An office worker looks back

By Pat Greenham

“Take off everything below the waist please.”

I knew I had only myself to blame having been told earlier to see the Boss after everyone had gone home. I looked at him as he repeated: “Take off your trousers and knickers, and get into position over the stool.”

It was earlier in the day that I had an uncomfortable meeting with the Boss who asked why the bill for the staff Christmas Party included a meal for two at a date in October, which added over a £100 to the total. I had been well and truly caught.

In October, together with my boyfriend, I had gone to the restaurant to organise the Christmas Party for the staff and had decided to have dinner, asking the manager to add the cost to the bill for the Staff party. I thought they would simply lose it in the total, but they showed it as a separate amount on the invoice and it was immediately clear what I had been trying to do; have a free meal with my boyfriend at the expense of the company. I was effectively accused of theft.

Unfortunately there was some previous history. I had worked as PA for the Boss for two years, and in my first year I was accused of fiddling my expenses.

Before I tell you what happened next, it is important to say that the company specialised in the distribution of spanking and CP literature as well as being a production company for spanking videos.

The Boss was brilliant, funny and a joy to work for. But he was also very much into the subject of CP. When I was interviewed for the job, which was very well paid, I was left in no doubt that any transgression might result in being spanked as an alternative to being dismissed.

When I was accused of fiddling my expenses I was given a very straightforward choice; either leave the company or take a caning. Later that day I told him that I did not want to leave and would take the alternative. After everyone had left that evening I remembered being summoned into his office before being told to bend over a stool. My thin trousers tightened across my bottom before I received six extremely painful strokes with his cane, given at twenty-second intervals. It had been an extraordinary and painful experience.

Now here I was again, with only myself to blame. What had possessed me? I knew what was likely to happen, but I still took the risk. He told me that, as it was my second caning, it would be double the number of strokes and given across my bare bottom.

He repeated: “Take off your trousers and knickers, and get into position over the stool.”

I kicked off my shoes, then undid my tight trousers before peeling them off one leg at a time. My very skimpy knickers followed, leaving me naked below the waist as instructed. I was told to face him as he asked what on earth had I been thinking? As he looked me up and down, and I felt him focussing on my pubic region, I covered my wispy triangle with my hands before being told this was no time for modesty and to put my hands behind my head. I felt distinctly embarrassed about my nudity, but at the same time hoped he appreciated my body which I always kept in good shape. As instructed, I got into position over the stool, reaching right down to hold the base of the wooden legs, very conscious of my bare bottom on display as I ensured my legs were very much together.

“Twelve strokes coming up, Jenny, and make sure you stay in position and whilst you are being caned please reflect on the wisdom of taking money from the company.”

On several occasions, acting as a production assistant, I had witnessed him caning girls during the production of spanking videos and I knew I was in for a very painful few minutes. These girls were professionals who were used to being caned. I was not one of them and nothing could have prepared me for the first stroke, which was way more painful than I remembered from my previous caning when I had retained my trousers. My bottom was on fire.

The second stroke was no less painful and in no time he thrashed me for the third time. He was actually leaving twenty seconds between each stroke, but it was not long enough to absorb the unbelievable pain created by his long whippy cane. It was just as well that everyone had gone home because I am sure I was far from silent. I remember holding onto the legs of the stool for grim death as he caned me for the fourth time. He seemed to leave a slightly longer gap before I received the fifth and then the sixth stroke. My bottom was on fire and modesty was no longer important as I had parted my legs to give me some balance and prevent me falling off the stool.

I remember really well thinking that I was only half way through and still had six strokes to go and that I must stay in position. I also knew that he was most likely enjoying himself but also that I had got myself into this jam.

He left a really long gap before re-commencing my caning. The seventh and eighth stokes came quite quickly and I could not believe my bottom could be in any more pain. It was all I could do to remain in position and not jump up. I dreaded each stroke, but wanted him to get it over at the same time. I have heard people say that they enjoy being caned, but this being my second caning and my first to my bare bottom, enjoyment was a hard concept to accept. This was pure pain.

The ninth stroke was right across the middle of my bottom and felt as if it was on top of previous strokes. Three to go and I could for the first time envisage the end. The tenth and eleventh came quite quickly but he made me wait a full minute for the final stroke, which was both awful and wonderful because I knew it was over.

He told me to stay in position as he went to his cupboard and returned with a cooling spray. I was grateful for the cold spray that he aimed at my bottom. He was actually joking as he told me I had an excellent set of cane weals and it was a shame that we hadn’t filmed the punishment as it would have been a great seller. I am not sure I appreciated his sense of humour.

Still in position, he asked if I’d like some cold cream rubbed into my bottom. There was no point in rejecting his suggestion and I appreciated his attention as he tenderly rubbed the cream into my injured bottom.

In all I had been over the stool for over ten minutes before I finally stood up and faced him naked below the waist.

He said: “I hope there are no hard feelings and that you don’t try and steal from the company again,” adding that the matter was now closed.

Stepping gingerly back into my knickers, I replaced my tight trousers before bizarrely kissing him as I left telling him that I was sorry.

It was 6.30 as I left the building and I was a little late in meeting my boyfriend for a drink in our local pub. I immediately told him why I was late and that our meal in the restaurant that I had hoped would be lost in the Christmas Party invoice had resulted in me getting caned on my bare bottom. My boyfriend was astounded and later, when we got home, he inspected the damage for himself adding that he would have liked to have watched!

The next day the Boss was his normal self and asked how my bottom was. I told him that he had succeeded in giving me a very severe caning of which I was reminded every time I sat down, adding that I would have the marks across my bottom for the entire Christmas period.

That second caning was also to be the last, but looking back twenty years I have fond memories of my time working for the Boss and have no complaints. The memories of being caned are still quite powerful and I often think about bending over in his office with my bare bottom on display, and whilst the memories are more about the erotic nature of the experience, I still do not understand how anyone could enjoy the sensation of being thrashed with the cane!

The End

© Pat Greenham 2015