Ralph Greco Jr
“I think you need a time out,” I said.
Jeremy whimpered as I grabbed his cock and pulled him across the carpet to the metal chair in front of my desk.
“Now sit here for a few minutes and think about your behavior.”
Another shrill sigh escaped his thick lips as I turned and walked away. As I had learned while raising my own children so many years ago, there are two paths to scolding: one direct punishment, one the more modern “time out” or ignoring their behavior.
Tonight, as usual, Jeremy would get both.
“You really are so bad,” I said to my top desk drawer.
I opened this very secret door of my desk, usually locked and containing only one item. I reached in and produced the wooden ruler I had bought for just these late nights with my best and worst employee. Before Jeremy and I began all this I had paperclips, individual sticks of gum, a few items more than just the ruler secreted here, but these days the drawer held only my ruler, illustrating, more than I’d want to admit, how important these sessions with Jeremy had grown in my life. Jeremy, of course, sat where he was (hopefully staring at my little ass as I bent), silent. If he entertained thoughts of our deepening relationship I had no idea. I had wanted to ask plenty of times, but my position here as his employer and now his dom precluded me delving into anything beyond his discipline.
“Why are you such a bad boy?” I asked, as I turned and walked back to the naked young man sitting in the center of my big wood and glass office.
Jeremy looked up at me smiling, the dimple showing deep in his right cheek. Of course I could measure the height of his arousal by spying his always thick and ready erection, but beyond the tug I had just given him, I had to pay it little mind during these sessions. My employee was quite a randy, attractive twenty-three-year-old and my feigned indifference to his arousal was as much for me as it was for him.
“I hope you’re ready for this tonight,” I said, swatting the ruler into my right palm as I stepped across the floor to Jeremy.
I had tried to ignore Jeremy’s obvious advances, his “accidental” brushing up against me, his quickly volleyed double-meaning quips, his staring. Being his boss in our little office it would be hard for me to claim harassment and besides, he got me so wet with all the flirting. Still, through the impropriety of our obvious mutual attraction, Jeremy and I grew close enough to share quite a few confidences. I told him some of my failed marriage and he these early post-college years and his concern with his naivety with women. Not that I would excuse his advances, still I understood him covering his fear with seeming bravado.
About a month into our acquaintance (and really some exemplary work from Jeremy), I had teased him that if he “kept it up” (a statement which garnered quite the snicker, to be sure) then drastic measures might be needed to keep him in line. Maybe I was responding to my own pent-up sexual stirrings, or the fact that I was twenty years his senior sparked the idea, but I soon became determined to put Jeremy across my lap for a good hard spanking.
What I didn’t count on, of course, was how consumed I’d become by all this. God knew I fantasized a lot, but these times with Jeremy were entirely something new to me, pervasive as they had become in my thoughts, pushing me to plan sessions with him ever more frequently.
“You are going to get twenty tonight,” I announced, finally coming to and sitting on the other metal folding chair. “Twenty,” I repeated, watching Jeremy try to steel his breath and not wiggle on the cold seat a foot across from me.
I never gave Jeremy more than twenty, quite often half that. He had said he loved the feel of the stings, the tight resound (and God knew I loved to administer the bouncing spanking to his round cheeks), but I also knew Jeremy was just as tortured having to lay across my lap, his cock pushing into my thighs. When he had first agreed to this I knew Jeremy assumed the spankings would be a prelude to sex, but since they hadn’t (yet), I had the added pleasure of watching this young man squirm every time I sat across from him, crossing and recrossing my legs as I spoke to him softly about what was to come.
“You deserve it, don’t you?” I asked. “Don’t you?” I added, allowing him to speak with my blue-eyed gaze.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jeremy replied, his right knee beginning its characteristic shake. Though he had dropped his chin slightly to his chest, I still caught the naughty guy run his gaze to my short skirt and bare legs, obviously anxious to get across and fearful at the same time.
That dichotomy made my pussy flood so much.
“Are you ready?” I asked and used another weapon in my arsenal to torture him.
I leaned back the slightest bit, arching my back as if I was stretching, letting my long brown hair fall across my back and shoulders while I thrust my ample bosom high for Jeremy’s delight. I am a petite woman so I appear even bustier than I really am; it is all Jeremy can do on normal occasions not to comment on my big breasts. The nights of his spankings I did what I could to enhance my figure by wearing either low-cut sweaters or very tight sheer blouses sans bra, the latter of which I was wearing right then. To be on display for this young man, objectified by his sidelong glances, thrilled me too.
“Are you ready?” I asked again, smiling slightly.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jeremy said, his broad chest rising and falling with a quick inhalation. Luckily I am not too taken with hairy chests, for Jeremy has a muscular one matted with black hair.
This is literally the only feature on the man I don’t die for.
“Well,” I coaxed sitting forward, “up and over.”
Trying not to catch the quick smell of him, the heat of his thighs tickling my bare thighs or his heavy erection rubbing against me, I adjusted my skirt down my white knees while Jeremy stood, stepped to my right hip then fell across me. I opened my bare legs to let him drop his cock between them.
“You deserve this, don’t you?” I teased and Jeremy just nodded his head at my heels, bracing himself.
I brought my hand back and then connected with the first “snap-pat”.
“Read,” I said and Jeremy lifted his head to the single white sheet of paper I had placed at the floor of the chair, right at my three-inch black heel.
“‘Late three days’,” he read as I lifted the ruler again, this time smacking only his right cheek.
“‘Kept the computer on when we left for lunch last Thursday’.” He continued his list of transgressions.
“Good, good,” I agreed and reached back again. This time I hit him the hardest I had yet.
This was a delicate process indeed. I couldn’t race too quickly with the swats or entice too often with my knee or soft words. It truly wasn’t about the severity of the swats. I really didn’t hit Jeremy all that hard, but as usual on the seventh or eighth swat (this night it was eighth) Jeremy began to sigh. The final, humiliating moment was close at hand (or “under hand” actually), and as Jeremy came to the last sentence of my list I felt him stir as he realized what was soon to come.
“Last two on the list,” I coaxed, reaching the ruler back as Jeremy finished reading: “‘Rubbed up against you . . . twice.’”
I smacked hard dead center and Jeremy inhaled sharply as his bottom received these stinging blows. I was into this now and would give him his last ten in one high burst.
SNAP, SNAP, SNAP, SNAP, SNAP, SNAP, SNAP, SNAP, SNAP, SNAP. The sound bounced off my office walls, down into the very cubicles and crevices of our empty outer office. To think what happened here normally, the buzz and snips and low conversations of my business, to superimpose all the activity of our normal day to what Jeremy and I got up to these nights was a heady thing to imagine. Had I invited him to my house or had we taken a hotel room would still be exciting, but to do this here, in the office, the scene of his crimes and the place where I was his boss I knew thrilled us both. I actually doubted we could do any of this, anything actually beyond talk and flirt a bit, outside of the office.
How and why such a simple comeuppance, something so entrenched as it is with classic mommying (albeit from an earlier time), something almost non-sexual could get to me like this did, I had no idea . . . but it did. Being a mother had always defined me more than being a divorcee or even the successful businesswoman I was, but I had never attributed anything sexual to discipline, scolding, even thoughts (and I had never entertained them until recently) of spanking. It was both startling to me and oh so kinky that what I had been for so long, what I had always thought myself to proudly be above all other facets of who I was, was now coming to my aid in these rather unconventional, yet so satisfying sexual encounters. To have my matter-of-fact, last resort suggestion, born out of frustration, combat this man’s flirting, and be so arousing to both Jeremy and me, really was a blessing.
And of course Jeremy’s arousal, his contrite pose, the fact that he took to this as well as I, and would just as soon be back to his naughty self come the end of this week, spoke to how well we both loved the sexual tension of this game.
“Mmmmm,” I moaned, dropping the ruler and placing my open right palm down on the hot firm cheeks below me. Right to left I kneaded his skin and Jeremy simply sighed, trying with all his might not to push into me with all he had.
“Get up,” I said, lifting my hand off this young man’s great young ass.
It was imperative I kept to my plan. Any deviation and I’d lose to the flood between my legs. I was so, so close to just reaching out, taking him, lying on the carpet and pulling him atop me. Keeping to the decorum of who I was here, of what this was all about, fed a need deeper in me than having sex with this man would. I really wanted him and it was a sweet thing to deny myself.
Crossing my legs high for extra measure, I looked up his body as he stood fully.
“Go ahead,” I added, “you can tonight.”
“Oh God!” Jeremy exclaimed, literally bolting from my office.
This was truly the sweetest part of all this for me. Jeremy never knew if I would let him come. Often weeks of punishments went by and I would not allow Jeremy this release. Tonight I watched as he stole out of my office to his own cubicle, where he’d jerk-off out of my eyesight but not far from my knowing he was doing so.
There was simply something so perverse about making Jeremy beat off at his desk.
It never took long. Sometimes I heard a slight sigh, one time even a grunt, but if Jeremy lasted a minute it was a long time. This night was no different as I heard him growl my name twice. Hearing Jeremy fumbling with himself, some tissues and his clothes (I always made him undress at his desk), I sighed deeply knowing that in the next half-hour I would be home in a warm bath, doing exactly what Jeremy had just done.
“Better?” I asked, meeting him in the outer office five minutes later. I had stolen a quick pull of the Southern Comfort I keep secreted in my bottom desk drawer, squished my thighs together to ease the tension even more.
Even when I was married, I had never been this turned on.
“Ye, yes,” he agreed through embarrassment, looking down still.
“Well, tomorrow’s another day,” I said, then leaned in and kissed the man’s cheek.
Jeremy smiled and finally looked up.
I love my job.