Hello Ms. L. I called you into my office for a private conversation. Please shut the door.
I’m very disappointed in your work, Ms. L. When you first came to this company you were young, fresh and enthusiastic, but lacking in experience. I decided to take a chance on you, hoping you would be a quick learner. I though your youthful energy would make up for your lack of background. I was wrong.
Your work has simply not been up to par for this company. I know, I know, you’ve stayed after hours almost every night; you come in on the weekends; you work hard. Yet the plain fact is that your work is not good enough. There are typos in your letters; you put files in the wrong cabinet; you haven’t finished your reports on time. We just can’t permit slip shod work in this company.
Yes, you’re busy all day long, but, frankly, I wonder if your heart is really in this work, Ms.L. I notice you reading your trashy romance novels every chance you get. I hear you listening to your silly music. I notice you searching profiles on the internet. Maybe you would be better off at a less demanding company.
Now don’t start crying. (God, how I hate it when these women start crying!) Here’s a handkerchief to dry your eyes. No, don’t start begging me to keep your job. Perhaps we can find a solution to your problem…
It’s not that you don’t try hard – it’s that your mind is not focused on your work. You need something to pull you out of your daydreams and concentrate you mind on quotidian reality. They say there’s nothing like a hanging to concentrate one’s mind, but perhaps we can try something less drastic than that…
Step up right to the edge of my desk, Ms. L. Put your hands on the desk top and lean forward. Further. Further still. Very good.
Don’t turn around, keep your eyes forward. I want you to trust me, Ms. L. I’ve been at this company for many years and I’ve helped many young girls with difficulties similar to yours. I have a technique that has helped them overcome their problems and go on to a successful career.
Do you want to continue at this company; more importantly, to you want to be a good worker? Then trust me, Ms. L, I might be demanding, but I’m a boss who truly cares for the well being of his workers (especially the young and pretty ones, like you).
You can feel something just lightly touching the back of your neck. The sensation gently glides down your spine, to the small of you back; it skims the bubble of your pretty behind and slithers down the length of your long legs. (My compliments on your cute short skirt and pretty stockings.)
What you feel is my riding crop caressing you gently. I’ve used it to improve the work of many of the girls in this office. Ms. Smith, the head of personnel; Ms. Brown, one of our leading sales associates, Ms. Green, Vice President in charge of communications – they have all benefited from the motivating experience I am about to share with you.
Now I’m rubbing the riding crop over the curve of your derriere. I’m rubbing it back and forth against the back of your legs. Your young body is firm, but soft and supple – excellent material for this kind of treatment.
I notice you’re beginning to tremble; your legs are shaking; you’re breaking out in a sweat. Are you having doubts, Ms. L? The treatment can only be successful if you are completely willing. You’re free to go if you like.
If you want me to continue say, “Please Sir, I need your help. Do whatever is necessary to make me into a good secretary.”
Well spoken, Ms. L, I wouldn’t proceed with out your permission.
Anything worth doing is worth doing well. I’m using the riding crop to brush your short skirt above your waist and push your knickers down to your knees.
You have an adorable derriere, Ms. L (if you’ll permit me to speak familiarly). It’s round and resilient as a soccer ball, but soft and light as a marshmallow. I find it always helps if I’m enthusiastic about my work – and I’ve never had a better subject to work with than you.
I’m taking off my jacket, loosing my tie and rolling up my shirt sleeves. I’m raising the riding crop high above my head. I’m flexing the muscles in my strong right arm. I’m taking aim at your innocent ass and now I’m bringing the riding crop down on you like the blade of a guillotine…
An electric current of pain rushes through your body. You let out a yelp of pain. (Keep your voice down, Ms. L, or I’ll stuff your mouth with my gloves.) At first you’re more shocked and surprised then hurt. You think “that wasn’t so bad; I can take it.” (And, of course, I don’t want to break your porcelain white skin and get blood on the carpet.) But I’m relentless, Ms. L. The riding crop comes down again and again. I strike your round ass and the backs of your thighs repeatedly, without mercy.
Tears are streaming from your eyes, your hair is tangled in your face, your ass it turning a bright red, you’re trying to choke back your cries of pain. This is more humiliating than all your memories of being punished by your father and your teachers. You almost pass out from the pain. Yet you’re determined to endure, somehow…
How do you know you have control over someone, Ms. L? That’s right – by making them hurt. (That’s the first rule of management.) And how do you know when some one is being sincere? Right again – when they are in pain. I’m caning you like this to see if you really are sincere, if you really do want to be a good secretary and continue with this company. Well done, Ms. L – you’ve passed the test.
Now you collapse across my desk. You’re gasping desperately for air as if you’ve just been rescued from drowning in the ocean.
There, there now, Ms. L. I’m sorry if I pushed you too far, but it was all for your own good. I’ve been a cruel master. It’s all over now. Here, let me take some cool ice from my drink and rub it gently against your wounded derrière and the bruised backs of your thighs. Slowly the swelling goes down and the pain abates.
Now I’m working the cool ice between your legs and rubbing it against your pussy. Why, Ms. L… your pussy is soaking wet already. Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy your spanking! Your clitoral hood pulls back and your pretty pink clit comes peeping out. I caress it carefully with my firm, wet fingers. Your gasps of pain are now sighs of contentment.
Now I’m forcing my fingers slowly into your slit. Your pussy is wonderfully tight, Ms. L. Slowly, very slowly I work my middle finger inside you right up to the knuckle. Gradually I work deep inside my index finger, my ring finger and then my pinky. Now I’ve got all four fingers inside you and I’ve driving them all the way into the core of your cunt.
Now you’re letting out deep gasps again, but not of pain – this time in orgasm. (It’s a good thing my office is isolated from the rest of the company.) The embarrassment and hurt is banished and all you experience now is the temporary timelessness of ataraxic orgasm.
You’ve been to hell and heaven in the last few minutes and now you’re back on earth again. Stand up, Ms. L – pull up you knickers, push down you skirt. Dry your eyes, brush out your hair. Here, have a sip of whisky. Compose yourself; it’s time to go back to work.
Forgive me if I’ve been a bit harsh with you, Ms. L, but it was all for you own good. I wouldn’t take the time to share my private instructions with most girls – I choose only the ones who might benefit from my guidance. I think you’re on your way to a brilliant career with this company. Of course, if you ever feel the need for a refresher course, my office will always be open to you…