Solitaire I couldn't quite get back to work after lunch, and I was sitting at my desk, playing Windows Solitaire, that silly game that all PC's have on them these days. I knew I shouldn't have been doing this during working hours, and Ms. Kinder (with a short 'i', not a long one), my boss, had warned me about what would happen if she caught me at it again. My PC's back was to her office, and I was always careful to keep an eye out for her coming out of her office. When she did, I would simply flip to another window, and act busy. Today, though, she had gone out of the office for the afternoon, I thought. I was lazily moving cards around with my mouse, losing most of the time, and not really caring. I sensed that there was someone behind me, and before I even turned to look, I knew it was her. "Hank, please see me in my office at 5:30 sharp.", the voice said, slowly and firmly. She was standing right behind me, and I was caught red-handed. I was embarassed, but could think of nothing to say. There was certainly no excuse for what I was doing, and there was no question of my guilt. She had me, and she knew it. "Yes, ma'am.", was all I could think of to say. I could feel my face flushing as she walked away, her high heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Damn! What was I thinking of? I had promised myself that I would never play this silly game unless I *knew* she was in her office. Now I was going to get it. I thought back to how I ended up in this predicament. * * * Ms. Kinder had hired me right out of college, about 8 months ago. I'm quite good at computer programing, and networking, and her office needed someone like me to install and maintain PC's used in her real estate office. There were 8 other people working there, and my efforts really paid off in less wasted time, better customer service, and generally more productivity. My efforts were very much appreciated. She is a lovely woman, about 45 I'd say, but I'd never ask, with shoulder length light brown hair, which was apparently rolled each night on big rollers, which gave it wonderful bouncing body. She was not slender, but not fat either -- about 5'8", and 160 pounds, with an hourglass figure, I guess it's called. She has full breasts, and a bottom that many men would call large, but that I call perfect. She always wears business suits, and black heels. When she walks by me, I always smell just a bit of her perfume. In short, she is the kind of woman I worship. I have never heard her raise her voice, but she commands the respect and attention of everyone. Just thinking about her excites me. About a month ago, she saw me playing solitaire. She paused for just a moment, and then asked me to follow her to her office. She sat behind her desk, and I took a chair in front of it. "Hank, you were playing games on company time." "Yes, ma'am. But only for a few minutes. I had just started when you spoke to me." "This wasn't the first time I've seen you doing this. There have been two other times lately. If I have seen you three times, there must have been many other times you have done this." I looked down at my hands in my lap, knowing that I had indeed done exactly this. She was unhappy with me, and I felt terrible. When you worship someone, you just don't do something to make her unhappy. "I'm sorry, Ms. Kinder. I have been doing it sometimes. I don't do it when I have something important to do, but sometimes, well, I don't get started on things. I let them wait." "Adults take of their work before they play, Hank. I like having fun, too, but I understand my responsibilities. You were acting like an adolescent." "Yes, ma'am. I'm really sorry. It won't happen again." "I like you very much, Hank, and I'd like to keep you as an employee." Oh, god, is she going to fire me? I looked up, and into her beautiful brown eyes. I wondered if she knew how much I adored her, how much I'd do anything for her, anything she said. "Thank you, ma'am. I really like working here, and I'll do a much better job from now on. I promise." She smiled at me, and seemed to immediately change the subject, "Hank, what would your mom have done when you were, oh, sixteen, if she caught you playing around when you had been assigned a job around the house?" What a question. What was she getting at? "Gee, I don't know." "Oh, I think you know. I've met your mother, and she is a no-nonsense woman. What would she have done?" I stammered, "Well, um, I guess, she would have punished me." "Yes, I think so. How did she punish you in high school, Hank?" I stopped looking at her, and look back down at my lap, and mumbled, "She would have spanked me, ma'am." "What did you say, Hank? I couldn't hear you." I cleared my throat and said it louder. "How did she spank you?" Now I was really embarassed. I squirmed in my chair. Here I was caught by a beautiful woman doing something I shouldn't have been doing, and was now being grilled about a very private thing, something a man would very much not like to discuss with a woman. But I had to answer her. "Well, she would make me take off my belt and hand it to her. Then she would have me drop my jeans and briefs to my ankles, and bend over and put my hands flat on the bed." "And then?", she asked, raising her eyebrows. I didn't want to tell this lovely woman about my mom whipping me with the belt, but I felt I had no choice. "Well, um, she'd raise my shirt tail up, and then she would use the belt on my bottom and thighs." "How many strokes would you get?" "Maybe 20 or 30, I don't know." "What was it like to have your mommie punish you like a little boy?", she asked, faintly grinning. "I hated it, and it hurt a lot. It was all over in a minute or two, but it stung for quite a while afterwards." "Did you feel better after the spanking?" "In what way?" "I mean, you knew you had been bad. Did you feel like you deserved it, and the air was clear, and mommie still loved you? "Yes, ma'am, I guess so." She grinned slightly, and said, "Suppose I told you that the next time I find you playing games at work, *I'm* going to spank you?" "What?!" "Remember that if you behave, it won't happen. You said you wouldn't do it again, didn't you?" "Yes, ma'am. I won't." "So what problem is there agreeing to a spanking, if you know you won't have to take it?" "Yes, I see your point. I guess it's okay, then." "Let me make sure we understand each other. You are agreeing that if I catch you playing games, any games, on company time, you will take a spanking from me. Is that it?" "Uh...yes, I suppose so. How will you spank me?" "However I feel you should be punished. But I'm not a cruel woman. It will hurt but not injure. You will definitely feel punished when I'm finished. Do you understand?" What am I getting myself into, I asked myself. I was sure at the time that I wouldn't succumb to temptation, and do it again, so I didn't feel I was in any real danger. And the thought of this woman spanking me was making my heart race with excitement. Besides, my mom's belt whippings weren't all *that* bad. Since I could never touch or make love to her, perhaps this was a substitute of sorts. "Yes, ma'am. I understand perfectly." * * * As she walked after away from my desk, as I sat with that silly game on my screen, all the above conversation was coming back to me in waves. What was I doing?! I felt so stupid. I could have been very careful, and never been caught. It was my own damn fault. My stomach was so tense, I was actually bending over at the waist from the pain, with my arms around my abdomen. Was she really going to do this? Was I really going to let her? She said 5:30, and I knew the office would be empty at that time. Damn. What have I done here? I could resign, and just walk away. No, this is a fun job, and she is a goddess. Is she really going to do this to me? Maybe it'll just be a symbolic spanking, and not a real one, I said to myself, with little hope. I looked at my watch. It was 2:55. Two and a half hours to think about this. Oh, god! I tried my best to do something the rest of the afternoon. Oh, I *looked* busy, but my mind was on 5:30. My eyes didn't focus on the screen. My fingers typed, and the words made sense, mostly, but I couldn't really concentrate on anything. People started to leave at 5:00. All of them were gone except me by 5:15. Ms. Kinder was still in her office. It was really going to happen, and it was all my fault, and there was nothing I could do about it. I went to the bathroom to pee at 5:25. My penis was somewhat hard, and I had trouble getting anything out. Then it was 5:30, and time to report for the punishment. I went to her office, and knocked on the door. It was slightly ajar. She softly said, "Come in." I went inside, and stood before her desk. She was signing some letters to be mailed, it looked like, and she didn't look up. "Why are you here, Hank?", she asked, casually, as if making idle conversation. "I...guess you're unhappy about my playing games, ma'am." She put down her pen, and looked at me, giving me *all* of her attention. "Well, 'disappointed' is a better word. You promised you wouldn't do it again." "Yes, ma'am. I'm really sorry. I don't know why I did it." "What did we agree would happen the next time you played games, Hank?" My heart was in my throat. I absolutely couldn't speak. I just looked at my feet. "What did we say, Hank?" My breath was moving in and out again, and I managed to say, "We agreed that I would accept a spanking from you." "Are you going to keep your word on this matter, Hank?" No threats of this or getting fired. No anger. Just her expectation that I would do exactly what I said I would do. My legs were shaking, and I was getting a little dizzy. "Yes, ma'am.", I finally replied. I wasn't going to beg, or offer some lame excuse. I was guilty, and I deserved what was coming, whatever she decided I should get. "You understand that I, and not you, will determine what the punishment will be, and that I expect you to take it like a man? No resisting, Hank. You will no doubt be making some noise, and you may squirm and jump, and you may cry, but you will take it every bit. Is that clear?" I nodded, and waited. She stood and said, "I'm going to my car to get something. I'll be back in just a minute. You stand right there." She walked past me, and out her office door, closing it behind her. What was she going to get? Something to punish me with? Probably. What would it be? I had told her about Mom using a belt on me. Is that what she had in mind? Should I simply get out of here? Now? No, I can't run away. Besides, how bad can it be? Anyhow, I deserve it. I was facing her desk with my back to the door, when I heard it open. I turned and looked at her. She coming into the office, holding some sort of leather strap in her hand. It was probably 30 inches long, 3 inches wide, and split into two tails at the "business end" for about half the length of the strap. It was narrower at the handle end, and seemed to fit in her hand well. It looked thick and heavy enough to really hurt, and appeared to be quite flexible. She looked too comfortable holding it. Does she use this often? On whom? "Do you know what this is, Hank?" "A strap, I guess." "Actually, it is called a tawse. I bought this in Scotland when I was there several years ago. The tawse is used on very naughty schoolboys there. On boys who fool around instead of doing their work! I think you will find it to be *very* effective in convincing you to mend your ways, Hank. Do you have anything to say before we begin?" What could I say? I'd already said I was sorry, and I *wasn't* going to beg for her to not spank me, or to go easy on me. "No, ma'am", I said, simply. "Very well. Please get the chair there and move it in front of my desk, with the back of the chair away from the desk." I fetched the chair, an ordinary office chair, without wheels, from its place against the wall, carried it back to her desk, and positioned it as she had said. "Now stand behind the chair, Hank." Ms Kinder walked behind her desk, holding the tawse, as she called it, in both hands, the handle in one hand, and the tails in the other. She was facing me as I stood behind the chair. "Hank, your punishment is going to be a dozen strokes of the tawse. You agreed to accept this discipline instead of more drastic measures. The sentence will be carried out immediately. Drop your pants, now." Sentence? That didn't sound good. Well, a dozen licks would hurt, but I would survive, I thought, and she *is* a goddess. Mom used to give me more than that with the belt, and this strap was just a kind of belt. I unbuckled my belt, unzipped my pants, and they fell to my ankles, my key ring thumping against the floor. My shirt tail still covered my undershorts. "Now bend over and put your palms on the seat of the chair.", she ordered. I complied without comment. I looked up at her across her desk, waiting for what was to come. She walked around the side of her desk, coming up to my left side, and pulled my shirt well up out of the way, so it was all bunched up around my chest. She laid the tawse on my bare back, and I felt its warmth, presumably from being in the hot car. It felt heavier than I was expecting it to. I didn't look back, but I felt her moving behind me. I felt her fingers in the waistband of my briefs. As I expected, she slowly pulled them down until they were at my ankles, too. I was now completely bare from my shoulders to my ankles, with the strap lying on my back, waiting. I felt the tiniest stirring from my cock, at the thought of being exposed to her gaze. I felt the tawse slowly sliding off my back, and she picked it up. She walked forward so I could see her. Sounding like a judge passing sentence, she announced, "Hank, you have been a very bad boy, and you are going to be punished. You are going to get twelve strokes with this tawse. You are in the proper punishment position now. Your hands and feet must stay right where they are during the strapping. You will look straight ahead, and not down or at me. The strokes will be given slowly, and hard, and you will ask me for each one, by number. That is you will say the number, followed by the word 'please', before each stroke. Do you understand?" God, having to ask her to give me each lick! How humiliating. But what could I do? "Yes, Ms. Kinder, I understand." "Very well. Eyes front, and let's begin your lesson." I looked straight ahead. I couldn't see her any more. I said, "One, please.", and steeled myself for the first stroke. What would it feel like? Could I stand this? Can I be quiet and take this stoically? Oh, what is she doing?! Hurry up and get this over w... CRACK! Oh, god, that hurt! The stroke landed across the top of my bottom, and the burn was terrible. I could feel it searing across both cheeks, and the tails apparently were travelling at tremendous speed, because I could distinctly feel where both tails hit. I didn't move, or cry out, however. I waited for the next one, wondering whether I could continue my silence. Oh, I had forgotten that I had to ask for the next one. "Two, please." After only a short pause, it came, with another loud CRACK, and the same sort of burning. This stroke was lower, right across the middle of my cheeks. Ow! But the pain was less than before. Probably I was better padded where this one landed. I became convinced I could take a dozen of her best, and not make a fuss. "Three, please." I could hear this one coming. A whirring sound, followed by a SMACK, right across the bottom of my buttocks, right above my thighs. God, this one stung like crazy. "OW!", I said, unable to stop myself. The stinging seemed to intensify in the next few seconds, until my whole bottom was on fire. In only three strokes, she had me wanting this to end now. The right cheek burned much more than the left one. I was already thinking that I just couldn't take nine more strokes like these. I could hear Ms Kinder moving, and I looked back to see what she was doing. "Keep your eyes straight ahead, Hank. Do exactly as you're told.", she said, as she walked around my bottom to a position to my right rear. She paused for a few seconds, and said, "Continue, please, Hank." So, I was going to get whipped from that side. Good, I thought. My right cheek really needed a rest. "Four, please." The CRACK came almost immediately, and was very low on my bottom. Her backhanded stroke seemed to be slightly less painful than her forehand. I took the pain without a sound. "Five, please." CRACK! Above the previous stroke. Again, the pain was bearable. My breath hissed between my teeth. The tawse's tails didn't quite cover the whole of my left cheek this time, and area between my cheeks felt its share of the stroke. These strokes were definitely not as hard as the others. "Six, please." A long pause this time, while I waited for the last of the first half of my strapping. Perhaps my bottom swayed to the right as I waited. I'm not sure. When the CRACK came, it was the worst of all, and I howled with pain. The strap landed quite high on my poor bottom, and the tails wrapped around on the side of my hip somewhat. My head involuntarily jerked upwards, and my hands came off the chair cushion. "DOWN!", she ordered, and I did so immediately, groaning in pain, and bouncing up and down on my toes. "Your orders were to remain in position for the entire punishment, Hank. If you can't stay in position voluntarily, I can see that you do." She walked forward, cupped her hand under my chin, and pulled my head up until I looked right into her eyes. She was clearly not her usual calm self. She had tiny beads of sweat on her upper lip, and her breath seemed somewhat labored. Perhaps she was angry that I had moved. Perhaps the effort of swinging that tawse was tiring her. But I got the distinct impression that she was sexually aroused. I didn't dare let her know my thoughts, however. "Do you understand what I expect of you? Can you remain in position for the full dozen strokes?" I really didn't think I could, but I would try my best to perform up to her expectations. Perform? What a word. I wanted to please her, and take my strapping, all of it, no matter what. "Yes, Ms Kinder. I'll be good" Gee, I said I'll be good. Like a naughty boy. What was happenining to me here. She released my chin, and I looked straight forward again. She walked around my bottom again, to my left side. My whole bottom was throbbing now, having taken three strokes on each side. I felt her fingers touching my bottom. It was very painful where she touched. I think she was tracing the marks where the tails of the tawse left welts. At least my bottom felt welted. Yes, her fingers trailed 6 lines on my right cheek, and then stopped. "Hank, the next six strokes are going to be on top of the first six, and you are going to find them quite painful. Worse than the first. You can and will endure them. Let's begin again." I didn't waste any time, and said, "Seven, please." CRACK, came the tawse. God, was she right! It must have landed directly on top of the first stroke. The far right side of my bottom was burning like hell. I kept quiet, but couldn't be still. My knees buckled a little, but I recovered. Hurry, hurry! Get this over. "Eight, please." CRACK! Right in the same place! "Aw!! Please! No more.", I yelled, as the pain seared into me. She said nothing. Right on top of the last one! My bottom was being flayed. I dreaded having to ask for another one like that. I needed time before the next one. She seemed in no hurry to finish. I found I had tears in my eyes, and I blinked them several times to clear my vision. I didn't want her to know her strokes were wearing me down so quickly. No, I couldn't ask for another one! My bottom was burning all over, and down deep now. Not just on the surface. I didn't want another stroke of that vicious strap. Please, have mercy on me and let this end! What am I going to do? She said, quietly and calmly, "Hank, ask me for the next stroke, please. It's time for the next one." I just couldn't do it. I couldn't ask for the tawse to visit my poor behind again. I was clenching my teeth in pain. "Hank. Now! Or I'll give you one and not count it." No, please not that. "Nine, please." SMACK! Down very low, right on the crease between bottom and thigh. It hurt like hell, but it was half on unstrapped territory. I grunted, but stayed in position. Again I could sense her moving to my right side for the last three strokes. At least my right cheek was still intact, as best I could tell. Now she was going to see that the left side felt just as bad. How could she do this to me? She must realize how painful this was. Yes, I deserved to be punished, but not like this, not this hard. Was she enjoying this? I was sure she must be. Why else make it last so long? I was going to try to get this over with quickly. Surely three fast strokes were not as bad as three slow ones. If I could only make myself ask for them. I was damn well going to try my best. She could just make me wait, even if I asked, but it couldn't hurt (what?) to try. "Ten, please." SMACK! Quickly it came, once more down low on the crease of my bottom. I squealed like a pig, and thought I could actually feel the skin welling up. "Eleven, please." God, get it over with. But nothing happened. She was in no hurry. I had had all of this I could stand. Come on! "Eleven, please!" "I heard you the first time, Hank. Please be quiet, and be still, and wait for the eleventh stroke." I waited. Finally it came. CRACK! Up high and wrapping around again. I yelled, and grabbed my bottom with my left hand. CRACK! Immediately she gave me another stroke, even while my hand was back there. It struck only my right cheek, and the tails found their way into the crack of my bottom. I cried out, "Please, ma'am. No more! Please!" "Back into position! Or I'll give you another.", she barked. I did so quickly. The tender skin between my buttocks was burning like crazy. I feared another stroke there would hit my anus and really injure me. I settled back down. Only one more to go. I'm going to live through this, I thought. I will have taken all of her punishment, and I will feel proud. "Twelve, please." She mercifully gave it to me quickly. A crack across the center of my bottom, and very hard as the others. I grunted, but stayed firmly in position. It was done. I felt her hand on my bottom. She rubbed it up and down, and I could feel her fingers bumping against each welt from the strap. She was soothing me. "You were quite a good boy, Hank. You took a severe tawsing, a man's punishment, with only a little moving out of position. I've proud of you. You are forgiven." "Thank you, Ms Kinder. It was terrible, and I don't want you to have to do this again. I'll be a very good boy, ma'am." She laughed slightly, and said, "I'm sure you will, Hank. Now get up. Your bottom will show the marks of your punishment for several days." How did she know that? I stood as she walked behind her desk, and placed the strap into her top right desk drawer. I didn't know what to do, so I just stood there with my pants down, and shirt still up around my chest. She looked me over, smiled, and took out a bottle of hand lotion from the drawer. She said, "If you'd like, I can rub some lotion on your bottom." "No ma'am. That won't be necessary.", I replied quickly, afraid I would have an erection, and embarass myself to death. "Then you'd better go on home." "Yes, ma'am." I lowered my shirt, pulled up my underpants and trousers, and turned to leave. "Thank you for disciplining me, ma'am, and not firing me." "My pleasure." That evening, when I looked at my poor behind in the mirror, seeing the welts, the marks of the tawse tails, and the bruising, I thought of Ms Kinder, and what happened, and my penis got terribly hard. THE END