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.
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Differing Point Of View
(****, M/F, Intense, office caning, sex)
Two points of view of the same disciplinary event. (Approximately 1,621 words. Originally published 2004-01.)
Claire winced when she saw the yellow sticky note on the front of Sammy's computer terminal. "Shit," she thought, "in trouble again!"
It was the second time this week. Sammy was heading for a record. She was good at her job, but a poor judge of office politics. She and the new branch manager clashed at every opportunity and unfortunately Sammy wasn't shy about letting the man know her feelings.
At ten after nine, Sammy arrived. She looked spectacular, as usual. She wasn't wearing anything fancy -- a simple white blouse and gray skirt -- but with her attractive face and curvy body it was appealingly sexy despite the conservative cut. She looked like the minister's wife you wanted to fuck in the balcony during the choir's loudest number.
"Late again," murmured Claire. Their eyes met briefly, then Claire looked to Sammy's desk. The loan office stopped in surprise when she saw the note. She tore it from the monitor aggressively, a fierceness in her eyes. Claire quickly focused on her screen, typing rapidly, pretending ignorance as Sammy stomped passed her.
Sammy pounded on the big wooden doors sealing the branch manager's office, then thrust them open without waiting for an answer. Claire's palms were moist and her lips dry as she stared in astonishment. She couldn't help but admire Sammy's bravery, but wasn't it foolish?
The doors folded shut and there was quiet. Claire made brief eye contact with several others in the office. Everyone looked nervous and alert, as though expecting a bomb to go off any second. Claire strained to hear anything from the office. It wasn't totally soundproof and often, if they were shouting, she could hear a glimmer of whatever they were arguing about.
All too quickly there came the sound she dreaded most of all: it was a dull crack, like that of a distant gunshot, or perhaps a book being dropped on the ground. The entire office came to a momentary halt as all the women stared at each other, eyes as big as silver dollars.
After an eternal pause of thirty seconds or so, the sound was repeated. This time it was accompanied by the unmistakable cry of a woman in pain.
"Shit, that's Sammy again, isn't it?" hissed Marie, leaning over Claire's desk.
Claire nodded, her face white. Marie shuddered and scurried off, shaking her head and trembling. All the bank girls were terrified of Brian's cane: only a few had been privileged to appreciate its sting, but those had described the process vividly, and everyone, except Sammy, it seemed, lived under the shadow of that dreaded rattan rod.
The faint sounds from the office continued. It was easy to hear them, for the entire building had gone silent, as though holding its breath.
Claire kept a running count of the number of cracks. There were often long pauses between the strokes: Brian obviously wanted to torment the girl extra by making her think the punishment was over. She'd gotten to ten when she heard Sammy give out a loud moan.
"God, she must be in agony," she thought bitterly, tears glistening in her eyes. Claire had only been caned once -- four strokes -- and she had thought that was enough pain to kill her. She could scarcely imagine taking ten.
But the caning wasn't over: eleven cracked down, followed by a distant shriek of agony, quickly quelled by the final, twelfth stroke. Of course Claire didn't know it was the final at the time: she held her breath for a long time, waiting for and dreading the thirteenth, but instead of it there was a rattle at the door and Sammy emerged, disheveled with pink eyes and moist cheeks.
She went straight to her desk and quietly sat down and began to work. Claire trembled inside. The girl was amazing, so brave it frightened her. How could she be so calm? How could she just sit down and work as though nothing had happened?
Claire sighed and forced herself to disassociate. It wasn't her problem, she told herself. Sammy was an adult -- she knew what she was doing. If her behavior got her bottom whacked than that's the price she paid. Besides, Sammy never complained or seemed unhappy about her situation -- she often even laughed about it, joking that working under Brian was like going through a second childhood.
But Claire sensed a hidden emotion behind those words. Sammy must really hate him, she thought.
Sammy was cursing herself lightly as she pushed open the bank doors. Late again, not a good example for the senior loan officer to set. She glanced around the office, nodding at a few faces. Few met her gaze until she focused on Claire, but the younger woman quickly looked away, as though embarrassed. Sammy was puzzled until she saw her computer screen.
"Another goddamn Post-It note!" she roared to herself. It was enough to make her spit fire. She hated those goddamn notes with a passion, especially stuck on her monitor. It was like being sent a note to visit the principal in school. Ridiculously childish!
Sammy tore the note off her screen and marched into Brian's office. He was on the phone, but quickly excused himself as she shut and locked the doors behind her. She turned, ready to let him have it, but he was there, lips touching hers. Hungrily, she pressed against him, her libido surging wildly.
Is it because he's married? she thought. Or because he's my boss? Either way she was fucked and she knew it: this was wrong, so very, very wrong. But there was little she could do about it now -- she'd opened the door and her desires were now beyond her control.
She embraced him tightly, kissing back passionately. Roughly, he pushed her toward the desk. Her belly did flips in anticipation. She undid her skirt and let it drop around her ankles. Her underwear immediately followed.
He bent her over the desk, her bare assets facing him. She was slender, but her hips were considerably wider than her waist, and the round moon of her buttocks was the most beautiful thing in the world to him.
"A dozen," he whispered, giving her fair warning.
Sammy gasped in horror and excitement. "Oh my God," she sighed, "please be merciful."
"Never!" he hissed, and he brought the long cane down hard across both asscheeks.
Sammy sputtered and gasped, desperately trying not to cry out. It felt like someone was pouring acid on her flesh.
Then Brian was there, his wet tongue skillfully licking the stinging wound. His tongue flicked over her crack, tantalizingly near the hypersensitive flesh of her anus. She quivered and gave a low moan.
Brian stood and flexed the cane, then let her have the second stroke. She bore this one a little better, since she knew what to expect, but the pain was still significant. She was grateful for Brian's tongue and his powerful hands as they caressed her body.
Slowly, the caning progressed, strokes three, four, and five, each with a longer pause between them as Brian took more and more time to fondle her. As the pain mounted, so did her pleasure. By the eighth stroke she was begging him to enter her, but he only toyed with her, running his stiff shaft along the insides of her thighs or along the crack of her ass.
"Oh God, take me, Brian, hurry!" she gasped.
But nine came, a real thriller, along the base of her buttocks where the flesh was the most plump and sensitive. Sammy rose on tiptoes, her cries of pain becoming cries of desire when she felt the moist head of his penis rubbing her.
Then he was gone. There was a swish and pure agony flooded through her. He'd struck her in the exact same place again! The double weal was hideously painful and Sammy wept loudly, her tears turning to vivid moans of joy when he thrust into her. His ravaging was like his caning, sharp and passionate, and over much too soon.
She barely felt eleven. Her only pain now was the loss of his member inside her. She ached for it, thrust out her bottom to receive it, and welcomed it back with frantic pulses of her internal muscles that squeezed every ounce of hardness from him. He gasped, a low moan escaping his lips.
"Oh God!" he breathed, his fingers gripping the desk so hard it threatened to break.
There was a huge surge of movement, the two moving as one, and everything exploded into a myriad of diamond lights and twinkling fireworks. The sound echoing around the room, Sammy realized with a sigh, was her scream of ultimate pleasure.
"This is so bad, so very, very bad," she whispered to Brian as he pulled his pants back on.
"It is, you're absolutely right. If my wife should find out, I'm ruined. We must stop."
"Yes, we must." Sammy paused. "The twelfth stroke. You only gave me eleven."
"Oh right." He leveled the cane as Sammy bent back over, and delivered a sharp cut right across the middle.
"Oooh," she groaned, rising and rubbing her striped buttocks. "That's making me hot again."
"Let's meet tonight," he whispered. "Work late. We'll go out for a drink."
Sammy shook her head, but her lips said, "Okay."
She dressed and composed herself, then left the office. At her desk she sat, the fire in her bottom reminding her of evening appointment.
She noticed Claire watching her, and gave her a rueful smile and shrugged her shoulders as if to say, "What can you do?"
God she loved that man.