Called on the Carpet

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. So relaxing."

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 began again.

"He publicly slaps my... you know."

But he didn't know. Then suddenly, he did.

"Oh! You mean your rump! Your backside! Your fanny!"

Sandra's eyes widened at the barrage of inappropriate terms.

"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 know."

"I'm a hard worker and loyal to this company!"

"Okay, just-" Troy pushed some tissues toward her.

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 disappointment.

"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 him tomorrow."

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 of relief.

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 practices discretion."

"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 incredulous chuckle.

Troy tossed his fly pole aside.

"Care for a demonstration?"

There was a brief awkward silence before an answer arrived.

"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 to me?"

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 belly exposed.

"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 advantageous angle.

"I'm curious." she said, peering over her shoulder as Troy surveyed the situation. "Why over your knee?"

"Hmm?"

"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 aroused.

"In any case, if I plan to deliver a real bare-bottom walloping, I wait until after hours."

"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 more easily.

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 the festivities.

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 particular ride.

Twenty devastating spanks were delivered to each of Sandra's burning cheeks, every one deliberately timed to keep her off balance and breathless.

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 rapid succession.

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?"

"What?"

"About that hairbrush?"

"Yes." Troy sighed. "And it's a bit of a shame."

"What's a shame?" she asked, taking another long puff.

"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."

THE END