widened as I realized I’d literally collapsed onto my boss’s floor. I turned to see him staring down at me, a lascivious look on his face.
I blinked twice. No, not lascivious. Worried. Of course he looked worried; he’d just spanked me so hard that I’d collapsed. He was probably worried me filing an OSHA report against him.
Not that I ever would, of course. What we’d done had been my fault. I’d deserved it.
I deserved to be punished.
My mouth opened as my brain scrambled, trying to come up with an explanation, but before I could say anything...he burst out laughing, and I was surprised to find myself joining suit.
After a few minutes, we’d calmed down, and he reached out his hand. “Here,” he said with a smile. “Let me help you up.”
* * *