Mark hesitated as he stood outside the oak door, taking a deep breath before knocking nervously.
He knew he was in trouble.
Miss Watson, the sales manageress, had sent a message via her secretary to say she wanted to see him, and with her an encounter was rarely pleasant. She had set the time to coincide with his lunch- break, which, as well as confirming his fears that he was in for a bollocking, had made him irritable.
To put it bluntly, he was sick of the bitch.
She was the youngest sales manager in the company’s history, in no small part due to her total ruthlessness.
Rumours abounded of her outrageous methods, and it was no secret that she had frequently bedded both her customers and her superiors in her bid to get to the top.
As well as ruthless, she was beautiful, always dressed provocatively, and Mark had mistakenly made a pass at her not long after he had joined the company. She was a perfectionist, haranguing her staff for every mistake, but for his nerve in attempting to seduce her, she hounded Mark unmercifully. He remained a junior clerk, passed over for promotion repeatedly, yet he was stuck there. He suspected that his unsuccessful job applications to other firms were due to her influence, leaving him frustrated with the hold she had over him.
It was a command, though she didn’t know for certain it was him stood there. She had become accustomed to giving orders, her gorgeous looks and manipulative ways meant that even the old fools in the boardroom meekly acceded to her every demand.
Tentatively, though inwardly seething, he entered her office.
She was alone.
Julie, her secretary, must be at lunch he presumed, the thought of food causing his empty stomach to signal his hunger with a soft groan.
He closed the door and turned to face Miss Watson, who was watching him, her face expressionless. He stood in front of her desk as she continued to gaze at him. His eyes were fixed on her, returning the stare until, despite himself, he raised his head to look at the window behind her head.
Finally she let out a sigh.
He looked back down at her.
For the first time she showed some emotion, albeit briefly. A flash of irritation crossed her face, before she regained her composure.
“The Jameson contract, that’s what. There were three pages missing from the contract that you sent them. You’ve made me look like a bloody fool.”
“That’s down to the print room then. They must have lost
He shrugged his shoulders, before making his biggest mistake. “It’s not my problem,” he drawled.
The blonde’s face darkened, a mask of fury. Enraged, she leapt to her feet, almost spitting the words out.
“Not your problem? You useless little shit! It was your responsibility. You should have checked it properly, you moron.”
She paused, breathing heavily in her anger.
“And now…” her voice rose further still, “now you have the nerve to stand there and shrug your shoulders. ‘It’s not my problem’ she mimicked him, adding an effeminate lisp mockingly. “You pathetic creature, you can’t even face your responsibilities like a man.”
He hadn’t meant to let it slip out, but her taunting had got to him. It was the trigger that released all his pent-up resentment.
It was almost a shout.
“You’re going to pay for that. I had meant to fire you for you’re ineptitude, but last night I had a better idea.”
She picked a glove up from the desk and slowly pulled
“I’m going to teach you to respect your superiors. I doubt if I can turn a pathetic specimen like you into something useful, but I’m determined to try.”
So saying, she picked up her other glove.
Mark followed the movement, seeing for the first time the vicious cane lying on the desk.
His heart missed a beat as the blonde picked it up, bending it menacingly between her hands.
She strolled round the desk, perching on top and crossing her long, shapely legs.
Mark was unable to stop himself looking down and admiring the firm, smooth thighs she displayed so provocatively. Miss Watson followed his gaze.
“Oh yes. You like my body don’t you? As I seem to recall, you once thought you were good enough to sleep with me.”
She looked him up and down slowly, very slowly, the entire movement filled with disdain. She sniffed with contempt.
“As if I’d be interested in a creature like you,” she continued. “Still, lets see what I missed out on.”
Mark looked at her quizzically.
“Your trousers, idiot. Drop them. You spend too much time ogling my boobs, it’s time I saw what you had to offer. Mark hesitated, blushing.-
“I can still change my mind. You’ll be collecting your P45 this evening if you don’t hurry up.”
Mark swallowed, and fumbled at the button on his jeans.
He unzipped them and simply moved his hands away, allowing them to fall around his ankles.
He stared fixedly at the window behind Miss Watson’s head.
“Hands on head.”
Still staring ahead, he obeyed. She reached forward and grasped his genitals.
“Huh! You expected to satisfy me with that pathetic little cock?”
Mark felt his cheeks burning, his blush deepening, as she continued to pour scorn on him.
“You couldn’t expect a real woman to be happy with a tiny thing like that inside her.
Does it get any bigger when you’ve got a hard-on?”
Mark tried to answer, but in his shame could only manage an incoherent mumble.
“Lost for words, eh? Well, lets see.”
She slowly began to fondle his balls, caressing them ever so gently at first with the tip of her fingers, gradually becoming rougher and firmer. Mark closed his eyes against the humiliation as, despite his best efforts, he felt his cock begin to stir. He felt ridiculous, jeans round his ankles as he stood before the fully, albeit skimpily, dressed woman, who took so much obvious pleasure from deriding him, belittling his manhood. Now, to cap it all, she was forcing him to get a hard- on, not for his pleasure, merely to embarrass him further.
Suddenly the pressure on his balls increased as his tormentor began to squeeze. She grasped them tightly, incredibly tightly. He gasped in pain as, even through his shorts, even through her gloves, he could feel her long nails digging into his delicate flesh. His cock, however, responded, and he could feel the ache in the head as blood pumped into it, making it hypersensitive even to the fine material of his boxer shorts.
Miss Watson released her grip and ran her finger down the length of his throbbing prick. She took hold of it, and sighed in mock disappointment.
“Well, that’s not much better. There can’t be more than four inches there, hardly enough to satisfy the tightest virgin, let alone a demanding lady like myself.”
She paused as a thought struck her, an evil smirk on
“I know, I think I’ll have you strip off and get Julie to measure it when she comes back from lunch.”
She paused again, the smirk widening into a smile.
“I might even get a couple of girls in from the typing pool, as witnesses. Anne-Marie and Karen should make sure that by this time tomorrow the entire company know what a pathetic little cock you have.”
Mark opened his eyes, and looked down at her again. She smiled again at the dread on his face. He knew she meant it.
“Maybe I won’t,” she mused. “It depends on how well you take your punishment.”
“Yes, worm, punishment.
Forgotten this already?”
She brandished the evil-looking
“Twenty strokes for fucking-up with the Jameson contract. And…” she tapped his genitals with the tip of the cane, “another twenty for daring to try to get me into bed when you aren’t man enough for the job.”
Mark felt his cheeks colouring again at the jibe, but now his shame was tinged with a very real fear. He remembered the cane from school, from a time before the do-gooders had stopped it’s use. His attitude had been a problem then as now, and however often he had received a thrashing he had never got used to it – and that was only six lashes! The way Miss Watson confidently handled that instrument of punishment told him she knew what she was doing, and he was sure he wouldn’t last forty strokes from a real expert.
“Bend over the desk, you worthless piece of shit.”
He was past noticing her insults. He was wondering what he could do, how he could get out of the mess. He had to admit to himself, he was scared shitless. He, a strapping six- footer, physically scared of a slim, sexy blonde. He knew he had to carry on, or he would die of shame if anybody else found out about this encounter.
“I said, get over the desk, asshole. NOW!”
He flinched at the force of her voice, and hurried to obey. He flinched as he felt the thin bamboo touch his backside. She rubbed it up and down his buttocks as she spoke to him.
“Right then, forty strokes it is. I want you to count each stroke out. I assume you can count up to forty, worm?”
Mark stayed silent, not rising to her jibe.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she continued. “And, as this is for your own good, I want you to thank me after each stroke. Got that?”
“Yes,” said Mark weakly.
Confused, his mind
preoccupied with the coming caning, Mark only turned his head to look at her dumbly.
“Yes, Miss Watson,” she prompted him, exasperation clear in her voice.
“Yes, Miss Watson,” he echoed automatically.
“I can see I’m going to have a hard job training you to respect your superiors. I think I’d better get on with your punishment straight away. Face forward!”
He looked back towards the window, waiting the first stroke. There was a hiss, and the cane bit into his buttocks. He gasped, hands tightening around the edge of the desk. He closed his eyes waiting for the next stroke, but it did not come. Eventually, Miss Watson’s voice broke the silence.
“What did I tell you to do, asshole?”
Shit, he thought. How could he have forgotten already.
“One. Thank you, Miss Watson.”
Immediately, the cane swished down again, cutting into the flesh just above the first wound.
He gasped again, then, “Two, thank you, Miss Watson.”
The cane fell again and again. She was relentless, not bothering to pause after his count. Each blow was aimed perfectly, spaced closely enough together so that the whole mass of flesh throbbed with the pain. The pain mounted, until he thought he could bear no more. As the twelth stroke landed, he flung himself up, turning and backing away from his abuser.
“Please… it’s too much.”
“Get back down.”
Her voice was steady, but there was no mistaking the threat.
“No, please, I can’t.”
“You really are pathetic. I’m warning you, if you don’t get back down and take your punishment like a man you’ll be out of a job – after a few days of suffering when I tell everybody about this.”
“Last chance,” she told him. “Bend over and beg for me to continue.”
Mark knew he had no choice. Steeling himself, he bent back over the desk. The blonde positioned herself over him again, lining up the cane.
“Right, that’s another ten strokes for being such a wimp, and disobeying me.”
She waited a second for any sign of rebellion from her victim, but he seemed to have learned his lesson.
“Okay, beg me to punish you.”
Mark hesitated only for a second. He learned quickly, and now knew what was expected from him.
The unspoken threat of extra strokes was enough to force him to comply.
“Please, Miss Watson, I beg of you to thrash me. I promise to take everything you want. I want to be punished for my stupid mistakes.”
The blonde’s gorgeous face remained impassive, but secretly she was pleased.
At last she was making some progress, and with this one it was easy. He certainly was a pathetic specimen, she always found it easy to train the cowards. Only twelve strokes and he was already beaten, the wimp.
She was really going to enjoy this, she thought, as she carefully raised her arm and crashed the cane down onto his backside with all the force she could muster, flicking her wrist expertly so the thin bamboo stung agonizingly as it bit into the soft skin. His pained whimper as he counted out number thirteen – unlucky for him, she thought – was music to her ears.
She continued to rain the blows down, the only break as he gasped out the count and his miserable, pleading, “Thank you, Miss Watson,” until finally, at the twenty-second stroke she reached the top of his buttocks. She looped the crooked handle of the cane over her arm and stood directly behind him.
She grasped his buttocks, squeezing them hard until his breathing came in sharp hisses.
“Sore, is it, worm?”
“Yes, Miss Watson,” Mark replied, his voice a low
She moved closer, rubbing herself against him, teasing
“But you enjoy that, don’t you?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, Miss Watson,” he repeated, a hopeful edge creeping into his reply.
She stepped back.
“Well make the most of it, that’s all a pathetic excuse for a man will get from me. Now, ” she continued, “you’ve another twenty-eight strokes to go.”
She positioned herself again, noting with amusement his shoulders sag as his slender hope was snatched away.
“Ready?” she asked lightly, and swung the cane down without waiting for a reply.
As the bamboo whistled through the air, Mark jerked his hips in anticipation of the pain, a gasp escaping his lips. The blow never landed however, as Miss Watson pulled back at the last moment. Contempt was obvious in her voice.
“I haven’t even hit you yet, you wimp. For god’s sake act like a man.”
Mark braced himself,and the next blow did land. She had started again, and the stroke had overlayed the first. It was far worse than what he had experienced before, a line of fire bursting across his already-damaged skin.
The next one crossed the second weal that was forming there, the third and fourth hitting damaged skin too. By the time she was half-way up his backside, tears were streaming from his eyes, and he clung desperately to the desk. Soon, as a blow landed, he was unable to stifle a cry of pain.
“Shut the fuck up!” Miss Watson snarled at him. “People will be back from lunch soon, do you want them to hear?”
She did not, however, lessen the savage strokes. As she continued, he pleaded with her through a voice racked with sobs. Luckily, he retained the presence of mind to continue to count, and stammer his thanks.
After what seemed like an eternity, she reached the top
“Only eight more to go,” she announced, oblivious to his quiet whimpering. “I don’t think you need to count any more.”
With that she suddenly began to flog at his burning backside, a barrage of vicious cuts.
He began to cry uncontrollably as the cane sliced into his damaged flesh. The final six merciless blows were accompanied by her pitiless voice.
“You – worth – less – piece – of – shit.”
The words struck at him, the sheer contempt combining with the pain to drain all strength to resist her. When she was finished, he just stayed a he was, his flesh burning, his spirit drained.
“Down on the floor, you miserable insect. Come on,
As she snarled at him, he slid gratefully to the floor, his hands clutching at his injured backside. Miss Watson perched on the desk once more, crossing her elegant legs. Kneeling directly in front of her, Mark was afforded a perfect view of them.
“How dare you look at me without permission, you miserable piece of filth,” she scolded him. “It’s already got you into trouble, you don’t want another thrashing already do you?”
Mark bowed his head, and looked at the floor instead. “That’s better. Whenever you’re in this office from now on, that’s the position I want you in, unless I say otherwise.”
Mark bowed his head, and looked at the floor instead. “That’s better. Whenever you’re in this office from now on, that’s the position I want you in, unless I say otherwise.”
“My secretary does as she’s told. You’re not the first one to taste my cane, you know. That little slut had to be tamed too. Now , worm, we’ll see if you’ve learnt to obey me. Head up!”
Mark lifted his head up as Miss Watson swung her foot towards his face. She tapped him on the head with her cane.
“Let’s see if you can get something right, you pathetic creature. Lick my shoe.”
Carefully grasping her heel, Mark began to tongue the shiny leather. He hated her for this, for the insults.
The humiliation more than the beating, however agonising, was what really got to him. Still, it never crossed his mind to try to resist her. He licked at the shoe eagerly, wanting to show his obedience, craving her approval.
When he had completed every inch, he began again, but she stopped him with a shove of her foot, ordering him onto his hands and knees. She placed her feet onto his back, and tapped his ear with her cane.
“I’m now going to give you the new terms of your employment here. I’m only going to say it once, so you’d better pay attention. Mistakes lead to punishment. Listening?”
“Yes, Miss Watson,” came the meek reply.
“Good. I expect you to continue that respect in the general office. You will call me Miss Watson at all times, and from now on I expect total obedience.
You will spend more time in this office, helping me personally. When in here, you will assume the grovelling position until I say otherwise.
You will also learn to respect all females as your superiors. If I catch you flirting with any of the female staff, or trying to chat them up, you will be punished severely. Julie and a couple of other ladies in the company have been trained by myself as well as some of the men, but I’ve also taught them that even though they are submissive to me, they are all superior to the pathetic male insects they work with. If one of them decides to humiliate or dominate you, you will obey and accord them the same respect as you do me.
From now on your entire working life will be controlled by me. Any attempt at individual action, or breach of the rules, will be met with immediate punishment.”
She paused to let it sink in.
“Have you got all that?”
“Yes, Miss Watson.”
“Good. Now get out of my sight, worm.”
She lifted her feet so Mark could rise, which he did painfully. As he reached the door, she called him back.
“When you finish tonight, wait for me outside reception.”
She made no explanation, merely stood and turned her back on him, returning to her desk. Realising she had finished with him, Mark left.
Satisfied that he had submitted so easily, the dominant blonde sat at her desk. She flipped open her diary, quickly flicking through to the phone numbers. She hesitated, thinking carefully for a moment.
Then, she began to dial…