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« Alison, Sam and Nina


28. Who You Know

Spanking Story


Caned over her desk for indecision, a female CEO compares her marks with friends


Alison glanced through the tall windows at the flawless figure on the far side of her pool. Standing steady on one leg in an enviable tree pose, Carrie's gray yoga pants outlined her bikini panties beneath.

The singer's demeanor at dinner on the first night had been a beacon to Alison. She could recognize a punished girl from a hundred feet. Bonding with her and Nina over marketing and music, the beautiful girl had fast turned from unexpected guest to welcome friend.

Alison stepped outside in her red bikini, dived into the pool with a subtle splash, and swam four lengths. Pausing at the deep end, she watched Carrie, now in a perfect lotus, legs crossed, knees low to the ground and both feet tucked beneath her thighs.

Carrie opened her eyes and smiled at Alison.

"Coming in?" Alison asked.

Carrie stood. She had a bright pink bikini in her bag upstairs in case she wanted to use a hotel pool, but her caned cheeks forced her to decline.

"No, thanks," she said, trying to make it sound like she didn't want a dip in the inviting cool water.

"Carrie," Alison said, her tone sharp, "have you got a bikini?"


"Then go upstairs and put it on," she ordered. "I've already guessed your bottom is sore and marked. There's no need to be embarrassed. I respect you. We all need punishment from time to time, and a sore bottom is always effective."

She smiled at Carrie. "Come on. It would be lovely to have company and you're not the first punished girl this pool has seen."

Not wanting to embarrass her new friend further, Alison ducked under the water and pushed off the side. On her ninth length of backstroke, she saw a skimpy bright pink bikini appear in the corner of her eye.

Stopping and rolling onto her front, she swam back down the length of the pool. As she reached the end, Carrie climbed down the metal ladder, her cane-marked bottom leading the way.

"Sam's extra service?" Alison said.

Carrie nodded and settled next to Alison against the side. "I deserved it."

"For your video?"

"Amongst other things. She caned me hard this time."

Alison smiled. "It looks like it. No wonder you were reluctant to wear a bikini."

"Sam told me the other day that you were the one who had tested her skills."

Alison smiled. "She may be my friend, but I still slept on my front that night."

"You're a hell of a friend."

"Thank you."

"I seem to be behind the learning curve," Carrie said, watching Alison's face for any sign of judgment.

"Not with that bottom," Alison laughed. "She thrashed you. Adam has punished me countless times. It's a series of experiences which add up. It never gets easier. And, the silly thing is, you'd hate it if it did."

She recounted the actual story behind how she and Adam had got together.

Carrie's eyes went wide. "He's amazing."

"He isn't bad," Alison grinned. "I hope you'll stay in touch, when all this is over."

"I will," Carrie said, meaning it. She'd never felt so at home. It wasn't the beautiful house or even the secluded grounds, it was the girls.

"I have a villa on Mustique," Carrie said. "It's ultra private. You're welcome to borrow it anytime."

Far from the cool pool, the BattleWeek office was a hive of feverish activity, Nina at the core.

She handed the NPM contract across her desk to Adam. "I need you to decide on this."

He flicked through the seven-figure model agency contract for Tatiana's ongoing services.

She watched him. She loved Tatiana and what she'd done for her company, but signing off the vast sum of money for Tatiana's modeling services could look like she'd been favorable to her sister. The contract had sat on her desk for two weeks. All it needed was her signature, but indecision had stymied her every time she'd read it.

Batting aside the prior pages, he leaned on her desk, grabbed a pen and signed the last page.

"Why is it dated two weeks ago?" he asked.

She explained her conflict of interest.

"Of course you have a conflict. A very obvious one. You should have brought it straight to me and asked me to handle it."

"I thought I ought to deal with it, but every time I read it, I got caught in indecision."

He closed her office door, turned the lock and went to the built-in wall cupboard. Reaching high to the top shelf, he lifted down the thick cane they kept there.

"Your conflict of interest is obvious. I'm not punishing you for that. But sitting on the contract for two weeks was ineffective management. You should have delegated it to me straight away."

"I'm sorry," she said. She'd known she was doing the wrong thing, but couldn't get out of the crazy loops spinning in her head.

"Let's keep this sharp and hard, as your decision making should have been."

The thick office cane was effective and quiet. Instead of a loud crack, it delivered a quiet thud. She'd underestimated it only once.

"Drop your jeans and bend over the desk."

She undid her belt, unzipped and pushed her black jeans to her ankles. She'd taken to wearing skimpy string bikini panties rather than boy shorts. They felt more defenseless. The heightened awareness of her bareness was sexy and vulnerable.

She placed her arms on the desktop and bent down over it. She'd let down her company with poor performance. Over her desk was the only fitting place to be punished.

The cane rested against her skimpy black cotton.

"Eight strokes, Nina. I'm sorry I need to be so hard, but two weeks of hesitant inactivity is unacceptable."

He was right. It was a shameful display of mismanagement. "I'm sorry, Adam. Thank you for being tough on me. I'm disappointed in myself."

"Good," he said.

An inferno burst across her skin, burning deep into her behind. Dulled by her cotton, the forceful impact made little sound but exacted devastating pain. She hissed, absorbing her anguish and handling the hurt. As it receded, the next stroke landed close below.

She straightened her stance and pushed her bottom out. Formal punishment, bent over her desk, was a dignified form of correction. "I'm sorry, Adam. I know I fucked up."

"It's okay. Let's get through this together."

Grateful for his kind tone, she breathed into the torment as each stroke scorched deserved hurt deep into her bottom, building a pile of pain.

"Last one," he said.

The cane tapped against the peak of her bottom. He asked, "Would you like it here?" The light tapping moved to the crease below her cheeks, "or here?"

It was a cruel but brilliant lesson in decision making. It would hurt either way, but low down the memory of her choice would be present every time she sat for days.

"Low please, where it hurts the most."

"Good girl."

He whipped the rattan into her sensitive flesh in the most painful place. Panting over her desk, she processed the pain while he put the cane away. After about a minute, she stood and pulled up her jeans without rubbing her bottom. "Thank you, Adam."

"You're a good girl and so is your sister. She's worth every penny."

She grinned. They might have got Tatiana's initial services for free, but already her sister was an expensive commodity.

Adam left before lunch. Alison had invited Sam and Josh over for dinner and he was cooking.

After sorting paperwork for several hours, she went into the afternoon with her twenty-strong core marketing team, listening to a monologue of limitations. They couldn't spend any more on online ads because they'd already saturated the market. Radio commercials were unsuccessful. They were struggling to spend the huge marketing budget she'd allocated and still get a decent return on it.

One of her developers knocked and entered. She twisted on her sore bottom and glanced over her shoulder.

"Nina, come and look. Something's happening," the girl said.

Sensing the air of excitement, the marketing team followed Nina out of the conference room. On the big screen in the dev area, another coder was refreshing the stats page. As she approached, ten million players turned into twelve.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," the girl refreshing the stats said. We've checked the players database. There are fourteen - sorry - fifteen million players. Most are on the opening level or level one. They're real. The servers have multiplied ten fold and more are launching all the time."

Set to auto-scale, the farm of servers grew as load increased. The design introduced by her efficient systems team had never been more prescient.

As the player count reached twenty million and the server count rose in line, one of the marketing team behind her called, "It's Carrie. She's playing BattleWeek on live stream."

Someone else yelled, "She started tweeting a few hours ago. Hashtag #BeatCarrieAtBattleWeek is trending on social media everywhere."

Nina grinned. Clever girl. She'd changed the conversation. What sex video? The world could take a lesson in brand management from Carrie, maybe after they'd battled her at BattleWeek.

"What's her score?" Nina asked.

"Top of the league. Look," the dev girl pointed at the side of the big screen.

Nina jumped up and down with a massive grin plastered on her face. "She's discovered the secret of the period of calm. There's no other way to score that high." The off-beat idea, born deep in her mind, had put a pop princess at the top of her worldwide game.

As her team looked on, she flung her finger at the stats screen. "Get to it. Capitalize on that. Make a noise, Wind it up, encourage it. Do whatever comes to mind, but," she paused and adopted a serious tone, "don't dare embarrass or offend the girl who has just put us on the map. Ride it for all it's worth."

They spread out, their boss's battle cry on their lips.

Nina grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair, rushed down to the parking garage and into the nifty blue BMW M3 Adam had lent her.

Forty minuted later, she entered Alison's lounge to find Carrie hunched over her laptop, her phone buzzing on the couch beside her.

"Thank you," Nina said.

Carrie didn't look up, "What for?"

"You just made BattleWeek the fastest growing game in history."

"Have I? I gave it a go and got hooked. It seemed like a good way to change the conversation away from my sex video."

"You did that all right," Nina said. "Millions of new users are piling into the game."

"Shit. Sorry. Is that all right?"

"Fuck yes. Keep going. Carrie and BattleWeek are all anyone is talking about."

"Good," Carrie grinned.

Bored in captivity, she'd given BattleWeek a go. Now, eight hours later, she'd repaired her image and with bedraggled hair, her mind was obsessing over how to get out of the field of wheat at level twenty.

Pointing to the laptop, Nina said, "You can retreat to where you rested during your last period of calm if you want to take a break."

"Oh, thank god," Carrie said, tapping her keyboard. "I've started something bigger than I can handle."

Nina grinned at the beautiful, accomplished girl who had done her the favor of a lifetime. "Do you mind if I give you the biggest hug you've ever had?"

Carrie stood and stepped into Nina's open arms. "I love your slogan. I began humming it this morning." She hummed a few notes low under her breath, stood back, then her melodic voice rang out:

Get unstuck. Leave trouble behind.

Play BattleWeek to clear your mind.

Use your time. Don't wait about.

Don't Stay In, Get Out.

Nina's brain latched onto the catchy tune. "I love it. How does the rest go?"

"I don't know yet," Carrie grinned.

Carrie piled her plate with minced beef, pork and lamb packed with garlic, pepper, herbs and spices and rolled like sausages. Nina had taught Adam to make Mici a popular Romanian dish.

Smiling at Carrie, Josh said, "You've fixed your reputation."

"Looks like it," she smiled.

"At least you looked good in the video."

"Josh!" Sam exclaimed, elbowing him hard in the ribs.

"It's okay," Carrie said. "I've thought it myself, but you've punished me for my recklessness."

Safe among friends, it had slipped out. Until now, only Sam and Alison had known she was sore from a tough caning.

She glanced across at Josh, left to Adam, towards Alison at the far end of the table, Sam crosswise, and Nina beside her. Setting her knife and fork on her plate, she stood, unsnapped her jeans, turned and pushed them to her thighs. Pulling in the sides of her white cotton panties, she revealed the thick red punishment lines branded on her bare backside. Turning back to the table, she said, "Sam dealt with my lack of wisdom. You all know I deserved it."

Five firm nods of approval warmed her heart.

Beside her Nina stood up, pushed down her black jeans, turned and presented her punished bottom in skimpy black string bikini panties. "This morning Adam caned me for getting myself in a knot of indecision over the contract with my sister." This evening, BattleWeek was the third biggest game in the world. Carrie had generated a hundred million new players in less than a day. Exposing her panties in solidarity was the least she could do.

Sam stood in support, pushed her bright pink jeans to her knees and presented her hot-pink cotton backside to the table. Eight thick red lines over a latticework of whip marks advertised her shame. "I didn't trust Josh when I should have," she said.

Alison rose to her feet, pushed her black jeans to her knees and turned, her green string bikini panties skimpy and revealing. But she was among friends. She pulled the sides in to show her flawless white bottom. Smoothing her panties back into place, she turned, "I've been well-behaved for weeks," she laughed, "but I'd be proud to bend beside any of you."

Sam raised her wine glass. As everyone else reached for theirs, Adam and Josh rose to their feet. Sam held Carrie's gaze and slid her eyes to Nina. In concert, they turned to Alison and raised their glasses. "To Alison," Sam toasted, "without whom we'd all be sitting in far too much comfort."

"To Alison," resounded around the room, as everyone stretched to clink glasses.

Basking in the admiration of friends, Alison sat in her panties, her bottom exposed on the dining chair. Everyone else sat too, the girls still in their panties. Alison smiled at her trusted college roommate, her best friend, and an exciting new one. Unsure if she deserved a punishment or a prize, she looked down the table to Adam. "Exposing our bare bottoms at the dinner table is bad manners, isn't it?"

Anticipation crackled like electricity among the girls. Guilty as charged and hampered by their jeans, there was no escape from punishment. They all turned to Adam.

He allowed the silence to stretch out, relishing the heightened anticipation and admiring the four confident girls. Glancing between them, he saw everything to adore. Giving them each a last firm look, he shot a smile straight down the table to the girl they all loved and said, "Not in this house."