The Office Manager

This story contains graphic descriptions of consensual and non-consensual corporal punishment including descriptions of caning. If any of this offends you, you may prefer to stop reading.

Although the setting for some of this story is within a school, all the participants are adults over the age of eighteen years. None of the characters depicted are real, and any similarity to real places or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Please comment and score. Any constructive criticism, positive or negative, is welcome. Far too few folk comment or score.

As always, any errors in editing are mine and mine alone, and I apologise for them in advance.

The Office Manager

I was in my late twenties when I first married and in my early thirties when, three years later, I divorced. The marriage was a complete disaster, my ex-wife, Jean, was interested only in spending my money and bonking my office manager, Mandy.

Whilst losing Jean was a win, soon after the divorce, Mandy resigned. Whilst I was happy enough to see the back of my wife's lover, this left me with a gap in my office team - a gap I needed to fill.

A month later, Mrs Susan Warren entered my life. Her entrance was unspectacular. She was one of three women I interviewed to replace Mandy, and, at first sight, was an unremarkable choice. She was the oldest candidate, in her early fifties, and came primly dressed in a long black pencil dress and white blouse and sat quietly, with her hands in her lap, waiting for her interview.

When her turn arrived, and she sat, I saw a tall good-looking woman with short black hair and cold blue eyes. It was only as our conversation progressed that it became clear that she might turn out to be an excellent replacement for Mandy.

She had the experience I was looking for and was calm and assured in her response to my questioning. I thought her manner was a little straightlaced and severe but reasoned that I was not looking for a friend but an organised, efficient individual to lead my team.

Only one question was raised by the contents of her cv.

"I see you trained as a teacher and taught for ten years before you gave up teaching," I observed.

"I found the lack of discipline amongst the pupils tedious. I was trained to teach, and the job became crowd control. It didn't suit me."

"Do you believe the younger generation lack discipline?"

"Some do."

"Why do you think that is?"

"I'd rather not say. You might find my answer improper."

"I'm sure, I wouldn't."

She paused.

"They should never have banned corporal punishment."

She was watching me as she spoke, and I think something about the way I reacted emboldened her.

"Caning and the birch," she continued.

I tried hard to contain my interest but must have failed. Maybe she saw something in my eyes, or I stiffened in my seat but, in that moment, as her ice blue eyes bored into me. I knew she sensed my secret, and she smiled.

"You agree then?"

I said nothing. A fleeting thought crossed my mind - she knows, and then she continued to speak.

"I think you do. And not just for schoolchildren. I sometimes think that many men might benefit from a short sharp lesson. Don't worry though - it's not part of my plan for maintaining order in the office."

***

My guilty secret, the thing that defined my sexuality, and which I had kept hidden from the women in my life until then was hanging in the ait unsaid between us.

For a moment, I imagined myself naked and vulnerable, bent over with my bare buttocks raised, with Mrs Warren standing unsmiling over me, measuring a cane across them, choosing her spot. Then, as quickly, as it arrived, the mental image was gone. It didn't last long enough for my dick to harden.

"When can you start, Mrs Warren?" I asked her.

***

Fifteen years earlier. when I was in my final year at a third-rate public school in the North of England, I was severely caned. On my eighteenth birthday, I got very drunk and was arrested for being drunk and disorderly and was taken to the cells of the local police station, where they locked me up overnight.

Out of my school uniform and incoherent, it was not immediately obvious who I was, and when I did not return to the school that evening, it caused a furore. It was only early the following morning that the headmaster, Mr Wallis, was informed that his missing pupil had been found. This was the pupil, for whom, at that precise moment, the school grounds were being searched.

Mr Wallis was not a happy man. His morning routine had been interrupted, and he had been at the point of telegramming my parents in Cyprus to tell them of my disappearance, when the police contacted the school. It was the late sixties, and the age of majority was not yet twenty-one years, and the school was legally my guardian. In his puritanical eyes, I had sinned many times over - I had made a fool of him and damaged the school's reputation. Mr Wallis was a teetotaller and abhorred public drunkenness, and neither did he approve of the cigarettes that had been found in my pockets.

Justice and punishment were made to wait until the evening of the following day to give me time to fully recover from my hangover and, I suspect, time to contemplate what was going to happen to my backside. i was given Hobson's choice of expulsion or a thrashing and I chose the latter.

So, just after evening-tea on a sunny summer's evening, I walked into the school gymnasium wearing only my gym kit. There, waiting for me, were Mr Wallis, Mr Ryan the sports teacher, three senior pupils, and Matron. Sitting in the middle of the wooden floor was the vaulting horse over which I would lie to take my beating.

The events of the next hour or so are indelibly oriented on my memory and psyche. The head and Mr Ryan watched me impassively as I entered, but the boys were trying hard to hide their pleasure at being invited.

Boys might not be the best description of the three young men who had been enlisted to assist with punishment. They were all past their eighteenth birthdays and fully grown young men. Latimer was the head boy, and Sykes his deputy. Mortimer was a school prefect and a favourite of Mr Ryan's. Rumour had it that he was as bent as a "nine bob" note, although there was little evidence for this apart from his effeminate manner and close his friendship with his mentor, Mr Ryan. One thing was certain - none of them liked me. To me, they were subservient toadies in a world which I only tolerated. I couldn't wait to leave school - they loved it there - big fish in a small pond.

Matron stood apart from the group. She was a tall, attractive, middle-aged, black-haired woman with grey eyes and I had always had a secret crush on her. Now as I looked across at her, she briefly smiled, but whether it was one of sympathy or pleasure, I could not tell.

When I reached the buck, I stopped walking and waited. I remember my heart was beating quickly, and my mouth was dry. Mr Wallis spoke first.

"You know why you are here Andrews?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Very well. I'll not wate my breath lecturing you. Mr Ryan, you may begin."

That was when Mr Ryan stepped forward and smiled. It was not a pleasant smile but one of an individual who was looking forward to inflicting pain. Dressed in white cricket flannels which left his well-muscled arms exposed, he held a long and heavy, wicked-looking, rattan punishment cane between his hands, and flexed it.

Despite my fear, my eyes were drawn to his hands with their dainty well-manicured feminine fingers, and I remembered the rumours that he was gay. Inside my shorts my dick was a tiny withered, wrinkled thing, but when I glanced down at his groin and saw the unmistakable outline of his hard stiff prick, I knew the rumours were true.

"Lie over the buck, Andrews " he instructed. "Be quick about it now."

Hopeless and resigned, I clambered onto the vaulting horse and lay across it with my bum in the air and my head down looking at the floor. On the other side, my legs hung free.

"Hold him down," he ordered, and three young men hurried to do as they were told.

Now, a pair of strong hands pressed firmly on my shoulders pinioning me against the top of the horse, and my legs were pulled apart and spread, and then held tightly by my ankles.

"Hold on tight, boys," said Mr Ryan." When he feels the cane across his backside, he'll not stay still for long...... Matron, his shorts please."

At first, his words didn't register, and then I understood. I was to be caned on my bare bum.

"Please, No," I pleaded uselessly, just before I felt Matrons hands inside the waistband of my shorts pulling them down almost to my knees and exposing my buttocks to the cool air and to Matron and Mr Ryan's view.

"No," I gasped again.

"Hush, now," said Matron, softly, "You've been a very silly boy, and must be punished."

"Thank you, Matron," said Mr Ryan, as she stepped away. "A dozen strokes, Headmaster,?" he enquired.

"Will he take a dozen? Matron," asked Mr Wallis.

"Easily" Headmaster.

"A dozen it is then."

He paused and his voice hardened.

"Make them good and hard and don't hold back, Mr Ryan. Not too fast, mind you. I want his punishment to be quite unforgettable."

"I'll make sure it is."

I felt the cane resting on my skin,

"Hold him tight now," said Mr Ryan, and he lifted the rod away.

There was a loud whistle and a crack, and then I felt as If a white-hot poker had been laid across my arse. However many times I am caned, the first stroke never fails to shock, and I wailed in surprise as much as pain. I know I struggled but my year mates had me in a vice like grip. I felt the rod placed back against my burning flesh and slowly rubbed back and forth against it. Long seconds passed, and then the rod was lifted,,,,, and he struck again, and now there was only fear and pain.

"Oh fuck!"! I mumbled." Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck! Oh fuck!"

"Swear one more time and I'll ask Mr Ryan to repeat the stroke," said Mr Wallis." There's a lady present."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I groaned and felt the cane begin is sawing motion against the fresh welt on my bum.

The third stroke was the hardest yet and caught me in the crease between my bum and thigh bringing with it a deep burning agony. I struggled desperately as the pain blossomed, biting my tongue to keep from crying out, but when the fourth stroke landed;, overlaying it, I screamed.

"It hurts."

Through my anguish, I heard a voice.'

"Of course it hurts. It's meant to."

After that, there was only the singing cans, the meaty crack, its bite, and my cries of protest.

It is as difficult to describe the pain of a caning as it is the pleasure of sex - to understand either, it must be experienced. Both are characterised by a physical experience so intense that, at its peak it clouds conscious thought, and for me,, at least, when either is over, I am left calm and empty.

So, it was that evening. One moment there was only pain - and then it stopped- although it took me several seconds to realise it. Suddenly the hands that had held me down were gone and I lay recovering over the buck. The intolerable burning in my bum slowly became tolerable, and after a minute or two, was only a deep throbbing discomfort. Behind me, I heard a voice.

"Are you able to stand?" James.

"Yes, Matron. I think so."

"Then come with me to the sickbay."

Gingerly, I found my feet, stood, and turned. Only Matron was still present, the others having quietly quit the room whilst I was recuperating. My shorts were still around my knees, as I turned and faced her, then hurriedly reached down, and pulled them up, desperate to hide my hard, erect prick.

Matron feigned disinterest.

Despite my discomfort, I started to blush.

"I'm sorry," I stammered.

"Whatever for?. It's common enough after a proper caning. Now come with me and I'll rub some salve into your bruises."

***

Whatever it was that thrashing was meant to teach me, it didn't work. It's true that I never absconded from school again, but I had been there ten years before it happened the first time and, shortly afterwards, I left school for ever. Neither did it convince me to stop drinking. To this day, I continue to enjoy red wine and single malt whisky.

Instead, the law of unintended consequences came into play, and it caused me to become sexually attracted to tall thin middle-aged brunettes, particularly attractive strict ones who might want to cane me.

As Matron rubbed arnica into my backside completely unphased by my burgeoning erection, it was clear that mine was not the first caning she had watched, and I wondered whether she had enjoyed the spectacle.

Later, alone in my study bedroom, I studied my heavily marked buttocks in the mirror. Twelve dark blue and purple parallel ridges filled the centre of my swollen cheeks and when I ran my fingers across them, my flesh felt like the furrows of a freshly tilled field.

Kneeling on my heels, on my bed, with my dick in my hand and a view of my tattered arse in the mirror, I slowly jerked and wondered if anyone else was thinking of me. I knew that caning me had hardened not just my cock but that of Mr Ryan too. I imagined it was now buried deep in Mortimer's well-lubricated back passage.

Then, when I emptied my balls, and spurted long streams of sticky white cum across the covers of my bed, it was Matron who I fantasised was holding my cock, and later when I wanked again I fantasised that I was fucking her.

By morning I had wanked twice more, was firing blanks, and had a foreskin that was almost as red and sore as my arse.

The seeds of my masochism had been sown.

***

On the first Monday in June Mrs Warren appeared for work. She was every bit the epitome of the strict schoolteacher that she was when she had come for interview. Dressed in a charcoal grey skirt suit and white blouse with minimal male-up and a calm neutral demeanour, she exuded professionalism and authority.

First, I introduced her to the staff, and then I spent some time outlining her duties, before showing her to her office. There, she spent the rest of the day speaking to each of the office staff in turn.

On Wednesday, she requested a meeting with me and outlined several areas of inefficiency with me that she believed requires attention. Within a month, the office was running more smoothly and effectively than I had ever known it too. By the end of July, she was making me wonder how I was coping before she arrived as she took over some of the tedious audits that I was constantly pressured to perform, and began to deal with a lot of the day-to-day queries that were previously my domain. In October, I found myself meeting her at least once a week to discuss more than office matters, and slowly we became friends. Although we were not on first name terms - office rules would not allow that - in private she was Mrs W.

***

Christmas came, and with it the obligatory office party. The meal was the usual poor quality, mass-produced fare - thin slices of dry turkey, soggy overcooked sprouts, and bullet-hard roast potatoes with thin anaemic gravy, but at least there was plenty of wine available. Afterwards, whilst the younger members of the team danced and let their hair down, Mrs Warren and I sat together at the table and conversed.

The room was crowded with several hundred people. Most of them were strangers from different firms who were attending the same event, and the dance floor was extremely busy. Very close to where we were sitting, a group of young women were dancing in a group. Despite the cold weather, they were scantily dressed in skirts that barely covered their backsides, sleeveless low necked halter tops that revealed a lot of flesh. and had kicked off their shoes. They were extremely noisy and boisterous but were harmlessly enjoying themselves,

One of them was very pretty indeed, with a good figure and long blond hair. She was also more drunk than her friends, and, as we watched, she lost balance and fell, legs splayed, arse over tit. to the floor. Nowadays, she would be said to have had a wardrobe malfunction, as her large firm left tit fell out of her top giving everybody present an eyeful. She giggled hysterically, picked herself up, and scurried off, unhurt, to the washrooms. Like myself, Mr Warren had watched the show.

"Little tart," she whispered to me, "Making a display of herself like that. If she was my daughter. she'd be getting a good hard dose of the wooden spoon across her pretty little bottom, Season of goodwill or not, she wouldn't be sitting comfortably for Christmas dinner."

I laughed.

"You don't agree Mr Andrews?"

We'd both drunk a few glasses of wine too many and I'm sure this is why the conversation developed as it did, with its unexpected consequences.

"How long have we known each other?" I asked.

"Seven months."

"We're not at work. You can call me James when you grumpily talk about spanking a young girl's bottom."

"Grumpily?"

"Well, she means no harm. I got arrested for drunk and disorderly when I was her age."

"Really?"

"Yes?"

"And weren't you punished?"

"Of course I was."

I stopped talking. Mrs Warren looked expectantly at me. I think she suspected there was more. She had an uncanny ability to know when I was not telling her something.. Eventually she spoke.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"What happened?"

I was at boarding school at the time, and when the police arrested me and put me in a cell overnight, they thought that I had run away.

"Then what?"

"I was caned."

"Just as you should have been."

"No sympathy then, Mrs W?"

What she said next was fuelled by drink.

"You can call me Susan. And none at all, James. You earned your punishment. I told you I thoroughly approve of corporal punishment. I'm sure there are times when you've done bad things in your life for which you deserve a spanking. All you have to do is ask and I'll give you one."

She stopped talking, stared at me, and laughed nervously.

"Did I just say what I think I did? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to appear forward."

"I can take a joke, Susan" I replied, but the seed was planted.

***

Shortly afterwards, Susan left the party and one by one people started to drift away. The drunk blond was sitting quietly alone at her table, and I decided to try my luck. I sat down next to her at the table and began to talk.

"I've drunk too much," she said. "Did you see me fall?"

"No, I lied.."

"Half the people here seem to have seen my boob."

"Well, not me. I missed it, although I'm sure it's a very nice one."

"You're cute, are you trying to talk me into bed?"

Half an hour later, we left the hotel together. I'm sure that I would have fucked her, if she hadn't fallen asleep on me in her flat. Instead, I tucked her up in bed and went home.

***

That year, Christmas Day fell on a Monsay. The party was held on the Friday evening before, and the office was closed until the following Tuesday. This provided Mrs Warren and me four days to think on our short conversation.

On Saturday morning, I woke with mixed emotions running through my muzzy alcohol-riddled head. I felt guilty about my attempt to fuck the inebriated blond, yet disappointed I hadn't, and excited by Mrs Warren's offer to spank me, yet concerned by what this all meant for our working relationship. I wondered what she was thinking at that moment, and in the end, I decided I would pretend none of it ever happened and laugh it off if she mentioned it.

This might have worked, if I hadn't got a hard-on whenever I thought of her, and my resolve to ignore what she had said lasted only a few moments after she entered my office the following Wednesday morning.

***

Just after nine o'clock there was a knock on my office door.

"Come in," I shouted and Mrs Warren entered, closed the door behind herself, and approached my desk where I was sitting.

"Good morning. How was your Christmas?" I asked.

"I spent it troubled by what I said to you on Friday evening. It was unprofessional and I have come to apologise and offer my resignation."

She stood and waited for my reply and when I just stared at her in shock and surprise, she turned to leave.'

"Wait," I blurted." Please sit. "

When she did, I had recovered my wits and spoke again..

"I'm sorry but what you have said has come a bit of a shock, but I have no intention of accepting your resignation, Mrs W. You are far too good at your job, you have nothing to apologise for, and I would ask you to reconsider what you have just said. I would agree that what you spoke about at the party is something that could interfere with our week relationship if we let it, and for that reason I would rather not discuss it any further in the office. Would you like to have lunch with me, and we can talk about it then"?

***

We sat together in an Italian restaurant on the High Street. After Christmas, it was quiet. The room was almost deserted, providing us with the privacy that we needed, and it was I that started the conversation,

"Like you, I spent the holiday thinking about what you said on Friday evening and I am grateful for your courage in saying it. I have been looking for a woman to spank me for most of my adult life and if that is what you want to do, I would be a fool not to let you. You are an attractive, intelligent friend, and now I AM asking you to punish me. After you left the party, I tried to take advantage of thar drunk blond. I would have fucked her if I could, but she passed out on me. For that reason alone I deserve to be caned, and probably for any other number of reasons."

I stopped talking, Across the table from me, she had a curious smile on her face.

"Fuck, what am I doing here? Mrs W." I asked.

"You've just asked me to cane you, James. Have you thought this through?"

"I have been looking for a woman to cane me for the last fifteen years, ever since I was caned at school."

"Tell me about that."

"I was held over a vaulting horse, and the sports teacher gave my bare bottom twelve strokes whilst the headmaster and school matron watched. It was agony."

"Then I'll do the same to you."

"Will you sleep with me as well?"

"I suppose so. Caning you will make me want to."

She paused and I watched her thinking to herself before, eventually, she spoke.

"Very well. You have my address. Be at my house on Friday evening at eight. Come by cab. You won't be driving home. Don't bother wearing socks, vest, or underpants. You won't be needing them."

***

A couple of days later, Just after eight in the evening, I sat, barefooted, in the lounge of Mrs Warren's home. She sat facing me, dressed in grey trousers and a white blouse. She looked good, having washed and dried her hair and applied lipstick and mascara and her eyes were sparkling. In her lap was a long then rattan cane about a yard in length.

"I dreamed of laying this across your bottom, James, but never thought I would. Now I have the chance I'm going to make the most of it," she said smiling. "Come with me."

She led me down a long corridor, and then down a flight of stairs to a room at the back of the house There, in the centre of a windowless room, stood a heavy wooden spanking bench with a brown leather padded top. The room was featureless with a plain brown carpet and blank white walls. The only other items of furniture were a couple of old leather armchairs. After she ushered me inside, she closed the door behind us, and hanging on it, by a hook, was short rubber whip.

Mrs Warren sat in one of the chairs and watched me for a few seconds before speaking.

"My husband made the bench before I divorced him. It's solidly built and once you are tied to it there will be no escape, and no one will hear us down here. I do not approve of you trying to take advantage of a drunken woman, even if she was a young tart but I will be lenient this time. A dozen strokes should be sufficient, but be warned, next time I will give you more, or use the rubber whip....... Now it's time.... Take off your clothes."

There wasn't much to remove. and in no time I had stepped out of my trousers and removed my shirt. Despite the season, the radiators had been going full blast and the room was warm. Stark naked, I stood in front of her as she studied me.

"Turn around," she instructed. "I want to see your arse."

Dutifully, I turned and showed it to her..

"You keep in shape," she said approvingly." I shall enjoy your body. Both the caning and the sex. You can turn back now."

That was the predictable happened. Her words, my nudity, and the prospect of what was about to happen had begun to harden my prick. Very soon, six inches of thick stiff uncut cock was pointing directly at her. Mrs Warren smiled before she spoke.

"We can't have that - it might make the caning more tolerable. "

She grew thoughtful.

"Sit back in that chair and spread your legs."

She stood, crossed to where I was sitting, and gave me the cane.

"Hold this in both hands. I'm going to need mine for a little while."

***

Kneeling on the floor between my thighs, and facing me, she took my dick between her fingers.

"Hello. She said. I'm Susan. I'm the nice one who's holding your prick and I like you. Mrs Warren is the grumpy one who's going cane your bottom."

She slid the foreskin down to expose the glans and held it down.

"You have a lovely prick - long and thick, and she let a long stream of spit dribble from her mouth onto my helmet and began to rub. Slowly at first, and then faster, for long minutes, she masturbated me.

Then as she rubbed, she began to talk..

"She's going to make you regret coming here."

Her hand moved up and down my shaft.

"You should be scared."

She smiled up at me as her dainty hand moved up and down maintaining the same unhurried rhythm, and I groaned.

"She's going to lay it on hard"......

My prick was straining in her hand and I groaned louder.

....". and raise long welts."

Her hand was moving faster....

"And the hand wanking you".----

I grunted animalistically.

.......". is the one I'm going to thrash you with."

Now, her hand was a blur, and my cock exploded. Fountains of white milky sperm erupted from the tip splashing over my tummy and thighs, her hand, and the carpet.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh Fucccckkkkk!"

***

She stood, took the cane from my hands, and placed it on the seat of the vacant chair.

"Lie on the spanking bench," she instructed me, and now that my caning was imminent, I hurried to comply,

Very soon, I lay flat on my belly on the trestle in a kneeling position with my buttocks taut and raised. Buckled leather straps around my ankles, thighs, wrists, and forearms bound me tight, and a broad leather strap around my waist held my backside immobilised.

Mrs Warren performed one last check of the straps that were holding me, then stepped away. I heard her speak.

"I hope you're comfortable." James.

I said nothing, I didn't think that she expected a reply.

"Well? Are you comfortable?"

"Yes, Mrs Warren."

"That's good. I wouldn't want anything to distract you from your lesson - a lesson you richly deserve. Trying to seduce a drunk woman is a consequence of following your dick. Maybe the next time you do this, you will be reminded of this caning, and if you are not, I will be happy to provide a harsher lesson."

***

"She stood behind me, to my right, with the rod resting across the centre of my bum.

"A dozen hard strokes. They're going to hurt. If you wish to scream, nobody will hear you."

The cane was lifted away, whistled, impacted with a slap, and just a fraction of a second later, I felt it's fiery bite across the centre of my buttocks.

I gasped. Behind me Mrs Warren spoke. Her tone was conversational.

"That was just a sighter. I'm out of practice."

I felt the cane placed back against the skin of my behind and held my breath. She made me wait, lifted the cane, and struck. This time, the whistle and slap were louder and followed by an excruciating line of bright hot agony. low across my nates.

"Oh, fuck!"

"That's much better," she said, and the cane was, once again. placed against my buttocks.

The third stroke was ferocious, cutting into my flesh a little higher than the first, delivering fresh torment and, somewhere in the recesses of my mind, the thought that Mrs Warren intended this to truly hurt. I'm sure that If I had not been strapped to the bench, I would not have been able to remain still for each well aimed stroke, although this did not prevent me from clenching my bum cheeks in anticipation.

The fourth and fifth strokes were truly memorable. The first of them caught me low, where the skin is the most tender, and the tip dug deep into my right flank - a line of bright hot burning pain.

"Jee"......

My cry of exclamation was arrested by the fifth stroke which had been given with no time for me to recover, and to the same spot of tortured flesh. A fresh flash of blinding all-consuming pain overlaid the first, my body shuddered, and I strained uselessly in my bonds.

"Owwwwwwwwww!"

"I hope you are learning your lesson."

After that, the strokes fell at measured intervals around twenty seconds apart Each stroke was hard and accurate, and it took her just a couple more minutes to cover my entire backside with welts and leave me gasping in pain. and my entire hot and swollen.

***

After the last cane stroke landed, I lay silently and waited for Mrs Warren to unbuckle the straps that held me. I was going to be disappointed. She had other ideas.

"Your punishment is finished," she said, "but not your beating. You owe me for the hand job. and I'm going to let you pay in kind with your tongue but first, I'm going to introduce you to the rubber whip. Just give me a moment to get comfortable."

Behind me, I heard movement, and a minute or so later, she appeared in front of me. I was shocked. She had removed her trousers, and her blouse and bra, and now wore only a pair of black, mid-thigh, self-support stockings. The black silk accentuated her thick, white thighs and large, plump buttocks, which were further enhanced by her narrow waist. Her small, firm breasts served to give her a bottom-heavy appearance - a bum man's dream.

She stood in front of me, legs slightly spread, and now I saw her sex was bald, and in her hands she held the rubber whip - black, a couple of feet long, with a moulded handle tapering to a half-inch tip.

"Two strokes," she said. "a little taster to educate you. Next time, you're disciplined I'll use this."

She crossed to the bench and loosened the waist strap that was preventing me from moving my rear end. Then she moved behind me.

"Ready?" she asked, "Good," and she brought the whip slashing down. It hissed and cracked - bright and startling - as was the thin line of blinding white-hot pain that erupted in an instant across my backside. Fuck, it hurt, and I swore loudly and, unrestrained, I jerked up and down on the bench, my arse bouncing up and down and wiggling violently from side to side.

Mrs Warren was in no hurry, She waited for me to settle and repeated the process, whereupon my wild gyrations started again.

"Enough," I pleaded." Enough."

***

She had put the whip down and I lay across the trestle recovering. Even though my bum was hot and throbbing, i remember a deep calm and a feeling of fulfilment.

"You're very brave," she murmured, "Don't try to get up yet," and she unbuckled the straps and gently massaged a cooling cream into the skin of my bum.

I recovered quickly from my ordeal, and soon I was able to stand. Susan helped me to my feet and kissed me on the lips.

"Your turn? " I asked.

"Ohhh Please," she whispered.

"Sit over there."

She turned and padded over to the armchair, her pale white buttocks - pump, round, dimpled, mounds of flesh, wobbled lasciviously as she walked. Their slight imperfection enhanced their sexiness, and my prick was already beginning to stir.

As she sat on the chair, legs spread, and her feet flat on the floor, I knelt between her thighs and put my fingers gently to her pussy-lips and parted them. Her arousal was already there to see - the pink membranes glistened with her juices, and she moaned softly. That was when I lowered my mouth to her bald slit. insinuated my tongue, found her clitoris, and began to lick.

At first I was unhurried - slow even, but then she began to force herself against my face, stretching her legs, and moving them a little further apart to give me better access to her sensitive bud, and my tongue moved faster.

Very soon her secretions were wetting my face and running down the inside of her thighs. From where I was kneeling, I was able to watch her face as I took her to her climax. Eyes wide, mouth open, her moans grew louder and more insistent.

Her pleasure and her lust were infectious and very soon my pock was, once again, hard and straining, and as I continued to lick, I reached down and took it in my fist.

When it arrived, her orgasm was long and hard and very noisy.. First, her thighs began to tremble, and then she arched her back before her entire body began to shake and she gave a long, drawn-out scream of rapture. Her climax rolled on and on, for at least half a minute, before I heard her cry out.

"Stop! Stop! I can't take any more! I need a rest."

I lifted my face away and looked up at her. Her body, wet with sweat, was sprawled across the chair, and I slowly rose to my feet and looked down at her as she looked back at me. Her eyes were fixated on my erection.

"We'll not be wasting that," she said and she led me upstairs to her bedroom.

***

The following Tuesday, the day after the New Year's day bank holiday. I arrived in my office early, Christmas and New Year were over, and it was time to shrug them off and move forward. At nine o'clock I had cause to enter the main office where Mrs Wallace was talking to one of the reception staff.

"Happy New Year, Mrs W," I said.

"Happy New Year Mr Andrews."

"How was your weekend?"

"It was a nice break. Mr Andrews........ When is the next bank holiday?"

"May."

"I'm not sure I want to wait that long."

***