A girl steals from her employer and receives painful retribution. From a new writer to our site.

By Mr K

This is a true story. I know this because it happened to me. The year was 1965, I had just turned eighteen years old and was a senior in high school. I was working part-time at a small family run drug store near my home.

For those reading this that may be younger, we used to call pharmacies drug stores, maybe they still do in some places. This was beforethe word ‘drug’ had such a negative meaning asit does today. I worked part-time after school and on Saturdays for Mr Wells, the pharmacist; he was a widower and my boss. He was a wonderful man and I was so lucky to have such a good job, as I was saving up money to go to nursing school.

Anyway, it was Friday afternoon and I was working at the cash register just before closing as usual. What happened next I will never fully understand or know what exactly possessed me to do what I did, but I took a ten-dollar bill from the day’s cash receipts in the cash register drawer and put it in my pocket. I STOLE IT!

Maybe I was just bored or tired and it somehow seemed exciting and thrilling at the time. I did it and I felt daringand exhilarated and just a little bit sneaky when I did it. I was a goody two shoes and the girl voted least likely to get in trouble, any kind of trouble. I immediately had a terrible sense of shame and foreboding and I came to my senses and knew immediately that it was wrong.

I was just in the process of removing it from my pocket to put it back in the cash register when the bell over the front door jingled, signaling that a customer had just entered the store. I immediately stuffed the bill back in the side pocket of my pinafore dress. It was Mrs Fennimore who had come for her medicine for her sick husband.

Mr Wells came from the stock room and greeted her and they chatted while I rang up her prescription and handed it to her. We closed up the store immediately after she left and I went home. I had forgotten completely about the ten dollar bill and didn’t find it till I was helping my mother prepare dinner that evening. I was terrified and I sat quietly throughout dinner with my parents. I knew what I had done was very wrong and I was not a thief and had not been raised to steal.

“Is everything alright dear?” My mother said to me during dinner. “You look worried, my dear.”

My mother could sense something was bothering me; she was good at that. My dad just looked up and didn’t say anything and he continued eating.

“I’m fine, mom, I’m just tired and I need to study for a test Monday. May I be excused?”

I knew of, course, I had just lied to her and couldn’t bring myself to tell her what I had done. I didn’t have a test on Monday and I was relieved when I was excused from the table. I felt such shame it seemed to me that doing one bad thing was just leading to another; first stealing and then lying to my mom. What next? I felt terrible about the money I had taken all night and made up my mind that the next morning I was going to put it back immediately.

The next morning was Saturday and I forgot that Mr Wells always came in early to count up the week’s receipts and pay bills. He was sitting at his desk with his coffee when I arrived and I tried to avoid him. I felt so-o-o guilty; crime was not going to be my calling, I was sure of that.

I began busying myself cleaning when Mr Wells called to me from the office that he wanted to see me. My heart sank to my stomach as I walked to his opened door where he said to me: “Hun, I have been counting the receipts from yesterday and I seem to be missing ten dollars from yesterday’s sales. I can’t find it. Do you know what could have happened to it, dear?”

He always called me ‘dear’, and only rarely Susan, which was my name.

“Missing, Mr Wells? No sir, I don’t know what could have happened to it.” I blurted out the lie knowing all along what happened to the money and just digging the hole deeper and deeper.

“That’s OK, dear, I’m sure it will turn up. Let’s get ready to open. Oh, by the way, I brought some Danishes from the bakery. Don’t they look good? Please help yourself, dear.”

I felt awful as I prepared to open the store. Mr Wells was such a kind man and he trusted me. The pastries did look good but I had lost my appetite. I made up my mind right then and there and I was determined that, at the close of the day, I would tell Mr Wells what I had done and set things straight, regardless of the consequences to me.

I felt anxious all day and I was watching the clock. Finally it was five-o’clock and Mr Wells locked the front door. He returned to his office with the cash drawer, preventing my one last chance to put the money back. I was bursting to tell him what I did and steeled myself and walked to his office and knocked on the door frame.

“Mr Wells, can I talk to you?”

“Of course dear,” he replied as he drew his complete attention to me.

“I wanted to tell you something about yesterday.”

“Yesterday? Oh yes, yesterday,” he replied, distracted as he shuffled some papers around.

“Yes sir, well sir, it’s, it’s…”

“Yes dear, is there something you’re trying to say?” He interrupted.

“It’s about the ten dollars, MrWells. I, umm, well sir, umm…”

Then I thrust out my hand that was holding the ten-dollar bill and I laid it on his desk like it was a poison snake. I started to cry a little and wiped away a tear as I blurted out the whole sorted tale of what I had done.

“I took the money yesterday and put it in my pocket, but I don’t know why I did it, Mr Wells. I felt awful immediately. I have never stolen anything before in my life. It seemed like a daring and exciting thing to do at the time, and I never meant to keep it. It was just daring to do it and I tried to immediately put it back, but a customer, you remember, Mr Wells, Mrs Fennimore, came in for medicine for her husband who is so gravely ill.

“Well it distracted me and I forgot about it for a moment because, as you always said, Mr Wells, the customer always comes first. It was so wrong what I did and so stupid and I’ll never do it again. I don’t know why I did it and you should fire me immediately and call the police and arrest me or something, don’t you think?

“I’m not a thief, Mr Wells. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t sleep all night, but I am a thief, a terrible thief, because I took the money.”

At this point Mr Wells put his hand up, signaling me to stop. I had been rambling on and on as fast as I could talk between sobs, but then I stopped talking suddenly and just continued to cry as Mr Wells sat quietly and listened to me and said nothing. Finally he broke the deathly silence.

“I see,” is all he said quietly. Then he continued. “What shall we do about this, Susan?” He asked.

“Do?” I replied, as I stopped my tears, suddenly looking up and wiping my face with the back of my hands.

“Yes dear, what you have done is wrong. What shall we do about this?”

“Well, sir, aren’t you going to fire me or call the police?” I replied in a quite earnest and serious voice.

“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary to call the police but I am very puzzled as to why you would do such a thing. I have known you since you were just a little girl and this is just not like you, not like you at all. I have always trusted you, dear. What you did was wrong and I want you to learn something from it. I don’t think we need to involve the police in this matter. Don’t you agree, dear? Perhaps something else is needed, perhaps a punishment of some sort would be better and more appropriate, don’t you think?”

“A punishment, Mr Wells? What kind of a punishment, sir?”

At this moment, I wasn’t really concerned with what kind of a punishment he had in mind. I was just relived that he had not called the police immediately.

He continued. “Yes dear, as you know I have two grown daughters and I’m familiar with many of the antics and stupid mistakes all children make. I was not loath, dear, to correct my daughters when it was necessary, but I always corrected them with love as well.”

It was true, Mr Wells did have two grown and married daughters. They would occasionally stop by the pharmacy to visit with him, and they would bring their children along, Mr Wells’ grandchildren. I chatted with them as well.

He continued. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do, dear. I’ll give you a choice; a good and sound spanking that you have earned, or, as you yourself suggested, I can call the police and terminate you immediately without references. I will let you decide dear.”

“I’ll take the spanking, sir,” I blurted out immediately without even thinking about it or hesitating for a second.

I had stopped crying completely. I felt so guilty and was so relieved actually that a spanking was available as a choice. considering the alternatives. Involving the police would have nixed any chance of my getting into nursing school.

Are you sure dear?” He replied.

“Yes, sir. I’m sure, Mr Wells. I’m not looking forward to it but you can spank me.”

“Alright then, hun. We’ll keep this business to ourselves and there will be no reason to speak of it further.” Mr Wells stood up from behind his desk.

“Yes, sir. What do you want me to do?” I asked nervously, sensing that it was time for my comeuppances.

I had assumed that Mr Wells was going to ask me to get across his knee, or over his lap, and spank me like a young girl would be spanked, but he had another idea I had not considered in my haste to accept the spanking.

“Yes, now let’s get started,” he replied as he moved the end of a large couch in his office out from the wall a couple of feet. I hadn’t realized Mr Wells was that strong. It was a very heavy couch which he moved very easily.

Then he walked to the small bathroom attached to his office and, as he disappeared behind the door, he asked me what I was wearing underneath my dress. His question caught me by surprise and without an immediate response, so I guess I repeated his question unsure of how to answer and thinking I hadn’t heard it correctly.

“Under my dress, sir?” I replied with a little alarm in my voice.

He returned from the bathroom and he was carrying the leather razor strop that hung behind the bathroom door along with a small hand towel and a bottle of isopropyl rubbing alcohol. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the strop as he laid the items on the table.

“What’s that, Mr Wells?” I immediately asked as my eyes focused on the leather strop on the table.

“Why, it’s a razor strop dear and I intend to spank your backside with it.”

I had only seen a razor strop one other time before, at my grandparent’s home where I watched my grandfather use it for shaving when I was a little girl. I had always assumed Mr Wells used this one for the same purpose, to sharpen a razor or something. It had never occurred to me that it could be used to spank someone with.

Mr Wells then repeated his question as to what I was wearing underneath my dress.

“What are you wearing underneath your dress, dear? Under-panties, a slip, a girdle? What are you wearing, Susan?”

His question snapped me back to reality and I was embarrassed.

I dressed for work on Saturday pretty much the same as I did for school during the week. I had dressed that morning in a pink and white cotton dress with a slip underneath, a pair of white cotton print girls’ briefs, a small garter and a pair of stockings and black flats.

Girls in those days, that is to say older teen girls and women, still wore garters and stockings. Pantyhose was a fairly new invention and still quite expensive and unavailable in those days. I was not upset by his question, but I was definitely wondering if Mr Wells felt I was in need of a girdle. I’m sure that Mr Wells asked me that question without thinking about it much.

I answered him clearly. “I’m wearing a slip, panties, and a garter belt under my dress, Mr Wells.”

“Alright dear,” he said in a firm tone as he walked towards the couch. He took me by the arm and he led me over to the office couch he had pulled out. He used the couch for taking naps when he was called in to fill a prescription very late at night, or if someone wasn’t feeling well.

He asked me to kneel on the couch and lie down with my tummy over the back of the couch. I knelt down on the firm couch and Mr Wells steadied me as I flopped myself over the back of the couch. Then he tapped me on my leg and asked me to stand again, which I abruptly did.

For a second I was relieved and I thought that he had changed his mind and was letting me off. But no such luck as he continued.

“I’m going to put a couple of pillows under your knees to raise you up a little higher, dear. After placing two large pillows on the couch, he again asked me to kneel on the couch and asked me to lift the front of my dress and slip and hold it up as he helped me down over the back of couch once again. This time when I bent over the couch, my rear end was right over the back of the couch with part of my bare legs touching the couch. The pillows had elevated my behind andmy dress would be easier to lift, he said. My bottom was now front and center and the focus of his attention.

Steve Krupp picture two

He took hold of the hem of my dress that, thank goodness, was still covering me but not for long, and began lifting it up along with my slip. He lifted them up clear of my bottom and continued pushing the light material up till it was above my waist and laid the material over my back and shoulders. He pushed my dress and the waistband of my slip up a little further so that a part of my bare back was also exposed.

My buttocks were visibly quivering as he knelt down at eye level and began pulling, tugging and turning down my light cotton underpants, turning them   inside out in the process, leaving the bulk of the material pulled down to my mid thigh and the crotch of my panties wedged tightly between my legs, which I was desperately trying to keep closed as tightly as I could.

Mr Wells was a man, after all, and I’m sure that he was getting an eyeful, as my mother might say. I did take some comfort that he did raise two daughters and, besides, I was much too scared to worry about that right now.

I felt so ashamed and wanted to cry as he unfastened the snaps on my garter that held my stockings up, grasped the sides of my small white garter at the waist and began pushing it and rolling it up above my waist to my back also. Then he tucked the metal garter snaps into the top of my garter so they were clear of my bottom and not on my legs.

As Mr Wells worked to prepare me for my punishment, I could feel a breeze of cool air on my completely nude and warm buttocks that were soon to be much warmer, I feared.

My panties were pulled down my thighs a bit more and my rear cheeks were trembling as Mr Wells opened the bottle of alcohol. I smelled it immediately as the top came off; alcohol is such a volatile fluid. I had a feeling of sudden panic brought on by the smell. The only other times I smelled rubbing alcohol when I was bending over like this or lying down with my dress lifted up and my under-pants pulled down was when I was at the Doctor’s office waiting for the sharp stick of a needle to get a shot or school vaccinations in my heinie.

My panties pulled down at the Doctor’s office usually meant that something was going in my butt. A needle, thermometer, a suppository, something was going to happen to my rear end and I never likedany of it very much, and this was to be no exception. Even though I was going to be a nurse someday I still hated getting a shot in my butt and the smell of the alcohol was only adding to my fear and apprehension of what was coming next.

Mr Wells wet a portion of the towel with the alcohol and began patting and rubbing the cool pungent solution on my bare skin, covering my bare butt with the solution, which made me shiver. A few drops of the astringent must have found its way to the deep cleft between my buttocks. I could feel it tingling and burning me slightly on my intimate areas that I was trying to shield from his view. I wanted to relax my buttocks to try to lesson the tingling but thought it better not to.

He capped the liquid and picked up the strop lying on the couch and tapped it lightly across my quivering cheeks making me jump a little. He stood off to the side of me a little.

“Hold on tight, Susan,” was all he said, then WHAP, the first swat with the strop took me by surprise. I was unprepared and it took a whole second or two before I felt a burst of stinging heat spreading across my rear. I gasped in unbelief how much it had hurt as I sucked in a large breath.

WHAP, WHAP! Two more strokes of the strop landed squarely on the fleshiest part of my rear end and I felt like the top of my head was coming off as more awful burning and stinging engulfed my whole backside. The next spank with the strop left even my scalp and hair stinging.

My brother and I, actually my brother more than me, had felt dad’s belt at home. The strop was really kind of a large leather belt and it was able to cover a good portion of the skin on my butt with each stroke, especially a young ladies behind like mine which is usually a bit smaller and more sensitive, I had only gotten a couple of licks once with dad’s belt and it was bad enough. This strop was ten times more painful than dad’s old belt as I was finding out the hard way.

I began to cry a little and tried to reach my arm behind me instinctively as Mr Wells pushed down on my back, blocking my arms. He slowly and steadily stropped my heinie as my crying intensified and I blubbered something about how sorry I was and I wouldn’t ever do it again.

Mr Wells was a kind man. He didn’t try to humiliate me any more than my situation already was or make me count the strokes nor anything like that, even if I could have, and he didn’t count them out loud or anything like that either, as far as I can remember.

I was sure that I must have gotten at least fifty spanks if I got one, but It may not have been that many. As I said, I wasn’t counting and I can’t be sure. He just spanked the ever loving daylights out of me with that awful leather strop. I couldn’t keep my poor bottom still. I pushed my rear end out and then in, legs apart then legs tight together, one leg up one leg down as I wiggled and bucked my behind up and down and back and forth, rubbing  and rocking my hips on the edge of the couch. My fight or flight response had taken over trying to protect my bottom and I was desperately trying to get my rear end out of the line of fire.

Mr Wells held me tight and laid spank after spank to my poor tush and the tender tops of my thighs, making sure that I learned my lesson all right. When he finally stopped spanking me I was balling and I didn’t even realize it was over, my bottom was throbbing so hard. I felt hot and sweaty and my hair was damp and hanging in my face. A beret had fallen out of my hair and was lying on the floor below me in back of the couch.

Mr Wells patted me and shushed me, trying to quiet me and soothe me. He helped me to stand and I was weak, rubber-legged and disoriented. He led me gently by the arm, waddling and shuffling my feet, hobbled by my panties, which had fallen around my ankles and my disheveled clothing, over to a corner.

He turned me and asked me to stand facing the corner and hold my skirt and slip material up, gathered at my front so as to expose my bottom to the cool air in the room, as he put away the items he had used to punish me and sat writing at his desk and finished his coffee.

It seemed like forever that he made me stand there but it was probably only fifteen minutes really that I stood there. I wondered if he might be looking at my blazing bottom and admiring his handiwork but I didn’t dare look back. I had stopped crying finally but my rear end hadn’t stopped hurting, I can assure you. My cheeks were throbbing and twitching as my nerve endings were in a state of chaos, and my bare bottom felt hot and stingy all over. I wanted to rub it desperately but didn’t dare let go of my dress.

As I stood there reflecting on my situation, I guessed Mr Wells must have been a good father to his own daughters, a stern but loving dad not afraid to spare the rod and spoil the child when it was needed.

By now my bottom began to stop twitching a little and the burning had subsided a little bit too. Mr Wells asked me to come over to his chair where he was sitting. I waddled over to his side. As I turned, I quickly lowered my dress in the front to cover my modesty so he wouldn’t see my vagina. He patted his knee for me to sit down.

I got ready to sit on his lap and had to shift my legs and hips as my panties were twisted around my feet. He pushed the back of my dress up out of the way and helped me to sit down with my blazing bare behind on his lap. I threw my arms around him and rested my head on his shoulder, wiping tears from my face, and hugged him tight and told him how sorry I was again and thanked him for being such a kind man to me and letting me keep my job.

He hugged me tightly and released me, and handed me the beret that had fallen from my hair and I quickly and expertly fitted it back into my hair. He asked me if I was alright. I replied, yes I was OK. My rear end was just throbbing and stinging and I hugged him for a few more minutes as he patted my bottom gently over my dress.

I stood to dress as Mr Wells helped me off his lap and I slowly pulled up my underpants over my swollen skin. I dropped my dress and slip down and moved them into place, so relieved that I was properly covered again. I left my garter around my waist but I took off my shoes and removed my stockings and put my shoes back on and my stockings into my purse.

I threw my arms around Mr Wells and hugged him again tight. He offered to drive me home. I slid myself lightly onto the hot vinyl seats of his automobile, taking great care to keep my dress material between the seats and my bare skin and he drove me home.

As I got out of his car, I thanked him for the ride and he said: “I almost forgot, dear,” and he handed me my weekly paycheck. He continued: “I’ll see you after school Monday, dear.”

He turned the engine off and walked me to the door and waited till I was safely in the house, then he drove off. My parents had gone away for the weekend and my older brother was home on leave from Vietnam, but he was out with his friends and would be gone all night. I was glad for the solitude and drew a cool bubble bath with some Epsom salts, which was very soothing as I soaked in it.

When I opened my check I was surprised there was an extra ten dollars in my check and a notation, “raise”.

On Monday, I returned to work at the drugstore and everything was back to normal except for my backside which took a week to heal from some minor swelling and bruising that I covered with the biggest and softest cotton underpants I owned.

I never told a soul, especially my parents, about what had happened. I was so embarrassed. Mr Wells and I never spoke of it again and he treated me like one of his own daughters. I graduated very soon afterwards and went to nursing school that fall. I continued to work for Mr Wells whenever I was home from school, so grateful for the opportunities he had given me and the lessons he had taught me.

Today, I am a nursing supervisor in a large hospital. Although my husband and I have spanked our three daughters on occasion I would never want them to be spanked with the razor strop like I was spanked. But then again, things were different back then; it was a different time. Mr Wells passed away last year at the age of ninety-two and he was loved and missed by all, none more than me.

The End

© Mr K  2014