The Spanking Collection

By Klayton Frost

Copyright © Klayton Frost

 

The right of Klayton Frost to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights and Patents Act 1988.

 

All rights reserved.

 

Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

 

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

 

Sir

 

Clare felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up to find her supervisor standing over her. "Clare," he said neutrally. "I wonder if you could step into my office for a moment. I'd like a word with you."

Inwardly Clare groaned. It was the end of a long and tiring day, and the last thing she wanted right now was a word. Words were not good news. Words meant that she had done something wrong, made another mistake, and that she was about to hear all about it.

"Of course," she said, mustering a smile. She stood and followed him across the room to his office in the far corner. It was nearing six o' clock, and they were among the last few remaining at work so late in the day. Clare wished she had done as her colleagues had done and gone home on the dot of five. No helping it now though.

He stepped in ahead of her and held the door. The room beyond was small and neat, separated from the rest of the floor by glass walls now covered by blinds. The window on the other side looked out over the car park towards the harbour. The desk was uncluttered, clean and neat.

"Take a seat," he said, his voice still neutral. Clare's supervisor--a man named Jonathan--was as neat and tidy as his office. A tall and muscular man, he looked quite comfortable in his long-sleeved shirt and plain silver tie. His face was lightly stubbled this afternoon, his short brown hair parted neatly to one side.

Clare had expected him to sit down when she did, but he remained standing, hands clasped comfortably behind his back.

"I wonder," he said. "Do you have any idea why I might have called you in here today?"

Clare shook her head. "No, Sir," she said, quite truthfully. She was sure that she must have done something wrong, but as to what it was she had no idea.

He paced around her, behind the chair in which she sat. "You were given a laptop computer when you started work here, weren't you?" he said.

Clare nodded. Everyone who worked for the company was given a laptop. "Yes, Sir," she said. "I have it at my desk if you need it back?"

"No," he said shortly. "You don't need to return it. But I do want to talk to you about your use of company property," he said.

"I'm not sure I understand," said Clare hesitantly.

He completed his circuit of the room and sat down on the other side of his desk, steepling his fingers. The broad muscles of his shoulders and arms moved beneath the shirt. Clare was beginning to feel decidedly nervous now, a little flutter of worry announcing itself in her belly.

"We have certain rules," Jonathan continued, taking his time, slow and deliberate. "Certain restrictions on how company items may be used outside of work.

"Outside of work?" said Clare, still completely nonplussed.

"That's right. As you'll recall, the company permits some personal use of your work phone, including making calls and use of the internet." He paused again, and the trace of a smile grew a little wider for a moment. "What we don't allow," he said, "Is access to...inappropriate material."

And suddenly Clare knew with absolute certainty what this was about. She felt an abrupt jolt of fear in her chest, and at the same time the heat of a blush started sweeping up through her face.

"I... Um, I'm not sure what you mean." she stuttered in a poor attempt at a lie. But she did know. She knew exactly to what he was referring.

It had started about a month ago. She was at the train station, waiting for her boyfriend Daniel to come and pick her up. Bored, she took a seat on one of the benches outside the station, fished out her phone and started to play around, reading the news on the internet , checking her email. And then, without being quite sure how she got there, she found herself on a porn site. It was a pop-up of some kind, an annoyance, and Clare went to close it down almost by reflex, but stopped before she did.

The advert (because it was indeed an advert) showed a short, curvy blonde woman wearing only a black bra and panties. She was tied to a bed, belly-down and spreadeagled, a leather restraint looped around each wrist and each leg holding her tightly in place. Her head was thrown back, mouth open as she cried out in pain. Above her stood another woman, this one dressed in dark red leather, black hair pulled back into a ponytail. This second woman was holding a thin, flexible black riding crop. She was whipping the restrained girls bottom and legs; Clare could see the cruel red marks the crop had inflicted.

Something about the image excited Clare, made her stomach tingle and her head feel light. She kept looking at the restrained girl's face, at how real the look of pain there was. And the marks too, so red and vivid. What would it feel like, Clare wondered, to be tied down like that, unable to move, unable to escape, at the mercy of your captor? And the whipping--she tried to imagine it, imaging the sting and the sharp sound of the crop hitting home. A small shiver ran through her.

Clare had never tried such things herself. None of her boyfriends had even been inclined that way, least of all Daniel, who was a timid and rather sweet man. He would have been appalled by the idea, thinking it horrid. She could imagine his reaction now: "But darling, I wouldn't want to hurt you..."

Clare sighed. Daniel was a good boyfriend, never forgetting an anniversary or birthday, always keen to do anything for her. She loved him, of course. The sex was okay, good sometimes. For the most part he was everything she wanted. But there were some times when she just felt frustrated by his gentleness, his timidity. She wasn't made of glass, after all.

On an impulse, she clicked on the advert.

That was the first time, but there were many more times after that. In the odd moments when she found herself alone in the house, or waiting for Daniel she would find the lure of her phone irresistible, and once more she would submerge herself in those wonderful, stomach-tightening images. Daniel would never find out, and she was harming nobody. In fact, it improved her sex life no end. Whenever she and Daniel were in bed together she would simply think of the pictures and videos she had perused earlier that day. Daniel's clumsy lovemaking was suddenly more than enough for her.

Clare had a few favourites among the videos that she visited again and again. The first was a short film of a woman in nothing but a blue halter top lying across the knees of an older man in a suit and tie. He was using a thick leather belt to strap her across the bottom. With each blow that fell the blonde girl would jerk forward, a yelp of pain escaping her lips. The man held her in place, unrelenting in his punishment. Clare could see the skin ripple each time the belt landed. The girl's bottom was a bright red, criss-crossed with marks. Between each lash she would beg him to stop: "Please, Sir, please it hurts. I'm so sorry. Please let me go." But the man ignored her, and towards the end of the video the girl started to cry.

Another showed a pair of blonde women, one clearly a few years older than the other. Calmly the older woman stripped off the younger's white dress and then tied her by the wrists to a t-shaped frame in the middle of the room. She then proceeded to whip her harshly and without rest for the next twenty minutes. By the end the younger girl's voice had given out from screaming and her back was a mess of red slashes and welts. The moment she was released she fell into the older woman's arms and the two kissed long and hard.

Clare couldn't say for certain how she related to the videos. When she thought of being spanked or whipped herself she felt that dark whisper of excitement in the pit of her belly, but she also felt a great deal of fear. It was somewhat sadly that she realised she would never, ever have the nerve to ask Daniel to spank her, or even to let him if he should express a desire to. She would just have to be content to watch, and fantasise.

The thoughts that those private fantasies might ever become public knowledge filled her with horror. She had assumed the phone was private, had even preferred it to the home computer, as there was less chance of Daniel discovering what she was up to. She hadn't considered the possibility of her boss finding out.

He smiled calmly at her. "I think you know exactly what I mean, Clare. Don't you?"

"I... No... I..." Her mind whirled, desperately seeking some explanation. "My boyfriend might have..."

His smile faded quickly. "Don't lie to me," he said. "I don't like it when people lie. You're in enough trouble already."

Clare felt her blush deepen, and stared at her knees. It was no use hiding, then. "I... I know what you're talking about," she whispered. "I thought... I don't know what I thought. I wasn't thinking."

There was silence. A long, taut silence that seemed to stretch well past breaking point. Eventually, Clare forced herself to look up and meet those piercing blue eyes. He was staring at her quite without emotion.

"Am I fired?" she said, tentatively. By now she wanted nothing more than for the meeting to be over. She would be happy to give up the job if it meant she could just walk away from this terrible embarrassment.

Jonathan stared her down for a few more seconds, and then said, "Maybe."

"Maybe?" said Clare.

"Give me your phone."

She handed over the slim silver device and watched as he fiddled for a few seconds with the keypad. Then, smiling again now, he propped it up on the desk between them, facing her. To her horror, she was that on the screen was one of her favourite videos: the one showing the girl in the blue halter top being strapped with a man's belt. The smacks of the belt against her flesh and her agonised squeals were made tinny by the phone's speakers. Clare felt her insides shrivel, and turned away, looking anywhere but at the screen.

"Watch," he said, coldly. "Look at the screen. Now."

The quiet anger in his voice jolted her, and Clare did as she was told. She watched the woman scream and beg and plead her way through ten, then twenty, then thirty lashes with the belt. She watched her start to cry. And something stirred within her belly. That same dark excitement as before, but different somehow. More intense. Layered with the embarrassment and humiliation of being made to watch such an intimate film in front of her boss.

At last it ended. Clare sat, nerves on fire, not knowing what was coming next. She met his eyes once more, and stared right into them, pleading silently for him to let her leave.

"I have two choices, Clare," he said. "The first option is, I could fire you. What do you think of that?"

"I'm really sorry, sir. I... I never thought..."

"I asked you a question."

"I'd... I'd rather not be fired, sir." She could hear the tremble in her voice.

"Good. Then there's the second option. We could deal with this quietly, just between us. Nobody would have to find out, and you could keep your job. You would have to be... punished of course. But you'd at least get to keep your little secret."

He sat back in his chair, appraising her, waiting for her to speak. "How would we, um, deal with it quietly?" she asked, almost not daring to hope that she might escape from this with her secret fetish still a secret.

He stood up and walked slowly around the desk to her. She stayed immobile in her seat, holding her breath, not looking at him but looking at the wall instead. He stood beside her, tall and powerful and frightening.

"A spanking," he said simply.

Clare found herself suddenly unable to breathe. She had to force herself to swallow, force air into her lungs. It felt as if there was a fire burning in the pit of her stomach.

"Sir?"

"Either you can go and collect your belongings right now and leave, or you can bend over the desk and take a spanking. A long, hard, painful one, mind you, but just a spanking. Then your secret would be safe, and you could go just as before. It's your choice, Clare."

Her mouth was dry. "But..." She wanted to say that he wasn't allowed, that it was against the rules, but she knew that didn't matter to him. She wanted to leap to her feet and be outraged and threaten to report him, to storm out of the office. But she knew at once that she would do none of these things, because he was going to spank her. She was going to bend over the desk and have him spank her like a little girl. That, more than anything at that exact moment, was what she really, truly wanted.

***

The End

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