Spanked by my Boss
by Pan
Chapter 6
A few years ago, my old bosses had given me an award. Like I said, I’m actually pretty good at my job.
It was a really big deal—they’d flown me to Europe (my first time outside the country) for the ceremony; a few accountants from each of our international branches had were being honored, and the ceremony was in Scotland, which is where our company had been founded.
On the night, I’d worn this greeny-blue dress, and had been buzzing with excitement—and a few glasses of wine—all evening. I’m not really one for public speaking or anything like that—this wasn’t a speech, of course, but just the idea of going up in front of so many people (including my boss’s boss’s boss) would be enough to make anyone nervous.
The food was amazing, as you’d expect, particularly these little shrimp cocktail things. I’d joked that they must have been a Scottish delicacy.
Finally, it was time—me and the other two from my branch had our names called, we walked across the stage, then returned to our seats.
Not really a big deal, right?
Well, the moment I sat down—the moment I sat down—I realized that while eating one of the shrimps, I’d managed to drop a huge glob of dressing right on the front of my dress.
I’d just stood up in front of the most important people in my company...with a stain on my dress.
And it wasn’t like it was a small one, either. You could have seen it from space—you could definitely see it from the front table where the executives were sitting.
Until the morning that my boss had called me into his office to tell me I’d been caught masturbating at work, that had definitely been the most embarrassing moment of my life.
The news I’d been caught was enough to dethrone it, and I would have bet good money on that being the reigning champion for many years to come—perhaps forever.
But then Mr. Peterson reached out his hand—the same hand that just a few minutes ago, had spanked me into a puddle.
I took it, and...god.
I took it, and the moment his skin came into contact with mine, I moaned.
Just like the stain, it wasn’t a small one. For a moment—just a moment, before my lips clamped shut and my eyes opened wider than I’d known they could—my boss’s office was filled by the loud, lustful moan of what sounded like a woman having a particularly intense orgasm.
Just because he’d touched my hand.
I wanted to die. I didn’t want to run away to Australia and hide in the middle of the desert, I wanted to die.
For the past month, I’d been so, so careful about hiding my crush. I’d made sure to treat Mr. Peterson professionally, like colleagues.
Like my boss.
I’d been such a good girl.
But now, in an instant, I’d ruined it all. Just the feeling of his hand—that hand!—against mine, and I’d acted on impulse, unable to hide the intense attraction I felt.
He’d reached out to help me out, and I’d moaned like an animal in heat.
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t think I could ever talk again. Not to Mr. Peterson, not to anyone. My kids would have to go the rest of their lives with nothing but the memory of what their mother sounded like, because I was never speaking again.
“Amber,” he said gently (god he could be gentle when he wanted to), “are you okay?”
“Mm-hmm,” I said, my mouth tightly shut, my eyes so wide they were starting to water.
He opened his mouth to reply, then clearly felt like it was a bad idea. He guided me into the chair, then let go of my hand.
There was a long silence (which I used to ponder the viability of having face-and-body transplant) before my boss spoke.
“Amber,” he started, his voice firm. “I’m going to ask you something, and it’s important that you tell me the truth.”
I nodded. I’d tell him anything he wanted.
I was his good girl.
“Do you...and please, please answer honestly. Right now, do you need to masturbate?”
My life flashed before my eyes. All of it. Growing up in Albany, playing video games for hours on end, meeting Aaden, having my boys, moving out of New York State, switching jobs...in a moment, I saw everything I’d ever done, and I was ready to die.
Part of me wanted to faint. That would be a good excuse not to answer, right? I couldn’t will myself to death, but I’m sure that with a little effort, I could force myself unconscious.
But then I remembered—he’d asked me to be honest.
He’d politely requested that I tell him the truth, and I was going to obey.
I wanted to obey.
And I couldn’t lie. Not to him. Not to Mr. Peterson.
Not to my boss.
“Yes, sir,” I answered, my face beet-red. He nodded, and I was amazed he could even hear me—my response had been so quiet, a bat would have struggled to hear what I’d said.
Mr. Peterson didn’t respond, he just kept on nodding. We sat there for another eternity, him nodding, me unable to look away.
“I can’t let you do that in the bathroom again,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “It’s against company policy. Besides, then I’d have to punish you again, and it seems...”
His eyes flicked down my body, just for a moment, before once more returning my stunned gaze.
“...it seems that would be rather counter-productive, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes, sir,” I nodded.
“I obviously can’t let you use your cubicle, so....”
He glanced around the room. I didn’t know if I was imagining it, but it seemed like his gaze paused on the wooden cabinet for a moment.
“...I suppose you’ll have to do it here.”
Just when I thought my day couldn’t get any stranger, Mr. Peterson’s suggestion managed to push it into a new level of weird.
I leaned forward, unsure if I’d heard him correctly.
“In here?” I asked.
“That’s right. Unless you have a better suggestion?”
My mind raced, but I had to admit...I didn’t.
I mean, I suppose I could have told him that I didn’t need to masturbate, but I’d promised not to lie to him. No matter what, I was going to need to get myself off before I could return to work, even if I had to go into the parking lot and rub my aching clit in my car.
The only other alternative I could think of would be to go into the women’s bathroom, but Mr. Peterson had a point. If I was caught, that would be another hundred smacks—another ten spanking sessions. And if after each of those I needed to do it again...
Things would get exponential, fast. Every accountant’s nightmare.
So he was right.
I’d have to masturbate in his office.
“I’d offer to leave you alone in the room,” he said apologetically. “But I have so much work to do. You understand, of course.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied breathlessly. I didn’t want to put my boss out any more than I already had.
I wanted to be his good girl.
“Very well,” he said, returning to the other side of the desk.
Without a word, he sat in his chair and began going through a printed report. I recognized what he was working on—the GWT case that we’d been dealing with for the last few months.
I was slightly stunned. For a moment, a strange thought entered my mind, that what was happening was...off. Very off.
That normal bosses didn’t spank their employees, and then insist that they masturbate in front of them. That the feelings I had towards Mr. Peterson were...unnatural, somehow. That the Amber of a few months ago would never have been caught masturbating in a toilet stall at work.
That what we were doing was wrong, like I was cheating on Aaden.
However just as quickly as they’d arrived, they were gone. There was nothing strange about being spanked by my boss—he was just disciplining me, after all. It had been my fault, for what I’d done. And yes, it wasn’t something I was used to...but that was why it had confused my body. It was intense, and my hormones had confused that intensity for a crush.
But what we were doing wasn’t cheating. It wasn’t like Mr. Peterson was touching me in a way that was inappropriate. He was spanking an employee that had stepped out of line, and I was grateful that my boss was taking a personal interest in me. I was happy that Gio had such firm policies, to ensure that I was the best accountant I could be.
Spanking me was the right thing to do. It was the only way I’d learn to be a good girl for Mr. Peterson.
And I wanted nothing more than to be a good girl. I wanted to obey.
Masturbating in the toilet stall had been wrong, there was no denying that. But that was exactly why Mr. Peterson had punished me—so I wouldn’t do it again.
And that’s why it was important that I masturbate for him now, to ensure that I wouldn’t be tempted to slip off and engage in that tawdry act once more.
I nodded, glad that I’d gotten everything straight in my head once more.
“Should I...turn the chair around?” I asked nervously, and Mr. Peterson looked up, as though he’d already forgotten I was there.
“Best not,” he said simply, and returned to his work.
The feeling of unease came across me again—why did he want me to masturbate where he could see? And like it was the initial domino in a row, it set off more worries—why was I masturbating here at all? This was wrong, wasn’t it? Something was very, very…—
Mr. Peterson coughed quietly, distracting me from my train of thought, and drawing my attention.
I slumped slightly in my chair when I realized he wasn’t looking at me. I liked it when my boss looked at me. I know, it’s a little naughty, but it’s just a harmless fantasy. I liked to imagine he was attracted to me as I was to him.
Not, of course, that I’d ever do anything about it. I was married, and he was my boss.
Still, it was fun to dream.
I unzipped my pants and wiggled out of them. They took my panties with them, and my blush returned as I realized all Mr. Peterson would need to do was look up, and he’d see my naked cunt.
I almost wished I’d shaved for him.
Not, of course, that he was going to look up. This wasn’t a show—he was being kind enough to lend me his office so I could take care of my needs. He was doing me a favor, and making sure that I wouldn’t resort to...well, to what I was now deeply ashamed of doing for more than two weeks in a row.
It wasn’t like he was going to watch me.
As I reached between my legs, I was thoroughly unsurprised to find that I was soaking wet. It felt like I’d been wet for weeks straight now. Months.
When I masturbated in the bathroom stall, I’d close my eyes. It was easier, that way—easier to imagine it was Mr. Peterson’s hand, instead of my own. Easier to imagine that he was doing more than just watching.
Not that he was watching, of course.
Instead, sitting in front of my boss, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. He was working on the GWT file, as if everything was normal. As if his best accountant wasn’t sitting in front of him, exposing herself to him.
What was I talking about? Everything was normal. He was saving me from myself, really.
I was grateful.
I swallowed my nervousness. I knew that what we were doing was totally fine. Totally normal. Not something I’d mention to Aaden, of course, but certainly not something I was hiding from him.
But despite the normality of the situation, I couldn’t help but feel...vulnerable.
Sitting in front of Mr. Peterson, with everything exposed. All it would take was for him to glance up—just for a moment—and he’d see it.
He’d see me.
He’d see my glistening wet pussy. He’d see my fingers, rubbing on my clit. Sating the ache from the throbbing.
God, I wanted him so bad.
* * *