Bloody Job


It was my first full-time job after leaving school and it was boring. If it was a colour it would be dung brown because the work was just crap. Quite honestly, I didn’t put too much effort into it. It was a case of why bother? Go to work and collect your pay while looking for a better job elsewhere.

After I’d been there for a couple of weeks I was invited to go and see the manager. Not my personal supervisor, but the Manager, with a capital M, my boss’s boss. I went along to the interview, trying to think of what I might have done wrong. Unfortunately, I quickly came to the conclusion that it was a rather long list.

“You see unhappy working here, Marion,” was the first thing the Manager said to me. “Do you want to resign?”

Oh my god, I was going to be fired. This was a disaster. There just wasn’t any work available right now and I liked getting a pay check.

“No, sir,” I said quickly. “I’m quite happy here.” (For a very low definition of happy, anyway.)

“Hmm. Your supervisor has pointed out that you seem to be having a few problems settling into a routine.”

I sighed and admitted that I found most of the work boring in the extreme. I wanted to do more of the interesting work.

The Manager nodded sympathetically, saying he quite understood.

“Still,” he said, “someone has to do the boring work. Some of these things aren’t really tasks that you would assign to senior staff members, now are they? What would you suggest we do?”

It was a classic case of disengage brain, open mouth, insert foot.

“Um, you could always hire someone to do the boring work,” I said brightly.

The Manager nodded thoughtfully while he looked at me.

“We did,” was all he said.

Oh. That was me.

“Are you going to fire me?” I asked in a very small voice.

“No. If I was going to fire you we wouldn’t be having this chat. You’d just be told not to come back. Your supervisor considers you to have potential, but I’m afraid where you’re concerned it includes doing the boring jobs.”

That was essentially it for the interview. Basically I was being warned to pull my finger out or get out. I was polite and contrite and promised to try harder.

I did try harder, but most of the work was still boring and I guess I was dragging my feet a little. I was a few minutes late to work several times, not that it really mattered in my books. Then came the night of the party. I don’t normally party during the week but we were having a baby shower for a friend and we all got a bit carried away. It’s possible that I might have had just a wee bit too much where alcoholic beverages were concerned.

I slept through the alarm and woke up hungover. I was a total shambles getting ready for work and I was decidedly on the late side when I did turn up, full of apologies for my supervisor.

“The Manager wants to see you,” he told me, his voice showing his annoyance with me. “Not now. After work.”

Hell and damnation. I was going to be fired, I just knew it. That fear, combined with the remains of the hangover, and having to rush around to catch up on my work, made for one very miserable day for me. Man, I just couldn’t afford to get fired. I needed my salary.

After work I went and saw the Manager. I got straight into grovelling. Sorry I was so late. I wasn’t feeling well. It won’t happen again. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

“If you were genuinely ill we wouldn’t expect you to come to work,” pointed out the Manager. “Exactly what was wrong with you?”

“I attended a baby shower for a friend last night. I guess I had a drink too many and I woke up late with a hangover,” I confessed. Might as well be honest. Lying would probably just get me in deeper.

“Uh-huh,” grunted the Manager. “Do you really want to work here? You’re free to leave at any time, you know. This is the second time we’ve had a little chat. That sort of inclines me towards accepting your resignation.”

Talk about instant panic. I need this job. Besides, I’m learning things here and I’ll get a chance to move up. I can’t get fired. I can just see me having an interview for another job. “Why did you leave your last employment?” “I got fired for coming in hungover.” “I see. Don’t call us. We’ll call you.”

“Give me another chance, please,” I grovelled. “I’ll try harder. I have been learning. The party last night was an unusual event. I don’t normally go to parties when the next day is a work day. Please.”

“I have to admit I’m somewhat disappointed in you. Like I said, we think you have potential, but you seem determined to waste it.”

“I do try,” I protested. “It’s just that I feel Mr Angra is never satisfied, no matter what I do.”

“Mr Angra would be happier as a slavedriver with a whip,” I added soto voce.

Unfortunately not soto voce enough. The Manager must have had ears like a bat and he heard me.

“Actually,” the Manager said dryly, “Mr Angra agrees with both of us. He feels that you have potential if you’d only apply yourself properly. He also suggested it would bahçeşehir escort be a good idea to make you a slave so he’d be authorised to beat some common sense into you.”

“He wouldn’t dare touch me,” I stated, glaring at the Manager.

He was laughing at me, damn him. His face was straight but I could see the laughter in his eyes.

“What you say is quite true. He’s a bit too mousey to beat an employee,” agreed the Manager. “But I would. What would you say if I made your continued employment subject to you being spanked? You do seem to have earned one.”

“You wouldn’t fire me just because I object to getting a spanking, would you?” I asked him, appalled.

“Probably not,” he said thoughtfully. “But are you willing to take the chance?”

Holy crap. He was serious. I was horrified. Would he really fire me if I didn’t let him spank me? I couldn’t decide. I was almost gnawing on my knuckles in my agitation. I finally came down on the side of common sense.

“No. You wouldn’t fire me for not submitting to a spanking,” I stated firmly.

“Quite right, I wouldn’t, but you did seem a little uncertain for a while. All right, I’ll give you another chance. However, I don’t want to have to speak to you again about your work performance unless it’s to tell you that you’re doing a good job.”

I hastily grovelled my way out of the office before I opened my big mouth and got myself fired anyway. Or spanked. I almost laughed aloud, thinking about that. Fancy wondering if the Manager would spank me and what it would be like. Geez, he was an old man. Probably of my father’s generation. Actually, now that I came to think of it, he wasn’t all that old. Mr Angra was of my father’s generation. The Manager would only be about ten years older than me. I wondered if I could get to be a manager in ten years. Did he start by doing the same scut jobs that I had to do?

For a while everything went smoothly at work. I did apply myself and Mr Angra slowly stopped bitching at me. I was also getting some more interesting work to do. I’d been stupid I realised. I’d taken so much time doing the boring jobs that I hadn’t had any spare time. Now that I was doing them smartly and getting them out of the way I had free time and Mr Angra was quite happy to move me to more challenging work to fill in my time.

Then there came the night of the big storm. Not much rain but a lot of thunder and lightning. Too much lightning. It knocked out the power in my area. No power meant no alarm which meant I slept in and was late for work. Mr Angra gave me a nasty look as I checked in and I very hastily explained about the blackout and loss of my alarm clock, with a whole host of apologies. Turns out that it was too late to apologise. There was an email waiting for me, setting up a meeting with the Manager after work. I had time to think, “I’m dead,” and then I was frantically running around to catch up on everything that should already have been done.

After work I went to see Mr Tomkins in fear and trepidation. (Yes, the Manager does have a name, but I usually think of him as The Manager.) Once again I didn’t hesitate. I got right into my apology and explained about the storm and the blackout and the alarm. I mean, he could see that it wasn’t my fault.

“Whose responsibility is it to make sure you have a decent alarm?” Mr Tomkins asked.

“Mine,” I admitted.

“You have a smart phone, I believe, with built in alarm clock and not subject to the power going out?”

I agreed that I did. It had just never occurred to me to use my phone alarm. I’d always used the old clock-radio.

“I am a little disappointed. You seemed to be doing a lot better.”

“But it wasn’t deliberate,” I said desperately. “I have been trying. Honest.”

I so did not need that muttered, “Very trying.”

“We have spoken about your performance before,” came the gentle reminder.

“I’m sorry,” I wailed. “Look, I’ll even take the spanking if that will help.”

“Ah, we’re not really in the habit of spanking our employees,” Mr Tomkins pointed out. “Reward and reprimand, yes, as in promote, demote and, regrettably, fire.”

“But I couldn’t help it, honest. It’s not as though it was deliberate or carelessness. It was just bad luck. I’m quite willing to work back to make up for lost time.”

“Even that costs the firm money,” Mr Tomkins pointed out. “Mr Angra would have to stay back to supervise and he hates that. Plus the extra power bills by having everything running for an extra hour or so. You have to realise that your lateness can disrupt the entire day for the rest of the staff.”

That I knew. It had been pointed out to me rather volubly by some guy who didn’t have his reports available first thing.

“I’m sorry. Truly I am. I’ll try even harder, I swear. You can punish me for being stupid but it wasn’t deliberate.”

(I can grovel with the best of them. I was quite enjoying the job now and didn’t want to lose it.)

“So you’re bakırköy escort saying I should just spank you and that will be the end of the matter? It doesn’t really work like that, you know.”

“It can if you say so,” I said obstinately. I can be as stubborn as the best of them when I want to be.

“Your probation is officially up this week,” Mt Tomkins pointed out. “We can just say you didn’t work out and we agreed to part company.”

I bit my lip and looked totally miserable.

“I’ve half a mind to spank you just for making things difficult for me.”

“That’s OK if it means I keep my job,” I said earnestly.

“OK. I’ll extend your probation for another month. If we have any problems with your performance in that period you are out with no further discussion. Are we clear on this point?”

I nodded quickly. Yes, yes, yes. Win to me. I still have a job. Ah, wait a minute.

“Ah, are you going to spank me?” I asked, suddenly feeling a little nervous.

The miserable swine laughed at me.

“Would it make you feel better if I did?” he asked.

Oddly enough, I thought it probably would. It would show me that I wasn’t getting away with anything and that I could take the consequences if I stuffed up.

“Um, yes, I think it would,” I admitted to him. “It’s a way of acknowledging that I screwed up and have to face the consequences. The extended probation doesn’t feel real. It’s not something you can actually see.”

“It is if you read your personnel file,” he observed. “You have no idea what you’re asking for, have you? Your personnel folder says you’re eighteen. Are you sure that’s right?”

“Yes,” I said, indignant. “And I do know what I’m asking for.”

“If you say so.” He nodded towards my slacks. “Get rid of those and your panties and I’ll get you to bend over my knee.”

“What?” Take of my pants? He had to be joking.

“The pants. Take them off. If I’m going to spank you it will have to be on a bare bottom.”

He was kidding. He could NOT be serious. Take of my slacks and panties? I’d die of embarrassment.

“Well? I’m waiting. I don’t have all night, you know.”

“Ah, I’m not sure about this,” I hedged, edging towards the door. One word out of place and I’d be screaming and running.

Wrong word, hell. He had this damned smirk on his face.

“Changed your mind, have you? Why am I not surprised?”

That rotten swine, sounding so superior. I’ll show him. I was furious.

“No, I haven’t,” I snapped.

I did it. I actually took off my pants and panties and I was standing in front of him, half naked. It took a determined effort not to hide behind my hands.

“I think you’d better take off the rest of your things,” he suggested. “You don’t really want your clothes getting snagged on anything when I spank you.”

I gave him a furious look. He was deliberately pushing this, trying to scare me off. Fuming I took off my top. I’ll show him I can’t be bluffed.

I was now standing naked in front of him. I was feeling furious and he was looking amused.

“Tell me, are you a virgin as well as an idiot?” he asked me.

I blushed. I was. A virgin, that is. Not an idiot.

“Hmm. It seems you are. Let me tell you how this will proceed. I’m going to sit on the visitors chair and have you bend over my knee, bottom up, shining in the light. I will smack it, quite firmly. Ah, as your pussy is very close to your bottom, and will also be exposed to my view, I’ll probably drop a few spanks on that, just to get you aroused a little.

To stop you wriggling around while you’re being beaten, I’ll have to hold you still. I’ll do this by cupping one of your breasts. It will be up to you to make sure it stays comfortably in my hand.

Now I mentioned that I’d probably drop a few spanks to your pussy. This will not be intentional. However, if it does happen don’t worry. I’ll pause in the spanking and rub your mound to soothe it.

There may also be a little problem when the spanking is over. Some women get very aroused when they’re spanked. I’ll check to see if this problem has arisen with you at the end of the spanking and, if it has, I’ll take care of your arousal for you. Any questions?”

Was he kidding? Any questions? He was just saying that as well as spanking me he’d be groping me.

“You’re saying you’re going to, ah, to, um, touch me personally while you’re spanking me?”

“Well, yes, sort of, but only if I accidently lay my hand across your mound instead of your bottom.”

He held up his hand, holding it slightly cupped. I squirmed mentally, imagining that hand closed over my mound. That was something I hadn’t counted on.

“Um, just what did you mean when you said you’ll take care of any arousal? Not that I expect to be aroused by the spanking. It’s just punishment, after all.”

“True, but the sort of punishment that some people regard as foreplay. As to what do I mean by taking care of your arousal I just başakşehir escort meant that if the matter arises I’ll drop my trousers and service you. I’m confident that I’ll be able to bring you to a climax.”

I stared at him stunned. He was going to fuck me afterwards, if I was aroused? Ha! He, a male, would be judging if I was aroused. No way he’d say I wasn’t. He simply meant that after he’d spanked me he was going to fuck me. Oh, god. I could feel my vagina paying attention. Just talking about it was arousing me. Not going to happen. I was out of here.

He’d let me go, I knew. I didn’t have to stay to be spanked. (And ravished, afterwards, remember.) I could take my clothes and run out the door and he wouldn’t even try to stop me. (A lowering thought.) He’d just laugh as I ran. Oh my god, he would. He’d be laughing at me. The little girl who couldn’t face getting spanked after daring him to do it. The little girl who grabbed her clothes and bolted before he laid as much as a single finger on her, scared of a spanking. (And the ravishment. Don’t forget the ravishment. Yes I would. I’d pretend it hadn’t been mentioned.)

He got up out of his chair and ambled around to one of the visitor’s chairs and sat. He patted his knee, looking expectant. What he was expecting was for me to turn and run, damn it. In high dudgeon I marched over and bent forward over his knee. I could feel his surprise and a thrill of pleasure shot through me. Then he was properly settling me onto his knee.

I nearly screamed when his hand closed over my breast. That sent a shock wave right through me. I was about to scream at him to take his hand off me when I realised that he’d already told me he was going to do this. I gulped and didn’t say a thing, waiting for that first spank.

It didn’t come, did it? Instead, his hand landed as lightly as a butterfly, neatly covering my mound. This time I did give a little squeak.

“Wh-what are you doing?” I demanded. “That’s not spanking.”

“I’m just making sure you understood exactly what I said was going to happen,” he said. “Your bending over my knee means that you accept everything that I said is going to happen.”

“Just the spanking,” I said hastily. “That’s all I’m agreeing to.”

“No. I said what was going to happen. You can’t pick and choose.”

To emphasize his point he started rubbing his hand back and forth along my mound. After a moment he changed it to a sideways rubbing, and I could feel my lips being dragged open and slapping shut as he went. He was dead serious. I either got off his knee or I got fucked.

What would you do? I decided that the risk wasn’t worth it and I was getting out of there. That was my considered intellectual opinion. My body said, hold on a moment. I’m interested in what might happen. As a result I just lay there frozen, feeling a hand rubbing my pussy and another hand rubbing my breasts.

A hand came down sharply on my bottom and I yelped. I could also have screamed with fury because I was now aroused. By staying where I was I’d agreed to be fucked. How could I do such a thing? But knowing what I’d agreed to, if only tacitly, my body was already reacting in anticipation. I was going to get fucked. As soon as this spanking was over I was going to get fucked.

I yelped again when my other cheek was abruptly warmed up. And then I gave a little scream when the next spank landed neatly on my pussy. Not stingingly hard but sharply enough. There was an insincere, “sorry,” and his hand massaged my pussy again.

“You are not sorry,” I snapped. “That was deliberate and you know it.”

My defiance ended with a yelp as another spank landed on my bottom. My poor bum was going to be in a very sorry state by the time this finished.

My breast was being squeezed in time to the spanks and I found myself squirming slightly, trying to move my breast away from his clutches. How’d that work out? Real well. My breast popped free and his hand was holding and massaging the other one. And the spanking went on.

The only thing systematic about the beating was the regularity of the slaps. It would be one cheek and then the other, or several on the same cheek, even, in one instance, three quick slaps against my pussy, followed by the ‘soothing rubbing’ of the pussy.

It’s a bit hard to measure how long a spanking takes. You can probably do it with a stopwatch but when you’re the one being spanked time has two dimensions. Slow time, which is the time you’re waiting for the next spank, and fast time, when you’ve just received a sharp smack on the bottom and boy, don’t you know it. It’s easier if the person doing the spanking is doing it with a nice regular beat, but when he’s stuffing around between spanks you don’t know if you’re coming or going. (Mind you – the way he was ‘soothing’ my pussy at times it wouldn’t have surprised me if I was coming.)

As the spanking went on I was becoming acutely aware of my bottom and the fact that it was smarting. I was also acutely aware of certain other parts of my body, but they weren’t smarting, just letting me know in a most interesting manner that they were alive and well and waiting. Being a virgin I wasn’t sure exactly what they were waiting for but I was damned well going to find out.

After what was to be the last spank landed, on my pussy, of course, Mr Tomkins gave my pussy one last consolation rub and then swung me to my feet.

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