Five days in the life of a private secretary. From Janus 16
It was tough luck being a secretary on a low budget. So Serena James took a new position as Confidential PA to Mr Huttersby. A big accountant guy. Now she had a high salary but, as Mr H repeatedly declared, she was on trial! Waiting for the boss to enter his office…
‘Yes, Mr Huttersby. Good morning, sir. Would you like some coffee?’ she chirped as breezily as her genitals felt. God, how she fancied him!
‘You’re here to work, girl! You’re still on trial! Whatever do you think you’re doing wearing that outrageous outfit? It’s formal dress for the office — I’ve already warned you about it! PASS ME MY CANE.’
‘Knickers down, Serena.’
‘I’m sorry sir, I really am. Please let me off, I forgot…’
‘This will teach you to remember. KNEEL ON THE CHAIR!’
Serena thought it was exciting, exposing her bottom to her boss. It aroused her to hear him say ‘I’m going to punish you, Serena!’
The whippy schoolmaster’s cane epitomized his power…
‘Now Serena! Legs parted, bottom nice and high — arch it, girl! Four strokes coming up! And let them be a lesson to you to dress properly in future!’
Swish! Swish! Swish! Swish! Oh but the pain, the pain! Surely she hadn’t done anything to deserve this? For the rest of Monday Serena was a very demure, well-behaved little PA…
‘Hi, Mr Huttersby! It’s nice to see you sir.’ Serena was a pretty sight herself, a delight for the sorest of eyes. She made sure he saw plenty of thigh…
She stared fascinated at the 18-inch plastic ruler Mr H now flexed between both palms. She knew how much it could hurt. Her nipples stuck out through her gauzy blouse…
‘Serena, I’m astonished at you. What a disgusting pair of garments!’ He gripped her right wrist and pulled her towards his hallowed chair. But did she look sexy now!
‘Oh yes, Serena, this punishment will be long remembered — by both of us! I don’t think you’ll come to work incorrectly dressed ever again! You’re a fool if you think this ruler’s less painful than a cane. I’m going to make you cry with it, girl…’
‘Good girl, good girl. You didn’t need to be told to take your dreadful skirt right off. But I see you weren’t wearing any knickers at all! That’s 20 stingers due to you! Well Serena, this is pleasant.’
Whash! Whack-snap! Whack! Whash! Whipppp! Whappp! ‘Oh please, sir! No, sir! Ouch!’ Whap! Whip! Whapp! ‘Urgh!’
Her buttocks are gyrating beautifully, her legs trembling, her knees jerking as the harsh swipes of Mr Huttersby’s springy plastic ruler inflame her with shocking stinging sensations…
‘Now you can stand up, girl, and rub your bottom.’
‘Oh I can’t believe it sir. It hurts so much! Ah! Oh! Ohhh…’
‘Stand there for five minutes. Then I’ll put some cream on…’
Before Mr Huttersby arrives Serena can only stand facing the door he will come through, thinking about him and waiting…
Ah, here he comes now. Her pulse bumps even faster. Will he approve of her costume today? Those words keep going round her head: ‘You’re still on trial!’
‘Good morning sir.’
Sparks fly from her nipples to her navel to her knees.
‘Hmm. This looks doubtful.’
He lifts her dress investigatively.
‘Serena! A G-string! Disgraceful!’
‘Over the desk with you!’
He swivels her around with brute force, wrenching her slit dress up above her waist.
‘Now bend over!’
His tone for once is ominous: ‘You’ve never felt my five-tongued tawse before, Serena. It’s awful that I’m forced to use it. You must dress properly for the office!’
Whack! ‘Yeoww!’ Whackkk!…
‘Oww! No—no more!’ Yyaaash! Whapp!
Swaaash! ‘Oh no!’
Plying the excruciating implement with great energy, determined to make this punishment work, Mr H loves the instant reddening of Serena’s bottom, adores the sharp and stunning impact of the five tails, revels in her cries…
Mr H is seated at his desk in all his omnipotent fiscal splendour. He hasn’t yet looked up at his Confidential PA, who enters carrying a large file.
‘Good morning, sir!’ Serena sings out favouring the eminent financial expert with a smile fit to singe his bollocks off.
His eyes jerk up off his work, then whirl over the dangerously dressed girl.
This is no time for words. Evidently there is nothing Mr H can say except: ‘You’re fired!’
Instead he silently observes Serena stripping to her boots and blouse.
He can only mouth ‘ !’ when Serena, still unbidden, bends succinctly over in front of the other desk. Her palms press down on the chair leather. The cane leaps into his hands —
— and whistles down on that beautiful denuded bottom so hard, so fast, so many times that Serena just shrieks and yells…
‘Keep still! Don’t give me that face! You’re only on trial!’ Mr H shouts.
His cane cuts the air with a whistling swipe then cracks across Serena’s bare out-thrust buttocks, and she whines again.
The thin rod whistles diagonally across its target and the girl cries out open-mouthed, never having suspected in her wildest dreams that such an infinitude of pain might exist.
To the next stroke she reacts convulsively, her legs jerk and her face constricts with pain. Mr H has an erection. Her bottom is his to do what he wishes to. It is perfect for his purposes.
The chair whirls round. Serena only hopes she is proving herself worthy of permanent employment. Mr H taps her sharply at the base of her left buttock, where bottom meets thigh.
‘No, not there!’ she begs.
‘Get over the back of the chair! Head down!’ her boss shouts.
Then real, livid agony lights up this sensitive crevice. Serena’s bottom is well marked, and glowing like a furnace. She should have learned her lesson by now, surely.
Regretfully Mr Huttersby hangs his cane over the desk edge and drinks in the view of Serena standing twisting her head to examine the pattern that throbs and stings and burns incessantly right across her arse.
‘Thank you, sir. Am I still on trial in this job?’
‘Yes. Don’t look at me like that!’
FRIDAYOn Friday, neither Serena nor her employer went to work. They took the day off. And spent it together. In bed.