« Spanking Stories

« Alison, Sam and Nina


5. The Job

Spanking Story


A lazy girl finishes a job application bent over her boyfriend's knee

«Beginning Part 6»

"Your opening needs to be bold," Adam said, reading Alison's laptop screen across the corner of the dining table.

"I thought it was," she said.

He pulled her laptop towards him and hit return several times to make space. Focused on her screen, he wrote a fluent introduction to her resume. It was easy when it wasn't your own.

He passed back her laptop and looked up. It was ten after seven. His co-founder was handling tonight's conference call while he put his girlfriend first because she'd asked for help with her resume. Work had dominated his life for more than a decade. It wouldn't much longer, but he couldn't tell anyone. The transition details were being hashed out right now on the call, but they'd already agreed to sell Zang, the company they'd built together.

"I'd employ me," she said, reading his introduction. "Thank you for doing this, I love it."

"Let's tie it together," he said.

She deleted her now redundant opening and moved down the page. "Where do I start?"

"You've worked with our marketing team, expand on that. Don't leave it at customer service. You're doing yourself a massive disservice."

She started typing. The laptop spun back and forth as they inserted sentences and edited. For over two hours they turned her words into passionate experience on the page, perfecting her short professional life. When they'd finished, she had one slick page. She sounded alluring, even to herself.

"Now you're ready to apply to the pen company. You could market a pen."

"Elegant and flawless writing instrument," she corrected him.

"Good. You're fluent in marketing. Get to it."

He checked his phone. The conference call would be over, the terms of his exit already decided. Boredom was desirable. It was time to sell. They shipped over a hundred items of clothing every second. Proud of Zang, he was going out at the top, the very top.

"I thought you were applying for the pen job last night. It was only 9pm, when we finished. I spent two hours on your resume and you've not sent it."

She dug her fork into her scrambled eggs. "They want a cover letter as well. I didn't feel like writing it last night."

For years, he'd prioritized work above all else and was fast regretting his fresh approach. After helping her, he'd called his partner to find out his future. He'd be staying for only two weeks once the deal closed. The buyers had their own management team ready to step in. His ending would be over fast. It was for the best.

Buttering his toast, he said, "You should write the cover letter right after breakfast."

"I hate having to write about myself."

She hated everything about applying for jobs. Even with her stunning resume, it was pure misery.

"You need a kick up the butt. Jobs don't wait around for you."

Disappointed in herself, she said, "I'll do it right after breakfast."

He caught her eye, "Over my knee. With the gym shoe."

He'd brought the gym shoe home from the office so it wouldn't go to waste. She nodded. She'd disrespected his generosity. He'd helped her big time. She should have capitalized on it right away. She needed hard motivation and deserved stiff penance. At least she'd made a few decent notes last night.

"We'll see how good you are with some serious motivation."

She positioned her laptop on the couch, open at her cover letter template, and pasted the notes she'd made into the document.

With a quiet sigh she undid her brown woven belt, unbuttoned her navy chinos and pushed them off. Folding them, she placed them on a chair and stood in her light blue tee and cornflower blue string bikini panties awaiting her punishment.

"You've been lazy," he said, entering the lounge.

She lowered her eyes to the carpet. "I know. I'm sorry." Despite her shame, her sex fluttered at his tough words.

He sat beside the laptop and said, "Bend over."

She leaned over him, placed her hands on the couch and lowered herself over his knee. With her forearms on the cushion, she shifted her laptop so she could still type.

The large rubber sole rested on her panties.

"I'll start when you type."

She took a minute to imagine the outline. She wanted to be a marketing executive and pens were elegant, life-changing objects of desire. A quality pen should inspire noble words. She typed.

It wasn't easy to type lying down, but she owed herself a stunning cover letter to match her resume, and the self-respect of having her lazy ass spanked while writing it. Anticipation disrupted her concentration, and she made several mistakes.

As she wrote the opening sentence for the third time, her bottom exploded in warm pain. Rich heat burned into her soft cotton. Sting suffused both cheeks as he brought the rubber sole down hard.

She focused back on her words as the gym shoe slammed into her behind and channeled furious sting into her fluent phrases. It took few words, but they must still convey passion and be compelling.

The gym shoe planted fervent pain where her bum was bare. Her laziness deserved it. She'd disrespected his work, and his time. Words flowed from her heart, heat blossomed in her behind and pleasure spread in her sex. Her bottom was here to be beaten, her mind to write. Focused, her fast fingers flowed through the final paragraph and she signed off with a flourish.

Hearing her tapping stop, he stroked her punished cheeks. Red imprints spread from her panties and covered her backside. He'd done a thorough job.

Under his kind rubbing, hot pain transformed and spread into heartfelt pleasure.

She read her letter through. Pleased with her passion, she made two quick corrections.

"Are you done?" he asked.

"Yes, you can read it," she said, hoping he'd keep rubbing.

He leaned forward and read her words, rubbing her sore bum with one hand, "Wow, your heart was in that. It's excellent. I almost regret spanking you so hard."

"Don't. I deserved it. I feel better. Please may I get up?"

He moved his arm to release her, admiring the smooth curve of her bottom against the sleek line of her panties.

She got to her feet. "Thank you for spanking me. Sorry I was lazy."

"It's forgiven. Email that," he said, pointing at the screen. "It's perfect."

Her subconscious hand stroked her bare, unblemished bottom as she took her black power suit from the wardrobe. Over her skimpy white lace underwear, she added a fitted white blouse, buttoned the long sleeves and checked the pleated front in the mirror.

Since her college roommate had first strapped her tender palms, she'd respected discipline. It brought her into line and fired her forward. The gym shoe had brought forgiveness, but yesterday guilt had flourished afresh when she'd received the email inviting her for an interview.

She ran her hands over her bare cheeks with intent this time. In the shower, she'd made a tough decision. She deserved and wanted a hard caning - the kind a girl can't forget in a hurry. She had an interview, but she hadn't earned it. He'd had to coerce her into applying.

The gym shoe had been a fair price to pay for her lazy approach to her job application, but now she had an actual interview it was inadequate. The cane would hurt and take guts, but she deserved to be thrashed for not getting her act together. There was time for the pain to settle into the sore reminder she deserved before she had to perform. It would be much worse to get the job and feel she didn't deserve it.

She put on her black pencil skirt, smoothed it and stepped into her high-heels, leaning down to fasten the tiny ankle straps. Adding her longline tailored jacket, she checked the future marketing executive in the mirror. Taking the cane from above the wardrobe, she left the bedroom and went downstairs.

He looked at her puzzled as she entered the lounge and handed him the cane. He hadn't gone to work so he could be here for her. She appreciated his kindness.

Explaining how she felt about her actions and the resulting interview was excellent practice for the rest of the day.

"So if I don't thrash you hard enough for your laziness and lack of respect, you won't deserve the job when you get it?"

"Yes. In a nutshell, and I only have fifteen minutes."

He looked at her in silence. His gaze hardened as she watched.

"Your lack of respect for my time and effort was disgraceful. Your cover letter was brilliant, but I shouldn't have had to spank it out of you."

She lowered her head in shame. He was right, dead right.

He flicked the cane. "I'm sorry it has to be on the morning of your interview, but you need caning."

He wasn't sorry. It was clear this was what she needed.

The whistle as the cane sliced through the air cut straight through her. Her sex flushed with raw heat and quivers of fear ran down her spine. He sounded as ruthless as she needed him to be.

He led her through to the dining room. "Take off your skirt and jacket," he commanded.

Obeying, she placed her jacket on the back of a chair and laid her skirt over it. Two inches taller in her heels, her lacy white tanga panties revealed most of her bottom. It was her way to atone.

"It should have been your motivation, not mine, which got you this far. Bend Over."

Ordered into place, she bent over the dining table.

He wasted no time. Fiery agony seared the peak of her bottom as the cane cracked into her bare cheeks. A ridge of agony erupted on her virgin flesh. She yelled, her cry echoing back off the walls as she fought to hold her position.

The shock of the first stroke never got easier. He delivered five more blazing strokes, each lower than the last. A band of burning ridges lined the middle of her bottom, leaving her lower cheeks untouched. She would sit in comfort for her interview, presenting a perfect, professional image, her tight skirt containing her private punishment.

"Stand up," he commanded.

"I'm sorry I showed such disrespect for the work you put into my resume and I'm sorry you had to beat a decent cover letter out of me." Her sex pulsed at her sincere apology. "Thank you for caning me."

"You're forgiven," he said, smiling and opening his arms. She hugged him for a moment before stepping into her tight skirt, her welts rubbing against the slippery lining.

Marked with shame, she'd carry herself with pride all day. She'd received formal discipline and full forgiveness, from him and most of all from herself.

In the hall mirror, she checked her jacket. She looked the same as she had upstairs, but taller.

"Good luck," he said, drinking her in with his eyes.

She grabbed her keys and, with a full-beam smile, took her punishment with her.

The drive hurt as her cane stripes burned into her. Determined to suffer, she gave in to the blossoming pain while she drove and sat taller in her seat, proud of herself.

As she reached the highway, her bottom had settled into a hot soreness. By the time she came to a halt in the parking lot at the pen company, it was bearable. As she stepped from her car, satisfaction and confidence radiated from her. She was so glad she'd asked to be caned.

With a confident stride, she walked into the building. She was a powerful, respectful, caned girl who knew what she wanted. She wanted to market elegant writing instruments. There were six candidates waiting. They looked well-groomed, but she would bet she was the only one with six smarting cane stripes beneath her power suit.

They don't call you after an interview with bad news. She was halfway home when the car screen lit up. She took the call, smiling inside as she diced between traffic. One hour after leaving the room, she was a marketing executive. Diving into a gas station, she hit the brake, flung open the door and did a 'happy dance', ignoring the confused glances from strangers.

Back in the driver's seat, she calmed herself and sent Adam a message: 'Thank you for thrashing me. I'll be home at 1pm. Fuck my brains out. I got the job. xxx'

Heated by her bottom and her success, her sex was on fire as she ran up the stairs in her heels, lost her jacket in the hallway and slid her blouse down her arms. Entering the bedroom, she kicked her skirt to the floor, unbuckled her heels and landed on the bed in her white lace underwear.

Stroking his ready manhood, she cried, "I'm a marketing executive. Fuck me."

Firm hands gripped her hips and flipped her on top of his hard body. Exhilaration ripped through her as she yanked aside her scrap of lace and took him deep inside her with the longest groan of her life.

Too hot to be playful, she rammed herself down, forcing him into her tight grip and letting him go only when he made her, driving her desperation against its peak. "I killed it in the interview, they should have given me the job twice," she cried.

Impaling herself, she dedicated all her strength to the simple job of exhausting herself on his erection. Driven by her voracious need, he exploded and triggered a torrent of fresh bliss. Waves of satisfaction crashed through her, sapping all her energy as she collapsed on top of him and his arms closed around her.

"I'm earning three times what I used to," she panted.

He smiled. Soon she'd be the only one earning anything at all.