A mistake threatens to cost this lady a large bonus, but there might be another way
By Christine B
Trudy lay back in the passenger seat watching the countryside speed by. Alison and Kate would follow after in Kate’s car as soon as they had cleared away the demonstration stands and the equipment. It would hardly take more than half an hour.
Tim drove fast but carefully so she should have been able to relax. But his silence was unnerving and his face held a faint scowl. Short, monosyllabic answers greeted her comments until eventually she had given up making conversation and let her mind run over the events of the day.
The seminar had gone well, apart from the difficulties at the start, where the projector equipment they had brought proved incompatible with that of the hotel’s until some sort of gizmo had been obtained that eventually solved the problem. But Tim had made light of it and the audience was mollified by a promise of an email containing all of the slides of the first presentation, which they had missed as a result. All in all, it was not too bad a first outing.
Trudy came back to the present as Tim slowed on entering the office park and lined the car up neatly in his office parking bay. Trudy exited the car in as ladylike a manner as possible, knees together, swivelling around on her bum. She had noticed surreptitious glances by Tim at her legs on the way to and from the conference and she realised it might have been better to go for a longer length skirt. But why should she, even if her fortieth birthday was in the offing? Her competition, now that she had stopped practicing as a hospital doctor and entered the world of pharmaceutical marketing, was the likes of Alison and Kate – in their late twenties and drop-dead gorgeous. She realised she had been hired for her medical acumen but if she still had it why not use it? Male clients were attracted by mild flirting with a sexy woman and she could revert to a more staid persona when dealing with women clients. It was a win-win situation.
“Night Tim,” she called out jauntily over her shoulder as she began to walk to her car.
“Um, might you be able to come into the office for a minute, Trudy? There’s something I’d like to discuss tonight, rather than leave it to tomorrow.”
It didn’t really suit Trudy, who was due to meet a friend later and wanted to shower and change, but she could hardly say no, so she said: “Certainly, Tim,” and followed him into the building. Tim said nothing in the lift and courteously motioned Trudy out ahead of him when the lift reached the second floor. He had his key out and opened the door to the office. Everyone had gone home; it waseight o’clockafter all. The floor was mostly open plan. Tim’s office as Managing Director was at one end, glass panelled, the open blinds showing his compulsively neat desk. Apart from a general meeting room at the end wall, the only other room was Trudy’s office as Marketing Manager (with the promise of being elevated to the Board if all went well).
“My room, please Trudy,” Tim said surprisingly gruffly, making Trudy wonder, a little worriedly, what he might wish to discuss. Tim sat in his chair. Trudy stood, awaiting Tim’s invitation to sit down but his mobile rang and he mouthed: “Sam Nelson,” and had a brief conversation to which Trudy half-listened, her ears perking up when Tim said: “Six of the best, at the very least!” and laughed. Then, after some normal pleasantries, the call ended. Still Tim didn’t invite her to sit.
He looked out the window as he asked her how she thought the seminar had gone.
Trudy was slightly flustered by the reference on the phone to what she presumed was a spanking but regained her composure and breezily replied: “Quite well really. Promises of orders looked very good.”
“Nothing to improve on, would you say?” He asked somewhat pointedly. “All went without a hitch did it?”
Trudy started to stumble over her words as she admitted the technical problems at the start must have caused him some concern.
He continued not to look at her but, as it was getting a little dark, asked if she could turn on the overhead lights, which she did, glad to move off the one spot, even if only for a few seconds.
“Everything worked swimmingly last night when you called out to ensure all was well, did it?”
Trudy paused. It would have been easy for Tim to check with the hotel management if she had done so. “No, something came up Tim, so I couldn’t make it”……like a tennis knock up with Sue, she recalled guiltily. “But I did ring them to ask them to check everything themselves.”
“Which, presumably, they didn’t do……would you say Trudy?” He turned round in his chair to judge her expression.
Trudy started to panic a little as she realised how unprofessional it must look. “I suppose not,” she said sheepishly.
“But, what really galls me is that, having neglected to go out last night, you couldn’t even be bothered to get up early and make your own way this morning to the venue to check everything was ship-shape!”
Trudy was further embarrassed. She could hardly give the excuse that her husband, for the first time in weeks, had chosen that particular morning to decide to shag her, which to be truthful she rather enjoyed as he took her from behind, her bum thrust high in the air as she crouched on the bed. Instead, she offered the feeble excuse that she had thought it best for them to meet up to go over the presentation on the road.
Tim disagreed. “Personally, I would have much preferred not having to wing it for the first half hour while you spent twenty minutes getting hold of a maintenance man and the next ten minutes bent over ‘helping’ him, with your skirt tight across your bum in full view of the audience!”
Trudy flushed as she recalled the scene and she realised after a few minutes of handing parts down to the man how she must have looked on the stage.
Tim’s clear annoyance brought her back to the present. “Yes, I got away with it, but only just and I never want a repetition! Understood?”
She did and said so.
“However”, Tim said, “There has to be repercussions. This was terribly unprofessional on your part. If it had been either Alison or Kate….” He left the remark unfinished. “I’ve decided you will forfeit your year-end bonus, which was heading towards twenty five thousand pounds.”
Trudy’s face fell. “Twenty five thousand pounds, you can’t do that surely?”
“Well what do you suggest, Trudy? Your cavalier attitude to work could have cost us dearly.”
Trudy stood her ground. “I have worked bloody hard since I joined and to good effect. This isn’t justified!”
“I agree you have done so, Trudy, but this was amateur half hour stuff and, to be blunt, it causes me to question if you are the right person for the job.”
Trudy was aghast. She had burned her bridges with medical practice. She was totally committed to the job and really liked it. She thought feverishly.
“You mentioned just now something about ‘If this had been either Alison or Kate…’ What did you mean? What would have happened to either Alison or Kate if they had done this?”
Tim pursed his lips. Trudy was suddenly conscious that she was still standing in front of his desk like a naughty schoolgirl in front of the Headmaster.
“I don’t think it’s appropriate, given your medical qualification and your position in the company.”
What’s not appropriate?” Demanded Trudy.
In answer, Tim nodded towards the cupboard where a coat was hanging. “Reach into the back right hand corner there, if you would Trudy.”
She did so, conscious his eyes must be looking at her bum. At first she felt nothing, then she reached around further and her hand closed around some sort of thin stick. She straightened up and took it out of the cupboard, unable to restrain a gasp as she suddenly realised she was holding a nasty looking school cane, three or four feet long with a curved handle.
“I take it you’re joking Tim! And, I might add, I find it in very poor taste. You can’t actually have caned Alison or Kate, surely? They think so highly of you and won’t hear a bad word against you.”
Tim looked her straight in the eye. “Alison twice and Kate once. She’s a quick learner. Twelve of the best each time on their knickers. But, as I say, it’s not suitable punishment for someone of your rank. Anyway, you’ve now made your views on the subject very clear, thank you. For you it will be a fine instead.”
The mention of the fine jolted Trudy. She needed that money, was counting on it, in fact. She made a sharp intake of breath. “Say, just say, I were to agree to a caning. Would I keep the bonus? Would it wipe the slate clean, so to speak?”
Tim made no response.
Trudy was pleading now. “I realise I’ve behaved like a naughty schoolgirl not doing her homework. If you think I deserve a caning then I’ll accept it.” Her face flushed as she grovelled, begging to be caned.
Tim thought about it for a minute or two, letting her sweat, watching her unconsciously raise her hands to her skirt and slowly rub her bottom, as if preparing it for the ordeal.
“Alright then, as it’s your first big mistake, I’ll hand you a caning instead of a fine. But I warn you it will hurt a lot and it will equate to your fine. It will be one stroke for every thousand pounds saved.”
That jolted Trudy. “But that’s twenty five strokes! That’s too much for my bum. It would be pulp. There would be welts on top of welts.”
“I can apply some of the strokes to the back of your thighs, if you wish,” Tim allowed. “But twenty five strokes it is.” He looked pointedly at his watch. “The girls must be well on their journey. Unless you particularly wish to be caned in front of an audience, I suggest you raise your skirt, remove your tights and lie over this desk.”
Trudy nearly freaked. The girls, she’d forgotten about them. They’d be here in ten minutes, maybe less. She handed the cane, which she’d been holding all the time, to Tim and pushed up her skirt and reached under to pull down her tights, which slid easily down the nylon material of her pants.
“Take them right off, Trudy. Your legs will thrash around under the caning.”
She did so and blushingly pushed her skirt fully up to her hips and lay across the desk, grasping the far side tightly.
He tapped her pants with the cane. “Can you take eighteen on your bottom?” Tim asked.
Trudy wasn’t sure. Her husband used to cane her occasionally in sex play and she’d had eighteen a few times, but she imagined these would be much harder. He’d said her legs would thrash around so it would be much worse than sex play.
“That way you’ll only have to take seven on your thighs,” he reminded her.
“Alright,” She said. “Can you give me the seven strokes on my thighs first?”
Trudy screamed as, without warning, he brought the cane down hard across the top of her thighs. She made to get up but he pushed her down in the small of her back, warning that standing up or rubbing her bottom or thighs would make that stroke not count.
The pain was indescribable and she thought briefly of asking for all the rest on her bum. Then the second crashed down mid-thigh and she screamed aloud again. Her eyes were filled with tears as she turned her head round and begged him not to hit her any lower. “I wear my skirts short and I don’t want the welts showing.”
He pushed the cane into her cheek and told her not to look up at him. She screamed five more times as the cane cracked down on the back of her thighs, but he didn’t go lower.
Then he switched to her bottom and it wasn’t quite as sore as her thighs. It helped that she had been caned before on her bum and knew what to expect. But no matter how she firmed her bum between strokes, the cane made a slapping sound as it whacked down on her buttocks.
Occasionally, Tim let the cane whip round high on her hip where the flesh was more sensitive and she let out a screech of pain. But mostly she bit her lip and remained silent, just sobbing quietly.
Eventually, he stopped and she realised it was over. She lay there afraid to move, realising the extra pain that movement would bring. Then she heard a car draw up outside and realised it was Alison and Kate.
She stood up and grabbed her skirt and tights. She was absolutely horrified to spot a man standing brazenly in the other wing of the office block who had clearly had a view of her punishment and she went beetroot colour, almost as red as her bottom and thighs were now becoming.
She was about to rush out the door to the loo before the others came up but Tim instructed her to put the cane back in the cupboard and she did so, uncaringly exposing her twat, as she bent over to put it right at the back. Then they heard the lift rising and she ran to the loo.
She made it just in time. She entered a cubicle and ran her fingers up and down her bum and thighs feeling the large welts grow hotter by the minute. Then she gritted her teeth and put her pants and tights back on. She realised with alarm that the heat of the caning had no means of exiting her nylon underwear and tight fitting skirt. She would be horribly bruised. She hoped against hope that her husband wouldn’t want a repeat of that morning’s session anytime soon!
She flushed the toilet to make it appear she had been using it and then rubbed water on her face to remove the last signs of all her blushing. Then she came out smiling and laughed along with Tim and the girls as they relived the seminar. She determined silently never again to find herself bent over Tim’s desk.
However, later that night, as her husband slept soundly, she benefited from two doses of solpadeine pain relief. She first lay on her front and caressed the fire in her bottom. Then she put her hands under her body and slid them lower between her legs and relived the caning and how she must have looked to both men and she moaned softly with pleasure. Maybe she WOULD make a mistake again sometime in the future!