The Naughty Receptionist

"Miss Johnson, would you please come into my office?"

Tracy rolled her eyes, thinkingWhat does he want now? It was fifteen minutes before five-her purse was out, her computer off, and her mind had already left the building. Her friends had a fun night planned-some good food, a few drinks, and of course a great deal of dancing. Mandy even had a 'cool' guy she wanted to introduce to her, in Mandy's never ending quest to help her get over her ex, Jason.I'm not going to stay a moment past five, she thought, her lips pressed tight together.

Taking her time, she answered another text from Mandy, then slowly sauntered into Mr. Duhamel's office.

"Have a seat," he said, pointing to one of the chairs in front of his desk. He had an odd look on his face, one she hadn't seen before, and those green eyes always seemed to see right through her. Her stomach suddenly felt queasy. As she sat, she made sure her short skirt rode even higher up on her thighs; he seemed to enjoy looking at her long and lovely legs. She was quite proud of them.

"Miss Johnson, your performance has been rather disappointing of late. Well, in truth, since your first day here," he said. Staring at her, he waited, expecting a response. She didn't know what to say. After a moment, he said, "You show up late every morning, then spend most of your day texting or talking on your phone. You're way behind on every task I've assigned to you, even the filing. Those things you actually get around to are inevitably incorrect. Furthermore, your attitude is condescending and rude." He paused again, and she realized he was very angry with her. "I'm afraid I can't tolerate this behavior any longer."

It took a moment for his last words to sink. She blinked, confused. "But you can't fire me. If you do, my father won't sell you the Duffey property." She smiled, thinking she'd won.

His smile was worse. "Had you actually been paying any attention, you'd know that we closed on that deal this morning. Where do you think I was?"

"My Dad won't be happy if you..." She couldn't even say the words. Her stomach felt as if she'd swallowed a large, rough rock with sharp edges, and it was pushing down through the bottom of her belly. She leaned forward, her chest against her knees.

"Miss Johnson, to be frank with you, I couldn't care less what your father thinks anymore. He seems a decent enough chap, but you're a horrible receptionist. And a spoiled brat. In fact, you remind me of Mrs. Johnson."

Tracy felt like she was being slapped with each sentence. Finally, when he was done, she managed to get angry. "Mrs. Johnson isnot my mother."

He laughed at her. "So he married a brat and is raising one, too."

Tracy looked down at the carpet, wishing she could crawl under it. She could not lose this job. Her father had clearly said it was her last chance-that he was done fixing her life and her problems. He didn't have the money anymore, with the recession going on and on. Not to mention how much her step-mother spent.

"Please..." she mumbled.

"Please what, Miss Johnson?"

"Please don't fire me." She was crying now. She hated herself for it. Imagined her father kicking her out, and the smile on her step-mother's face as she packed. And then where would she go?

"I'm afraid you've left me no choice. I need a dedicated, hard-working assistant. An asset, not a liability."

"Please," she said again. "I can be. I will be."

When his silence dragged out, she finally lifted her chest off of her knees and dared looking at him. The intensity of those green eyes sent a chill through her.

Finally, he said, "And what of these two and a half months that I've paid you for? What should be done about that?"

She couldn't meet his eyes. She looked down at her shoes. "I'm so sorry," she mumbled.

"I'm afraid that's not good enough. You'll be paid through tomorrow. Good luck."

The tears returned in force. "Please, please, you can't fire me. I'll do anything."

"Really, Miss Johnson, anything?"

She looked up, briefly, into his eyes again.Fuck, does he want me to suck him off? Or fuck me? Strangely, she felt a tingle in her clit, and knew her pussy was wet. She licked her lips. Yes, she could survive one blowjob. He was rather attractive, despite his age. What was he, forty-five or forty-six? Fifty?

She nodded. "Yes, anything."

"Somehow I doubt that." He templed his hands in front of his lips, and looked like he was thinking hard.Come on, just say it. Tell me to get on my knees. It will be over in five minutes, and in a week he'll be wrapped around my finger. Life will be good again.

"Frankly, Miss Johnson, you are quite immature. A child, really, in an adult body. I doubt you can be the diligent receptionist that I need. However, perhaps if we deal with you like a child, and instill some discipline in your behavior, you may yet develop into something worthwhile."

Tracy sat there, open mouthed. She wiped away the tears on her cheek, and sniffled. She had no idea what he was talking about. What happened to that blowjob? What did he mean by discipline? "Discipline?" she asked.

"Yes, you are in dire need of discipline. Perhaps a great deal of it."

"You don't mean spanking me..." She was stunned. No one had ever spanked her. And why was her pussy dripping?

Suddenly he stood up. "Yes, that is exactly what I mean. And what you deserve. However, it is up to you, Miss Johnson. The choice is entirely yours." He walked past her to the door and opened it.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"It's your choice. You can show up for work tomorrow, knowing that at exactly 5:00 P.M. tomorrow, you will bend over this very desk, lift up your skirt and pull down your panties, and ask-no, beg-for a very hard spanking. Or, you can call up your father and let him know you've been fired. I'm sure he will be happy to help you find another job."

She crossed her legs, hoping he couldn't smell how excited she was. And why was she excited? Because he was taking control? Giving her what she craved, finally? No, she didn't want that.

"Good night, Miss Johnson." He took her by the elbow, gently helped her stand, and walked her to the door.

"And Miss Johnson, it's important that you understand, this will be a very hard spanking. I'm afraid we've two and a half months of your very poor performance to account for. It's doubtful you will be sitting comfortably for days."

The door shut in her face. She was about to say something, she didn't know what, though. She stood staring at the wood door, stunned. Finally, as if in a trance, she walked to her desk, picked up her purse, and walked to the elevator.

***

Two hours later, Tracy sat on her couch, watching TV, yet she had no idea what was on. She had told Mandy that her stomach suddenly hurt, and hurt bad. She hadn't even been lying.

She couldn't let him spank her. And with her panties pulled down? The humiliation made her face red, just thinking about it. But it also made her unbelievably wet. She couldn't even tell how much of it was fear and how much of it was excitement. Her fingers, as if they had a mind of their own, slipped inside her sweats.Jesus I'm wet. This created nothing but confusion.

Her phone rang. Her father, still at work, no doubt. The sharp rock returned to her stomach.

"Hi Daddy."

"Hi babe. How are you?"

"I'm fine."

"How's work?"

She swallowed. Then closed her eyes and lied. "It's good."

"No problems today?"

"No. It was just an ordinary day."

"Well that's good. We closed our deal today, and I was worried that bastard might fire you once he had what he wanted."

"No, Daddy. He's quite fair. He wouldn't do that." She had no idea why she said any of that.

"Ok, baby. Maybe Friday I'll swing by and take you to lunch. Would you like that?"

If I can sit down, maybe... "That would be great."

***

She watched the light move from one number to the next as the elevator took her up and up. It was moving much too fast. She had slept little, playing with herself four times during the night-coming like she'd never come before. And in between, when her blood was cool, she tried to think of every possible way out. Talk him into that blowjob instead? Find another job in the next day or two, and tell her father she'd found a better job? That seemed doubtful, with the economy still in the toilet.

The elevator binged. Her heart jumped halfway up her throat with the noise. The other passenger on the elevator, a sweet, old lady, looked at her expectantly.

"Isn't this your floor, dear?"

"Oh, I guess it is. Sorry."

She walked down the hall and put her hand on the door handle. This didn't seem real. Or it seemed way, way too real.

She closed her eyes and pushed the door open. Like it was any other day, she walked to her desk and sat down. Five minutes later the office door opened.

"Miss Johnson, I'm surprised to see you."

She couldn't meet his eyes. She felt her face going red. "Good morning," she managed.

"You have quite a bit of catching up to do today. Are you up to it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very good." Then he was gone, back into his office.

She pulled open the wide drawer in front of her, for a pen, and her heart leaped up and into her mouth.Holy Christ.

There was a paddle in the drawer. A very serious paddle. Black, and maybe seven or eight inches across. It had a number of holes in it. She ran her fingertips over it. She was scared. Very scared. And she wanted to go to the bathroom and play with herself.

Then she noticed the riding crop in the far corner, leaning up against the wall. A little voice inside her head started screamingrun, run, run. Instead, she closed the drawer, and got to work on the filing. She had so much of it to do.

***

At four, she was so nervous, her hands were shaking. Her panties had been soaked all day. She watched the second hand of the clock for a full minute, her mouth dry, her pussy wet. Her super-hard nipples pressed against the confines of her bra, wanting to escape. She was sweating. She never sweated.

She could still leave. Still find another job. Confess to her father. 4:15.Christ. Time was going much too fast and much too slow. She crossed her legs, wanting to touch her clit so badly.

4:30. She could feel the sweat under her arms and along her sides. She opened the drawer and ran her fingers across the paddle. She couldn't even look at the riding crop in the corner. She imagined what her ass would look like in an hour.

4:45.Damn, damn, damn. It was getting close now. She watched the second hand go around and around, part of her mind trying to stop it, part of it wanting to speed it along. Her mind was a mad scramble of confusion.

4:50. 4:53. 4:55. ONLY FIVE MINUTES! 4:56. 4:57. 4:58. 4:59.

The long hand clicked over. 5:00 on the dot. Was she supposed to knock on the door? Wait for him? She couldn't stand it any longer. She stood, straightened her skirt, and walked to his door. She knocked, very lightly.

"Yes?"

She opened the door. "Sir, it's..." her voice caught in her throat. She coughed, knowing her face was bright red. "It's five."

"Ah, yes. And what is on the schedule for five today, my dear?"

He wasn't going to make it easy for her. "Sir, you're going to punish me."

He smiled. The smile scared her. He motioned for her to come in an sit in one of the chairs.

She sat, feeling her knees shaking.

"And what are you being punished for?"

"My poor performance."

"And this is your choice? You're asking for this?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well, then. You noticed the gifts I got for you?" Her face got redder. She nodded. "Go and get them."

Her feet unsteady, she walked out of the office, opened the drawer, and took out the paddle, then went to the corner and picked up riding crop.

***

Evan Duhamel watched Tracy walk out of his office. His cock stood rock hard in his slacks. He'd been waiting for this day, hoping to get this chance, since he first set eyes on Tracy. She was absolutely a spoiled brat, but she was also beautiful and his type-long and lean, with long, dark hair. He watched her walk, working his way up from her four inch heels, her wonderful, sculpted calves and thighs, to the short, black and green skirt that hugged the curves of her ass. She had a tremendous butt, forever begging him to cup it in his hands.

She came back, avoiding his eyes, and put the paddle and the crop on his desk.

"It's time, Miss Johnson. Please bend over my desk."

She hesitated. His heart clutched, wondering if she would back out at the last second. He would have to find another receptionist, then.

Instead, she briefly met his eyes, then bent across his desk.

He walked around behind her. "Reach across the desk and grab the other side." She complied, stretching out so beautifully. He reached under her skirt and lifted it up. She was wearing a black thong. Her ass, in all it's glory, right there in front of him. And he owned it. He rubbed his hands over her ass, enjoying the fullness of it.

"You have a very attractive bottom, Miss Johnson."

"Uh...thank you...sir."

He slipped his fingers inside the string of the thong on each side, just above her hips.

"Please, can I leave my panties on?"

"Miss Johnson, I believe we agreed that your panties would be pulled down for your punishment, did we not?"

"Yes, but... please..."

"I'm afraid a bare bottom spanking is the only thing that will teach you a lesson, young lady." He pulled the thong down, out of her lovely crack, and then to her knees.

He picked up the paddle and rubbed it across her ass.

"Why are you being punished?"

"My performance, sir."

"And do you deserve to be punished?"

She hesitated. "Yes sir."

"Arch your back." She did, and he could see her pussy and a hint of her asshole. God he wanted to pull out his cock and fuck her. But he also had more than a little anger rumbling around inside him. Watching that damn smirk for two months did nothing but anger him. "It is very important you maintain your position throughout. I will not tolerate squirming and clutching, and if you stand up or let go of the desk, we will have to start over. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ask for it, Miss Johnson. Ask for 25 on each cheek."

"Please, sir, please spank me."

***

Tracy arched her back up, knowing he could see all of her. Could see how wet she was. She had never felt so naked, so vulnerable. She arched even further, wanting to please him, as she said, "Please, sir, please spank me."

She waited, her entire body tense. The air moved across her ass. The paddle connected with her left cheek. Then the pain blossomed across her ass, like a wave, filling her mind and body. She couldn't believe how much it hurt. Before she could think straight, the wave of pain cracked into her right cheek.Christ, she could feel the holes in the paddle. The air moved again, now across her hyper-sensitive left cheek. The paddle cracked into her flesh again.

By five, she was a mess, her eyes tearing up. By ten, she thought she'd never sit down again. The paddle was roasting her ass, heating it up more and more, the pain from one spank building and swirling with the ones before it. At fifteen, he stopped for a moment, his hand caressing her burning cheeks. Damn, they were tender. And damn did she love the feel of his hands on her ass. Especially on her burning ass. Loved being at his mercy. She realized, in a moment of pure, painful bliss, she wanted to be disciplined. Wanted someone to be stern and demanding with her.

Then his wonderful hands were gone. She arched up again, wanting so badly to please him. Knowing the pain was coming, and wanting it, even as she dreaded it.

She heard a sad, sobbing cry. Realized it was hers. She was crying now, completely. Not fake crying, but full body, full soul crying with her whole being. By twenty, she didn't think she'd make twenty-five.

Twenty-two and twenty-three were wicked and low, where her ass blended into her thighs. So tender. He showed no mercy. Twenty-four and twenty-five were just as mean, just as hard as all the others.

His hands returned to her tortured cheeks. They felt cold against her roasted skin. Her ass was on fire. He squeezed her cheeks, which took her breath away. Then a fingertip ran across the lips of her pussy ever so lightly.

"You're quite wet, Miss Johnson. It was not intended for your enjoyment."

She couldn't answer. Couldn't speak at all. The fingertip found her clit. She moaned, spreading her legs wider, offering herself to him. Wanting him. "Please," was all she could manage.

He started rubbing her clit between his finger and thumb. His other hand was resting on her poor butt. His thumb slid down her crack, ever so slowly. It found her asshole. She tensed, wanting to please him so bad, wanting him so bad, but never thinking anything would be going there.

His thumb pushed into her asshole. She knew then, in that moment, that she was in trouble. That she wanted nothing more than to please him. Be his. She would do anything for him.

As his thumb played with her asshole and his fingertips teased her clit, he asked, "Did you pleasure yourself last night, Miss Johnson? Did you rub your clit thinking of me spanking you?"

"Yes," she moaned.

"How many times?"

"Four. Maybe five."

He chuckled. "In the future, when you have a spanking coming, that will not be allowed. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." For some reason, that put her over the edge. The thought that he would tell her when she could come. And when she couldn't. She came, hard. So hard, her body shuddering, every inch of red skin on her ass screaming out that it was alive, and that alive feeling spreading to her clit and pussy. Even her nipples were painfully hard. He kept rubbing, like he owned her. She tried to move away, the sensations too much, but she was pinned against the desk. The thumb in her ass owned her. She wasn't getting away, not even an inch.

She came again, shuddering hard, her body thrashing against the desk. He shoved two fingers inside her pussy. Deep inside, until she could feel his hand against her. She exploded, her pussy clamping against his hand, squeezing him deeper. Her mind went blank, the moment pure and white and endless. Her body shuddered again, as if it was one raw, spanked, screaming nerve. She lost herself-it was all too much-and she passed out.

She came to, bent over his desk, feeling like a puddle of wet, raw nerves. He slipped his fingers out, then his hand cracked into each cheek, once, twice, then a third time. She was so sore. He squeezed each cheek, causing her to suck in a deep breath.

He walked around the desk and sat in the chair. She looked at him through the mess that was her hair. He put his fingers against her lips. She sucked them in, tasting herself, knowing she had never been wetter. He took those fingers away. The thumb of his other hand was an inch from her lips. She opened her mouth for him.

"Good girl," he said as she sucked on his thumb. His words sent a warm thrill through her heart. She realized she loved pleasing him. Wanted it like nothing else.

His other hand picked something up. Her heart clutched. He slipped his thumb out of his mouth. Held the riding crop up to her lips.

"Please," she begged. She couldn't handle any more.

"You'll find I'm very demanding. That it's not easy to be my pet. And that's what you want, isn't it?"

He lifted her chin, forcing her to stare into his eyes.

"You can still say no, my sweet. You can still walk out that door anytime. What do you choose?"

She closed her eyes, swallowed, and summoned all of her courage. She kissed the riding crop. "Please," she begged.

"Ask for a dozen." The chill in his voice sent a mean shiver down her spine.