Office Caning

Punishment in the work place

By Tom Horner

Her face expressed surprise rather than pain as she pushed herself up from the chair. Her mouth was open in a gasp, and her hands sought out the source of her distress. This was clearly something which had never happened to her before; or, more particularly, it was something that had never happened to her bottom before. For it was to her bottom that her hands now reached, rubbing at the single livid stripe that had just appeared, as she craned back over her shoulder trying vainly to inspect the damage. The first stripe of what was to have been six but now would become at least seven, because she had not stayed bent over the chair. Not that she knew that it was to have been six. He had not divulged that piece of information, preferring simply to refer to a “sound caning”. But knowing his love of tradition she might have guessed that it would be six of the best. Now he came round to stand in front of her, the thin rattan dangling from his right hand. Still rubbing she looked at him with watery eyes. She opened her mouth as if to protest, but only one word escaped her lips.

“Please?”

He ignored this vague request, presumably for leniency. Staring at her intently and sternly he spoke quietly but firmly.

“You must realise that this is only prolonging things. We have an agreement which involves you taking any sound caning on your pretty bare bottom so I suggest that you get back bent over the chair so that we can continue.”

With a resigned sigh she bent forward again; her bottom, a little wobbly when she was standing, tightened into a smooth curve.

He walked back to stand behind her and to her left. As she settled back into position, gripping the seat of the chair and tautening her legs he noticed a more obvious trembling in her thighs. Before that first stroke she might have thought that this was all a bit of the game and easily survived. Now she knew differently. This was to be a real punishment and it would hurt. He pushed her white blouse up out of the way. She flinched as his cold hand touched her warm back. She was naked below the waist apart from a pair of grey high-heels. Her skirt, knickers and tights lay neatly folded on the desk, within her sight but hopelessly out of reach. Standing to her side he placed the cane gently across the top of her thighs, just at the start of her bottom. Leaving it resting there he spoke to her again in the same quiet but irresistible tone.

“What you must realise mainly is that this exercise is all about discipline, and part of that discipline is controlling your own emotions and feelings so that you take your medicine with the minimum of fuss. You must concentrate on controlling your reaction to the pain, exercising self-discipline and not standing up or trying to protect yourself with your hands. A little later I am going to administer several strokes just here;” he tapped the cane quite lightly at the overhang of her bottom, “which I am told is the most sensitive area for a young woman such as you. You will need all of your self-control and concentration when we get to that. But first a few more a little higher, nearer the centre, I think. Are you ready?”

A slight nod of the head indicated reluctant assent.

“How many?” She whispered.

“You will find out soon enough,” he replied. “But remember you must remain in position until I tell you that you may stand.”

The cane moved away from her bottom and she tensed in expectation. She did not have long to wait. The next stroke swished in about an inch below the first. Maybe he had not been quite so hard or maybe she was actually learning to control herself, but this time she remained in position as another red line appeared across the soft whiteness of bottom. Her hands gripped the chair tightly and her buttocks clenched almost involuntarily, her thighs whispering against each other. She made no audible complaint, however, other than a sharp intake of breath.

“Good,” he said. “Now as well as concentrating on the pain and controlling your response to it you should also be thinking about the events which have led you to this situation. By associating these with your current discomfort the lesson of the discipline will be reinforced with the likelihood of beneficial effects for the future. The next stroke will come about here.”

He tapped a spot between the two lines now clearly visible across the centre of her bottom and then almost immediately swished the cane in. This time as well as the writhing of her thighs and buttocks there was an audible cry as she fought against the pain. He did not speak to her after this stroke. Having established the pattern of obedience it was time to test the threshold of her endurance a little further. He took careful aim and delivered the next stroke with full power into that sensitive area which he had earlier threatened. A second after the cane hit in there was an anguished cry and once again she stood, turning towards him with eyes full of tearful reproach.

“Oh dear,” he said. ”We are still rather undisciplined aren’t we? This bad behaviour is only prolonging things, you understand. Would it make it easier if you knew how many you were getting, do you think?”

“Yes, please.”

“So, if I tell you that you are in line for thirty strokes, of which you have so far had three, that would make you feel better, would it?”

Her mouth dropped open. “You couldn’t, I couldn’t!” She stammered.

“I could,” he replied. “And you could take them, if you had to. But no, it is not to be thirty on this occasion. But you see that knowing the amount doesn’t necessarily make things better, which is why I am still not going to tell you the extent of your punishment. You will just have to wait and see. Now for goodness sake get back over that chair, and let’s get on with it.”

She continued to rub gently at the bottom as she replied: “I suppose I’ll have to, but you’re really enjoying this aren’t you, you bastard?”

“Abusing me won’t make things any easier you,” he replied with a smile. “You got yourself into this situation, and now your bottom is going to have to pay for it. So stop that rubbing and get back into position, before I get really angry and decide that thirty strokes would be an appropriate number.”

Her eyes met his defiantly for just a moment, and then flicking her hair back with a toss of her head, she turned away to face the chair once more. Leaning forward she stretched into position. Her bottom was now marked with four red stripes, of which only two so far counted towards her quota. They stood out angrily against the surrounding whiteness.

“You are right, of course,” he said quietly. “I am enjoying punishing you, Mary. The application of a pliable cane to the bare bottom of a deserving young woman is an exercise in which I take great pleasure. And in your case it is a pleasure I have anticipated and imagined for some months, ever since you came to work in that tightly tailored trouser suit, in fact. A flirty, feisty girl with a pert spankable bottom is an irresistible combination.”

Indeed, the trouser suit had been a revelation. The pinstriped suit with its long jacket was the picture of elegance. But it was when she had removed the jacket that he appreciated just how well it was cut. The trousers were fitted to her thighs and bottom in a way which, without having the overt sexuality of say, stretch jeans, flattered her figure, and showed her curves to perfection. In particular, they emphasised the rounded elegance of her bottom. The bottom which now lay bare and submissive before him, decorated with the stripes of her beating.

Once again he took aim. Raising his arm high he brought the cane down with a full swing, landing in the middle of her bottom, close to one of the earlier strokes. She cried out and tossed her head, her buttocks clenching and swaying for a few moments. When she was settled once more, he placed the cane again across the sensitive crease at the top of her thighs. She reacted to the promise of another stroke in this area by stretching up onto her toes, as if vainly trying to move away from its kiss. The trembling in her legs became more noticeable. He allowed several more seconds for her anticipation to increase, and then landed a firm stroke squarely on top of the line left by the fourth.

This time she maintained her position, though he could see by the whiteness of her knuckles that she had to grip the chair very tightly in order to do so. A cry escaped her lips once more, merging into a shout which was indecipherable, but almost certainly was intended as an abuse against her tormentor.

He smiled, almost chuckling at her continued display of spirit. It was that which attracted her to him, and which made her such a delightful punishee.

“Dear, dear,” he said. “Such temper! I think you have just earned yourself a bonus stroke. Just as well I couldn’t quite make out what you shouted, otherwise it might have been two strokes.”

As he spoke he swished in yet another stroke across the very centre of the bottom. Though she stayed over the chair, her feet started to beat a frenzied tattoo, as her hips twisted and squirmed. Moreover, he heard with pleasure what was almost certainly a sob from beneath the swirling mane of chestnut hair. If she was on the point of tears, then he had done his work well.

He waited until she was still and steady, with only a slight tremble in her thighs before beating her again. It was now almost inevitable that each fresh stroke would touch on existing stripes, adding to the exquisite stinging that must be setting her on fire. Her reaction confirmed his suspicion that he had won. She made no attempt to get up, nor did she swear at him; her bottom and thighs squirmed and he could hear she was fighting back tears.

The next stroke would be the last one of those he had planned, six of the best plus three penalty strokes, and indeed having reached this point there was little point in continuing. His dominance was established and their relationship would never be the same again. Even if neither of them ever referred to these events in the future they would always both have in their subconscious the occasion when her spirit was broken by the application of the supple cane to her bare bottom.

He raised his arm for the last time and swished the stroke across the full swell of her bottom, cutting across several earlier strokes. She cried out, tensing and squirming as the pain hit her, but still held her position, knuckles white as she gripped the chair.

He waited a moment, admiring the beauty of her body and the vivid red stripes which now decorated her bottom. Then he moved to the desk and put down the cane.

“It’s over”, he said. “You can get up now. I think you have learned your lesson, haven’t you?”

The End

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