Erotic fiction by Rod Cayenne
What a sexy girl Penny was. Always dressed fashionably in a mini skirt and boots. She reminded me of Bobbie Gentry, but perhaps a little more innocent looking. She was part typist, part stenographer. I’d rescued her from the grim abyss that was the company’s typing pool. I needed a secretary and I felt that I could mould and guide her into that role. Her interview for the job had been a sham as Alan the Personnel Manager and I had already decided the outcome. We’d worked it all out over steaks and beers at the local Berni.
And so it was that I took Penny to her first sales conference. I was scheduled to make one of the last of the key speeches. Imagine my horror when I found that Penny had forgotten to bring my carefully duplicated photostat notes! I gave her a stern telling off! We arranged to meet in my motel room to work on some replacement notes. Although Penny had typed up the original notes, she could remember little of the content. Fortunately I could, as I had been particularly proud of the speech. I dictated the speech again and told Penny that I would need a double-spaced typed copy.
“How am I going to manage that? I don’t have a typewriter! I suppose there might be some typing bureaux in the city?” Tears were welling in her eyes.
“That I doubt. Even the pubs are shut on a Sunday in this place,” I said to her firmly and finally.
“Oh George, what am I to do?”
Fortunately, I had come up with alternative arrangements.
“I’ve spoken to the motel manager. He has agreed that you may use his secretary’s machine. It’s a top of the range IBM electric model, I believe. So it may be a little more sophisticated than the one back at the office. We will be meeting his secretary, Miss Davies at 4.30 so that she can run through how the machine works.”
“Oh George, thank you so much!”
At the appointed time I took Penny down to meet Miss Davies. Penny was a little taken back by the secretary’s stern manner.
“You should give the forgetful minx a good thrashing!” she said.
The ten pound note I had slipped Miss Davies for that one-liner was paying dividends as Penny looked shame-faced and nodded with embarrassment.
An hour and a half later, there was a knock on my motel room door. It was Penny with the double-spaced speech. I gave her a hug. She burst into tears.
“Hey, hey, there’s no need for that my girl!” I said reassuringly.
“Oh George! I felt so guilty. And embarrassed when Miss Davies said that I deserved a good thrashing.”
“Well she was right there, don’t you think?”
“There’s no maybe about it. Of course you do! I expect you used to get thrashed at school? “
“Oh yes. All the time! Strap and cane. Cane and strap!”
“It just so happens that I have a cane in my golf bag.”
“I see, George. Then it’s almost as if you were expecting me to slip up.”
“Yes, maybe I was having a psychic moment!”
“The hell you were George Jackson! You’re a real fraud, but it just so happens that a good caning is just what I need to clear my conscience.”
She strolled over and emptied my golf bag before I could stop her. Golf clubs and balls, tees, a crook handled school cane, a brown riding crop, black handcuffs and a schoolboy cap all fell out. She picked up the handcuffs and cap and waved them at me.
“It seems that I have rather a kinky boss!” She laughed at me.
“Er yes, Penny. I can explain!”
“Don’t bother. You’re not the first kinky man I’ve met. I will however take that caning from you because I have let you down.”
“That’s jolly decent of you Penny! How many strokes did you used to get at school?”
“Six. Always six. Towards the end anyway. But you can give me seven as I’m that little bit older now.”
I was going to get to cane her but she was the one calling the shots! I thought about it a little. I was getting a good deal so I didn’t dare ask her to take more strokes or to drop her knickers. But then, to my astonishment, she bent over the bed and slipped her mini and knicks off for me anyway!
Her bottom was gorgeous. I could see other treasure, too. I picked the cane up from the floor. The cane had been in the family for years. My brother and I had both felt its bitter bite many a time. But now the cane was in for a real treat! The pert buttocks of a pretty young thing, just twenty-one years old, were awaiting its cruel caress.
“AAARGH!” she cried.
I stopped for a minute to examine the marks on her bottom. I felt her bottom. It felt good!
“That wasn’t part of the deal, George!” she snapped at me. Duly admonished, I picked up the cane and resolved to give her three hard, fast strokes to teach her a lesson.
SWISH-CRACK! SWISH-CRACK! SWISH-CRACK!
“AAARGH! You bastard!”
“Shut up, Penny! A caning’s meant to hurt you know.”
“I know, I know. It’s OK. Wow! I’m alright now. I think. Those last three took me by surprise George, that’s all. Anyway, you can cane me any time I do make a genuine slip up. But if you want me to cane you, it’s going to cost. Ten pounds!”
It was turning into an expensive day for me. I shrugged and said “If there’s one thing I’ve realised as I get older, it’s that I don’t miss money, Penny.”
Story © 2012 by Rod Cayenne
Handcuffs from http://www.vectorportal.com/