Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 58185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
I bit my lip at the terrible realization, and I closed my eyes, wanting to find some way of escape into somewhere, anywhere else. I realized too late the effect it would have on my balance, and by the time I opened my eyes I had already started to topple over.
Mr. Alden’s left hand took hold of my hip and kept me upright. I started to straighten up a little, in order to regain my balance. Then I felt the puff of air that I had already become much too familiar with, the one a wooden blade generated, even one with three sizable holes in it, as it approached a girl’s bottom at high speed.
I let out a little cry, and my body seemed to try to do a hundred things at once, each of them poised between the effect of the compliance wand and the overwhelming terror and shame of the degrading punishment. My hands tried to travel back to cover my bottom and all the secrets my boss had exposed to his view when he lowered my panties. My back tried to straighten up, as if maybe I could attempt to run away. My legs tried to twist around, as if in hope that I could make Mr. Alden miss with the awful paddle.
None of it worked, because he had told me, with his words and with his face and now with that steadying, restraining hand on my hip, that I must touch my toes so that he could deliver the terrible lesson he meant to deliver.
I heard the gunshot report of the paddle on my bottom, and I felt the impact just as pressure, full across both my little cheeks. He struck so hard that I could even feel it, just as a touch, on the tender cleft of my private part’s outer lips.
I gasped, and then I cried out, as the pain started, then built into agony, and then I sensed Mr. Alden’s weight shifting and I felt the puff again, just a little lower.
I screamed at the burning fire in my backside as the second swat echoed in the corners of the huge office and the pain just got worse. He clearly didn’t want to give my backside time to recover; he meant to punish me, to make certain I understood what I should and shouldn’t do, to teach me proper office behavior. I would learn, today.
The next time he told me to take off my clothes I would do so without hesitation, even without the help of his horrid wand. If my boss had told me I wasn’t permitted panties that day, it wouldn’t make the slightest difference; I would step out of my skirt and display my smooth, hairless cunt to him, waxed for his greater enjoyment in making me show it to him.
I screamed at all of it: the burning pain in my bottom and upper thighs, the terrible conflict in my mind and heart, the unwelcome but somehow reassuring hand on my hip that kept me in place for my first correction by my dominant new boss.
The shift and the puff and the crack of the blade against my backside came a third time, a fourth. I screamed, and I knew for certain everyone in the office could hear that the new secretary was being punished. Cathy at the reception desk could hear, of course; she knew that the new girl would emerge from Mr. Alden’s office wincing as she walked, thoroughly paddled and thoroughly fucked, and stop at her workstation to set up an appointment for her first Brazilian wax.
The fifth swat struck where the first one had. Without my boss’ strong hand holding me up, I would have fallen straight to the floor simply from the violent tremors the pain sent shooting through my limbs. My bottom-cheeks clenched, my hips jerked, all without seeming to take away the slightest bit of the flaming agony.
“One more, sweetheart,” Mr. Alden said. For a moment I thought he would pause, to give me time to reflect. I welcomed it despite the mortification of the idea, just because it seemed to offer a tiny respite from the pain. But the sixth swat arrived in the same cadence as the other five, and seemed to turn every nerve ending in my lower body into a fiery torment.
“On your knees, Ingrid,” his voice said as his hand enforced the order. “Face down, ass up. I’m going to fuck you now.”
“Oh… oh… oh…” seemed to represent the only sounds I could make with my mouth as my limbs automatically assumed the posture into which he guided me. He pushed down on the back of my head with his left hand and then he took hold of my backside with the other and raised it. The hand on my head moved to my back, pressing to make me arch there and, to my utter mortification, to tilt my bottom and my private part upward.