The Carrot and the Stick (2 page)

‘Yes, I suppose it is,' Beth said quietly. ‘And when would you like start?'

‘I can see no point in putting it off,' he said, and she held her breath again. ‘Check and make sure the office is empty and then return here. I shall cane you as if I was the headmaster of a girls' school and you have been sent to me because of some breaking of the rules.'

‘Yes, sir,' she said, somewhat taken aback by this last statement.

But Beth was glad to use her legs again and to have a moment to herself. She flitted around the office trying to calm herself and to work out what was happening. He was actually going to cane her on her bottom. Her bottom. Would he expect her to be naked? How many strokes would he give her? Could she take it? Would he make sexual advances as well? And if he did, what would she do?

Her thoughts tumbled over themselves, questions but no answers. The excitement was overwhelming; she dreaded the ordeal, the expected pain and the humiliation, but at the same time she wanted to submit to the man. She wanted him to chastise her, to use her, to debase her. It was as if she was taking part in a film, a pornographic film that had reeled through her mind at night when she took the solace of a lonely single girl lying in bed with her hand between her thighs. He had mastered her then; he was to master her now.

Richard stood with the cane in his hands when she returned without knocking to his office. She stood demurely in the middle of the floor, her feet together and her hands clasped in front of her. ‘I have come to be punished, sir,' she said.

He sat on the edge of his desk. ‘Remove your skirt and top,' he commanded.

Slowly and carefully she undid her jacket and skirt, slipping them off and placing them neatly on a chair against the wall.

‘And the blouse,' he said.

With unsteady fingers she unbuttoned the blouse and placed it on the suit before resuming her position. She knew well the figure she presented; she had admired it often enough in the mirror in her bedroom.

Despite her trepidation, Beth felt proud as he looked her over deliberately, from head to toe. He took his time absorbing her innocent beauty. She knew well what he could see; high heels the colour of apricots, long, bare, brown legs, skimpy peach-coloured knickers through which a faint shadow of pubic hair could just be seen. A flat and deliciously toned stomach that led up to the matching peach bra, which encased and displayed her magnificent breasts; breasts - she had been told - as enticing to lick and gorge on as ice creams on a sweltering day. Above them her slender throat and impish face, made to smile but unsmiling now, and her soft fair hair.

‘Turn around,' he said. She did as she was told, standing straight, knowing he would be looking at her bottom and knowing too that he should like what he saw. It was firm and round, the cleft between the cheeks emphasised by the hug of her knickers. Any moment now, she thought. Any moment now he'd tell her to take her knickers off.

She heard the swish of the cane. He was swinging it as he approached her. He stopped in front of her and placing his free hand under her chin, tipped up her face to look her in the eyes. She felt again the warm ripples flowing outwards from her sex and a dampness between her legs.

‘Beth,' he said, ‘I am going to give you six strokes of the cane. Bend over and touch your toes.'

She was momentarily crestfallen; he did not want to see her naked. Slowly she bent in front of him, parting her legs slightly so she could better touch the floor. It was not particularly comfortable but she was a supple girl and it was a position she adopted many times at the gym where she worked out.

She could sense him inspecting her afresh, looking at the part of her anatomy most exposed and nearest to him. The knickers that covered her bottom were stretched and hid very little. She felt his hand at the waistband. Now, she thought. But instead of pulling them down, he tucked them up so that they resembled a g-string; a line around her waist, another line at right angles disappearing into the cleft of her bottom, and between her legs, a small pouch containing the lips of her sex.

He did not touch the unblemished flesh of her exposed bottom any more than he had to, and she was disappointed.

She heard his voice from behind. ‘You deserve to be severely punished, Beth. This is going to hurt. It is for your edification. And,' he added quietly under his breath, ‘for my pleasure.'

Hearing his words, Beth, with her head just a few feet above the floor, looked back at him between her own knees. She could see the front of his trousers, and with a sense of triumph she saw what she was looking for, the unmistakeable shape and presence of his manhood pressing the cloth outwards, seeming to seek her near-nakedness.

There was no more warning than that between the crack of a rifle and the impact of the bullet. She was just aware of the swish of the cane at the moment it cut into her tensed bottom. She cried out in surprise and then drew her breath in with a gasp as the pain hit her. She did not try to rise, but grasped her ankles with perspiring hands and let the pain wash over her.

‘That's one, sir,' she said in a muffled voice.

Richard was in no hurry. She had just begun to relax and to unclench her bottom muscles when the second stroke landed, a fraction beneath the first. She cried out in pain this time and had to fight an overpowering desire to stand up and rub her poor flesh.

‘T-two, sir,' she gasped, and instinctively opened her legs a little wider to steady her stance. This time there was no waiting. The third stroke landed on the softest flesh just above her thighs and she felt as though she had been cut in two with a sword. She bit her lower lip hard to suppress the howl that threatened to burst from her lungs.

‘Th-three, sir,' she managed. ‘I - I have been very naughty, sir, I know. But I'll be good...!'

The fourth stroke landed on the word ‘good', and she ended with a yelp. It did not seem quite as hard as the others, or her bottom was becoming numb. She stole a look back at Richard again and the mound on his trouser front was even more prominent than before.

‘Four, sir,' she said, when she could trust her voice to be steady.

‘Yes,' she heard him behind her, ‘you have been a naughty girl... a very naughty girl.'

He swung the cane again and the fifth stroke landed in exactly the same place as the fourth, with renewed vigour. This time Beth sobbed and started to straighten up slightly, but with a strong hand he held her in position.

‘F-five, sir,' she blurted obediently.

The sixth stroke landed with a crack that could have been heard down the hall, hard and with deadly accuracy across the fleshiest curves. Beth leapt up as if she was on a spring. She stood in front of him, tears in her eyes, lower lip trembling and her fingers gently cosseting the tortured flesh, marvelling at the ridges where only minutes ago there had been silky smoothness.

‘Six, sir,' she panted when she had regained sufficient composure. ‘Thank you, sir.'

She stood submissively before him awaiting his instructions, sensing that was what he wanted. He leaned back again against his desk with a faint flush to his cheeks, feasting his eyes on her delicious body.

Beth was proud of her stoicism and strength in the face of the ordeal. She was also acutely aware, now that the worst of the pain was subsiding, that the urgent warmth in her loins had replaced it.

‘You can get dressed again,' Richard said, returning to his chair. The bastard, she thought as she picked up her blouse. He was playing with her. As she dressed she turned her back to him so he could see the welts on her bottom. Slowly and deliberately she lowered her knickers so that she was fully exposed before drawing them up again into their proper place.

‘I can see that you are prepared to learn and to improve,' he said, when she was fully dressed. ‘Tomorrow you have the Rybix people. Show me how much you have learned. Report to me here tomorrow evening at the same time.'

Standing by the door, Beth turned. ‘Yes, Richard, and thank you for giving me a second chance.'

He had already bent his head to the papers on his desk. ‘Rest assured, your lessons are not over yet,' he said.

 

 

 

Beth stood in the carriage on the tube even though there were one or two seats available. She was too sore to sit. Anyone looking at her, and several men did, would have had no idea from her face of the thoughts cascading through her mind.

She surreptitiously smoothed her skirt over her buttocks, feeling again the welts under the cloth. If that is what it takes, my girl, that is what it takes. If you want to get ahead in business, if you want to do well, then you must take the rough with the smooth, the licks with the kicks. You deserved what you got, and you got it, with more still to come. Are you going to give in now? No, of course you're not. What really matters, a successful career or a sore bottom? No contest. And anyway, you took it well. Well done, you didn't cry, not much, and you didn't wet your panties. So he does it again, and again. So what? So what if it is humiliating to be caned on your bare bottom by your boss? If it works, it works. And it is going to work, isn't it? You are going to get the Rybix contract, aren't you? Richard can do all the punishing he wants, you'll show him.

As she approached her stop, Beth was proud of her resolve. Why then, did she feel so damned irritable? Sore and irritable. She realised with chagrin that it was the irritability that comes from frustration - from an unsatisfied sexual appetite.

She was in no mood therefore for petulance from Celeste when she opened the front door of her flat.

Celeste was sitting on a sofa with her feet on the coffee table. ‘You've ruined it,' she announced coldly.

‘Ruined what?' Beth asked.

‘The supper. I'd cooked a nice supper for us. You are always home by seven.'

Beth threw her leather briefcase into a corner with more force than necessary. She stood looking at the pouting nineteen-year-old. ‘I'll come home when it suits me,' she pointed out. ‘You are not my wife, you know. You are my flatmate. On sufferance,' she added, and then changed her tone. ‘I've had a difficult day,' she said.

Celeste was not to be mollified. She stuck out her lower lip and theatrically picked up the evening newspaper and scanned it, holding it in front of her face.

‘I'm going to have a soak,' Beth announced to the sports pages, before going through to the tiny bathroom.

She undressed as she ran steaming water into the bath, scented it, and thought that Celeste was just the sort of girl who would benefit from the treatment she'd so recently received. If ever a girl needed caning on her bare bottom it was Celeste. She was a pretty girl, and bright enough, but she was just plain lazy. Beth thought to herself how she would be glad to administer it herself, and given a little more provocation she might do just that.

Celeste had come to live with her two months before. Beth was originally from Newcastle and Celeste from Sunderland. Their parents were friends; both fathers worked for the same company and were golfing partners. The girls knew each other quite well but had never been real friends or playmates, mainly because of the few years' difference in their ages.

Celeste had left school the previous September and devastated her parents by announcing that she had no intention of going to university. She wanted to go to London, she said, to be a model. Defeated, her indulgent mother wrote to Beth asking if Celeste could stay with her
until she finds her feet in London
. Beth could tell by the wording of the letter that Celeste's mother thought the capital to be a sink of iniquity just waiting to devour young female flesh.
Would you keep an eye on Celeste and keep her on a short rein
, Mrs Englund had written.

In theory and in practice Beth was actually quite glad of the company, and she would also have been glad of the rent money if Celeste just once came up with the full amount. But the girl did nothing. In her first ten days in London she had some second rate photographs taken of herself and made an amateurish composite portfolio, but since then she had seen no agents nor sought any interviews. Beth had no idea of how she spent her days but assumed they involved no effort of activity or industry.

What both flattered and disturbed Beth most was that Celeste seemed to live her life vicariously through Beth. She fed on all the details of Beth's working existence, her ups and downs, successes and failures. Most evenings Beth would have to give her details of her day, the comical moments and stories, often embellished, of office shenanigans. Celeste knew the names of all the people she worked with most closely.

It was not natural, Beth thought, picking up the lilac bar of soap. She should get a life. What Celeste needed, Beth thought again, was the smack of firm discipline. It would not have occurred to her before - before Richard had dealt with her - but that was just what Celeste needed, to have her knickers taken down and her bare bottom spanked.

With that thought, Beth turned over in the relaxing water and lay on her front. She closed her eyes, resting her chin on her forearm on the rim of the bath, and sighed with pleasure... and she was still like that when Celeste appeared. They would never lock the door on each other and would often have discussions, one in the bath and the other peeing or using the make-up mirror.