An innocent mistake earns a girl more than she bargained for.

by Frances Stephenson

Amanda Carr was twenty six; she was a pretty girl 5′ 3 with a small waist and slim and shapely legs with an excellent and well shaped bottom. Her bust was again well shaped. Her face was pretty, her hair was fair, being midway between a soft brown and blonde. Her skin was a delight; soft and pale it had that dewy quality which seemed to hold the promise of a warm and sensual nature.

She was a popular companion and did not lack admirers and although she had a regular boyfriend, and he was in America for another two months. She had a good, well paid job at ‘Dorset, Radcliffe’, a large and successful Investment Bank.

She had worked hard and mastered many of the intricacies of Investment Banking. Promotion had followed and she was now in a responsible position in charge of clients with investments worth hundreds of millions of pounds.

Amanda had to go to Mr Denistone’s office to update him on her investment performance on behalf of one of his ‘Private Clients’. This usually meant small and messy portfolios, but this one was enormous and his wealth exceeded the size of some of the Pension Funds she usually managed. Amanda was determined to do well and thus come under the eye of David Denistone, one of five Managing Directors known throughout the building as the ‘Famous Five’ after the Enid Blyton characters!

She took the lift to the twenty-third floor and walked into the Reception area separated from the secretaries by a long low desk. She saw Frances Heath, David Denistone’s secretary. “He is expecting you,” she called, smiling pleasantly.

Amanda turned and walked through the double doors into a short luxuriously furnished corridor. The walls had tastefully arranged pictures of various types which Amanda knew, from previous enquiries, were all originals. The soft grey walls merged with a darker slate coloured carpet. It was quiet and reeked of money, lots of it.

David Denistone’s office was first on the right but in actual fact his ‘Working Office’ was at the end of the corridor and was a large room with spectacular views. All the Managing Directors worked from here, seated around a custom made enormous desk and facing each other. It harked back to the Victorian era when Partners could instantly receive approval from their peers or ask them questions.

It was a system that had worked well, but the pressures of a modern Investment Bank had changed the structure of the firm and the partnership had been superseded by the Chairman, Managing Directors, Managers etc.

Amanda knocked at his door and entered. She stood still until he looked up and smiled. Not a handsome man but certainly not ugly. His austere features were transformed by his warm smile.

“Please sit down Amanda,” he said. “I have to see Henry Iveson tomorrow evening and I had better get up to speed on the changes and suggestions you have for his portfolio.”

Amanda knew that he would expertly talk about market trends and their effects so she concentrated on individual changes to the portfolio, selling Gold and adding substantially to pharmaceuticals and the like.

A phone rang and David answered it. He got to his feet. “I’ll be about 15 minutes,” he said.

Amanda also got to her feet and looked at his office with its many trappings of wealth. Her gaze fell on his desk and saw a half opened top drawer and, being tidy minded, she bent to close it and saw the unmistakable glow of gold.

She looked further and saw that it was an exquisite snuff box. These beautifully made little boxes always excited her admiration and, indeed, envy; she wished that she had a collection like David Denistone’s. He had a small but tasteful group displayed on the shelf behind his desk. They looked wonderful, not only gold but silver and fine china as well.

She wanted to examine the gold one under the light and slipped the box into her pocket so as to have two hands free to open the glass-fronted display cabinet. It was, however, locked. She moved towards the window, intent on completing her examination but aware the time was passing. She moved back towards the desk in order to return the snuff box aware that her heart was beating overtime. She wanted to put it back; too late, too late! She heard the outer door open and close.

She moved away and in a moment he was back in his office. ‘Oh bloody hell,’ she thought. ‘Now I can’t return it, not now anyway.’ Why had she been so curious? Why? Why?

“I have an urgent meeting Amanda,” he said. “We will continue this later, perhaps tomorrow.”

“Very well, sir,” she said, and got to her feet and picked up her files and moved towards the door. She would have to put the box back later.

Amanda was just walking down the corridor when he called sharply: “Amanda Carr, come back here, immediately!”

On returning, she noted, with horror, that he was looking in the top drawer!

‘Oh no! Oh no!’ She thought, panic stricken.

David Denistone looked at her coldly, his normally austere face seemed menacing. “Miss Carr, a valuable snuff box has disappeared from my desk, do you know anything about it?”

“No, sir,” she gasped, aware that she was trembling and that her face felt cold.

“There is a small and valuable gold snuff box missing. I know it was there before our meeting but it is now missing. How do you account for that, do you think?”

“I don’t know, sir,” she whispered, conscious that she had a very dry throat.

“I have a mind to ask Mrs Parsons of HR to come and search you,” he rasped. “However that is a close fitting dress and the only place available would be the large pockets, so why don’t you just empty them?” It was clearly an instruction.

Scarlet with embarrassment, she reached in her pocket and withdrew the little gold box. “I am truly sorry, sir, but it is not how it must seem,” she whispered, and told him about wanting to examine it.

Amanda was conscious of perspiration breaking out all over her body. ‘It sounds dreadfully lame,’ she thought.

“What on earth possessed you, Miss Carr?” He asked. “You know what will happen now. HR will be informed and you will immediately be suspended. The Police will be involved and it is the Bank’s policy to prosecute acts of this type. You will be found guilty and given a suspended sentence, a promising career in Investment Banking will have ended and it will forever be on your record. Now sit down and think about what you have done.”

He sounded so much like her old headmistress that she burst into tears. This was worse than school, much, so much worse. After a few minutes he said that he had to go to his meeting but would send for her later.

Amanda muttered a stifled: “Thank you, sir,” before fleeing to her own desk. There she remained for the next few hours until the phone rang and she was summoned to Mr Denistone. She was not invited to sit down and stood in front of his desk, ‘like a naughty schoolgirl,’ she thought.

“I have thought hard about this Amanda,” he said coldly. “I am not going to report you to HR and therefore the police will not be alerted, but this is on one major condition and that is you agree to let me handle the matter myself including the attendant punishment.”

“Oh yes, please sir,” said a clearly relieved Amanda.

“I propose to cane you severely,” he announced. “It will be no picnic, I assure you.”

She had the cane at school, including a memorable thrashing and remembered it as being truly painful that made sitting down uncomfortable for days.

“I would like to accept a thrashing,” she said. “I have had the cane at school and know what to expect.”

“You will remember this thrashing with much more clarity, I can assure you,” he said coldly. I intend to award you 16 strokes of the cane with a two week gap in between; the wait will wind you up nicely and will form part of your punishment. You must remember that there is not only the stealing of the box but a serious breach of trust, as well as lying to me when I first challenged you. You will wear a thin pair of knickers to protect your modesty and that is all the protection you are allowed. I will also require you to sign this form which acknowledges your guilt and your acceptance of the punishment by caning your bottom.”

I, Amanda Jane Carr well, do hereby confirm that on 22.06.2012 I did remove a valuable gold snuff box from the desk of my Employer, David St John Denistone, without his permission or knowledge.

I admit that I stole this box and that no one else is involved. It was my firm intention to return the box but as I did not complete its return I acknowledge that it was an act of stealing which I heartily regret and ask Mr Denistone to forgive me.

Furthermore, I hereby request Mr Denistone to subject me to corporal punishment for this act of stealing and for not reporting me to the Police. I request that punishment is to take the form of a cane applied to my bottom with only a thin pair of knickers to protect my modesty. I leave the number of strokes and their severity to Mr Deniston and furthermore agree to any other implement being substituted for the cane but with my prior knowledge.


“Do you agree?”

Amanda was aware that she was in for a painful time and a well striped bottom. Her boyfriend was in the USA for another six weeks so he would not see the damage, small comfort!

“Yes, sir, that is all perfectly acceptable.”

“Good! Come with me.” He made his way, with Amanda in tow, to the secretarial area. He approached Frances Heath.

“Frances,” he said. “Amanda needs her signature witnessing. I wonder if you would oblige.”

Certainly, sir,” responded the efficient Frances.

This operation completed, they returned to his office.

“Amanda, I will thrash you tomorrow, probably in the early evening. In any event I will send for you. Now please go, I have a lot of work to get through.”

Amanda left and returned to her desk. Her thoughts were chaotic. ‘What the hell had happened? ‘You are a liar and a thief,’ came the remorseless answer. ‘You are going to be well thrashed just like you deserve,’ her conscious stated.

Try as she might she could not come up a reason for her involuntary act. She had seriously jeopardised a very well paid job and had put her future on the line! She felt her bottom, realising that its smooth softness would be ridged with painful welts this time tomorrow.

‘I had better buy some witch hazel and arnica cream,’ she thought, remembering her school days.

She went to bed at 10pm as she wanted to be on time for the 8.00am Investment Meeting. She knew sleep would be difficult and took two sleeping pills.

At 5.30 the next morning she showered and dressed with care; yellow underwear with bikini briefs which were slightly too small and showed two enticing bulges of white bottom when she bent forward. ‘Hmm,’ she thought. Navy blue blouse and matching skirt and tights and again navy blue high heels. The navy blue outfit reminded her of school. ‘I wonder what made me pick that,’ she thought.

She arrived in the office in time for the meeting. She sometimes had to speak, but not today. The day passed slowly but in the early evening her phone rang.

“Amanda, come up to my office now,” said David Denistone.

Aware of a wildly beating heart she made her way up to his office. None of the secretaries were present and she quickly found her way to David’s office and stood in front of his desk.

“I hope you are prepared for a sound thrashing, Amanda,” he said coldly.

“Yes, sir,” she said quietly.

He got up from behind his desk and pressed various buttons. Obediently small venetian blinds enclosed within the double glazing softly fell into place making the room both dim and private. David switched on some lights and pressed another button.

“That should stop us being disturbed,” he said. A red ‘engaged’ light would appear over his door and another in the reception area. “Now, young lady, remove your skirt and your tights.”

While she was doing this he went to a cabinet and produced a wicked looking yellow cane which he swished in a menacing fashion. He also reached in his pocket and placed a small package on his desk.

“Open the package Amanda,” he said. “You will find a small sized sports gum shield inside. I want you to put it in your mouth and clamp your jaw hard on it. You will find it helps you with the pain and will stop you screaming and yelling. I don’t want hordes of people wondering what is going on.”

“Yes sir, “ panted Amanda.

“Bend over the back of that chair,” said David, indicating a comfortable looking arm chair with a hip-high back to it. “Hold on here, nice and tight, head well down and bottom well up, legs firmly against the back legs. Hollow your back. Do not attempt to get up or interfere with the caning. It will only earn you extra strokes. Concentrate on keeping your bottom properly presented. Yes that’s fine.”

‘More than fine,’ he thought. ‘What a delicious bottom she has and it is correctly presented for my attention.’ The two succulent bulges of white bottom showing beneath the knicker legs were duly noticed. ‘They were begging for extra attention,’ he thought.

“I am going to start, Amanda,” he said, and with that he landed the first quite hard stroke and had the satisfaction of seeing Amanda jump and make urgent movement with her hips as she tried to contain the pain.

The first stroke had landed in the centre, it had been a good hard stroke with plenty of wrist in it. Number two landed on top of her overhang and the third across those succulent bulges, immediately creating angry red tramlines.

The fourth was even harder and produced muffled squealings and much urgent movement of her delicious bottom.

‘God this is unbearable,’ thought Amanda.

Each stroke was deeply felt and the sting was almost past bearing. Twice she almost lost control and her hands moved, involuntary, to protect her poor bottom. He landed his fifth stroke higher up, just over the first one.

‘That’s enough there,’ he thought. ‘I want this beauty to feel this caning every time she sits down, at least for a good few days, and with that the sixth cut into her crease where her bottom meets her legs. Again she uttered muffled squealings.

The seventh landed on the escaping bulges but ever so slightly lower down and loud squeals were heard.

“Sorry, sir. Sorry, sorry,” she gasped as she replaced the shield in her mouth.

The eighth and final stroke lashed down and inevitably landed partly on top of a previous one. It was also harder and David was not entirely surprised to hear another shriek hastily muffled as Amanda replaced the shield.

David let the girl cope with the pain a bit longer before telling her to get up which she did slowly and carefully. Her bottom was too sore to rub so she contented herself with cradling both cheeks and gently nursing her well thrashed bottom.

David offered her an empty glass in which to put her shield, which she did, gratefully, then working her jaw to ease the stiffness. He then offered her a drink of water which she accepted as she was feeling very dehydrated through all the tension. She was also recovering her complexion from the bright red to something much nearer her normal colour. She was still crying a little but this soon passed and with the aid of some Eau d’Cologne wipes and tissues she was restored to something like her usual self. Usual self, that is with the addition a madly throbbing bottom.

He had been enjoying the view of her standing in her knickers which were, mostly, covering a very sore looking bottom. Two strokes could be clearly seen which acted as a frame for the yellow knickers.

“You may put your skirt on now,” David said. “I see you brought your bag with you. If you have nothing else downstairs, perhaps I could drive you home?”

“Thank you, sir I would be most grateful,” Amanda said.

He put the cane away in the cabinet and picked up the shield with a tissue, thinking that after washing it he would find a proper box to keep it in; after all, it would be needed in two weeks time!

He stood aside to let Amanda lead the way and noted with pleasure that she was walking stiffly. Down in the lift to the basement car park, and to his company Mercedes, Amanda gingerly eased herself into the front seat. David passed her a tube of arnica cream.

“Thank you. I forgot to buy some,” she said.

She lived in Clapham, not very far away, but she was so grateful that she would not be jostled on public transport. They stopped outside her house and she said: ”Thank you for dealing so severely with me. I needed that sort of shock and it was infinitely preferable to the alternative. I promise to be good and to work diligently.” With that she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Good Night sir,” she said as she walked, still stiffly, to her front door.

The next morning found Amanda stiff and sore in spite of a surprisingly good night’s sleep. She felt refreshed and relaxed. She got out of bed and walked stiffly to have a shower and gently feel her bottom. It was covered with painful ridges.

‘He really has thrashed me,’ she thought. Much worse than the welts left by the thrashing she had at school delivered by the dreaded Miss Sykes who prided herself on the severity of her canings. ‘I will have to remember before I sit down today,’ she thought. ‘Or I will yelp!’

Although very painful the effects of the caning gradually reduced and she found sitting still uncomfortable but bearable. Two days after the caning she had to see David Denistone in his office. She was pleased to see that he had provided an extra cushion for her. The meeting proceeded satisfactorily and he seemed pleased. She could not help glancing at the cabinet, every so often, aware that the cane was just inside and that she was due another meeting with it in 12 days time.

“That about finishes this review,” said David. “But I must ask you, how is your bottom coping with the thrashing I gave you?”

“Getting better, thank you sir,” she said blushing beguilingly.

“You won’t forget that your next appointment is on the 22nd,” he said. “Please examine your bottom carefully on the 20th as I do not want to be unnecessarily cruel and would not wish to cane you when you are showing painful marks from your last caning. In fact it might be a good idea to let me examine your bottom on the 20th. Please come and report to me on that day and I will pronounce you fit to proceed, or not.”

“Yes sir, thank you, sir,” said Amanda and left.

On the 20th she phoned through to Frances Heath to make an appointment.

“He can make 4.15 for half an hour,” said Frances.

“That will be ample,” said Amanda.

At 4.15 she arrived. “Go straight in,” called Frances. Amanda knocked on his door, noting that the internal blinds were drawn just like when she was caned. She shivered. She came and stood before him.

“You wanted to examine me, sir,” she said.

“Come around here and face the door. Now, lift your skirt and bend over,” he said.

A charming expanse of blue knickered bottom was displayed. Not as great an amount of bulge as was evident as with the yellow knickers, but enough.

“Please take your knickers down, Amanda,” he ordered.

She did so, exposing her stunning bottom. There were a few bruises but they were fading rapidly.

“Bend further over,” he said. “I want to examine any bruising in your crease.”

‘True, there was bruising there, but not enough to postpone her next thrashing,’ he thought.

“Amanda, please tell me if this hurts,” he said, pressing his finger on to her crease.

“A bit, but not much, sir,” she said.

“All in all, your bottom seems fine. You can pull your knickers up and straighten your clothing and face me. Now, tell me honestly, do you think you will be able to take another thrashing on Wednesday evening?”

“Oh yes, sir,” she whispered. “I am sure I will be able to take it and I would much rather be caned on Wednesday than wait another week.”

“The waiting winding you up a bit is it?” He asked, not unsympathetically.

“Yes sir, it is rather,” she admitted.

“Right. Wednesday evening it is. I will phone you as before.”

“Thank you sir and Good afternoon,” she said, acutely aware that she had exposed her most intimate parts to his interested gaze.

Wednesday came around and the day dragged on and she had to make a great effort to concentrate. She wore pale green underwear this time. ‘He was certainly getting to know her knicker drawer,’ she thought. They were the same size as her yellow pair and she wondered about exposing too much bottom cheek. ‘The thin material did not give the slightest protection anyway,’ she reasoned.

At about 7.45 the phone went and she was told to come up. Everything was the same; the dimmed room with the light on. The red ‘engaged’ light was on. Mr Denistone was there looking stern and uncompromising. She stood in front of him, trembling and white faced. He moved to the cabinet and withdrew the dreaded yellow cane; he seemed to enjoy swishing it, he did so now, winding her up another notch.

“Let’s get started,” he said. “The same procedure as before,” and he handed her the gum shield.

Amanda removed her skirt, her blouse was relatively short and would not interfere with the caning. She moved forward and bent over the chair and firmly grasped the front legs, having made sure that her own legs were closely pressed to the back legs. As before, her head was down and her bottom up. She made some small adjustments and felt herself clamped into position. She certainly hoped so!

“Here it comes,” he said, and with that the first hard stroke landed in the centre of her bottom.

‘God, he canes hard,’ thought Amanda as she struggled with the pain.

He gave her the next one just above the first and then proceeded to work his way down. He noted the twin bulges of bottom flesh and accurately place one stroke just underneath her knickers and the next just below it. They were hard strokes and produced muffled shrieks from Amanda together with much urgent movement of her hips. Her crease received the next hard stroke and she screamed the shield falling out of her mouth.

“Sorry, sorry,” she eventually cried, in obvious distress. She made movements with her whole body but especially her hips to try and contain the searing pain.

He gave her a few minutes to cope with the pain but was not inclined to lessen the severity of the caning. He wanted to teach her a lesson she would never forget!

The next two strokes landed on the limited parts of her bottom that were not showing evidence of the cane and brought forth urgent squealings. Although Amanda’s hands briefly left their hold on the chair legs she managed to replace them.

‘Oh please, I must not get a penalty stroke,’ she thought.

Predictably, the last stroke was the hardest and, as before, partially covered an existing one. She screamed in agony, the shield falling out of her mouth. Sobbing and making the same urgent movements with her hands, spasmodically unclenching and reforming, her wonderful bottom had taken on a life of its own and was swaying from side to side and backwards and forwards, the cheeks clenching and unclenching rhythmically.

Finally he told her that she could get up, which she did and proceeded to dance and stamp her feet in an effort to dissipate the stinging pain. Again her bottom was too sore to rub so she cradled it with both hands and gently nursed it. She was very distressed but gradually was able to regain control of herself.

In the meantime David was watching her intently and enjoying the show. She was such a lovely girl and he had seldom seen such an attractive bottom, let alone one which he had been able to vigorously cane. It would live in his mind for many a day.

David collected the shield which he would wash and disinfect later, one never knew! He then picked up his cane which he returned to his cabinet before locking it. He then passed some tissues and wipes to a recovering Amanda who made good use of them. Her colour was now restored and the tears wiped from her face. David had to admit that the caning had made Amanda look even more attractive and her skin even more luminous and soft.

“Please replace your skirt Amanda,” said David. “I think we should be making a move, if you feel able to do so?”

“Yes sir, I think so,” said Amanda.

He switched everything off including his red light and stood aside whilst Amanda walked ahead of him. She was walking stiffly, a sharp reminder to her of the severity of the caning she had received.

‘She will remember those strokes,’ thought David, imagining the discomfort she would feel when seated at her desk over the next few days. ‘I must find an excuse to go down to her office and see how she is coping.”

He drove her home and dropped her as before. He thought about Amanda and her peerless bottom and also about the signed and witnessed document. It was the wrong time, he thought, to point out that the document she had so willingly signed did not specifically mention the number of strokes she would receive.

‘Plenty of scope there,’ he thought, happily.

The End