Miranda Fawcett, secretary to Branch Manager David Makepiece, had finally had enough. She’d complained about him to Head Office; in particular about his habit of taking long lunch breaks, which meant that calls to him went unanswered and she’d been expected to cover for him. This problem had recently got worse, since he began an affair with the wife of a colleague. He’d been relying on Miranda’s discretion about that, too.
“It’s all getting too much!” She admitted, tearfully, to Rachael from HR, who’d been sent to look into her complaint.
“Leave it to me.” Said Rachael, handing her a tissue and a glass of water.
The following day, a smartly turned-out woman in middle years arrived at the office. She presented her credentials at Reception.
“I’m Gloria Sampson, PA to the Managing Director.” She announced. “And I’ve come to interview David Makepiece, your Branch Manager.”
Ms Sampson was shown through to David’s office, where he was busy delegating tasks to his already overworked secretary. When Ms Sampson entered, Miranda got up to leave.
“No, dear.” Ms Sampson said to her. “I’d like you to stay. I need you to be present for what’s coming next.”
To David’s dismay, this stranger from Headquarters withdrew from her briefcase a laptop, which she opened and from which she recited a list of occasions when he had been missing from the office, leaving Miranda to field calls and complaints.
“Now, you have a choice, Mr Makepiece.” Ms Sampson told him. “You can leave now, and someone from HR will flesh out the details of severance pay and so on, for you, in the next few days. On the other hand, if you want to stay in your current post, you’ll have to cooperate with the plan I’m about to propose.
“This plan starts with a detailed letter from you to my boss, the Managing Director, acknowledging everything you’ve been doing wrong, listing the all the issues I’ve just read out to you. I shall also expect a grovelling, and I mean GROVELLING apology to Miranda here, who’s been doing her level best to keep this ship afloat, apparently without any support from you. Oh, and you’ll have to be spanked….”
“I’ll have to be WHAT?” Gasped the hapless Branch Manager, unable to believe his ears.
“Yes; if you want to stay in your job, you’re going to have to be spanked, by me, now, in front of your long suffering secretary, who’s the most obvious victim of your considerable wrongdoing.”
“Can I have time to consider….please?” He begged.
Miranda could see the machinery of his brain cranking itself into gear. He looked like he was trying to get his bearings.
“You can have one minute, Mr Makepiece; sixty seconds. That’s all.”
David gulped. Images ran through his mind, of possible consequences if he decided to turn his back on the company with immediate effect. That way, he’d at least be able to leave with his dignity more or less intact.
On the other hand, the prospects were terrifying. Above all, there was his wife’s reaction to consider. How would he explain his sudden joblessness to her, and the loss of his income? Leaving like this would probably also put paid to the affair he’d been having with that other Branch Manager’s wife, which had been so much fun. Would his own wife now get to hear about what he’d been up to? And would the company’s financial settlement be enough to tide him over till he got another job? He couldn’t imagine it would be generous. And with a lousy reference, or no reference at all, he’d have no chance of getting another job at the same level.
No. He knew he needed to keep his job, if that was possible, which meant he was going to have to swallow his pride and accept the company’s terms, as offered to him by this intimidating woman from HQ. Including, for god’s sake, a spanking! Would he ever be able to live this down?
“You have another 20 seconds to decide.” Prompted Ms Sampson, leaning back comfortably in her chair.”
“I’ll accept your terms, Ms Sampson.” He said quietly, his head down, avoiding her eyes. “I’d like to stay. Please.”
“Can you repeat that, Mr Makepiece?” She demanded. “I didn’t quite catch it. And look at me when you’re speaking to me.”
“Sorry Ms Sampson.” He said, his voice quavering, forcing himself to look at her. “I said I’ll accept your terms, if I’m allowed to keep my job, please, Ma’am?”
“Very well.” Said Gloria Sampson, getting to her feet. “Loosen your trousers.”
“Does she have to stay?” He asked, pleadingly, pointing to Miranda. “While you’re dong this to me?”
“Miss Fawcett stays.” Ms Sampson insisted.
Resistance seemed futile. He stood up awkwardly, his legs like jelly, and loosened his trousers, as she had told him. Ms Sampson, meanwhile, was opening her briefcase again. This time, she withdrew from it something, the like of which he’d never seen before: a highly polished wooden paddle, a little larger than a table tennis bat and heavier-looking. He gasped.
“Are you going to …. with that thing … on my … um…”
“Get on your knees and face the wall.”
He obeyed, with a crimson face. He felt the eyes of both women boring into him from behind. Then there were fingers thrust into his waistband, dragging his trousers and underpants down, exposing his bottom. He had never felt so humiliated.
“Stick your backside out, Mr Makepiece.”
He could do nothing but obey.
The paddle smashed into his naked, unprotected arse: one, two, three times, then again and again. He soon lost count; whimpering with the pain and writhing this way and that.
“Hold still, or I’ll start again!” His tormentor ordered him.
When at least, she had finished, the last shreds of his dignity having been stripped away, it hurt so much. He was moaning and rubbing his ravaged buttocks to ease the pain, his eyes shut tight and his face turned away in shame, from the two women.
“Now you can apologise to Miranda, your secretary; the woman you’ve treated so badly.”
“No; as you are, on your knees.”
Shuffling around to face Miranda, who was trying to suppress a fit of giggles, he moved his hands, which had been clutching the inflamed cheeks of his arse, to his front, in a vain attempt to preserve his modesty.
“I’m so sorry, Miranda!” He wailed.
“Okay.” Said his secretary, still trying not to laugh. “Er… thank you. I suppose.”
“It’ll never happen again.” He added.
“I should hope not.” She said, her nose in the air.
“I promise.” He said, weakly.
“Look at you, Makepiece.” Sneered Ms Sampson. “You’re a disgrace, boy. Now, do those trousers up and pay attention.”
He dragged his underpants and trousers back up, over his badly-bruised buttocks and fumbled clumsily with his flies.
“I’ll be emailing you a full confession, along the lines I read out to you earlier, which your secretary will print off and get you to sign.” Ms Sampson told him. “She and I have one or two things to sort out now and while we’re doing that, you can stand over there with your nose to the wall.”
He turned to the place she’d indicated and placed his nose a couple of inches from the wall, feeling like a disgraced ten year-old in an old fashioned school. Next thing, he’d be getting the slipper from one of them, he supposed.
“Now, Miranda, dear. While I think of it, do you know how to contact this woman he’s been having it off with?”
“Certainly I do, Ms Sampson. Actually, she’s my cousin.”
“As well as the wife of a colleague! Well, I think you should start by letting her know that the gaffe’s blown and she’s to stop seeing our boy, here; okay?”
“That shouldn’t be too hard, Ms Sampson. I’ll see to it today.”
“Great. Well, the next thing is to let you know, I’ll be sending you a format that the MD would like you to use for supervising your disgraced manager.”
Miranda glanced at her boss in his humiliating posture and noticed how he flinched at the mention of his name, which made her smile.
“Of course! If he’s to keep his job, he needs a close eye kept on him. You’re the person in the best position to do that.”
“I see. So, what’s that going to involve?”
“It means that each morning, you sit him down in here and go through his tasks for the day with him, prioritising and so on. He’s to report to you at intervals during the day, so you can check on his progress. The format provides for you to keep track of his performance and to score it. I’d recommend that at the end of each week, you tot up his score and reward and punish him accordingly.”
“What sort of rewards? And what punishments can I impose?”
“Well these are largely up to you, dear; but I do have some suggestions. For example, if you start him off on the assumption that cups of coffee, breaks, lunches in the canteen and so on, don’t come to him automatically, they have to be earned. They can serve as rewards, until and unless you can think of anything better. As to punishments, well there’s always this.” Ms Sampson said, picking up the paddle. “Your choice, of course, but it’s what I’d use. I think it would be ideal. There’s nothing like a sound spanking for bringing a man to his senses and making him obedient to you, like he should be.”
Miranda grinned broadly. Her boss seemed to squirm and half-turned his head around, as if he intended to take issue with he’d just heard, but then thought better of it and went back to facing the wall in front of him
“I think I can manage that, Ms Sampson!”
“Oh, and call me Gloria, my dear! Let’s not stand on ceremony!”
Gloria Sampson glanced at the hapless executive, who, she was pleased to note , was still standing where she’d sent him, with his nose to the wall, but now, she saw, he’d thrust one of his hands under his waistband, rubbing his sore bottom.
“Makepiece, boy!” Ms Sampson spoke sharply to him, making him jump. “Did I say you could rub your miserable backside? Put your hands on your head at once!”
He snapped to attention and did as he was told.
“You mentioned coffee just now, er, Gloria, would you like some?” Miranda offered, enjoying her new licence to address this powerful woman by her forename. “I can grind the beans myself, so it’ll be nice and fresh.”
“That sounds marvellous, my dear. I’d like that.”
Miranda stood up to make good on her offer, but was halted by her guest, who laid a hand on her arm.
“I’ve got a better idea, Miranda. Why don’t you send him to do it? It’ll be your first instruction to him in the new order of things in this office.”
“Oh, Gloria! I like the sound of that; I really do!” Exclaimed Miranda.
“Mr …. I mean, David?” Miranda addressed her humbled boss, who stood with his hands on his head, facing the wall.
“Yes, Miranda?” He responded, timidly.
“From now on” she said, slowly. “It’s going to be ‘Miss Fawcett’ to you, my lad.”
“Oh yes, I see; of course” he ventured. “Er.. yes, Miss Fawcett?”
“Go into the kitchen and make a fresh jug of coffee, using the best beans that we use for important guests. There’s a new packet and it’s in the top cupboard over the sink. Bring it back here with two cups and a jug of milk, because I’d like some, too.”
“Yes, Mir.. I mean Miss Fawcett.”
“Well done, my dear!” Exclaimed Ms Sampson, beaming at her protégée. “‘Miss Fawcett’, indeed! You’ve exceeded expectations! Now don’t forget, when it comes to scoring him for this task, that he still tried to call you ‘Miranda’. I know he quickly corrected himself, but I think we both heard what he nearly came out with. That’s got to be worth one stroke of the paddle, at least, don’t you think?”
Already, Miranda was warming to this new era in the office.
