The Intern

Rate This Story:

Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

Purchase this story in print form!

Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Ultimate Archive: Volume 3 at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

The Intern

(****, M/F, Severe, n/c strapping, caning)

An intern discovers the cost of her internship. (Approximately 4,468 words. Originally published 2004-01.)

The intercom buzzed. "Morgan, go get me the Witzenburg file from Dale Jenkins. I need it immediately. Be back in ten minutes!"

"Yes sir!" The girl went to the computer and brought up the internal website where she found the company directory. It was her first week and she had no idea which office was Jenkins'. "Thirty-second floor, accounting department, room 49." She hurried to the elevator.

Just as the door was closing, another intern, Jenny Peake, poked her arm through, stopping the automatic doors. "Whew, made it!" Ignoring the looks of the somber men in black suits glaring at her for delaying the elevator's rise, she slid in next to Morgan, grinning. "Hi ya! Where you off to?"

Morgan smiled. She'd only met Jenny once before, but it was nice to know someone near her own age. "Thirty-two," she said.

"Forty-one," Jenny said in playful victory, pretending she'd won the competition. "I've got to get this form signed by two members of the board before 4 o'clock or the company goes bankrupt or some shit."

Morgan laughed. "I've got ten minutes to get a file from Jenkins or the world ends."

Jenny froze, her grin evaporating. "Dale Jenkins?" she whispered.

"Yeah, that's right. What's wrong?"

Jenny didn't answer for a moment, waiting as two men got off on the twenty-second floor. She pulled Morgan slightly away from the others. "Dale's a real--" she started to say when the closing doors suddenly opened and several men got in. They were in the middle of a discussion about some sort of bond deal, arguing loudly, ignoring everyone else. But their presence seemed to fluster Jenny and she went quiet.

"So what's with this Dale guy?" Morgan asked as the elevator halted on twenty-nine and the men got off, still arguing.

Jenny hesitated, then shrugged. "You'll find out soon enough."

"Come on, tell me!"

But the car had reached the thirty-second floor, and Morgan had to get off. She waved good-bye to Jenny, who'd gone strangely quiet. Now she had to find the accounting department and find the guy's office.

Room 49 was an anonymous office like any other. Morgan rapped on it tentatively.

"Come in!" called a distracted, distant voice.

The man was a small tweady guy in a neat gray suit. It was hard to tell his age: mid-thirties, perhaps mid-forties. His hair was trimmed very short and he wore tiny glasses with round lenses. He seemed like a typical geeky executive and yet there was a wiry strength about him that indicated he was stronger than he looked. He sat behind a bank of computer monitors and didn't even look up as Morgan entered. "Yes?"

"Mr. Jenkins? I'm Morgan. Mr. Kamler sent me. I'm to get the Witzenburg file."

The effect of this statement on the man was astonishing. He leaped to his feet, his face becoming ruddy with intensity. He slammed and locked the door behind Morgan, pocketing the key. She stared at him with alarm.

"Who told you about the Witzenburg file!" he hissed.

"Uh, my boss, Mr. Kamler."

"How dare you come here asking for the Witzenburg file!" he growled, almost spitting with rage.

"But sir, I just--"

"No one gets the Witzenburg file but me, you got that? It's mine, all mine!"

Morgan staggered back, stunned by the man's invective.

Suddenly he was calmer. "You're the new intern, aren't you?" he said softly.

"Er, yeah. I just started this week."

"Hmmm. Turn around, let me look at you."

Terrified and bewildered, Morgan obeyed out of instinct, only realizing after she was halfway around that she shouldn't have complied. She was wearing a short, tight skirt which showed off her neat figure, and she liked the way men looked at her, but this guy made her nervous. She remembered the locked door and grew even more uncomfortable.

"Nice ass," said the man, reaching forward and helping himself to two generous palmfuls.

"Sir!" gasped Morgan. She tried to move away, but the man pushed her against the wall, his hands squeezing her butt.

"You're a smarty pants, aren't you. Coming up here, asking for the Witzenburg file. You need a lesson. You need to be taught manners."

"Stop it! Let me go. I'll just leave, just take you hands off me!"

But the strength of the man was overpowering. Though Morgan was an inch or two taller than him, he dominated her like a man over a cowering puppy. She wasn't even sure how it happened, exactly, but she suddenly found herself lying over the man's lap. He was seated in a chair and she was draped over his legs. He was pulling up her skirt.

"Sir! Stop that!" she cried, flailing with her arms.

She received a sharp spank to her ass as a reward for that, the stinging blow stunning her immobile for a few seconds. It was just enough time for the man to get her skirt up and yank down her underwear. That shocked Morgan into total disbelief of reality. This couldn't be happening, she thought.

The spanking was real enough. The man's palm was hard as a board and he slapped her butt over and over. Morgan writhed and cried out, but the man's left arm held her tightly across his lap. She was tilted so far forward she need to brace herself with her arms and had trouble getting a hand back to protect her naked ass from the assault.

How long this lasted Morgan couldn't have guessed. It was over in seconds, but when she gratefully got to her feet and frantically rubbed at the burning cheeks of ass, she realized the spanking had been extensive. Her bottom was hot and sore, the result of over a hundred slaps that had taken several minutes to administer. Tears glistened in her eyes.

"Ohhhh," she moaned, dancing and squeezing her butt. "Oh my God, I can't believe you just did that!"

The door was open, Dale Jenkins pushing her out. "Now get out and don't come back. Let that be a lesson to you!"

In daze, Morgan returned to her cubicle. She didn't know what to make of what had just happened. It seemed like a dream. Already the sting in her bottom was gone, the warmth there almost pleasant. Had it really happened?

She knocked on Mr. Kamler's door and entered when ordered. "You got the Witzenburg file?"

"Uh, no sir. Uh..."

"What! What do you mean?" Mr. Kamler was a large man, tall and wide. At three hundred pounds, he intimated Morgan tremendously. "Didn't I just ask you to get the file? Where is it? I want it, I _need_ it now!"

"But sir, he wouldn't give it to me!"

"Who wouldn't give it to you? What are you talking about?"

"Mr. Jenkins, sir. He wouldn't give it to me. He... uh, said it was his and you couldn't have it."

"What? The nerve of that guy! I'm gonna kill the bastard!" Mr. Kamler grabbed a heavy stapler off the desk and crunched it ruthlessly, spilling a series of used staples out onto the carpet. He suddenly whirled on Morgan, causing her to back up to the doorway. "You go back up there and get me that file! Don't take no for an answer. I mean it!"

Before Morgan could protest, the door slammed in her face.

She stood for a long moment, completely unsure of what to do. Finally, she went back to the elevators. Mr. Kamler was her boss and she had to listen to him, right? The big man frightened her. He was incredibly demanding and she was so used to obeying him she couldn't tell him what Mr. Jenkins had done. Surely it hadn't happened. It had to have been some sort of bizarre dream, a nightmare during the day.

A feeling of deja vue accompanied her as she knocked on room 49 again and entered when asked. This time she stayed in the doorway, ready to bolt.

"Mmmm-Mmmm-Mr. Jenkins? Mr. K-Kamler sent me back. He's adament that I bring him the file."

Dale Jenkins looked up from his computer terminals. His demeanor was calm. He didn't appear to recognize Morgan at all. "Oh? You need a file? They're over there, in that cabinet."

Morgan hesitated. "J-just go get it?"

"Help yourself, I'm busy."

After a moment's hesitation, Morgan left the safety of the exit and approached the big metal filing cabinet. The bottom drawer was labeled "T-Z" and she tugged it open. Mr. Jenkins hadn't moved.

The drawer was packed and it took Morgan a moment to find the Witzenburg file. She was just pulling it out when a hand grabbed her hair, yanking her painfully to her feet. "Ah!" she screamed.

"What the hell are you doing! How dare you! Snooping in my files!"

Morgan tried to pull away from the man, but his grip on her hair was vise-like. "Let me go," she whined. She stared at the door, horrified to see that it was closed, probably locked. She was trapped!

"Obviously you didn't learn your lesson the first time, girl. I'll have to use stronger measures."

"Noooooo," screamed Morgan, but it was no use. Her skirt was raised, her panties were yanked down, and her buttocks bared. The spanking was hard and fast, the hand a blur as it rose and fell, tattooing her ass with red blotches of sting. Morgan could do nothing but yell and kick helplessly.

Suddenly it was over, her ass steaming with an astonishing amount of heat. "Oh God," moaned Morgan. "Why did you do that? Please, let me go. You've no idea how that burns!"

"Ah, lesson driving home, eh? Well that was nothing. This time you're _really_ going to get it."

There was a movement of air and Morgan had just enough time to expect something when there was a frightful SMACK! and her ass exploded with pain. She couldn't even cry out she was so shocked. The intensity was overwhelming. Hot ruddy pain flushed across her buttocks and through her body. She finally found her voice and howled in misery.

The horrible pain came again, tremendously loud and unbearably agonizing. A glance over her shoulder revealed that Jenkins was holding a large wooden hairbrush in his right hand. The bristles were pointed up, and the flat side was making a rude and impactful association with her ass. She whimpered in fear as the brush started down.


Oh Lord, how Morgan screeched and writhed! Her lovely twenty-two-year-old ass, so curvy and plump, was on fire. The cheeks jiggled with every spank, the heat bringing up tiny blisters all over the battered flesh. Jenkins spread the blows all over, paddling every inch of her expansive bottom until it glowed. On and on and on the spanking went, exhausting Morgan to the point where she could hardly breath.

"Have you had enough?"

A half second went by and suddenly four sharp spanks peppered Morgan's asscheeks. She squealed in pain and shouted, "Yes! Enough! God yes, that's enough. Please stop."

"Are you going to be a good girl?"

Morgan didn't know what the question meant but that didn't matter. She agree wholeheartedly.

"Okay. Now go stand in the corner like the naughty child you are. Leave your panties down and hold your skirt up so I can see your spanked ass."

Gasping for oxygen, her brain spinning, Morgan didn't dare disobey. She hobbled to the corner, her underwear trapped around her ankles. She stood holding her skirt up, her blistered bottom on display. It felt ridiculous, but she didn't care as long as the spanking was over.

The time gave her a chance to collect her breath and her thoughts, and she suddenly realized she was standing half-naked in front of a man she didn't even know. At first that embarrassed her and she wanted to turn around and look at him, but something told her that wasn't a good idea. No sense giving him any excuse to spank her some more. So she stared at the wall and thought about how much her ass hurt.

Except, truth was, her ass wasn't exactly hurting any more. Well, it was hurting, or maybe _feeling_ was a better word. She was intensely aware of it, more so than at any time in her life. The skin was hot and felt sore, but it wasn't a bad feeling. Kinda like aching muscles after a hard workout. The more she thought about it, the more she decided it was rather nice. That puzzled her until suddenly she realized that she was totally turned on!

Damn, she felt so sexy standing there, bare ass on display, cool air-conditioned breeze drifting across her crimson skin. He'd really paddled her, and at the time she thought it was the worst thing in the world, but now she wished he'd spanked her even harder, broken the brush across her ass. God she was horny.

"All right, bitch. Get out of here."

The panties, so soft and smooth this morning, felt like sandpaper as she drew them up her legs and over her swollen buttocks. She smoothed the skirt down and grabbed a tissue off the man's desk to mop her tear-stained face.

Five minutes later she was at her own cubicle, the ordinary world ticking away around her as though nothing had happened. Hadn't anyone noticed? Had it really happened? Was she dreaming?

Her ass was tender enough, but she was so horny it felt good to sit down hard on her chair and rub it in. She lifted her feet, putting her full weight on her butt, gritting her teeth at the throbbing this produced. Shockwaves of pleasure spurted between her legs.


She opened her eyes. Mr. Kamler loomed above her, massive and menacing. Shit! "Yes sir!" she put her feet down, smiling attentively at her boss.

"The file? Where's the file?"

"The file?"

"The Witzenburg file. You got it from Dale Jenkins. Did your brain fall out?"

She'd totally forgotten about the file. She blushed furiously. "I don't have it. He wouldn't give it to me."

"And I told you to not take no for an answer!" raged Mr. Kamler. "Now go get me the fucking file!"

"But sir, I can't! He...."

"He what?"


"Speak, damn it!"

"He'll..." Morgan was at a loss. What could she say? He'll spank me again? The thought sent powerful shivers through her body. She couldn't tell if she was excited or terrified. "Sir, I just can't."

Mr. Kamler folded his arms in front of his massive chest. "Do you want to work here?"

"Well, yes."

"Then get me the file."

"But sir--"

"See that clock? When it hits the hour mark, I'm ripping up your internship application. The only thing that will stop me will be if I have the Witzenburg file in my hands before then. Got it?"

Mr. Kamler didn't wait for an answer, but whirled into his office with a bang.

Morgan found herself on the elevator again, riding up to the thirty-second floor. Her heart was beating rapidly. She was afraid. She was excited. She was horny. She wanted to get spanked again. No she didn't -- that was insane. Her ass was already blistered: the thought of more spanking made her knees weak. But because of fear or desire? Oh God, she was so confused!

She stood outside office number 49 for several long minutes, afraid to knock. This time, she vowed, she'd stay outside. She knocked.

"Come in!"

"Sir, I need the Witzenburg file. Mr. Kamler insists."

The guy shrugged. "It's in the filing cabinet, I told you."

Morgan glanced at the cabinet. It was right as she'd left it, drawer "T-Z" open and everything. How long would it take her to cross over there and grab the file?

Too long, she decided. She shook her head. "Sir, can you get it for me? I'm in a real hurry."

"If you want, you get it. I'm busy."

He certainly appeared to be, engrossed in the myrid financial figures across his three screens. In fact, he appeared to not even be aware of reality, lost in the numbers, muttering to himself.

Morgan looked at the clock. Fourteen minutes to the hour. She decided to take a chance and crossed to the cabinet. She kept her eyes on Dale Jenkins the whole time. He didn't move, muttering at the screens and typing rapidly every moment or so.

She glanced at the files. Earlier she'd pulled a handful up before being apprehended, so grabbed that pile now. Another nervous glance at the man showed her she was still okay. Still no Witzenburg file. She replaced those folders and grabbed the next batch. She was on her third, with no sign of movement from the man, when she found it. She checked the label carefully. "Witzenburg" it said. It was thick, packed with data. She opened it, briefly glancing at the contents. She stood, glancing up as she did so.

And stopped abruptly as the man was standing in front of the closed door, calmly pocketing a tiny key. "Oh shit!" muttered Morgan. "How'd you--"

"Back for another dose, eh intern? That hairbrush spanking not enough for you?"

"No, it was plenty!"

"You need a real lesson. A good strapping." The guy was already pulling a long strip of leather from a desk drawer. It was thick and heavy, and he wrapped it around his right hand several loops like an expert. Morgan's knees went weak and she dropped the file, papers scattering everywhere. The thought of that strap across her bottom was horrifying!

"Skirt up, panties down," growled the man in a bored, irritated voice, as though this was routine filing job he had a duty to fulfill.

"No, please, you can't, you can't!"

"Hurry up, or it'll be worse for you!"

Later, Morgan couldn't explain why she obeyed. There was something commanding in the man's tone, of course, but she didn't usually take off her clothes just because someone told her to do so. She feared the strap and "worse" didn't sound good, but extra future punishment was too abstract to have much sway.

So why did she stumble forward, pull down her panties, lift up her skirt, and bend over the man's desk? She knew exactly what would happen if she did it: he'd lash her bottom with the leather strap. She knew he'd do it hard, too. He certainly hadn't spared her ass previously. The whipping would hurt. She didn't know how much, exactly. Was there a small part of her that wanted to find out? Granted, she was a little curious. Her buttocks were tingling in... anticipation? No, surely not!

Yet there she was, ass bared and presented, heart pounding wildly as she waited for that first unforgettable strike. There was a pause that seemed to last for a long time, then a sudden whistle of air like a hissing snake. A sharp sting cause her low across her buttocks and she gasped. A loud THWACK! filled the room and Morgan yelped as the sting intensified.

"Yowww!" she hollered, writhing on the desk. It was bad, oh, really bad. Much worse than she'd thought. The sting kept penetrating, burrowing inside her. She desperately wanted to reach back and protect her vulnerable bottom from further assault, but something told her that would be a bad idea. So she held on, wiggling her bottom in a vain attempt to get rid of the sting.

Another swish of air and the fierce stinging across her ass doubled. Tears watered Morgan's eyes. She blinked them back furiously. She gritted her teeth and clutched at the desk, resolved to not give the man the satisfaction of seeing her hurting. That's what he wanted, she knew. He wanted to see her suffer. Well, she'd show him.

Again the leather cracked across her buttocks, the tip wrapping around her right hip. It left a huge welt -- she could feel it rising on her flesh. The burn was intense, but she didn't cry out or rise up. She held steady.

As the whipping went on and on, Morgan's resolve wavered. It hurt oh-so-bad! Her ass was on fire. Jenkins knew what he was doing. He spread the blows, whipping her ass all over, from the top of the crack to the back of her thighs. Her buttocks were one huge welt. He whipped her from the left and the right, sometimes even standing behind her and whipping up from there, the tip slipping between her legs and grazing the delicate tissue there. It was all she could do not to scream.

Once Jenkins paused for a moment and as Morgan gasped for breath she thought it was over. His hand palmed her asscheeks, squeezing and feeling them. She resented his impudent touch but didn't have the energy to protest. Anything was better than being whipped.

Then the strap was licking at her ass again, the pain even worse after the brief respite. Morgan screamed in spite of herself and writhed miserably on the desk, which was slick with her sweat. The whipping wasn't over! She wanted to weep in despair but she was out of tears.

Morgan was scarcely aware of any reality beyond the sting of her bottom. The man gave her gruff orders, telling her to thrust up her bottom or spread her legs wider, and she obeyed mindlessly, wincing at the pain when the belt came down in the spot she'd so conveniently offered, but she wasn't even conscious of her own collusion in her agony.

Then, finally, unbelievably, it was over. The belt was being rolled up and put away in the desk, the stern Mr. Jenkins muttering about how he'd hoped she'd learned her lesson this time. Morgan couldn't even move. She lay there, panting, her steaming ass still exposed.

But the cool air felt ridiculously good. She knew it was an illusion, a variation of the old "stop hitting yourself with a hammer" song, but she couldn't help how she felt. It did feel good. Her buttocks were sore and achy, throbbing with heat, and some of that heat was making its way between her legs. Her sex was becoming damp with excitement as she thought about what had just happened and how she must look, draped half-naked over a stranger's desk, her ass whipped to raw hamburger.

When Morgan finally stood she discovered her panties were gone. Somehow, during the strapping, she'd kicked them off. As she looked around the room she saw them hanging on the corner of a filing cabinet. She also saw the papers belonging to the Witzenburg folder which she'd dropped. She looked over at Jenkins, and he was back at his desk, oblivious to her. She quietly knelt and began gathering all the papers together and putting them back in the manilla folder.

With the folder complete, she started to get her panties, then decided to not bother. Her butt felt hugely swollen and just the thought of those tight panties squeezing her tender skin made her wince. As she turned to leave, she ran straight into Jenkins. He was by the door, holding out his hand for the file.

"I believe that's mine," he grunted.

Fear flooded Morgan. She held the file behind her back. "No way. I'm taking this to my boss, Mr. Kamler."

Rage coursed through Jenkins' face. "Never!"

"I must, I'll lose my internship if I don't!"

Jenkins face was suddenly calmer. "And if you do, you'll end up with a sore bottom." His tone was ominous. "The strapping wasn't enough, eh?"

Morgan trembled as she watched him cross the room to a cabinet. Inside he removed a long tapering rod about a yard long. It was made of wood and perhaps a quarter inch in diameter at the thin end.

"Leave without the file or I shall thrash you," he muttered sternly.

"Than you'll have to thrash me. I'm leaving with the file."

"Very well. Over the desk."

Furious, Morgan obeyed. She didn't even care what the man did to her any more. He couldn't hurt her, not really. She knew in the end she'd win and she'd get her file. With a calmness she didn't feel in her butterfly-filled belly, she raised her skirt and bent over the desk. Her crimson buttocks curved into a tight ball which she presented to the man with the long stick. He whipped the rod through the air a few times, sending shivers down her spine.

Then came the pain. It was worse than the strap. Much worse. It was concentrated, each stroke leaving a deep pulsing weal that throbbed long after the cane left her bottom. Jenkins thrashed her hard, as she expected, and he carefully and thoroughly laid stripes across every inch of her ass. But Morgan was in another place. She felt the pain but didn't feel it. It hurt, but it also felt good. She thrived on the beating, arching her back and offering her full bottom for more punishment. As weal after cruel weal was laid on, she suffered silently, tears trickling down her face, but a smile of triumph on her lips. She knew she had him beaten. He could beat her all he wanted, but in the end, she'd win.

The caning grew more intense. Jenkins thrashed like a man possessed. He struck harder and he struck lower, catching the tender flesh between buttock and thigh. He struck at an angle, wealing over weals. He struck her across the back of her thighs.

But Morgan was resolute. The pain was intense, but _she_ was intense. The weals throbbed, but she didn't wobble. In the end, Dale Jenkins threw down the rod in disgust. "Take the damn file and get out of here, bitch," he snapped. He went back to his computer and began to work as though nothing had ever happened.

Stiff and sore, Morgan rode the elevator down wondering if everyone could see what had happened on her face. Was it as red as her ass? But she didn't even care if they could. She beamed with pleasure. She had won. The pain was just a reminder of her triumph.

She didn't bother knocking on Mr. Kamler's door but went right in, dropped the Witzenburg file on his desk, and left without saying a word. She felt ten feet tall, a queen. Though after a practice sit she decided to stand by her desk until her ass cooled a bit.

Then Mr. Kamler was there. "Sorry, Morgan, this isn't the file I needed. This is Witzenburg. I meant Witzencrantz. Would you be a dear and fetch it for me? Dale Jenkins's office."

The End

Rate This Story: