The First Incident
I wondered when I’d hear from Lynn Fortier again because she had told me to expect her. I didn’t know how long that would be; she had only said it would be “occasionally.” It turned out to be only a week. She was the executive director of my division, but I didn’t report directly to her. Except for the previous week, I had rarely spoken to her. She didn’t go in for a lot of socializing with her employees
Around three o’clock in the afternoon, she suddenly appeared by my desk. She didn’t greet me; all she said was, “Are you going to be working late here again tonight?”
I was feeling a bit more feisty than I had the previous week and I answered honestly, “You know with all these books I’m working on now I’ll definitely be here this evening.”
“Good, because as I said last time, I’d like to see you again.” Then she continued, “I think you’ll like this; you’re going to get more for yourself this time. And so will I. Of course, there will be some pain involved on your part, but as we discovered before, you like that kind of thing.”
This was one of the longest explanations she had ever given me about anything, plus she was smiling at me, also unusual. I merely nodded. She went on, “So knock on my office door at, say, 8:30 PM. Believe me, I’ll make it worth your time.”
I didn’t ask for any further details, and she just turned and left. I didn’t know how much choice I had in this matter, but I wasn’t going to complain about it at that point. I only knew what she was talking about in general terms, not the specifics. This was in April 1989 at a small legal publishing company in New Jersey. Actually, the unit only had about eighty people, but it was part of a much larger corporate entity that went up four corporate levels to the aptly named Apex Communications.
Somehow I worked for all of these divisions, but I identified most with the smallest one, my own workplace. Todd-Hackett Legal Works published books for attorneys, and it was miles away from the other, higher divisions. The aptly-named Apex itself was headquartered at a skyscraper it had built for itself in New York. Meanwhile, our far-flung little outpost occupied a portion of a two-story concrete pillbox in Clifton, New Jersey.
I had been at Todd-Hackett for about eight months by that time, and I was soon indulging in some very odd behavior. I hated the hours of unpaid overtime I had to put in as an “exempt” employee. Also, my marriage to my wife of fourteen years, Janey, was starting to go south. All of those hours at work weren’t helping my marital situation.
Anyway, I took out my frustrations by masturbating in different parts of the building at odd hours if no one else was around. I had plenty of opportunities for that, and I got increasingly careless about when and where I whacked off.
One night I decided to get clever and pleasure myself while kneeling on the floor of Lynn’s corner office. I turned off the lights but I left the door open. Then I took some hand lotion and got into a hot jerk-off session imagining Audrey, the trim blonde wife who sat in the cubicle next to mine.
I don’t know if it’s God or some other entity who controls what happens in this world. But that night, Lynn did walk in unexpectedly, turned on the lights, and I got caught in mid-stroke. It seemed to be the first time she had ever returned after leaving for the evening.
I thought my only hope then was that she would let me resign rather than going through official human resources channels to get me fired. But it turned out that neither of those was going to happen. Instead, she used the incident as an excuse to indulge her own perverse proclivities.
It was pretty straightforward, I guess. First, she took me over her knees, fondled my backside, and then beat my bare ass with a thick ruler. She was quite forceful with it, and she bruised my backside, but we both noticed the huge erection I got during the session. I had never been spanked before, and that development surprised me. Maybe it surprised her too.
Then I had to stand by the window and finish my interrupted bout of jerking-off while Lynn watched. She wanted me to describe what I was imagining doing to Audrey while this fantasy was going on. I didn’t think I could perform under that kind of pressure, but actually, I did fine. Lynn even noted the thickness and distance of the semen stream I shot off onto her floor. She said, “Well, that was certainly impressive.”
Then I was dismissed. “I may have you back here for another session . . . you can go now.”
When I was in my car I had a sore ass and a well-stroked penis – self-stroked of course. I felt I had been very lucky in how it had all turned out, and I still had my job. I guessed that Lynn would eventually forget about the incident and I would never hear about our offbeat encounter again.
Discipline
Well, I was wrong about that. At 8:30 I knocked on her door and I heard her say, “It’s not locked; please come on in.”
I was surprised to find her standing in front of her desk, leaning on it. There was also a chair there, facing her, and I figured I was supposed to sit in it.
I was right about that. She said, “Close the door and have a seat, make yourself comfortable. Would you like a glass of wine?” She wasn’t exactly friendly, but she seemed to have lost some of the frostiness she had shown last week when she had caught me whacking my own dick while over in the corner.
There was a bottle on the desk and two water tumblers, not wine glasses, next to it. “All right, I’ll have some.” After pouring, she just stayed leaning there for a bit without saying anything.
I had the insight that she wanted me to look her over, make an assessment of her. The previous week had been more than a bit surprising, and in the months before that most of my sexual fantasies had gone to other, younger women like the leggy blonde Audrey.
In 1989 I was thirty-four. I didn’t know Lynn’s exact age, but I found out later that she forty-one. She had been nick-named, behind her back, as “Big Red” by the staff. Part of that was because of her bright red hair, which on that night she had unpinned so that it fell to her shoulders. For a long time, I had suspected that it wasn’t her natural hair color.
She was also big in a couple of other ways. One was the authority she exerted in our office. But she was also not a petite lady. She was about five-foot-nine, and she had a voluptuous body. I guessed that she had probably put on a few pounds over the years, but she still looked pretty good.
There was no apparent shyness in the way she was looking back at me, so I took a bit more time to check out her appearance. As usual, her clothes and makeup were impeccable. She had a medium brown suit with a tight skirt, a white blouse, and – this was a nice touch – purple high heels.
She was a bit vain about wearing her glasses, but on that evening she had them on. They had thick, dark frames. Was that so she could see me better? All in all, I hadn’t noticed it before, but I thought, she’s an absolutely classic MILF.
We sipped from our wine glasses. I felt more assertive this time and I blurted out, “Lynn, take your glasses off for a moment.” She looked confused initially, but then she followed my request. I wanted to get a better look at her face.
Usually, women look more vulnerable without their glasses, but that wasn’t true for Lynn. She had intense dark eyes, and there was something about her expression – a kind of hardness, I’d call it, even when she was smiling. I knew little about her personal life beyond that she was divorced and had two kids in Montclair High School.
Yet I could tell she must have been stunningly beautiful when she was younger, and she still was pretty good right now. I got some hints from her. She asked me, “Does your wife know you’re working late tonight?”
“She’s not going to be surprised at whatever hour I come back.”
“Tell me, how is your marriage going?”
Why was that any of her fucking business? Yet, for some reason I answered her. “To tell you the truth, it’s been a bit wobbly recently.”
She smiled at me, “I know what that’s like. Once it starts to go in that way, the end will come sooner or later.” Probably she was still bitter about her own divorce. I also pondered why she was interested in the likes of me at all. The only advantage I had was that I was about seven years younger than she was. But that apparently was enough. Probably she was lonely and diddling around with a younger employee added some spice to her dull life.
Then she said, “I hope you understand that whatever we do is entirely voluntary on your part.” That hadn’t seemed true last week and I still didn’t fully believe her. There was more than a hint of blackmail in all of that. She went on, “I know that you’ve been thinking about that issue.”
I pushed back, “Please don’t try to guess what I’m thinking.”
“I don’t have to guess about something. I saw the huge erection you got when I paddled you last week.”
She had a point there. I could have reported her to HR because her behavior had been totally out-of-line. That wouldn’t have been easy, because she had been working there for a long time and she had credibility by being a manager. She could make a counter-claim against me for masturbating in her office.
But she had also revealed a kinky side of me that I had suspected I had but had never seen put into practice before. I was curious about what else she’d come up with this week.
She began to tell me more. “Like before, first comes the punishment, then comes the pleasure.”
“Why punish me? I haven’t done anything wrong this week.”
Lynn patiently explained it for me, “The first reason is that I absolutely adore punishing naughty men, and you had been very naughty. I don’t think you have sufficiently paid for it yet.” I wondered if her now-departed husband had participated in any of that.
“And what is the second reason?”
“That’s obvious. Paul, that hard-on you got, it was clear that you enjoyed it too.” I suddenly thought, I bet this dame is a switch, and she’d like a good spanking on her own heinie. I didn’t want to mention it at that point, but I filed it away for future reference.
Instead, I complained about the earlier session. “The only pleasure I got last time was when I stroked myself while you watched. It was something of a letdown.”
“Well, I think you’ll like what I have for you this week. Meanwhile, first, the discipline.” She got up and went over to our own chair behind the desk. “The first thing I’m going to do is spank you by hand. Don’t get too complacent. It’s going to be a hard one; my hand can inflict quite a thrashing on you.” I found out later that thrashing was a common word in British spanking porn. “Come over to my right side and lower your trousers, but not your drawers. Place yourself over my knees.”
Why am I doing this? Because I liked it more than I’m willing to admit, even to myself? Whatever the reason, I went over to her and placed myself on her lap. Then she pulled my underpants down and, like the previous week, she started to affectionately rub my behind and the backs of my thighs. I could feel the cool air in the office and the warmth of her hand.
After a little of that, she said, “Raise yourself a bit, I want to see what is going on under there.” She examined me, and said, “Just as I expected, you have a stiff boner.”
I was feeling bolder this week, and I answered honestly, “Well, that’s what usually happens when a lady rubs a man’s bare backside.”
“Oh, getting sassy, are you? Well, let’s see how well that erection holds up under a good, sound spanking.”
Lynn didn’t waste any time, and she began to beat me with her right hand. It didn’t hurt as much as the ruler had, but I noticed the impact. I glanced back and I saw she was lifting her arm up and out quite a way before bringing it down on me. I couldn’t control myself, and I grunted with each blow. It wasn’t as bad as the ruler had been, but I definitely noticed it.
She commented on her technique. “This is the way to correct a misbehaving male. Not too fast, but make each one count. I am just so fond of doing this. ”
I felt I had the right to respond, “Lynn, you certainly have a hard hand.”
“As you may have noticed, I’m not a delicate little slip of a woman.”
She probably spent a few minutes on that spanking, and I was groaning near the end of it. When she stopped, she rubbed me again. “I see I did a good job on you. You’re nice and warm and red now. And you still have that pesky boner. Bravo for you.”
I felt like saying, fuck you, but I knew that would be very unwise. In any case, not only was her hand hard, so was my cock. I guess I’m a masochistic little fucker after all.
She said, “Do you know that there are women who can have an orgasm just from a spanking? Although it does help if you catch them right on the back of their pussies.”
Gee, Lynn, do you know this from personal experience? Instead I asked, “Are there any men like that?”
“I don’t know about that. Anyway, it’s corner time right now. Go over there and put your hands on your head.”
You’ve got to be kidding me, right? But I did get up and do as I was told. I knew enough to face away from her so she could see my battered ass. It felt very hot and seemed to be vibrating. After a little more time, I looked back at her, and I got a bit snarky. “Examining your own handiwork, I presume?” Part of her results was that my cock was pointing out from under my shirttails.
She looked very pleased with herself. “As I said, that was good, sound spanking.” She shook her right hand. “Unfortunately I did get a numb hand from doing it.” Tough shit, lady, that comes with the territory. “I’ve noticed how aroused you still are. I’m not surprised, considering how perverse most men are.”
She was much more voluble than during the previous week. Also, her anger – had that been faked? – wasn’t visible this time. She seemed almost light-hearted, giggly even, as she said, “I’m going to make one more attempt to get your dick to go down. I’m going to try to do that with an implement, as you will see in a moment.”
I hadn’t noticed it before, but she had a stick leaning against the far side of her desk. It was a simple thing, She swished it through the air. I was still standing there with my hands on my head. “So you’re going to cane me with that?”
“It’s lighter than a true English – actually European - school whipping cane. Those take some skill to use properly, which I don’t have.”
“It still looks like it’s going to hurt.”
“Oh, it will, but I will use it so that – well, so that I won’t actually injure you.”
That didn’t sound particularly reassuring. How did she define injured? “Lynn, we really need a safe word for this.”
“Oh, you and your safe words. Okay, go ahead, pick something.”
I used the first thing that came to mind. “It will be ‘tuna fish.’” She laughed at that. So this aging tart did have a sense of humor after all.
“All right, bend over the desk and get your ass up – nice and high. Don’t worry too much; I know what I’m doing.”
That wasn’t very reassuring either. I could have just walked out at that point. I didn’t think she’d actually fire me, not with all that had gone on already. Was it really my own choice or was she exerting a kind of control over me? Was it a combination of the two reasons? Whatever, I did as she requested.
She stood to my left side, then she tapped me a couple of times with her stick. “If I were you, I’d be cautious about using that safe word, or phrase I’d call it.”
I reminded her, “It’s tuna fish, remember?” And then I asked, “How many of these am I getting?”
“I’m not sure yet. What do the English call it, twelve of the best? Maybe a few more than that.” With that, she raised her stick and gave me a sharp rap with it across my buttocks. It did hurt, as I had been told it would, and I yelled out something like “ouch” or “ow.” Reflexively, I stood up straight and grabbed my own ass.
Lynn calmly said, “Come on Paul, take it like a man. Stay in position and keep your hands your of the way. There are boys much younger than you who have taken a real cane across their bare backsides.”
With her second stroke, I did a bit better, but not by much. She made a “tsk, tsk” sound and said, “I’m going to push down on your back and use my right one for the stick. Hold on to the far side of the desk with your hands.” Her left hand exerted a considerable amount of pressure on my back.
Maybe it was manly pride, but I wasn’t going to let this mean old bitch get the better of me. I took what she dished out, and I tried not to move so much. I couldn’t control my voice, however, and I yelped with each stroke.
Despite her reassurances, Lynn was pretty forceful in the way she swung her implement. I worried that she would catch me in the balls with her nasty little stick, but her aim was very good. At one point she said, “You’re getting too much on your right side. I’m going to change sides and use my left hand for this.”
