By Anthony Vallance from Februs 18
Cherri sat on the very edge of her bar stool as the young blonde continued with her story. Her voice was a whisper that Cherri had to strain to catch but what she was saying was so interesting that Cherri could not resist the temptation to eavesdrop.
‘Well,’ the young woman whispered to her equally young and blonde friend, ‘I don’t mind playing along with most things, but, well, this was different. I mean how did I know he was going to try, you know, that?’
The second blonde nodded sagely. ‘I did warn you,’ she said. ‘I lasted two days before I called it quits,’ she added.
‘Two days? Well, I was only there for today,’ the first one responded, ‘but I was thinking of going back.’
The second blonde smiled knowingly. ‘If you think you can take that sort of treatment...’
The words hung in the air, waiting for an answer that never came. The topic of conversation changed abruptly with the arrival of the young women’s boyfriends. Suddenly the laden whispers and the mysterious, knowing glances were swapped for happy smiles and hugs all round.
Damn! Cherri was left with the feeling that she’d missed out on the juiciest details. She sat up straight on her stool and sighed. From what she had heard the women had been talking about a local employer who seemed to take great delight in mistreating his employees. Exactly how she had not been able to discover, but it sounded horrible nevertheless. Whoever he was, and whatever he was doing, he sounded like he deserved to be exposed...
Cherri liked the sound of the idea. After all, as a reporter it was her job to expose the crooked and the nasty to the full glare of publicity. It was her job to crusade for truth and goodness and niceness and other things. The only problem was that Mr Smedley, her granite-faced employer, was more keen that she cover the opening of garden fetes than in her skills as an investigative journalist.
When one of the young women got up to go to the loo Cherri decided it was time to follow up the story She jumped off her bar stool and followed the blonde into the ladies.
‘Excuse me,’ she said nervously, ‘but I couldn’t help overhearing what you and your friend were talking about.’
The blonde, peering into a mirror with pursed lips ready for another thick coat of red lipstick, turned an icy stare at Cherri. ‘What of it?’ she asked suspiciously.
Cherri blushed suddenly. ‘I was just interested in finding out more,’ she said quietly.
‘What’s it to you?’ came the icy reply.
‘Well,’ Cherri explained quietly, ‘I’m a reporter and I wanted to expose the man you were talking about.’
The young woman looked back at Cherri with undisguised anger. ‘You do, do you? What’s it got to do with you or anyone else what Mr Hartley gets up to?’
‘Mr Hartley,’ Cherri repeated. ‘If he’s abusing his position and exploiting...’
The young woman laughed. ‘Is that what you heard?’
Cherri smiled. ‘Yes, I thought that’s what you and your friend were saying.’
The woman’s smile broadened. ‘Well, I think you’re right then,’ she said. ‘You ought to get to the bottom of this.’
Cherri beamed. It wasn’t so hard to get people’s trust, she realised. All it took was a bit of honesty. ‘Does that mean you’ll help me?’
The blonde applied a layer of vivid red to her lips. ‘Sure,’ she agreed when she had finished and admired the results in the mirror. ‘What’s your name by the way?’
‘Well Cherri,’ the woman confided quietly, ‘give Mr Hartley of Hartley and Co. a ring tomorrow. Tell him you’re interested in the position of personal assistant. If he asks, tell him that Angie sent you.’
‘Okay,’ Cherri agreed. ‘And then what’ll happen?’
‘You’ll see. Oh, and when you turn up for the interview, dress smart. He likes his assistants to look good; short skirts, high heels, that sort of thing.’
Cherri listened earnestly. At last she was going to go undercover. She had no idea where the story might lead but she knew that it was going to be important to her. ‘Is there anything else I should know, Angie?’
Angie smiled. ‘Yes. If you want to get the full details then go along with everything he says. Understand?’
‘Perfectly,’ Cherri replied.
Hartley and Co. were a big firm of accountants with offices in the same street as the Surrey Courier. She hoped that no one from the paper would see her going into Hartley’s plush office. Mr Smedley would be furious if he found out that far from being sick in bed she was actually going undercover to fathom out the truth about Mr Alan Hartley’s evil goings on.
The receptionist at Hartley’s was a dark haired woman with fiercely painted lips and eyes that fixed on Cherri as soon as she walked in. Cherri was suddenly conscious of her short black skirt and her shiny black high heels that made her walk unsteadily. The skirt was perhaps a shade too short; she had drawn all kinds of attention to herself as she had marched down the high street. The stiff breeze that lifted the back of the skirt had done nothing to help, and she was certain that her dark panties had been flashed to half the population.
‘You’re here to see Mr Hartley,’ the receptionist told Cherri.
Cherri smiled nervously. ‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said. ‘I’m here for the interview.’
The receptionist leaned across her desk and lifted the phone. She was wearing a low cut top which revealed large firm breasts encased in a lacy black bra. Despite the piercing brown eyes and the unfriendly manner the receptionist was very attractive, Cherri thought.
‘She’s here,’ the receptionist said, speaking directly to Mr Hartley. ‘Yes, I’ll send her up straight away.’
Cherri looked around furtively. She had planned on bringing a concealed tape recorder or perhaps a video camera but had decided it was probably too risky to try it during the interview. But if everything went to plan and she was offered a job by Mr Hartley then she planned on getting all the incriminating evidence she needed later.
‘If you’ll follow me,’ the receptionist said as soon as she put the phone down.
They walked through the reception and then along a narrow corridor that was bounded by closed doors on one side and an open plan section on the other. Most of the people in the open plan office looked very busy, hard at work in front of computer screens or else talking on the telephone. There was no doubt that Hartley’s was a successful and busy company. In that case it was even worse that Mr Hartley was so awful, Cherri decided. One of the young women working in the office looked up at Cherri and smiled. Cherri smiled back and the young woman’s grin broadened. It seemed such a friendly office too.
‘After you,’ the receptionist said, opening the door to a narrow flight of stairs.
‘Thank you,’ Cherri said, going first. The stairs were quite steep and as she climbed them she became aware that the receptionist was keeping her distance. She glanced down quickly and saw that the receptionist’s eyes were fixed firmly on Cherri. Her skirt was so short, she realised. Her face flushed red as she understood why she had been asked to go first. Her thin black panties were pressed tightly between her bottom cheeks and the other woman seemed to be enjoying the view...
Cherri’s face was still burning red when she reached the top of the stairs. Mr Hartley’s office was there on the left, his name etched in the solid brass nameplate.
The receptionist, ignoring Cherri’s red faced embarrassment, knocked sharply on the door. When the barked reply came she opened the door and marched in, followed meekly by Cherri.
Mr Hartley was a solid looking gentleman of about forty five, with greying hair and blue eyes that sparkled with a good humour that Cherri had not expected to find. She had imagined an ogre not the distinguished-looking and rather attractive figure standing in front of his desk, his hand outstretched.
‘Please, don’t look so nervous,’ he said, shaking her hand.
She managed a shy, nervous smile. It should have been so easy. She had imagined taking an instant dislike to Mr Hartley, and instead here he was doing his best to put her at ease. ‘I’m here for the interview,’ she explained.
‘I know, I know,’ he said, taking his seat once more. ‘Please, sit down and then we can make a start.’
‘Shall I get the coffee?’ the receptionist suggested.
‘Excellent idea, Sarah,’ he said. ‘Now, Miss Bottom, shall we get down to it?’
Cherri nodded as the receptionist made an exit. Her heart was pounding but she tried to appear as cool as could be. No matter what Mr Hartley looked like, if he was a nasty specimen he deserved everything he got.
‘Your CV looks fine,’ he said. ‘Everything appears in order except one thing.’
‘Really?’ Cherri asked, wondering what she could possibly have missed from the fake CV she had faxed earlier in the day.
‘I like to run a happy ship,’ he explained seriously, his deep blue eyes gazing directly at Cherri. ‘I like to keep things friendly but I also demand the very best from my staff. Do you understand?’
‘I think so.’
‘That means,’ he continued, ‘that people are rewarded for success and punished for mistakes. Is that clear?’
Cherri nodded vigorously. ‘I’m all for incentives,’ she remarked.
‘Good, good. A good girl like you can expect lots of rewards, but also, I suspect, a fair amount of punishment.’
‘You must be talking about a bonus scheme,’ Cherri guessed.
Mr Hartley smiled. ‘A bonus scheme?’ he echoed. ‘Yes, you could call it that.’
There was a knock at the door and then Sarah, the receptionist, arrived with a tray of coffee and biscuits. As she walked across the office she seemed to catch her heel on the deep plush carpet and the coffee edged over the side of one of the cups. She looked at Mr Hartley and then at Cherri and then carefully set the tray down on the desk.
‘I’m sorry Mr Hartley,’ she said softly, her dark eyes lowered respectfully.
Mr Hartley looked at coffee that stained the outside of the white cup and which had settled in the bottom of the saucer. ‘Sarah, how many times have I told you to be more careful?’
‘I really am sorry,’ she replied quietly.
‘Well, Miss Bottom, I think that this is your chance to witness how I run things here.’
‘Is she going to lose her bonus?’ Cherri asked.
Sarah looked at her quizzically. ‘Bonus?’ she asked.
Mr Hartley stood up and walked across the office to lock the door. He then walked back to the desk. ‘Sarah’s been a bad girl. Haven’t you, Sarah?’
‘Yes sir,’ Sarah said.
‘Across the desk, girl,’ Mr Hartley ordered gruffly.
At once the dark-haired woman leant across the shiny surface of the desk. She pressed her face flat on the polished oak, her breasts pushing against her low cut top so that they were displayed perfectly. As Cherri watched, wide eyed with shock, Mr Hartley reached down and lifted Sarah’s short skirt. She was wearing stockings and suspenders and these were revealed completely when the skirt went over her waist.
‘This is how I keep my girls in line,’ Mr Hartley said, his voice cold and controlled.
Sarah’s black panties were edged down quickly and her rounded bottom was exposed completely. The dark triangle between her thighs was visible and the dark button between her bottom cheeks showed prominently by her prone position bent over the desk.
‘Will this hurt her?’ Cherri asked, her face as red with embarrassment as Sarah’s was.
‘Of course,’ Mr Hartley replied, ‘a stern hand is absolutely vital.’
Before Cherri could say another word he raised his hand and brought it down hard on Sarah’s backside. It landed with a hard smacking sound that filled the office and which was echoed by a whimper of pain from Sarah. Cherri could see the red imprint of Mr Hartley’s hand across Sarah’s left bottom cheek.
‘You’ll be a good girl for me next time,’ Mr Hartley warned, smacking Sarah hard on the right side of her bottom.
Sarah bit her lip and nodded. Strokes three and four came next, hard strokes of the hand that landed with a harsh snap of sound and which made Sarah jump each time. Her bottom was soon patterned with red and pink, the colour contrasting with the whiteness of her flesh and the black band of her stocking tops.
‘Six strokes is my preferred punishment,’ Mr Hartley continued. Strokes five and six fell equally as hard and Sarah’s yelps grew louder. Her firm bottom was jutting out and the redness seemed to spread with each smack. At last it was over but Sarah remained in position across the desk.
‘I’ll be a good girl,’ Sarah promised, ‘I promise.’
Mr Hartley smoothed his hand across her bottom, his fingers pressing where the red was deepest. Sarah sighed as his fingers brushed against her pussy lips and even Cherri could see that her nipples were hard points that peeked over the top of her bra.
‘You may stand now,’ he told Sarah, seemingly satisfied that he had punished her sufficiently.
‘Thank you, sir,’ Sarah whispered, straightening up to pull her knickers back on.
‘Now then, Miss Bottom,’ Mr Hartley continued, ‘where were we?’
Cherri swallowed hard. ‘Talking about a bonus scheme.’
He smiled wickedly, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘We were talking about rewards and punishment,’ he said. ‘And how do you think you’ll fare with this scheme?’
The words tumbled from Cherri’s lips before she had a chance to consider them. ‘I’ll be a good girl too,’ she said.
Mr Hartley smiled suddenly. ‘That’s what I want to hear,’ he said. ‘You know, Miss Bottom, I really do think there’s a place for you here.’
‘Really?’ Cherri said.
‘Yes. Just here in fact,’ he said, pointing to the place across the desk that Sarah had just vacated.
Cherri stared at him blankly. What was going on? This wasn’t what she had been expecting at all. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘Sorry? Whatever for, Miss Bottom? Now, be a good girl and go across the desk. Now!’
Cherri obeyed instantly. Before she knew it she was pressed flat across the desk. Mr Hartley held her down with the flat of his hand while she pressed her ankles together and drew her legs straight. Her bottom was pushed high and the hem of her skirt flapped at the top of her thighs.
‘Good girl,’ Mr Hartley told her approvingly. Her skirt was unclipped and it slipped neatly around her ankles. She could feel the breeze across her bare thighs and the rounded shape of her backside.
Cherri looked up and saw that Sarah was watching her excitedly. For some reason the other woman seemed to be enjoying the view.
Mr Hartley noticed it too and turned to his receptionist. ‘Sarah?’
‘Yes, please, Mr Hartley,’ Sarah said.
‘Oh,’ Cherri said as she felt Sarah’s fingers on her bottom. The dark-eyed woman slipped her fingers under Cherri’s panties and then tugged them down sharply until they too were neatly on the floor.
Sarah stepped back and Mr Hartley moved into place. He gazed down appreciatively at Cherri’s proffered backside and then raised his hand high. Cherri held her breath but the hard stroke that landed on her bottom still stung terribly. She could feel her skin burning up.
‘Well?’ Mr Hartley asked Sarah.
‘She does colour well, sir,’ Sarah commented, examining Cherri’s bottom.
The next stroke fell on the same place, the smarting pain doubling as it landed. The third landed lower but on the same side. Cherri felt the burning sensation cover her left side, the redness easing across the globe of her bottom cheek.
‘Good girl,’ Mr Hartley told her, tracing his fingers from her left buttock to her right, from the smarting sensation to the coolness of her unpunished side.
The fourth stroke landed a second later, on her right cheek, sending a spasm of pain jolting through Cherri’s body. She whimpered with the fifth hard stroke. And then the sixth landed with a loud smack that made her cry out suddenly.
Cherri started to rise but Mr Hartley pushed her back down. ‘Be a good girl,’ he admonished.
‘Yes, sir,’ Cherri whimpered. Her bottom was smarting and she could feel the redness that marked her flesh. Bent over the desk, her bare bottom soundly spanked, she closed her eyes and pictured herself. She felt strangely excited and when Mr Hartley’s fingers touched her between her thighs she could not help the sigh of pleasure that escaped from her lips.
The sudden flash of light brought Cherri back to her senses. She looked round sharply only to see Sarah holding the camera. Another flash of light and then another.
‘You can stand up now, Miss Bottom,’ Mr Hartley said, smiling.
Cherri stood up and remembered that her panties and her skirt were still around her ankles.
‘Leave those for now,’ Mr Hartley said.
Sarah handed him the first of the polaroids, he looked at it, smiled and then passed it to Cherri.
The colour picture showed Cherri’s body across the desk, her black high heels shrouded by her skirt and panties, her long legs held straight, her bottom glowing pink from her punishment and the look of shock on her face.
‘Oh,’ said Cherri.
The second picture showed Mr Hartley’s fingers examining her chastised bottom and the look of pleasure on her face. The third picture showed a closer view of her bottom, clearly marked with the imprint of Mr Hartley’s hand.
‘I wonder what Mr Smedley will say about this?’ Mr Hartley wondered.
Cherri swallowed hard. ‘Mr Smedley?’ she repeated. The idea of her employer seeing the pictures made her feel distinctly uncomfortable.
‘Yes, he told me that you were off sick today,’ he added.
‘We must thank Angie for sending you to us,’ Sarah added.
‘Angie?’ Cherri said. But... but...
‘Now,’ said Mr Hartley, ‘if you care to get on your hands and knees young lady.’
Cherri turned and saw that Sarah was already on all fours.
Mr Hartley smiled and began to unbutton his flies. ‘You’ve had the punishment,’ he said, ‘now it’s time for you two young ladies to share the reward..’