The New Boss

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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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The New Boss

(***, M/Fx11, Severe, cons 100-stroke canings)

A club owner canes his girls. (Approximately 4,396 words. Originally published 2003-12.)

"What do you think the new owner will be like?" asked Cat. She tried to keep the question casual, but her concern was evident in her voice. Only 19, she had no education or skills, no husband, and desperately needed the job to support herself and her one-year-old, Luke.

Gretta, a veteran at 23, shrugged. "Probably much the same. But who knows. He might drop a few girls, add some others."

Sally Peaches overhead the comment. "He's a devil."

"Who?"

"Jean-Paul Jones, the new boss."

"You know him?"

"I've heard of him. He owns a place in Paris. A friend of mine used to work there. Said he's really into beating girls. Likes it hard and often. She said when he took over half the girls quit, couldn't take it."

Cat's belly felt full of lead. She'd taken this job out of desperation, not because she particularly liked getting her arse whacked. Spankings were fine, but when it came to canings, she was a wimp. If the new boss was more strict, she could be in trouble.

"Do you think he'll make us change our routines?" she asked nervously.

"Probably," grunted Sally. "Yvonne -- that's my friend -- she told me he likes schoolgirl and prison scenes, hard caning, etc."

"But if we up the severity we can't do as many shows," cried Cat, thinking about how hard it was now to do four shows a week. She thought about her pathetic bank account and the bills stacked on the kitchen table. No way could she afford to do with even a pound less.

"Are you going to stay?" Gretta asked Sally.

The petite brunette shrugged. "Probably. I can't afford to quit. Besides, the prospect of a tight caning turns me on." She rubbed her ass, which fully filled the skimpy shorts she was wearing. Where portions of the bare cheeks protruded, a few pink marks still decorated the rotund flesh from a whipping she'd taken the night before.

"You're a painslut," laughed Denise, a tall Amazonian girl who was known for her preference in giving spankings rather than taking them.

The girls looked up. "Oh hi," said Gretta. "We're talking about the new boss."

Denise entered, followed by Samantha, a cute 18-year-old from Ohio, and Xia, a small Asian girl dressed in a schoolgirl uniform. Sam wore tight jeans that showed off her superb figure, especially her round backside. Cat studied her with interest as she'd only met her once. Sam's specialty was the wooden paddle and she only did one show a week.

A few minutes later Alison arrived. She was a stout red-head who was almost as tall as Denise, but at least as heavy. All the extra weight was in her 42" hips, the largest of any of the girls. Her big butt could take a lot of punishment and frequently did, for Alison couldn't get enough spanking.

Monica and Kris came in together. They looked like sisters, both blonde, about 5'8", and 115 pounds. In truth they were lovers. In their act, they were caught making out and spanked and whipped.

The last to arrive were the noisy group of Missy, a pretty blonde who claimed to be an 18-year-old virgin; Nicole, a petite girl from South Africa; and Tracy, a voluptuous brunette who was rather unfortunately -- and yet accurately -- known for having bigger boobs than brains.

"Looks like everyone's here," muttered Gretta. "I wonder where the boss is?"

"Running fashionably late, I suppose," said Monica.

"Then he's the one who ought to be spanked!" growled Denise, rubbing her palms together eagerly.

"But instead it will be all of you," said a new voice, a decidedly male voice. The girls went silent as a tall gentleman in an expensive suit entered the room. Behind him followed a man and a woman. Both were elegantly dressed, the woman in a designer pantsuit. She was stunningly beautiful. Cat wondered if she were a model. "Probably his girlfriend," she thought. The man carried a briefcase and bore the grim expression of an attorney.

"Greetings, all. I'm J.P. Jones. Everyone just calls me J.P. As you're probably aware, I'm the new owner of The Whip's Kiss, and I'd like to thank you all for coming here tonight."

The dignified man nodded at each girl in turn, welcoming her with a friendly grin.

"I realize all of you are probably concerned with what's going to happen to this club. Let me get right to the point. I own a number of fetish clubs around the world and my clubs have a reputation of putting on the best shows. I know what I'm doing. I hire the best talent, and I pay them extremely well.

"The old Whip's Kiss is finished. I have no interest in a two-bit amateur operation with lots of innuendo and a couple hand spanks to please a handful of local perverts. No, the new Whip's Kiss will be a premium establishment, extremely exclusive, catering to only the wealthiest. We will feature five-star cuisine, superior customer service, and world-class entertainment.

"That, ladies, is where you come in. I don't know if any of you are right for the new club. We will find out tonight. You're all healthy and attractive young ladies, and I'm sure you've done well with your old acts, but my clubs rise to a higher standard. We feature corporal punishment of the severest scale. Our clientele isn't interested in seeing a bottom reddened by a few hand spanks. That's too ordinary. Our clients want to see real thrashings and whippings, crimson welts and purple weals.

"If you work for my club, you will have marks, serious marks. You will suffer intense pain every show. However, you will be generously compensated. Depending on your contract, you'll only have to work a maximum of one night a week. Some of you may be popular enough to only have to work once a month. We will let our customers decide.

"Salaries will be based on your popularity, the severity of the punishments you endure as part of your act, and the frequency of your performances. I've reviewed the records of your previous employer and I'm shocked at how little compensation he provided. As my employees, I can guarantee you that each of you will be making at least 100,000 a year. Many of my girls make significantly more than that."

There were gasps at these words as the girls stared at one another in amazement. Most of them barely made a couple grand a month.

Jones continued: "Furthermore, as part of your compensation, you will receive rent-free lodging in one of my apartment buildings, if you wish. You will have full medical, dental, and vision coverage. In fact, regular medical inspections are mandatory for your safety as we don't want you to suffer from any permanent health damage. If the doctor says you're not fit to perform, you won't, and you'll still be paid your regular salary. I even offer paid maternity leave."

The girls were amazed and quickly began to discuss things among themselves. Cat was already calculating the savings of a rent-free flat versus the expensive dump she rented now. Imagine, working one night a week, making six figures, getting a free place to live, plus benefits? There had to be a catch.

Of course there was a catch. The "work" was getting your ass wealed. Ouch. The cane terrified her. But still, weren't there worse ways to earn a living? Surely it was worth trying. She'd do almost anything to get a better life for herself and Luke. Most of the others were of similar minds.

"I don't know if I trust this guy," whispered Gretta, "but it sure sounds good."

J.P. gave the girls several minutes to think about his words, then continued. "Ladies, let me continue. Obviously, if I chose you to work for me, I'm making a big investment and taking a lot of risk. I need to know I can trust that you'll follow through. After all, if I advertise a certain product -- live severe corporal punishment performances -- it would ruin my reputation if you couldn't deliver.

"In other words, I need more than just your agreement to my terms. I need to see you perform. Tonight."

There was a long silence as everyone realized what he meant.

As if my magic, there was suddenly a long whippy rattan cane in the man's hands, bent into a U and slashed through the air. Everyone went quiet.

"Here's what we're going to do. I just don't want do see you take a few token strokes -- that doesn't tell me anything. I want to see each of you take a long hard caning. We're talking 100 strokes on the bare. If you can do that, I'll know you're committed to the Whip's Kiss and I'll hire you.

"Note that there's no obligation. You can walk out of here right now. I'll give you two weeks severance pay and that will be it. If you want to try taking the caning but change your mind at any point, the same deal applies. Take the caning, you're hired. It's that simple.

"Don't expect future punishments to be this severe. This is to show me what you're capable of. A few of you may become monthlies who take such severe beatings and have the rest of the month off, but most of you will take thirty- or forty-stroke whippings once a week.

"Oh, and in case you're wondering, I'm closing the club for a couple months for renovation. That will give your bottom plenty of time to recover, so don't worry about the marks. If you're hired, you'll be paid full salary during our closure. You also can move into your apartment during that time if you desire.

"I want you to think about this decision carefully. This is not something to decide lightly. To give you more to reflect on, I've asked Miss Bishop, who works at my club in New York, to address you briefly."

The beautiful woman in the pantsuit now stepped forward. She beamed at the girls.

"Ladies, you are being given the opportunity of a lifetime. Very few girls are talented enough to work for Mr. Jones. He has the highest standards and pays top wages. I have worked for him for nearly ten years, since I was nineteen years old. I can assure you that the work is intense and challenging, but the rewards worth it. If you are careful with your expenditures, you could be ready to retire by age 40.

"I am sure you have questions, and they will be answered in due course. Meanwhile, let me answer the most obvious question, the one all potential employees want to know: just how severe a caning must you endure?"

Smiling coyly, Miss Bishop turned and slipped out of her pantsuit. The move was so graceful that it was almost like a magic trick. One moment she was standing there elegantly dressed, the next her outfit was gathered in a puddle at her feet and she was stark naked.

The watching girls, familiar with beauty, were still impressed. Miss Bishop's breasts were modest but impressive, her hips curved, her ass a tight round ball. She nodded at J.P. and bent and touched her toes perfectly, her knees straight.

J.P. leveled the cane at her ass, then flicked it hard across the milky white spheres. The woman didn't move but a crimson weal blossomed. She held still as strokes began to rain down on her ass. Line after scarlet line quickly turned the cheeks into a roadmap of weals. The watching women began to fidget nervously as the caning went on and on.

Finally, after about fifty strokes, J.P. stopped swinging the rod and Miss Bishop gracefully stood. She was grinning, though her smile had a grimness to it.

"Thank you, sir," she said, nodding to the man. She turned to the ladies. "That's a routine beating, for me. At one time I thought that was a lot, but now it's what I take regularly, in my act. I can take more, of course, if I need to, but takes my skin longer to recover.

"Don't think it doesn't hurt. I may not show much reaction, but every stroke is agony. I have a special place in my mind I go to during a beating, and somehow I bear it. It doesn't get easier with practice. The first stroke is always the worst. That's when I have the most doubts, and that initial shock of pain always makes me wonder if I can endure it. But I do. I do it because I will myself to endure it. That's all this is: a test of will.

"If you have the will to face this and endure it, you can make a lot of money. You'll only have to work a few times a month. The rest of your time is yours. It's not a bad life at all. I have lots of friends and admirers, I keep fit and healthy, and the pain is temporary. I am happy."

There was a pause. "So, how many of you are interested in applying?"

There was dead silence. Not a girl moved. Then Sally stood. "I'll have a go," she whispered. The look on her face said she was wondering if she was doing the right thing.

J.P. nodded. "Excellent. Come up to the stage. The way I'd like to do this is to have everyone who wants to try to come up here right away. If you don't want to try, my attorney, Mr. Foxsworth, will have you sign a termination agreement and provide you with a final paycheck.

"If you choose to come up here onto the stage, I'll have all of you strip naked. That will save us time. Then I'll go to each girl and give her ten strokes. I'll keep repeating that, ten for each of you, until we've completed ten rounds. Ten strokes at a time isn't the traditional way you'd suffer a thrashing, but most of you will find it's a little easier to bear with a breather between the sessions.

"So, anyone want to leave? Someone else want to come up here?"

There were loud discussions as groups of girls huddled together to talk about this unprecedented offer. After a few minutes, Monica and Kris got up and went onto the stage. A moment later Alison followed.

Then Missy stood, shaking her head. "I'm out of here," she said. "I like being spanked, not caned."

One by one, various girls stood and made their decision. Denise wavered, then decided to leave. Gretta stayed, as did Nicole and Tracy. Samantha also made her way to the front. Xia hesitated for a long time but finally chose to stay. All eyes went to Cat, who hadn't decided. She thought about her son, the crappy flat she lived in, the stack of bills. She took a deep breath and joined her friends.

J.P. was pleased. Almost all the girls had decided to stay. A few wouldn't make it, probably, but this was a good start. It would save him the trouble of having to recruit.

"Okay, ladies, strip off. Everything. And let's get started."

The girls quickly stripped. In their line of work this was normal, and nothing to fuss about. Their bodies were all youthful and sexy, with full breasts, narrow waists, and round plump buttocks. J.P. had the girls turn their backs to him and he studied row of bottoms with unhidden delight.

"Marvelous, marvelous, ladies. You're all gorgeous."

The heights of the girls varied causing the row of nude bottoms to not run in a smooth line, but roll up and down like a wave. The shapes of the bottoms were also varied. Some girls had wider hips. Others were smaller, more delicate. Some buttocks were "bubble butts," with an extreme jut. Others were taller, more vertical. The colors of the asses varied the most, ranging from lily white to a deep milk chocolate tan.

The variety pleased J.P. a great deal. He loved bottoms, all bottoms, and this was an impressive sight. That he was about to weal them all mercilessly just made the view all that much more exciting.

Then the man did something horrible. Looking at the line of girls he said, "Let's go in reverse order. You there, on the end. Come over here."

Cat, feeling like she'd just been slapped, stared at him in horror. She shook her head. "Oh please, not me first," she moaned.

"Why not? 'Those who are last shall be first, and the first shall be last.' Step over here, girl, and let's get this over with."

Trembling in terror, Cat made her way over to the man. She couldn't believe this was happening. She psyched herself up for the trial, but she'd thought she had time yet before she made her final decision. After all, she could always back out when they got to her. But now she could not. She was to be the first and that terrified her.

"Grab your ankles, please."

Trembling, she obeyed. Her back arched and boldly presented her ass to the man in a way that made her insides quiver. She was proud of her figure -- she worked hard to keep shapely -- but she didn't like this position. It made her ass seem huge and it was totally obvious how vulnerable her bottom was, just waiting for the lashes of the cane.

There was a whistling sound and the cane cracked across her rump. Cat gasped. She writhed in misery as a fierce burn seared her butt. Just one stroke was worse than the entire spanking she took in her act. There the pain was mild and warm and by the end, when the paddling was harder, she wasn't as sensitive.

"Oh my God!" she cried even as the cane snapped forward again. It nearly knocked her over and she wavered, desperately trying not to fall over, trying to absorb the pain somehow.

The caning continued, a stroke every ten seconds or so. Five, six, on and on. The next stroke took Cat's breath away as she staggered, moaning and crying, desperately wondering how she was going to endure this. Another cut, down low, the worst yet. She screamed and stood up, writhing.

"No more, no more!" she cried, grabbing her ass and dancing away from the man with the cane.

But he just smiled. "That was ten. Next is you there, on the end."

Xia shuddered and quickly got in position. Through watery eyes Cat watched as the oriental girl was given ten severe strokes. Xia's petite buttocks were lined with crimson marks when it was over, and Cat suddenly wondered what her own ass looked like. She tried looking at it over her shoulder, but that just gave her a sore neck.

"Trust me: you don't want to look," grunted Tracy, who was nearby as Samantha had reluctantly left the line to take her whipping. "Your ass is grass."

"It feels like I sat on a hot iron."

Tracy moved back into position as Xia came back, walking awkwardly. "Shit, that was hell," Xia muttered, hand on her ass. "Oh Lord, feel those weals."

"Only nine more to go," said Tracy, wincing as the sound of the Sam's caning echoed around the room.

One by one each girl went forward to take her beating, some confidently, others extremely nervous. Alison and Sally took it the best, while Gretta made the most fuss, getting up twice during the ten.

Finally, it was Cat's turn again. Her stomach was in knots. She couldn't believe she was going to have to endure that much pain again. Except this time it would be worse as her ass was already sore.

Sure enough, the first stroke nearly made her quit. It seemed harder, and the pain reached its peak quicker. But she thought of Luke and held on. Somehow she survived.

Soon everyone had taken twenty, then thirty. Cat was sobbing after her third turn, wondering how she was going to make it. She couldn't take any more, she just couldn't.

But then something interesting happened. Samantha, nervous as a new prison inmate, suddenly chickened out. She'd taken four strokes of her third set when J.P. quickly gave her three licky cuts in a row. It was too much. She leaped up, grabbing her ass and howling.

"Forget it, I'm done!" she shouted. "It's not worth it."

"Are you sure?" asked J.P. "You've taken a whipping for nothing if you quit now."

"That's okay. I just know I can't take any more now, and I couldn't take this much on a regular basis. I'm gone."

So Samantha left. The canings continued. Sally and Alison appeared unfazed by the pain, taking their strokes with seeming ease. Cat bent for her fourth set, her heart pounding with fear. She knew enough about the sting of the rod to fear it intently, and she wasn't sure how she could take much more. But watching Sam leave had stiffened her resolve: she didn't want to have taken this much punishment for nothing.

But to her surprise the pain wasn't that bad. It was bad, no question, but it wasn't as horrible as she'd first thought. Perhaps her ass was getting numb. She breathed a little easier, found that the warmth of her ass had drifted between her legs and she was getting a little hot. Looking around discretely, she slipped a hand down there and gave herself a quick rub. Shit, she was soaking! Sometimes she got that way during a spanking, but only when the pain was below a certain level. Usually intense pain turned her off.

Everyone survived the fourth round, but into the fifth Tracy faltered. After four strokes she stood, shaking her head, and had to be convinced to return. She did, yelling a lot during her 55th and 56th strokes, gritting and bearing it through the next few. When she stood she was sweating heavily and her eyes were red from crying.

Once again Gretta was noisy but managed to endure, though she wept copiously. Alison took her easily. Kris was having a harder time bearing it, but encouragement from Monica kept her in place. Sally, to the disgust of the others, seemed to be enjoying her beating. It hurt and she looked determined, but seemed to be very pleased with herself.

Oddly, the sixth round was easy for Cat. She was fiercely aroused and the strokes -- which hurt horribly -- seemed to stimulate her. Xia took hers bravely though her small bottom was completely ravaged, every stroke falling on previous damage.

Tracy wavered even before bending, and at the first stroke, she stood and walked away. She wouldn't even listen to the others. She was done.

Gretta was watching Tracy closely, and when the brunette left, she decided to leave also. Cat watched her go with deep sadness, for she was a good friend.

There were only seven left now. Everyone knew what to expect, and the beatings were almost routine. Except for the occasionally really hurtful cut, most of the girls were taking their whippings well. Cat struggled at times, but managed to stay in the game.

The eighth round came and everyone was taking the strokes well. Cat survived, and Xia, though in agony, seemed so determined it was obvious she was going to endure. Nicole had been suffering in silence and continued that trend. Alison took hers with a smile: she loved severe beatings.

Kris again had to be reassured by her lover, but even Monica had a difficult time.

Sally, who enjoyed being caned, had had her fill. She reluctantly bent into position and writhed as she took the ten strokes.

Slowly Cat approached for the final round. She'd taken 90 strokes. Her buttocks felt like lead. The weals were hugely swollen, thick and wound together like snakes across her ass. Just bending hurt, and she didn't dare think about how she'd feel tomorrow. She just needed to concentrate. Her fear was gone. This was no longer the unknown, something terrifying to fear. Now it was mere reluctance to expose herself to further pain. But she knew now she could do this. She had the will. It was just the matter of doing it.

The ten strokes were over in a minute. Cat rose up, wincing but grinning.

"Well taken," said J.P. holding out a congratulating hand. "Mr. Foxsworth will give you an employment contract."

Cat smiled weakly. "Just as long as I can stand up to sign it!"

The rest were a formality. Xia and Nicole took theirs impassively, Xia complaining only afterward and Nicole wiping away a solitary tear. Alison sighed deeply when her ten were done, and she spent a lot of time kneading her buttocks before she went to sign her contract.

Kris and Monica were consoling each other after their whippings, Monica even joking about taking Kris over her knee when they got home.

The surprise was Sally, who struggled a bit during the final strokes, rising up and asking for a breather. She did endure, however, and happily signed her contract.

It was all over.

The girls stood around inspecting each other's bottoms, admiring the purple and black rules that decorated their buttocks. There were smiles all around now, even some joking. Alison and Sally were arguing over who had the most welted ass. The others joined in and Alison won the vote -- Sally complaining that the red-head's fair skin made her mark better.

Cat went home feeling really good. Her ass was killing her, but she no longer cared. She had two month's advance pay in her pocket, enough to put a good dent in her debt, and two months off to heal. Plus, Mr. Foxsworth had given her the number of the apartment complex J.P. owned and said she could call them in the morning. She could move in immediately, if she wanted.

In the back of her mind was a dull warning that whispered something about "having to do this again every month," but she ignored it. That was months away, and of course it wouldn't be as bad as this. A mere fifty strokes? She could take that easily!

The End

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