« Spanking Stories

Chloe entered Ben's office at 6pm, a late meeting slot. It felt deliberate. Kept late for poor performance. She laid her one-page synopsis of Hair Air's lab achievements on his coffee table, sitting opposite him on his twin couches. Through four full days of punishing monotony, she'd reviewed eight weeks of lab reports with renewed attention, ruminating on his horrifying description of her. Lamentable was disastrous.

Picking it up, Ben skimmed through it. Laying it on the coffee table between them, he slid his version beside hers. He'd taken six hours to speed read the reports, selecting their significant points. He pointed to 'Color Range' on his list, missing from hers.

Chloe's heart plummeted. She'd failed again.

"They've found four natural ingredients which, mixed in differing ratios, produce millions of colors. You're a girl. You recognize nail colors matter. But you didn't consider it crucial. Their suggestion of focus groups to determine winning colors makes sense."

She remembered the paragraph, dense in ingredient names. Reaching vague mentions of focus groups, she'd assumed they were organizing it. "I assumed they were doing it."

"They're scientists. Had you reported their exciting news, I'd have got you employing a focus group company, managing the relationship. You've worked with focus groups before?"

She nodded.

"Talk me through your focus group experience."

"Positioning against competitors, I oversaw focus groups identifying key marketing comparison points."

"Any product design focus groups?"

"We stayed in our lanes. Mine was positioning and strategy."

He nodded. His PA and Belle hadn't asked the correct interview questions. They'd chosen a girl passionate about their products, but her experience was narrow. "You've read our lab reports. Do you understand them?"

She wavered, her hesitation answering him.

He waited.

Responsible for her brother, she couldn't risk her job. She didn't want to admit her inadequacy. Yet Ben's impossible question lay before her, its painful presence blaring its truth. He already knew. "They're very scientific. You explain points in simple terms. I don't have experience comprehending complicated technical reports."

Ben relaxed. She wasn't deceitful or incapable, just out of her depth. Although late, her honest response resolved matters. He stretched. "We've assigned you a responsibility which doesn't best fit your experience. I'm sorry."

Heightened fear pounded her heart. "Are you firing me?"

"No. It isn't your fault. I believe our products interest you. The original mistake is ours. I'll task our lab leadership with teaching you. We'll conference call with them tomorrow. I'll explain my mistake, your lack of scientific experience, and my expectations of them."

Her breathing calmed. She wasn't losing her job, her salary, her apartment, her safety. No longer fearing her ignorance, his greater knowledge seemed less scary. She could bury herself in learning. Appreciating his remarkable reasonableness, she met his eye. "Thank you."

He nodded. "However, we must discuss your reticence in coming forward. Hiding issues is unacceptable. You didn't speak up, Chloe. Surrounding me, crew members must report problems. When you're the problem, it's tough, but beyond crucial. Your dangerous attitude left me exposed."

His stern tone struck her core, carrying his criticism deep. Churning, it solidified into undeniable guilt. "I'm sorry, sir. You're right. I've screwed up. It's unacceptable. I recognize I should have spoken to you." She stared at his carpet, powerless to reach his gaze.

"Look at me, Chloe," he commanded.

Obeying, she met his glare.

Ben glanced towards his high horizontal cupboard. She'd called him 'sir'. It was a healthy sign. Her guilt trip had begun. She'd accepted her significant shortcoming. Honesty counted. Standing, he circled his desk, lifting his cupboard door. Rising on gas struts, it remained open. His fingers traversed the rattan cane. Pausing, he considered its helpful power. It carried heavy formality, providing clear comfort to unfamiliar recipients. It was also very challenging. He sensed her experience wasn't significant. Shifting the tennis shoe towards him, he withdrew it, turning towards his desk.

Placing the tennis shoe on its pale wood surface, the clean white correction device felt compassionate. He watched her gaze follow his movements. "You're experienced, Chloe. You understand responsibility. Yours was lacking. Come here."

Standing, she moved, facing him across his desk. Her guilt swirled. "I'm so sorry, sir. I feel dreadful."

"You should."

His grim statement slammed her conscience, hurting her. She took it on the chin. He was right. She should feel ghastly.

"During the coming days," he said, "you'll feel worse, trying to fix the unfixable. Your guilt will destabilize you. You'll overcompensate, questioning your judgement. You cannot undo your mistake."

She pictured herself. It was true. She couldn't leap forward, leaving her behavior behind. It would eat at her, forcing repeated reckonings. She'd replay their tough conversation, his kindness, and her epic guilt.

He watched her expression betray her self-awareness. "You need punishment, Chloe," he said. "Your reticence wasn't worthy of you."

She nodded, concentrating on his carpet. Her heart concurred, welcoming his unexpected statement.

His hand closed around the tennis shoe, crushing its canvas upper.

Her brain refused to engage.

Encapsulating the enormous rubber sole in his solid grip, he said, "Chloe, I propose to spank you."

Her reluctant brain exploded. Stepping back, she said, "No way."

Disappointment spilled through his surprise. "I won't unless you agree."

"I won't," she said.

"Guilt will ruin you, eating at you, weakening your performance. I understand getting spanked is an uncomfortable notion. Meaningful consequences will help you grapple with your guilt. You deserve consequences, Chloe."

Flapping her fingers towards his tennis shoe, she said, "That won't help me."

"I won't spank you unless you agree. In my experience, proper painful punishment erases guilt, stamping out your mistake without letting you off the hook."

Desperate to flee his tennis shoe, she stood her ground. "Not going to happen."

"What punishment would you consider reasonable?" he asked.

Cornered, she considered her options. Docking her pay wasn't possible. She needed every cent. "Make me stay late."

"Doing what?"

She didn't know. Her silence provided her answer.

"Like I said, I won't spank you, Chloe, unless you're willing. I think you're wrong, but it's your decision." He replaced the tennis shoe in his high cupboard, closing it.

Safe from extraordinary embarrassment, she relaxed, keeping her gaze low.

"We'll leave our discussion for tonight. Tomorrow, get us scheduled with the lab leadership. I'll explain my mistake, making it clear I'm responsible. Together we'll begin teaching you detail. We'll reawaken your passion for our products and capitalize on it."

She appreciated him moving the subject on. "Thank you, sir. I won't let you down." She turned to leave.

"Chloe, other crew members get punished. I believe you'll waste days on pointless reflection, but I won't force it on you."

She nodded, escaping towards her desk to collect her bag. Vulnerable in her short skirt, she repelled visions of the clean, white tennis shoe. Crushed in his powerful grip, it would have hurt. It didn't matter. She wouldn't allow him to spank her. Made to submit, she'd cry, losing her self-respect. She was twenty-two. She'd refused. He'd respect her for standing firm. Visualizing his parting expression, it hadn't contained respect.

Driven home, Ben considered Chloe. When he'd proposed punishing her, she'd nodded her agreement. She'd felt the need. He hadn't imagined she'd refuse. His tennis shoe must have terrified her. Spanking was fast, practical, and cathartic. His senior staff appreciated its precise, painful efficiency. He'd have given Chloe six hard smacks on her stretchy, thin skirt. She'd have felt flaming heat for several minutes, slight soreness for hours. A considerate punishment. He cursed his lack of forethought. Incapable of fathoming the eventual benefits, she'd recoiled. He should have spelled out how her brief surrender eviscerated guilt, supplanting it with savage self-respect. Used to swift compliance, he hadn't prepared himself to persuade Chloe.

Next morning, they conference called with their lab leadership. He explained Chloe's experience and his mistake in assigning her to liaison duties. Backing her, he reiterated her passion for new products, requesting they highlight important points and help her understand their achievements and failures. Satisfied by his sincerity, they agreed. Chloe's keen participation proved she wanted to succeed. He ended the call hopeful.

Sat opposite her on his couches, he ignored the emotional barrier she'd erected between them. He didn't probe her resistance or mention it. Unproductive thoughts hadn't resolved his Chloe issue overnight. Nor had Kate. Seeing Belle and Moira very early this morning, he'd told Belle about his ineffective attempt to spank Chloe. He hadn't needed to request her help. She'd said, 'Leave it to me.'

Chloe was researching focus group companies, preparing to contact several, when Moira approached her desk. Ben's personal assistant handled his entire office staff. They didn't report to her, but she managed his interests.

"Fancy lunch at Carlo's?" Moira asked. "I've invited several girls."

After her shocking evening and hard-hitting morning, Moira's generosity enveloped her in kindness. "I'd love to come."

"I'll grab my bag," Moira said. Tapping her phone, she messaged Belle, confirming their plan was underway.

The noisy Italian served top-notch salads, fiery pizzas, and al dente pasta. Several streets away, it wasn't a common choice for Hair Air crew. Entering beside Moira, she recognized Belle, Jenna, and Sasha, their media liaison, at a corner table. Sasha's presence surprised her. The girl was often tricky, demanding impossible timing from Moira. She hadn't imagined her among Moira's preferred lunch party. Belle and Jenna were both C-level executives. The powerful PA kept exalted company.

Sliding into the green upholstered circular seating, she sat beside Belle. Moira sat opposite, beside Sasha, enclosing Jenna in the middle of their circle. Greeting everyone, she delighted in their cheerful welcome. She studied the prices. Her salary offered more elastic than before. It wasn't too expensive. Belle suggested they share the Truffle pizza. Buffalo mozzarella, truffle paste and fresh black truffle shavings were outside her experience. Agreeing felt right.

She didn't regret her bold choice. Earthy aromas wafted from her pizza before she tasted the nutty, sweet, almost savory flavor.

"Okay?" Belle asked.

"Mmm. I'm gaining an expensive taste."

Belle laughed. "Ben told me you've resolved your issues. I'm sorry we assigned you to the wrong responsibility, landing you with a problem."

Chloe smiled. After she'd declined Ben's spanking, she couldn't judge her relationship with him. It sounded settled. "He was kind. I still feel foolish for keeping quiet about my struggle."

Belle frowned. "Yet, you rejected his solution."

Chloe's mouth fell open. "He told you?"

She waved towards the girls, busy eating pizza. "I'm Chief Crew Officer. Ben shares all staff matters with me. He also punishes me often. We've all felt his fast-learning formula."

Chloe closed her mouth, reached for more pizza, processing her situation. "You?"

Belle nodded towards the table. "We've all bent over his desk. It gives instant closure. I want it after I've screwed up. Jenna?"

Belle's pointed tone quietened the table. "Jenna, please tell Chloe about your marketing plan failure."

Chloe watched shame overtake Jenna's expression.

"I wasn't professional," Jenna said. "My lackluster marketing plan irritated him. Apologizing, I begged him to punish me." She didn't mention Belle urging her, or her afternoon of online research, to build sufficient confidence to face her painful thrashing. "Our stunning dancers were his idea. He explained it to me after he'd caned me."

"He caned you?" Chloe said. His tennis shoe had seemed appalling. She couldn't imagine getting caned.

Jenna nodded. "Twelve solid strokes over my panties."

"You undressed?" Chloe's mouth fell open again.

"Pants down. I needed to feel the weight of my failure. After he'd stopped my stunning guilt train in its tracks, we moved straight on, me very sore."

Belle refilled their water glasses, nodding towards Moira.

Moira said, "Me too, Chloe. You know Sasha can annoy me, demanding Ben's presence for media events."

Chloe nodded. She'd seen them argue.

"Weeks ago, it kicked off between us. You weren't there." She glanced sideways at Sasha. The media girl nodded. Moira continued. "Ben overheard us being blunt."

Sasha added, "I called her an arrogant bitch. She returned the favor."

Moria smiled. "Ben ordered us to report to him at 6pm. He gave us a simple choice: his disapproval or bend over his desk. He doesn't tolerate nasty behavior. Sasha bent straight over his desk without comment. He raised her pleated skirt. It would have impeded his cane. Feeling awful, I bent beside her. I was wearing tight navy suit pants. They wouldn't have hampered his cane from delivering blistering pain, but Ben is fair. He ordered my pants down to match Sasha. Stripping is embarrassing. It's obvious surrender. A punishment in itself. He saw my crisp white bikini panties and Sasha's bright striped bikinis. He thrashed us. Twelve unforgiving strokes. I won't kid you, it's agony. Necessary. Unless it was dreadful, it wouldn't help. He brought us to heel. Mutual pain obliterated our stupid struggles, forcing us closer together."

Chloe realized she hadn't seen them argue in a while.

Moira said, "He canes me often, Chloe. My job is impossible. I can't satisfy everyone. When my judgement is mistaken, he emphasizes my lesson. It's effective. I forget my guilt. I've paid."

Belle said, "Moira and I are pretty uncomfortable. Ben called us in early and caned us this morning. Twelve strokes for failing to identify your correct strengths during your original interview. We deserved it. Being punished beside someone humiliates you. Moira saw me surrender, strip to my panties, present my bottom and accept tremendous pain. Being beaten is shameful. Shameful, but effective." She didn't mention her almost non-existent black g-string baring her cheeks, doubling her heavenly humiliation. Her lack of attention had caused this entire problem.

Moira nodded, her fiery discomfort continuing its duty. She didn't mention the pleasure she expected this evening, sharing her shame with her girlfriend. Belle had nailed it. Having your surrender seen made it far worse. Her girlfriend would agree.

Chloe gasped. Belle nudged her glass nearer. Sipping her water, Chloe contemplated her astonishing learning. Guilt had remained, despite rejecting Ben's offer. She'd assumed it would pass. Given space, it had multiplied. She wasn't alone.

Moira said, "You're still feeling guilty, Chloe. Worse, you know we've taken our punishment."

Chloe blushed.

Jenna leaned inward. "Girl, get it over with. Let it hurt you. You need it. I promise you'll leave his office guilt free, and fucking sore."

Chloe smiled. She appreciated Jenna's vernacular purity. None of her friends... She stopped. They were friends. Glancing around, she recognized their incredible kindness towards her. None of her friends had pretended it didn't hurt. They'd admitted it was awful. "He wanted to spank me with a huge tennis shoe." Raised eyebrows responded, words redundant.

Sasha saved her further embarrassed silence. "He may not even raise your skirt."

Belle said. "You deserve it, Chloe. You hid a critical secret from your boss. Your festering guilt will inject steady poison, damaging your working relationship. We're girls. We find letting stuff go difficult. Pay for your mistake, Chloe. Bend over."

"It's humiliating," Chloe said.

Moira smiled. "An essential ingredient. I won't lie, Chloe. It's utter agony. Beautiful, necessary, ruthless agony, transcending your guilt, crushing it to meaningless dust. He's kind, but very firm. He'll expect genuine cooperation."

"Do you cry?" Chloe asked. Losing her hard-won stature was her greatest fear.

"Sometimes," Sasha said. "He gives a formal dressing down. It settles you. A healthy cry helps process your pain."

Chloe stored her fresh input, determined to analyze it.

Jenna realized Chloe's concern. Her fear of crying hid her greater fear of losing her dignity. She said, "Remember, you deserve it. Being embarrassed is unavoidable. You'll hurt. But you'll feel free afterwards. Support the process. Be honest. Cooperate. You'll feel your stature increase."

Moira said, "Sitting hurts. You'll avoid swimsuits, given your marked bottom. But you get phenomenal closure. I always thank him."

Sasha said, "Bent over, your dead-straight legs look incredible."

They all laughed, breaking the tense atmosphere.

Leaving their lunch, relief flooded Chloe. She wasn't alone. Overnight, her conscience had questioned her. Girl input helped. Moira wrapped an arm around her waist. "It wasn't an ambush, Chloe. We like you."

"Thanks," Chloe said. "I appreciate you sharing. It was kind. I imagine it was also embarrassing."

Moira nodded. "You deserved to hear that Ben caned Belle and I for our poor interviewing standards. It affected you." Disclosing her current punished status had plunged proud satisfaction into her passionate sex. Ben had delivered a blistering thrashing. Her fresh welts still throbbed his hard message. Tonight, her girlfriend would delight in her lunchtime confession, extracting repeated details until they lay exhausted, replete and, in her case, still marked by her boss's cruel, beautiful, rich, and generous rattan cane.