Post Number: 49
|Posted on Monday, April 14, 2008 - 02:14 am: ||
CALLED ON THE CARPET
by Alex B.
Sandra Flocks strode through the office bathed
in a brand of mock confidence she often used to
belie insecurity. The comely blonde secretary
had asked for a meeting with her superior,
Troy Banks. To her surprise, Mr. Banks had put
the meeting off until the end of business at
5 p.m. making Sandra feel more like a student
summoned to the principal’s office than a
business woman with a legitimate complaint.
She cleared her throat as she approached
and knocked on Mr. Banks’ door.
“Come.” Troy’s muffled voice beckoned.
Sandra entered to find the handsome,
if slightly graying, executive standing beside
his desk. He was holding a fly-fishing pole
the end of which he casually flicked causing
a lure at the end of the line to land in a
far off wastebasket again and again.
“Mr. Banks?” Sandra said, as if meeting him for
the first time.
“I'm going after trout in Idaho this summer.
The lure hit its mark a few more times.
“I need to talk to you about Mr. Claypool.”
Sandra said, needlessly straightening her
blouse as she spoke.
Putting the pole aside, Troy sat at his desk
and offered Miss Flocks the opposite chair.
“What’s Doug done now?”
Sandra carefully seated herself.
“Well, this may seem trivial, but I assure you,
I take it quite seriously.
“Tell me.” Mr. Banks urged her on.
Sandra took a deep breath, lowering her eyes
as she spoke.
“He slaps me.”
“In the face?” Troy clenched his fists and
began to stand.
“No!” she stated loudly, trying to calm him.
As Troy lowered himself back into the chair,
his hands flattening out onto the desk, Sandra
“He publicly slaps my... you know.”
But he didn’t know. Then suddenly, he did.
“Oh! You mean your rump! Your backside!
Sandra’s eyes widened at the barrage of
“Yes!” she replied softly but firmly.
“All around the workplace, he takes every
opportunity smack my....”
“I know, go ahead.”
“And I don’t mean little pats, I’m talking
about full contact swats, right in front of
all the others!”
“Well, he certainly shouldn’t-”
“I’m a good secretary, Mr. Banks!
“I’m a hard worker and loyal to this company!”
“Okay, just-” Troy pushed some tissues
Sandra, having willed herself not to cry,
pushed the box aside. “I do not deserve this
and I shouldn’t have to put up with it!”
Troy shook his head with less than surprised
“Yeah, Claypool is a jerk. Good employee,
but a complete chowderhead when it comes to
women. I’ll have a few four-letter words with
Sandra raised a knuckle to her lips, half
pretending to hide her amusement. She’d been
in need of a mental nametag for Doug and
“chowderhead” was a positive bull’s-eye.
“Thank you, Mr. Banks.” she said with a sigh
Troy glanced at his pole, eager to begin
practicing again. “Was that it then?”
he asked, reaching for his gear.
“Oh, yes. Thank you.” Sandra stood and headed
out of the office, then she turned in the
doorway. “And I just want to say that you’re
exactly what the other women say you are.”
Mr. Banks let his pole fall slack in his hand.
“And what do they say I am?”
“A gentleman.” Sandra declared.
“Ah, that’s... Huh. Thank you.”
“I’m sure you’d never do that to a woman.”
“Never!” Troy agreed. “Not like that anyway.”
Smiling politely, Sandra turned to leave,
but those last words gave her serious pause.
“Not like what?” she said, turning back and
pulling the door closed.
“I mean that’s no way to spank a woman.”
Her only response was to gasp, “Excuse me.”
A grown woman, a lady, should only be spanked
privately.” Troy continued, whipping the air
with the tip of his pole as he spoke.
“Privately, firmly and with great care.”
Sandra had just begun to laugh when she was
struck with an epiphany. “You’re the one!
You're that mysterious executive who...”
Sandra blushed just to think of it.
“You know, you’re a legend to the women
in this office.”
“I’m nothing of the kind, I’m quite real.
And I’m not mysterious, I’m discreet.
Like a real gentleman, a real artist
“The art of spanking? Come on!”
“Like most things romantic, giving a good
spanking can most definitely be an art form,
if it‘s done right.”
“Really?!” Sandra shot back with an
Troy tossed his fly pole aside.
“Care for a demonstration?”
There was a brief awkward silence before an
“How do we start?” someone said. A second
later, Sandra recognized the voice as her own.
“Come over here.” Troy instructed, directing
her to return and stand beside his desk.
“Yes, sir.” Somewhat mesmerized by his
commanding tone, Sandra did as she’d been told.
“I‘d like to ask you a question, Miss Flocks.
Why didn’t you do something about this
situation with Mr. Claypool before coming
Sandra was stunned. “I’m sorry?" she said.
“Did you tell him to keep his hands
to himself? Did you cuss him out? Did you
at least slap that stupid grin off his face?!”
“I- I didn’t-”
“Because you had every right to do any of
that and more. So why didn’t you?”
Suddenly she realized what Troy was doing.
He was scolding her. And rather well at that.
She almost felt herself floating out of her
body as Mr. Banks stood there, chastising her
for a litany of weaknesses and imperfections
she’d displayed in the workplace, all fairly
minor, all scrupulously accurate. Within two
minutes, his words had won her over. A good
spanking was not only in order, it was an
absolute necessity. Were he not offering to do
the honors, she may well have retired to the
ladies room and spanked herself.
Troy then pulled his chair from the desk,
seated himself and motioned for Sandra to
approach. An odd feeling, something akin to a
chill but warm and inviting helped Sandra will
her feet into motion. She trembled slightly as
she neared him. Her eyes drifted down to his
waiting lap. Without prompting, she let her
hands drop to her sides and her fingers curl
around the hem of her skirt. Gradually, she
lifted the bottom of the garment upward.
Troy gazed up at Sandra’s face without a
trace of malice. His serious expression made
it clear however that there was business to
be done and they’d best to get down to it.
He let her stand there in the breeze for
a moment, her thighs, panties and lower
“Over you go.” he finally announced.
With that, Sandra lowered herself across
his lap, poising her body with fingers and
toes just grazing the floor, her round
panty-clad bottom tilted upward at a most
“I’m curious.” she said, peering over her
shoulder as Troy surveyed the situation.
“Why over your knee?”
“Why not bent over the desk?” she continued.
“Oh.” Troy looked across his desktop.
“Yes, I might have you bend over the desk.
I can see that.”
“Me too!” thought Sandra, feeling blissfully
off kilter, devilishly daring and surprisingly
“In any case, if I plan to deliver a real
bare-bottom walloping, I wait until
“Like now.” Sandra said, craning her neck
to read 5:20 on the clock.
“Do you mean now, Miss Flocks?”
“Yes, sir. Right now.” Sandra lifted her hips
slightly, allowing Troy to lower her underwear
Once Troy had tugged her panties down past her
thighs, he gave his subject the usual round of
warm up slaps he afforded every newly bared
set of cheeks.
Sandra held back an overpowering urge to
giggle and possibly even squeal with delight
during this purely pleasurable stage of
Then the spanking began in earnest with a
dozen random swats, mostly moderate with
a few real stingers mixed in.
Like a passenger on a roller coaster going
into the first big turn, Sandra braced
herself and began to rethink boarding this
Twenty devastating spanks were delivered to
each of Sandra's burning cheeks, every one
deliberately timed to keep her off balance
Tears trickled down Sandra’s face and her feet
flew through the air as a batch of swats,
some barely grazing the underside of her
buttocks, others solid whacks with an
immediate squeeze to the inflicted area,
were applied to her reddening ass in
Eventually, Troy’s hand and Sandra’s writhing
body were moving in unison like a horse and
a rider coming to full gallop. And like the
trained horseman he was, Troy sensed it was
time to head back to the stable. He swiftly
brought the spanking down to a light smacking
and then to a massage interrupted by the
occasional slap and squeeze. Sandra gasped and
grunted and with each motion of his strong,
soothing hand. She knew that if this went on
much longer, she’d be moaning uncontrollably.
“I’d like to stand now.” she announced, her
voice breaking slightly as she pushed herself
from Troy’s lap.
“You may.” he said and helped her to rise.
Troy couldn’t help noticing Miss Flock’s
flushed face and teary eyes. “You okay?”
he inquired, handing her a handkerchief.
“Not much worse for the wear.” She dabbed her
eyes with the cloth. “I’ll be fine.”
“If I was a little rough-”
“No. I asked for a demonstration and I
got one. Thank you.” she said, handing the
hankie back to him.
“Anyway, I will talk to Claypool tomorrow.
He won’t be bothering you anymore.” As he
spoke, Troy opened his top desk drawer and
began searching it.
For an instant, Sandra was convinced he was
looking for a certain wooden hairbrush often
whispered about but never seen by the ladies
in the secretarial pool. They called it
“The Kick-Starter”. Some even claimed to have
heard its unyielding flat side being applied
to the bottoms of errant female employees,
though none would name names. Sandra’s buns
instinctively clenched as her mind flashed
upon an image of herself falling victim to
the notorious implement. Then her muscles
relaxed and she sighed with relief and just
a dab of disappointment as she looked down
to see a pack of cigarettes in Troy’s hand.
The two shared a leisurely smoke by the
enormous window behind his desk.
“Lovely.” Sandra commented as if never having
noticed the stunning view of Manhattan at
sunset from that spot.
“I agree.” Troy replied, his eyes never
leaving her face.
Turning to him, she smiled warmly, took a long
draw from her cigarette and politely blew it
out the side of her mouth. “Is it true then?”
“About that hairbrush?”
“Yes.” Troy sighed. “And it’s a bit of
“What‘s a shame?” she asked, taking another
“That you’d never do anything to warrant me
bending you across my desk and introducing
you to its charms.”
“Well...” Sandra began, cocking her head to
one side as she casually blew smoke into
his face. “I’m not completely perfect.”
"I'll love you 'til you can't sit down."