Voluptuous bottom got me caned

There were three vacant offices in our little building. Now there are only two. One has been filled by a company selling baby foods, they don't actually stock or distribute from the office but they have three people working there, including the boss, so they must be busy doing something right. Anyway it is their boss, and I suppose attractive woman in her late twenties, who has what I can only describe as a voluptuous bottom, at least that has been my impression from the few occasions I've seen her. She has always had on jeans, faded and fake old but no doubt expensive, and close fitting enough to separate the cheeks of her full bottom. That bottom got me into trouble.

If my old friend Gail had still been at the office she would have filled me in on everything that was going on in the building but, sadly, she has left and her replacement is nowhere near as informative nor friendly, I might add, although that could partly be because I'm not in there as often as I used to be so we haven't really got to know each other. Still, she was able to tell me a bit about the new tenants and, the particular bit I found interesting, that my husband had helped them sort out their networking when they moved their equipment in. My husband hadn't told me that.

I asked him about it and he just casually said "Oh yeah, they couldn't get their computers online so I took a look and got lucky and they're working fine." So how come they'd asked P for assistance, I mean he doesn't look technical or nerdy and there are plenty of other tenants, and why didn't any of them know how to get online. He told me it wasn't actually a case of 'them' on the day in question, it was just Julie who owns the business, and the reason he'd got involved was because she'd knocked the office door and told him Reception had said we had our own system separate from the communal broadband system and might be able to help her. Simple as that, and P had helped. I asked him how long it had taken and he said not long at all, less than an hour he thought. Ha! My husband doesn't give up an hour so easily and how come he only thought, how come he didn't remember and what was the exact problem anyway, I asked. He told me it was just a mistake with the router password but she'd made him a coffee which he couldn't really refuse so that slowed him down a bit as she was chatting too.

"I bet she was." I said, "So you know her name and what they do, then. And who else works with her, is her husband in the business?"

"She isn't married actually," he said.

"Oh, how come you know that?"

"Because in the same way you just asked me if her husband was in the business, just polite conversation, I asked her the same thing and that was her answer. What's the problem?"

P was getting irritated by my questions, I could tell that. I said she was quite attractive from what I'd seen of her, wasn't she, and I asked him if she always wore jeans. I mean men don't notice that sort of thing unless their attention has been caught. He told me he had no idea whether she always wore them as she'd only been there a short time but yes she did seem to wear jeans quite a lot now that I mentioned it. Oh yes, he'd noticed alright, no doubt about it.

"And was she wearing them the day you helped her out?" I asked. "Maybe that would account for how long you were with her, I bet she threw in the odd wiggle, she could hardly help it as her jeans are so ridiculously tight. Perhaps I'll revert to coming in more often."

"Perhaps you should and perhaps then you'd get to know her and you could make your own mind up instead of beating about the bush asking me ridiculous questions. If you're asking me if I noticed she's got a nice arse the answer's yes, if you're asking if I fancy her the answer's no, if you're asking if she was flaunting herself in any way the answer's don't be so bloody ridiculous. She seems just a nice girl with a young business, trying to expand it, no airs and graces, she dresses how she's comfortable. End of."

P then got up from his desk, put the snib on the office door and turned off the light. I asked him what on earth he was doing and he said something he hadn't done enough of lately, being as I was so infrequently in the office these days and when I was there it wasn't usually for long. Then he got his school cane from under the lip of his desk top. I told him oh no he couldn't do that, not today, I wasn't meant to be staying at all, I'd only popped in for some bags from upstairs. He told me what he was about to do wouldn't take long and he marched me across to my own desk, the top of which was clear, and bent me across it. I had jeans on myself as it happened and his hands reached round for the stud and zipper and pulled them down to my thighs.

"If it's just a bit of attention you need, you're about to get it and you'll be more focused on your own backside than the girl down the corridor's, I can assure you. And if this doesn't nip your nonsense in the bud then you'll get another dose at home tonight, do you understand?"

"Yes P," I mumbled just as the first stroke landed across my cheeks.

I got twelve strokes and couldn't cry out because the offices either side were working. The strokes came fast because P wanted it over quickly, short sharp shock to bring me back to reality, he told me afterwards. Also because anyone who did hear anything would hardly have time to adjust their ears and try to figure out what was going on before it was all over. He told me to get up and pull up my jeans. I just lay there I didn't want him to see my face. He said I better get up because he was switching the light back on and taking the snib off the door. I got up quick enough then, grimacing as my jeans slid over my caned bottom. The light went on. I pouted and got a wet wipe out of my handbag and put it to my cheeks, I hadn't been crying but he needn't know that. I sniffled and asked him why he'd turned the light off, he said so that anyone passing would think we were out. I looked at the office door, I hadn't even noticed that the little porthole window in it had had its covering removed and now showed light to the other side. 

P came across and patted my bottom. "Any more silly questions?" He asked.

"No, I'm sorry," I said and pecked him on the cheek. I left because I had stuff to dispatch and I didn't want to start getting horny, which I could feel coming on in spite of the burning in my backside. P had been right, my attention had certainly been re-focused:)

Have a fun weekend.

Ronnie

xx  

Office Caning

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?” 

I love office canings.  

Hope you enjoyed this lovely story - Punishment in the Workplace by author Tom Horner at overthedesk spanking stories.

Have a fun weekend.

Ronnie
xx

Let me know if any of the pictures are yours so I can credit.

Bad day at the office

Amanda's day hadn't started well.

She arrived for work late because of extra heavy traffic caused by the rain storm, she missed an early client meeting with her boss, who was also late and then just never got on top of things.

By afternoon Amanda was so far behind she was holding up other team members. Her section leader told her she should work over, catch up with her backlog, make good for her colleagues.

But Amanda refused so the section leader reported her to their boss. He summoned her to his office and changed her attitude with a sharp dose of the cane and told her she would be working over.

At 7.30 her boss told her to finish and, being as it was late, suggested they might stop off for a snack on the way home.

Amanda's boss was also her husband.

I like putting words to pictures but I'd better get my skates on as I wouldn't want my boss taking the cane to me for being late and not getting my work finished.....then again, I do like P disciplining me in the office:)

Hope you have a good week.

Ronnie

xx

Caned over my husband's desk

Now I know this is going to seem suspicious, or convenient; a little post about a caning to tie nicely in with my last post about bringing back the cane in schools. So I can only tell you that it is not contrived and those who know me will already know that and those who don't should get to know me better and then they will know. God does that make sense? It sounds a bit rumsfeldish:)

It happened last Friday and the only reason I didn't tell you about it was because on Mondays I do try and include little snippets from the weekend press if I think any are relevant to our passion. It happened because we hadn't had any privacy at home, or elsewhere for that matter, for over a week, for reasons I won't go into, and I was exhibiting increasing signs of tetchiness.

These manifest themselves in lots of ways from distractedness and mild moods to frivolous comments, saucy quips and rude remarks or gestures,

which actually irritate my husband especially towards end of week when he's trying to tidy up for the weekend. He knows why it happens but he rarely comments.

On Friday Clare was working, she doesn't normally on Fridays, which meant I had to watch my p's and q's all day, but she left at 3pm to collect her toddler from playschool. I came back from the loo and made an obscene gesture as I walked past P's desk to my own, the gesture could have indicated I had an itch somewhere private or that I was simulating masturbation, silly and childish I know. Anyway we got to about 5.15pm and I was done for the day, I was ready to leave but P said no, he had another half hour or so to do. If we'd been in separate cars I'd have been off but we weren't, so instead I let out an exaggerated sigh, reopened my laptop and started idly surfing.

At nearly 6pm I was getting quite annoyed and I deliberately clicked on a spanking video with the volume up. P must have heard it but he didn't say anything, he got up from his desk and left the office presumably for the gents, then a minute or two later his silhouette passed our office window again heading in the opposite direction from the gents. A minute later he re-entered the office and locked the snib on the door.

"All gone home," he announced, "now come here."

I gulped

and did as instructed, isn't is funny how you kind of angle for something and then when getting it becomes suddenly and unexpectedly imminent you get butterflies in your stomach. I stood at the side of my husband's chair while he retrieved a crook handled cane from under the lip of his desk and removed the short strips of packaging tape which holds it there. He moved his laptop and paperwork aside to leave a large clearing, then his chair went back and a childish and rude girl was guided by her husband's free hand over the desk, his other hand holding the wicked implement that normally resides beneath. I made the usual 'what are you..?...I haven't done....hold on a minute...' kind of noises but they didn't get me anywhere. I had thin black trousers on, too thin I couldn't help thinking, but at least he hadn't moved to take them down.

"I know exactly what's affecting you and, whilst I might agree recent circumstance have been a bit trying, I don't see any need for abject rudeness, moods or crude gestures, they don't become you and I won't tolerate them. I'm going to cane your bottom like the naughty and ill mannered girl you are, after which you will apologise and we'll go home and you'll behave like a responsible adult so that we can enjoy a pleasant weekend." Oh fuck fuck fuck I so wish I had notice of when he's going to do this kind of thing, I'd get his voice on record and play it over any time I feel horny. I didn't get it on record and a split second later I didn't feel horny anyway because his cane landed across the taut seat of my too thin trousers and it bloody well hurt and I cried out and stomped my feet side to side, a futile demonstration and effort to dissipate the sting. It didn't work of course, all it did was cause my husband to take a firm hold of my waist to restrain me somewhat and then deliver a rapid flurry of razor sharp strokes which had me gasping at the severity and relieved when it seemed, by the loosening of his grip, to be over.

He didn't make me apologise, just told me to get up and pack my laptop away, no more nonsense, we'd be leaving in five minutes sharp.

We left the office in less than five minutes, I'd hardly had time to recover, as we came out of the main entrance I paused on the step, looking both ways to see if anyone was watching. Ridiculous isn't it but I always feel so self-conscious if I go out immediately after being spanked, I mean nobody could possibly know, but even so I know my cheeks were flushed brightly as I followed my husband across the car park. On the short ride home about mid way, I placed my hand over my husband's on the gear shift and told him in a quite voice that I was sorry for my behaviour.

"I know, I made certain of it," he said.

We did have a nice weekend and, on Saturday morning, for the first time in a while, we had the house to ourselves and P gave me the other thing I needed. And goodness me I was ready for it.

Ronnie

xx

First picture from Miss Pink.