Spanking Ms. Whitman (Play at Work) (2 page)

He was leaving. Relief flooded her, followed by guilt at her selfishness. Then nervousness came flooding back; she wanted to get this over with, and she’d taken up enough of his morning.

“I understand if you want to fire me, Mr. Marks.” Brave words, but facts were facts. He had the responsibility of the whole company on his shoulders and couldn’t spend all his time worrying about one dumb blonde who couldn’t even get to work on time.

He faced her, eyes narrowed, but then the corner of his lip quirked. “Fire you? Why would I fire you?”

Puzzled, her mind flew through a series of scenarios. Suspend her. Maybe? Take away her parking space? “Well, because…that is, I am late all the time. You can’t run a successful business if your employees aren’t at work when you need them.” Her cheeks heated; why hadn’t she accepted the simple truth sooner? “Are you going to demote me?”
Oh, please, not that humiliation. Everyone would know he doesn’t trust me to do my job. Please!

“No.”

She swallowed hard. She’d spent five years in the open cubicles before he’d promoted her to management. Starting over would have been hard, but she’d do it if he asked.

She imagined his shock if he were to discover she had long since gone beyond hero worship to stronger, more intimate feelings. A man who kept his personal life so separate from work even his secretary had little to share at lunch or in the break room—would not welcome her feelings. Super models probably lined up at his door. Just one cog in the machine that made his company run, she didn’t merit a second glance. Still, her heart refused to accept what her mind understood.

“So I still have a job? You don’t want to put me back in the cubicles?” She winced at the tremble in her voice.

“Demote you? Remove you from a position for which you are well qualified?” Mr. Marks took a step toward the door, then paused. “Your ability to perform your job is not in question.”

“But I’m always late.” She began to stand, but changed her mind and sank back onto the chair.

“And what do you think I should do about that? Do you feel I should tolerate continual defiance of one of the company’s rules?” His voice remained level, even pleasant, but his words chilled her.

“No, sir.”

“So,” he continued, “you see my problem.” He frowned when she did not respond. “Do you, Miss Whitman?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I do believe some form of punishment is called for.” He moved nearer and she shrank into her chair. “Do you have any suggestions?”

Suggestions?
Her frequent fantasy rushed back to fill her brain.“ You could always spank me.” She clapped her hand over her mouth in horror, dying to sink into the floor and disappear.
What the hell did I just say?

He narrowed his eyes but continued in a level tone, as if she hadn’t just shoved her foot in her mouth with her perfectly ridiculous—and revealing—suggestion.“ I have been called away for a bit. I would like you to sit here and consider how to handle the problem you have caused—in a
serious
way, please.”

Gulping, she said, “Yes, okay, Mr. Marks.”

“I am not in the habit of leaving anyone alone in my office, as you know. So please stay seated in the chair, do not get up, and do not touch anything. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” A whisper.

“Pardon?”

“Yes—yes, sir.”

“I will return shortly.”

“Yes, Mr. Marks.”

He passed her without a glance, leaving her in a renewed and deeper silence, shifting on the uncomfortable seat.
Not
getting up. She needed a distraction. The glossy surface of his desk drew her. If he came back in and found her lying across it on her belly, with her skirt flipped up and her panties around her ankles, would he get the point? Would he paddle her fanny with his broad palm…teach her a lesson. Make good on his promise of “unpleasant consequences?” She squeezed her thighs together. Maybe not so unpleasant.

Not that he’d have a clue! Or any interest. She sighed.
Maybe it would be better if he did fire me. I could get a job somewhere else and maybe stop carrying a pointless torch for a man who doesn’t want me.

Long, dragging units of endless time. She reached into her skirt pocket and cursed when she realized she’d left her cell phone in her purse. The walls were bare of clocks and she hadn’t worn a wristwatch since she’d gotten the phone. How long had he been gone? Five minutes, ten…longer? The narrow chair’s hard edges cut into her buttocks, becoming more uncomfortable by the moment. And worse, she’d had three cups of coffee before arriving at work, two at home and one in the car—a venti.

Her eyes fixed on the door to the left of the enormous desk. Mr. Marks’ private restroom. He couldn’t mean for her to sit here and never move at the expense of his furniture and carpet.
Wouldn’t that be nice!
She bit her lip and tapped her foot. Two options, leave the office and use the employee bathroom down the hall—assuring that he discovered her failure to obey—or slip into his restroom, relieve her problem, and return to the chair, nobody the wiser.
Plan B, definitely.

Standing, she rubbed her buttocks, where the hard seat of the chair had left achy dents.
Ouch.
She dashed into the restroom, used the toilet, and washed her hands. Turning to leave, she noticed a floor to ceiling cabinet on the wall next to the door. Glossy, dark mahogany, like the desk, with a heavy brass handle. Awfully fancy for a bathroom, even one in the executive suite. She shook her head and returned to her assigned seat.

None of her business what Mr. Marks kept in his closet. No doubt a change of clothes in case he went out for the evening. Maybe a tuxedo. She tried to settle in the chair, but her sore behind wouldn’t let her stay in one place and she leaned from side to side, wiggling, trying to keep the weight off the more sensitive places.
If I didn’t have such a big fanny, I probably wouldn’t have a problem. Or maybe the cushioning is the only thing saving me from total agony.

In her discomfort, her curiosity offered her a distraction. He had been gone a very long time, perhaps he’d even forgotten her. She glanced toward the door to the hallway and back toward the restroom. Curiosity ate at her. What could it hurt to take one little peek in his closet?

No! I don’t even have the excuse of needing to pee anymore.
Of course…who could know that? Before she could change her mind, she leapt up and sprinted for the restroom door. She closed it behind her, careful to listen to it click closed before turning to face the heavy cabinet that had driven her to such reckless behavior.
Probably locked, anyway.

Mona gave the handle an experimental tug and to her amazement, it opened. As she had expected, a clothes closet held a row of padded hangers, two business suits, and a tuxedo. A low shelf with a few pairs of men’s shoes and a set of built-in drawers completed the contents.

She drifted her fingers along the clothes—a heather gray sport coat, the heavy, smooth weave of the tuxedo, and bent to gather a suit jacket against her face. It held the scent she had come to associate with Mr. Marks. Not that she made a practice of sniffing him, but sometimes in the elevator or when he stood near her while she gave him her reports… Cologne, woodsy, with a note of citrus, and the clean musk she recognized as his alone. She allowed herself the luxury of standing surrounded by his clothes, his scent, his personal belongings then, unable to resist, pulled the gray jacket off its hanger and looked at the tag.
Covington House, London.
Well, at least that much was true.

With a sigh, she replaced the garment and closed the door, turning away to lean against the cool wood. Even if Mr. Marks retained her services, she shouldn’t expect to have any kind of an intimate relationship with him, ever.

Nobody had ever accused the formidable Mr. Marks of less than professional employer-employee relations. And many had tried, women and men alike, to breach the impenetrable fortress, with no success, as far as she knew.

She straightened to move away and froze at a thump from within the closet.
Dear God, what if I broke something?
She hadn’t seen anything fragile in there, but who knew? Grasping the edge of the door she opened it a crack, afraid whatever made the thump might fall and hit the floor, breaking for sure.

Not seeing anything in the dark space, she let the door open a bit more and something dropped at her feet.
What the hell?
She bent to pick it up, puzzled. A long piece of smooth wood, light in color. She had no trouble identifying the item. Paddles played a big role in her nighttime fantasies, always wielded by her incredibly sexy boss.

She opened the cupboard door, pushed aside the fabulous suits and found an empty hook along the back wall. The only unoccupied one, because the others were hung with a selection of implements that sent a rush of dampness to her panties. Her breath came faster as she touched each one. A cane, a birch rod, two other wooden paddles and one of leather—a dozen such tools, all of which led her to a fascinating conclusion. She and her boss were a match made in an alternate lifestyle heaven.

The difference between them—he clearly practiced it, while she only dreamed of it.

And it was time that changed.

After she hung the paddle on its hook, she shifted the suits on their wooden hangers back into place and closed the closet door. Slipping across the office, she settled in the hard, wooden chair, feet flat on the floor and hands neatly folded in her lap. She remained uncomfortable, but now she had reason to wait. Reflecting on their conversation before he left the room, she started. Had he smiled? A little?

Chapter Two

Randolph Marks had never intended to be gone so long. He’d left her sitting in his office for over an hour while he dealt with a client whose impossible demands had driven his customer service representative nearly to distraction. His most tactful diplomacy had eased both sides into a satisfactory arrangement. All good…but Mona—Miss Whitman—waited.

And he’d left her in the most uncomfortable chair possible. He’d about decided the time she’d waited was punishment enough for her transgression. The poor thing must be beside herself by now, a sodden heap curled in a miserable ball, afraid his anger would rain down upon her silky blonde hair. An image of his favorite employee entered his mind, making him smile. Wide, sea blue eyes fringed by long, feathered lashes, her sadness could eat into his soul.

What state must she have been in to suggest he spank her? Pure desperation. And she couldn’t know how many times he’d entertained the idea, alone in his office. Quite a distraction at meetings as well. Her clothes so much more conservative than many of her co-workers, he longed to strip them off a piece at a time and….

Fire Mona? Impossible. He couldn’t lose the best mid-level manager in his firm, who also happened to be the reason he rarely took a day off. She charmed the clients and helped to keep his other employees operating at their best. She made his day, just by coming in to the office. If only she could do it on time!

He should give her a spanking.

It had been her idea after all.

She had no idea what she asked, but he did. He’d pictured her many times with her skirt off or better yet tucked up around her waist. In his mind he’d already slipped his finger under the lace of her panties to feel how wet her pussy was, trailed it through her moisture to arouse her further, heard her moan his name. Flogged a pattern of stripes on the backs of her pale, smooth thighs.... Dear God the woman drove him mad.

Fire her? No! Marry her, maybe. He shook his head at his bizarre train of thought; he didn’t date employees, didn’t mix business and pleasure. But everything about Mona was a pleasure and a temptation. What would she think if she knew the fantasies that flew through his mind when she raced in late, day after day, cheeks flushed, and tried hide her tardiness. When she sat in his office going over reports and her subtle rose perfume had him leaning over his desk, breathing it at though it were his source of oxygen. When they happened to share an elevator and he caught himself moving as close as possible, fists clenched at his sides to prevent them from reaching out to caress the curve of her breast, her rounded backside. He especially liked her sexy ass. Mona’s ample curves drew him like a magnet.

He stood outside his office, hand on the doorknob. Enough. His Mona did not need the burden of knowing her boss wanted her over his lap and in his bed. Although he hardened in his pants every time she bent to pick up a paper clip, and he wanted to grasp her hips and pull her rounded ass against his groin, he would not cross that line. He’d never slept with an employee. Until her, he’d never been all that tempted. He’d had no trouble keeping his priorities in order.

Lovely women populated the clubs he frequented, more than willing to fulfill any kinky fantasy he could concoct. Rosy buttocks were a dime a dozen—but not the ones he longed to redden.

Mona had been pretty upset and scared. With luck, she’d learned her lesson, and he could hear her regrets and forgive. She wouldn’t want to go through another session like this one. And if she kept coming late—although he wouldn’t reveal the fact—he would learn to live with it. Because he couldn’t go through another day like this either.