6 of the Best Discipline at Work Stories (8 page)

    "How many do you want?"

    She stared at him and did not answer. "How many do you want?" he asked
again.

    "O-One?" she tried and he only laughed.

    "Since you will not cooperate we will let the dice decide. He pointed
to a pair of dice on the counter of the bar and she walked over and
picked them up. It was like a dream. She did not have any control of her
actions. She felt she no longer had any control of anything. She didn't
even know who she was any more.

    "The first die will be the number of strokes per set. The second die
will be the number of sets."

   
Charlotte
rolled.
A six.
John
smiled gleefully and rubbed his hands
together and took a practice swing with the cane.
Charlotte
shrugged. It
almost did not matter anymore. She threw the second die.
A four.
Four
sets of six.
Twenty-four strokes.
Ouch.

    "How do we do it?" she asked quietly, amazed at her calmness.

    "Over to the chair," he ordered, almost drooling in his lust. "Climb
over the back and grab the arms and let your beautiful legs dangle
behind the chair. Your bottom should be right up near the top."

    Without a word the girl obeyed, mounting the chair as instructed. It
was quite awkward and difficult but she finally managed, feeling quite
shameful at the way her bottom was thrust up and outward. She waited,
scarcely able to breathe.

    The first stroke sounded like a firecracker and the horrible line of
pain across her ass made
Charlotte
's eyes water. She bit her lip at the
second and third crack but the fourth made her cry out. "Please!" she
screamed but
John
only laughed and gave her five and six.

    Number seven he gave her from the other side and she soon realized why.
The tip of the cane held the majority of the force of the blow meaning
that the far buttock took the brunt of each stroke. By switching sides
John
now punished her left buttock with six brutal blows.

    Next he gave her two from each side at angles so that the blows crossed
the welts of the earlier parallel strokes. These took her breath away
they hurt so badly and it was here she began to sob. Then he gave her
three even strokes across her thighs from each side, and then a sharp
angled cut that went across her left thigh and struck her right buttock.
He repeated that last from the other side.

    Slowly
Charlotte
got down from the chair and stood awkwardly on wavering
legs. Her buttocks and thighs felt like they had been torn to ribbons.
Her whole body ached but she was astonished to realize that now, after
the horrible, agonizing flashes of pain from each stroke of that cane,
that her sex was wet and oozing again. She blushed and hoped
John
wouldn't notice.

    "There's my private bathroom over there," whispered
John
suddenly, his
voice low and husky. He had his back to her she saw with surprise. "You
can shower and get dressed. You are free to go."

   
Charlotte
saw where he pointed and ran to the bathroom. The shower was
luxurious after all the pain, and when she emerged, fresh and clean and
dressed and again looked like a classy businesswoman, she felt almost
human again. She did not speak to
John
but left quickly, silently.

    He heard her go and did not turn around. Tears filled his eyes. He
watched from the window and saw her finally emerge and go to her car.
She walked quickly and with purpose and soon was gone. He shook his
head. She was so beautiful. Why did she have to be so goddamned
gorgeous?

    He grew angry and threw his martini glass across the room, watching it
shatter near the bar. He stared after it sullenly. "It wasn't supposed
to happen this way," he thought miserably. "She was supposed to be a
stuck-up bitch, a whore in office clothes, and I was supposed to
dominate her and punish her and that was that. She wasn't supposed to
cooperate and be so goddamned _willing_ and _accepting_!" With a growl
John
paced the office and finally threw himself into the chair.

    It was so unfair. From the moment he had first seen her he had wanted
to see what she looked like under her panties, and now he had done that
but wanted more. He wanted to get to know this woman, to understand her.
Why would she endure all that just for some business deal? Was her
company really so important to her? He doubted he'd pay that price for
any one of his own companies.

    He shook his head. It just wasn't fair. He was falling for this quiet,
reserved blonde and he had just ruined everything. She'd never speak to
him again, not as a man, only as a business partner. He could force her,
of course, but that was not something he desired any more. He no longer
wanted to dominate her--he wanted to love her. And he wanted her love
i
n
return. Could she ever forgive him?

    He picked up the telephone and dia
l
led a number. "Hector? Get me
Smith-Loader
.
Yeah, the company.
I know that. Just get it.
Yeah, the
whole thing.
Buy it outright. Do it openly, obviously. We want everyone
to know that
Smith-Loader
is stable and will meet all of its debts.
Yes. Set up a meeting with Valentine at the DOT for next month. We're
gonna
get those contracts if it kills us!
Right.
Bye."

    He spun the chair and watched the office revolve around him. He had
impulse to pick of the phone and dial
Charlotte
Fletcher's number. But
what could he say? His mind replayed the scenes from the evening,
admiring her form, her grace, her dignity even as he thrashed her skin.
God, what a woman!

    He had to have her. Somehow he had to have her. His impulse was to grab
her. To simply
t
ake what he wanted. After all, that was how he got most
things. But he knew that that was not the way to get her. He wanted her
heart, and you couldn't just go take that. He had to conquer it, seduce
it.

    Slowly a smile came over his face. He knew what he'd do. Miss Fletcher
would someday be his!

My name is
Kara
and I'm now twenty years old and in my final year at a
certain university in the North East of England that I won't name
because, as you will quickly realise, I have good reason for not wanting
to be personally identified.

In the past I've always gone home during the holidays but this year I
heard about a summer job going in a small general dealer's shop near to
the flat we rent and I decided to stay up here because, even with the
expense of having to keep the flat on by myself for a couple of months,
it was going to be worthwhile financially - I can never get a holiday
job back home.  I worked a five day week - although the shop opened on a
Sunday the owner and his family were the only ones in that day because I
think he would have had to pay a higher rate of wages.  My other day off
was supposed to be variable but in practice it usually ended up being
the Monday, which suited me because I preferred having two days
together.

I enjoyed the work, which wasn't very demanding, and in a few weeks I
knew several the regular customers.  Thursday afternoons were quiet and
I was in the shop by myself because the boss had gone off to the cash
and carry to collect some things where we were running short.  Two old
dears who shopped there regularly came in, and I was chatting to them
and serving them at the same time.  The first bought a packet of
biscuits and as I was ringing it in the other asked whether it would be
okay to pay with a ten pound note.  I left the drawer open and as soon
as I finished with the first one I checked that we had plenty of change.

"Yes, that's fine Mrs Potter - what did you want?"

It wasn't a big order - just a couple of tins - and I quickly totalled
the items in my head and gave her the change while we were still
talking. It was only as they left the shop that I glanced down and saw
that the till drawer was still open and the ten pound note was on top.
The temptation was instantaneous.  Of course I'd quite innocently
forgotten to ring it in but even so the sale had only come to one pound
seventeen so if the ten pound note happened to vanish there would be a
shortage of almost nine pounds.  Unless...

It was so easy really.  The boss wouldn't be back until five o'clock and
even on a quiet afternoon like this it wouldn't be any problem to not
ring in another nine pounds worth of sales while I left the till drawer
open.  None of our customers ever thought to ask for receipts and I
could either put the money straight in or just ring in a smaller amount
- while I kept a note of the differences, it wouldn't be a problem.  I
don't think I made a conscious decision - my shoulder bag was under the
counter, and I found myself slipping the ten pound note into the zip
top.

"I don't think you should be doing that"

I jumped as if I'd been shot and as I stood straight, the note still
held between my fingers, I could feel the colour rushing to my cheeks.

It was Mr
Bennett
- aged about thirty and quite good looking, he was one
of the
most friendly
people who used the shop regularly - a rep for a
computer firm he worked from home and often popped in for odds and ends.
I'd missed seeing him come in - it must have been while I'd been serving
just before.

"I
er
.."

In retrospect I could have bluffed - I could have said something about
having had to lend the money to the till earlier, but I was too numbed
with shock at being discovered to do anything but look guilty.

"I wonder what Mr Brown is going to have to say about this?"  "I wonder if he knows he's

employing
a thief?"

Actually hearing it put into words like that probably served to bring
into focus very rapidly just what I'd been about to do.

"Oh please - I didn't mean to... I mean, I don't know what I was
thinking of.  Don't tell him please."

He snorted, clearly not impressed by grovelling pleas after the event,
and looked me up and
own
in a way that made me want to crawl into a
hole.  His whole attitude said 'That's what girls of today have come to
is it?'

"Of course it's not the first time Mr Brown's had this sort of trouble
to deal with.  Last time it was a lad he'd employed to do deliveries who
tried it.  He got fined about £50 and put on probation if I remember
rightly.  Of course, being in court and being fined might be traumatic
in itself but it's the other things really - like losing your job, your
reputation, having a criminal record for evermore when anyone else is
thinking of employing you, having your name in all the papers branding
you as a common thief, all your family and friends finding out...