Of all the firms she could have worked for, she chose to work for him.  She wondered if the extra salary was worth it.  She stood in the door of his office gripping her notepad.    

 “I warned you not to be late again Ms. Johnson.”  He said with raised eyebrows. 

If she blamed being late on the traffic, he wouldn’t listen.  In fact, blaming anything or anyone aside from herself wasn’t an option.  “I’m sorry sir.” 

His eyes had that calculating look to them.  “Come inside and close the door.” 

Chills ran up and down her spine.  She stepped inside his office and closed the door.  He always had to make a production out of the situation, which only added to her humiliation.  Things were never easy where he was concerned. 

“Assume the position.” 

“Yes sir.”  Her voice came out shaky. 

“You’ve been the best assistant I’ve ever had Ms. Johnson, but even the best of us sometimes need a reminder.”  His voice was always smooth and calm and she wasn’t sure she had ever witnessed him being angry.   

She slowly moved forward and placed her notebook on top of his desk.  She then stretched her arms lengthwise along the top of the desk and leaned over.  She thrust her bottom out and spread her legs shoulder width apart.  Her skirt was stretched to the limit.  She raised her head and looked straight ahead.  She always wore a skirt or dress.  She couldn’t remember the last time she had worn a pair of slacks.  It hadn’t been for this job, it wasn’t permitted.    

He paid her double what she could get elsewhere, but along with the big salary came a multitude of expectations, and his strict and uncompromising methods of discipline were one of those expectations.  She had signed a very extensive contract with him when she signed on to work for him.  Most of the time she felt the structure of the job was good for her, it was only at times like these that she had second thoughts.  He made it clear she could leave his employ at any time with no hard feelings, and on days like this she wasn’t quite sure why she didn’t just walk away. 

He opened the locked drawer of his desk and retrieved the wooden paddle.  It was a long thin elegant paddle made from maple.  It was hard and unforgiving.  She had endured the feel of it against her bottom more often than she wanted.  He walked slowly around behind her, taking his time, as always.  Her face was bright red.    

Lately at night when she was alone in her apartment, she found her mind wandering to thoughts of the paddle.  She couldn’t help herself.  She began to wonder obsessively if he ever paddled his wife the way he paddled her.  She had to admit, the idea of him paddling his wife and then making love to her afterwards, seemed erotic to her.  She had relished the thoughts of that with wicked delight.         

He had secretly hoped she would give him a reason to punish her.  He enjoyed the opportunity of smacking her beautiful bottom every chance he got.  He slowly moved towards her and gently raised her skirt.  Her bottom was nice and full.  It was firm and round.  Her bottom made the perfect target for the paddle.  The fabric of her skirt was tight because her legs were spread wide, but he managed to pull it up and expose her panty clad bottom. 

Aside from paddling her beautiful bottom, he relished the thoughts of dictating a letter to her immediately afterward.  She would sit on the chair next to his desk on her freshly paddled bottom with her notepad in hand.  He loved watching her struggle to maintain her composure, fighting hard not to react.  She was prideful, too prideful to let him see her get upset.  He didn’t care if she chose to have a break down in front of him, but he knew it was against her very nature.  That was one of the reasons he admired her so much.  

The cool air penetrated the space between her legs as her skirt was lifted.  She wouldn’t admit it, but part of her secretly wanted him to order her to pull down her panties.  She had fantasized about it more than once, him paddling her on her bare bottom instead of over her panties.  But he never did that.  Instead he always paddled her atop her panty clad bottom.      

He usually delivered six hard swats.  She closed her eyes and braced herself.  This was so humiliating.    

He raised his arm high in the air holding the paddle firmly in his right hand.  His technique with the paddle, like most everything else in his life, was flawless.  Down came the paddle with a whoosh accompanied by a loud CRACK!  The paddle found its intended target and struck her tender round bottom with a fury.     

Ms. Johnson didn’t move or make a sound, even though the swat hurt worse than she remembered.  She knew after six of these she would be very sore.  Then would come the part where he would make her sit on the chair next to his desk while they went over his schedule or he dictated a letter to her.  That was why she had brought her notebook with her in the first place.  She closed her eyes and prepared for the next swat. 

He had to admire her courage.   Whoosh CRACK!  The second swat fell with a vengeance.  She stifled the urge to cry out and her eyes stung hotly from holding back her tears.  Damn!  That hurt! 

“Tardiness has always been a pet peeve of mine.”  He said in his calm voice.  “I’m not sure why exactly, but when someone keeps me waiting, it really frustrates me.”  Whoosh CRACK! 

The third swat found the target.  It was a lot like a bolt of lightening striking against her tender flesh.  Despite the intense pain she managed to continue holding her position.  Her heart was racing a mile a minute and the adrenaline was pumping through her body.  Her bottom was on fire, but still she remained stoic.

“I recall when I was at Langdon.  There was a slimy fellow there by the name of Stuart Schmidt.  He was always tardy.  I had the pleasure of administering a good many swats to him, because I was the Captain who was over him.  That poor fellow, I hope he learned his lesson and is no longer late, but somehow I doubt it.”  Whoosh CRACK! 

She managed to remain stoic once more.  Her eyes were still stinging and her bottom was on fire.  She had heard many times about Langdon Academy.  It was the military academy he attended in his youth.  She wasn’t sure why, but each and every time she found herself in this position, he saw fit to take a stroll down memory lane. 

“Yes, Stuart was not good at anything, though he wanted to be” He continued, “Although now that I think of it, Stuart did get rather good at taking his swats, I’ll give him that.”  Whoosh CRACK! 

It was all she could do at this point to maintain her position and keep her eyes focused straight ahead.  She had been counting the swats silently and she knew the next one was the last one.  It was going to be the hardest.  It always was.  She braced herself, gritting her teeth.  Her eyes were bloodshot from holding back her tears.  She simply wouldn’t allow herself to break down and weep in front of him, even though the sting was almost unbearable.  She knew from experience she would have two prominent round targets on her bottom.  Each target would be just about equal in size and coloring with an unusual whiteness in the middle.  It was a good thing she didn’t have any time for romance, she had no idea how she would ever explain her bruised bottom to a lover.

“I think the paddle that was used at Langdon was much thicker than this one.”  He mused.  Whoosh CRACKKK!   He finished with an especially hard swat, as usual.    

She jolted forward slightly from the impact of the last blow.  It was the only indication she had felt anything the entire time, aside from her stinging bloodshot eyes.  The tears almost broke through the surface from the last swat, but she managed miraculously to hold them back.    

“Now we can get down to business.”  He mused and walked back around the desk placing the paddle in his drawer.  “Let’s go over my schedule.” 

“Yes sir.”  She managed weakly.  She closed her eyes and forced herself to stand.  Her bottom was on fire.  She looked with apprehension at the leather chair sitting off to the side of his desk.  She always sat in that chair.  She smoothed her skirt down over her sore bottom and picked up her notepad.  She slowly lowered her burning bottom into the chair.   She held her notepad in hand and looked down at it to avoid his intense gaze.  The chair was cushioned, but it afforded her very little comfort.  It took a strong will for her to maintain her composure.  Her bottom was burning hot. 

After the longest thirty minutes she had experienced in quite some time, she was finally allowed to leave his office.  She rushed to the women’s restroom, quickly finding an empty stall.  She entered the stall and locked the door behind her.  She leaned against the side of the stall and allowed the tears she had been holding back to finally fall.  A couple of sobs escaped her lips as her tears flowed freely.  She grabbed some toilet paper to mop away all the water.  The humiliation and pain had been intense, as always.  She had known when she arrived at work that morning that the paddle would be her fate.  He had warned her about being late again.  Now it was over.      

After about fifteen minutes, she composed herself and set about redoing her make-up.  She took some time to examine her bottom in the mirror.  It was a mass of bruising.  She rubbed it fiercely.  It was going to be a long day, but she knew when she got home she could fondle herself and rub her sore bottom all night long.  That was her routine these days after being paddled.  It was becoming an addiction for her.  An addiction she was afraid she may never overcome.