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Username: Sgtspank

Post Number: 3
Registered: 05-2018
Posted on Wednesday, June 20, 2018 - 12:41 pm:   Edit Post

Monday morning. 9:06. Dana Stetler grumbled a "Good morning" as she rushed to her desk.

Late. Again. Hung over, chugging her coffee, trying to get out of her horrible mood.

The other paralegals certainly knew she had changed in the last year.

The divorce had been good financially and should have brought some peace in the home -- Jeff really was a jerk -- but somehow life was out of control. The woman who was never late and always dressed sharply for work, the mom who had Johnny in soccer and Suzie at swim meets, the paralegal who was everyone's cheeriest coworker and the confidant of 3 or 4 women at any time in her adult life ... that Dana was gone. In her place was a harried grouch who snarled at the kids and was always late to work. Her 5'4" frame was carrying 40 pounds she'd added in ... wow, just 10 months? She drank too much every weekend ... and had even begun letting herself be picked up for one-night stands. She was 34 and hadn't acted this way since ... well, ever. Even in college she'd been more responsible than this. Last time she got home late to the kids, her sister had been staying with them told her she needed to get a grip ... and she'd responded by drinking more.

She logged into her computer and began to look at the email that had come in over the weekend. Ugh, she was behind. She hadn't answered everything from Thursday yet ...

Everything was unraveling! She checked her FB page, disgusted at herself. She wasn't in trouble at work, but everything else ...

"Ms. Stetler". Dana looked up startled.

"Oh, yes, Ms. Levy! I'm sorry I didn't hear you!. What can I do for you?"

Anita Levy was one of the senior partners in the firm. She usually had a kind expression on her face, but could be extremely stern in the courtroom. Her expression now was somewhere in between.

"Ms. Stetler, I need a few minutes with you. I leave for a trial in 30 minutes, so if you can come with me right now, please do."

"Yes, of course!", Dana said. She was usually poised -- or used to be -- but her stomach was fluttering. She wasn't being fired, was she?

Dana's heels clicked on the tile as she followed the woman who might be ending her career. She wished she could fix her makeup, but she did her best to straighten the skirt that rode 4 inches above her knee. If she were going to one of the male partner's offices, she might have unbuttoned her blouse a button or two. She cast the thought aside as being very much the wrong idea with Ms. Levy.

Ms. Levy seated herself behind her large mahogany desk and motioned the younger woman to a chair. "Dana," she began, "you used to be one of our best paralegals. Any of us could count on you to have excellent work turned in on time, work a bit extra when needed, and be wonderful for the morale of the office. You've been with us almost 7 years. Since your divorce, you haven't been the same."

She paused there and Dana dropped her eyes.

"I ... I'm sorry." She paused, then added, "I'll do better."

The older woman sighed. "Dana, if it were a matter of 'doing better', you'd already be doing it. You need help, Dana. If you need therapy to work through some things, the insurance will cover it. We already cover membership at the fitness club. If you need something else, let me know. One way or another, you need to get some discipline back in your life."

They talked a few more minutes and Dana walked back to her desk with a mandate to find some kind of help and the words ringing in her ears, "You need to get some discipline back in your life."

She worked busily until lunch, then took lunch by herself. She took her laptop to Subway one building over so she could research some help. But what kind of help? Divorcees anonymous? Therapy for ... what? It wasn't depression. Disgust?

"You need to get some discipline back in your life." Those were the words she couldn't escape.

OK ... next search ... "I need discipline".

There was a site for those who needed discipline ... and it was about spanking. SPANKING?! That was NOT what she needed!

But for some reason, Dana read a bit ... and found that in a suburb near hers, a service was available.

"Ladies needing guidance, structure, discipline, and motivation, look no further. With 27 years of experience, I will guide you to your goals as I warm your bare bottom."

Dana checked the time ... read a bit more ... Joe Green had pictures of himself, his office, his implements ... that hand looked big and the strap looked mean ...

She checked the time once more, fired off a quick email, and headed back to the office. Mr. Green probably wouldn't answer anyway ... but ... what could it hurt to send something.

"Dear Mr. Green,

I have been told I need discipline in my life. I guess it's true, I'm not sure what else to tell you, but I might need your services.


Back in the office, Dana squirmed in her chair. Spanking? Why had she sent that message? She hadn't been spanked since she was 9 years old. That had been by Aunt Donna ... who had left her bikini bottom up. Her father's spankings had always been on the bare bottom and had hurt like crazy. But those stopped when her parents divorced when she was 8. But she had never felt safer or more loved than she did in the minutes after a spanking from her father, being hugged by him while her little bottom burned and she sobbed out her remorse for whatever childish infraction she had committed.

She pictured herself across Mr. Green's lap, her skirt lifted and her butt cheeks framed by her black thong. He wouldn't make her take that down too, would he? She blushed at the thought at got back to work.

Mr. Green wouldn't even respond to her message. She was sure of ... then he did! Just a couple messages were exchanged before he learned she was at work.

"Back to work, DS.", he instructed. "If you cheat your employer by not working, I will have to give you an extra paddling."

Extra paddling? She hadn't agreed to go see him yet! But ... somehow ... she knew that when she sent him the first message, in her own mind, she'd already decided to go if he answered her.

That evening, Mr. Green emailed her a long set of questions for her to answer "at your convenience". Why did she feel eager ... even frantic ... to answer him and get closer to an appointment? There were questions about her behavior, changes in her behavior, goals, punishments she'd had in the past, things that triggered fears for her.

She answered them all, blushing at the questions about her spanking positions, sexual responsibility, and usual undergarments.

That night she dreamed she was standing naked in front of Mr Green as he held that huge strap. He was scolding her, but she couldn't really hear what he was saying. She stood perfectly still with her arms at her sides, desperately wishing to cover her size C breasts or her smooth-shaved pussy, but didn't dare. She awoke breathing hard and highly aroused and went to work giving herself several orgasms, reliving the situation that, 12 hours earlier, she would have found terrifying.

Before work Tuesday morning, she wrote back to Mr. Green. She definitely wanted to take him up on a free introductory interview.

Dana arrived at work 5 minutes before 9 and greeted her coworkers with a cheerful "good morning." She got to work, but kept checking her personal email.

What would Mr. Green say? And did she really even want this? Why? Why did she seem to want to feel this stranger's heavy hand reigning down swats on her naked rump? Since her divorce she hadn't worn a swimsuit in public, much less allowed a man to see her undressed ... while sober. And now she contemplated ... no, intended ... placing herself completely under the control of a man who she knew would require her panties off and punish her, possibly to bruises or welts. He would be clothed and she would be exposed. Why? She could not say, but she knew she was drunk with a desire she'd never acknowledged before.

Half way through the morning, Ms Levy IM'd her. Had she thought about their discussion from yesterday? Dana responded that she was looking into possibilities and thank you so much.

Just as she was going to lunch, she received Mr. Green's reply. He had an opening Thursday evening at 8 for an introductory session of disciplinary therapy. She should expect to spend an hour and a half. She needed to read, sign, and send back a detailed consent form. Alternatively, he could meet for coffee if she wanted to discuss the matter outside his office. But he had no opening until next Wednesday.

Dana nibbled at her lunch. She wanted to meet him first ... but waiting a week? She looked at the consent form on her iPhone. She received promises that Mr. Green would not grope her or make a recording of their session. But she was to consent to be spanked, consent to corner time, consent to removal on command of her clothing, consent to the forcible removal of said clothing, consent to swats outside the area of the buttocks, consent to his hands on her body, consent to the use of other implements, consent to bruises or welts, should they appear ...

Dana's head spun. Something told her to seek some other kind of help. Join the Y or something. At least she should meet with him in a non-threatening place. She should wait until next week and meet for coffee first.

Dana texted her sister. Was there any way she could watch the kids Thursday evening? No, she wasn't drinking. She was trying a ... fitness class. No, not yoga or zumba. Didn't really have time to explain.

As she returned to her desk, Dana asked Mr Green for the evening appointment.

The rest of the day and the next two dragged by. She re-read the messages from Mr. Green and the consent form. She had consented ... to nearly unlimited control of her body for the time she was in his office. One side of her mind recoiled at the idea. How could she agree to remove any item of clothing a strange man demanded and hold still while he whipped her to bruises with his leather strap? Of course, it wouldn't simply be a beating like that. But ... if it were ... she'd consented to it already.

She didn't have to go! But ... another part of her DID have to go. She didn't need to be sexually possessed by a man. She could find that easily. She needed to be CONTROLLED.

So Thursday evening at 7:45, she was pulling into the parking lot of an office park. A Jaguar was in front of office 809 and a light was still on. The sign over the door announced Olde Hickory Consultants. It sounded like a financial service, but Hickory ... certainly reminded her of a switch.

He had told her to wear one of her office outfits because it was her boss who had told her to get some help. The only stipulation was that she not wear a garter belt -- not that she usually did anyway.

Dana used the mirror on the sun visor to check her appearance. She brushed her straight shoulder-length black hair and brushed a couple hairs from her business-like navy skirt. It rode 6 inches above the knee when she stood and men usually appreciated it. Well, they had appreciated the similar one a couple sizes smaller more, but she would be getting back into it ... with some discipline. Discipline ... 12 minutes and she would walk that door. Would he like her black lace cheeky? And be glad she wore no hose?

What was she thinking? This was insane! She reached for the key to start the car. She would NOT go through with something like this! She didn't need therapy, not this sort anyway. She needed a bit of exercise, maybe a new hobby, and some self-discipline.

Discipline ... she closed her eyes and saw a tall man holding a leather strap waiting for her to undress. Her breath came short and she found herself clutching at her breasts. Would he make her bare them too? Her nipples hardened.

Her phone emitted a 5 minute warning for her appointment. Dana gasped and looked in the little mirror again. She straightened her skirt, brushed her hair again, and looked at the white blouse she wore Her top 2 buttons were undone as usual when dressed for the office ... but one more ... she tried it. A bit more cleavage couldn't hurt, could it? She got out of her car and straightened her skirt as she stood up. Her heels clicked loudly in her ears as she crossed the parking lot to the imposing wooden door.

She didn't have to ... but she DID have to do this.

Dana pushed the door open and stepped into Mr. Green's office.

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