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Hotel Part 1 - Miranda's Downfall

One silly mistake was all it took


It was one stupid mistake, I thought ruefully. How could I have been so silly after everything I had achieved at the hotel? After I left school I did waitressing and other odd jobs and only three years ago I arrived here, 'little Miranda' earning a basic wage as a room maid, cleaning toilets and making beds whilst fending off lonely men working away from home looking for a one night stand.

I was the bottom of the pile that nobody cared about; working all hours for a pittance in a dowdy brown-checked uniform and flat-heeled shoes, which did nothing for my fairly shapely legs. Old men would leer at me and make indecent suggestions or threaten me for any slight mistake, like forgetting to turn the bed down or replacing something from the drink cabinet. Remarks like 'if you were my daughter I would spank your bottom for doing that,' or 'the next time my girl, I'll put you over my knee' were almost a daily occurrence. Fat disgusting men who stayed on a regular basis were the worst, almost thinking that you came with the room!

But I put up with it and progressed gradually, becoming a waitress in the hotel restaurant and finally getting rid of that basic overall. I loved the light blue blouse and tight fitting navy blue skirt as it showed off all my best features, above ample breasts for my height being just over five feet, and my bottom, which had always stuck out prominently and looked great in a skirt. My legs looked great in the black court shoes I was allowed to wear and I thoroughly enjoyed the back glances from the men as they turned to ogle both bum and legs. Then came promotion to the reception desk. I thought I had arrived! The hotel is huge with hundreds of rooms and the reception area is cavernous with several staff and a hierarchy all its own.

I was now allowed to wear make-up, have my hair as I wanted it and the blouse was now a blue and white checked satin number with a contrasting scarf loosely tied around my neck. The skirt was the same but now high heels were allowed and my legs were a wow! I loved it.

My big break came when the reception manager went off sick and I was chosen to stand in for her. Suddenly I was in charge of seven staff and I quickly adapted to being the boss; everyone below me had to call me Miss Johnson and I ruled my roost with a rod of iron. She never came back and without much competition I became the permanent reception manager with a big pay rise and a much sexier, tailored business suit.

To celebrate I bought myself a pair of outrageously expensive stilettos and strutted the corridors of the hotel with flair to the admiring glances, not to mention the polite courtesy of those men who once thought I was nothing. Everything had been going perfectly, it was the 'swinging sixties' and the hotel was right in the thick of it in central London. Obviously not in the league of the Dorchester and the other Park Lane hotels but definitely in the next category, swish new glass and leather reception area, loads of space and plenty of colourful action.

It was a great time to be a woman, stockings were going out and new, easy to wear tights were coming in, nightclubs booming with fun and guys and crazy new music like the Beatles with their new album Help! I went out and got it as soon as I heard it and it was just fab. And now I was in charge, looking good, feeling good and getting paid loads.

A replacement for my old job was found and a guy called Bob Jenkins, who at 22 was the same age as me arrived. He had joined us straight from University. I didn't like him from day one; he thought he knew it all, and knew nothing. He'd never cleaned a bedroom or served at tables or anything. Except present the hotel with a fancy certificate. He also tried it on with me, but I wasn't interested in him, even though he was tall and athletic looking and actually fairly handsome in a way. Anyway, he just didn't fit in. I preferred to have an all female staff working for me, and I didn't like the way he ogled us, trying to see up our skirts ever time we sat down or crossed legs. Now that skirts were getting shorter we had to learn new skills at keeping straying eyes off our panties!

I just didn't like having to be on my guard all the time. So I made his life as uncomfortable as possible. He kept on calling me Miranda until I dressed him down in front of the girls and insisted he call me Miss Johnson like the rest of them. He didn't like me either!

One of those big fat men who used to plague me when I was a lowly maid had left his pen on reception after signing for some expenses and rushed off. It was an expensive one, gold with a small diamond on the side. I tried to alert him to it but he was gone. Then I did a stupid thing. My dad's birthday was that day and I wanted to get him something very special and, as reception was deserted, on a silly impulse, I put it in my pocket. Little did I realise that a pair of eyes had spotted me. Bob had his eyes everywhere, usually looking for a glimpse of thigh or down someone's front, but when the fat man came back looking for his pen I denied seeing it. Bob knew different and five minutes later I was in front of the General Manager, and quaking in my high heels, cursing myself for being so stupid.

Miss Graham, the General Manager of the hotel was a serious woman of about 30. A woman I looked up to and aspired to fill her shoes when she eventually moved on, now I probably wouldn't have a job cleaning her shoes by the time she'd finished with me!

"You are suspended as of now Miss Johnson," she growled, summing up my position. "You will wait outside until I have spoken to Mr Phillips."

Head bowed I left her office and sat in the outer area where her secretary had her desk. Hotels are a hotbed for gossip and it was obvious by her knowing looks that the secretary knew all about why I was waiting like a silly schoolgirl outside the headmistress's office. Mr Phillips, the fat man, lumbered into her office and emerged 10 minutes later giving me a wry smile. My stomach churned and then somersaulted when I was summoned back in.

"There is no doubt that you were attempting to steal Mr Phillips' pen and I should have no hesitation in dismissing you immediately and calling the police to have you taken away," she said gravely.

My legs felt like jelly and I could feel my knees actually knocking together at the seriousness of her words and the tone of her voice.

"However," she hesitated. "Mr Phillips has no wish to involve the police and will drop the matter if you go to his room and apologise."

Her words were like music and a huge relief spread over me as they sank in. She wasn't going to sack me!

Again a severity in her voice checked my delight. "However," she hesitated again. "I will not let this pass without a disciplinary measure against you." She drew in breath like a judge before passing sentence. "I am going to demote you with immediate effect. I consider your actions so serious that allowing you to continue with us as a room maid is more than you deserve."

My heart sank, demotion back to where I started, in that dowdy overall, at the mercy of those groping old men, the lowest of the low. How could I have been so stupid?

"However," she said again, "due to the nature of your actions I cannot allow you to enter the rooms of residents without supervision. Therefore, subject to you 'satisfying' Mr Phillips, I will allow you to continue working on reception."

Still on reception! Did I hear her correctly? I stood mute not daring to speak.

She continued. "You will be the junior receptionist reporting to the new Reception Manager, you will also take instructions from the other more senior members of staff. Is that understood?"

I was still taking it all in, I would be reporting to all my own staff, they would become my superiors! But at least I still had a job, and anything was better than being a room maid.

"Yes Miss," I acknowledged.

She leaned across her desk towards me. "Without a letter of satisfaction from Mr Phillips I will have no alternative but to dismiss you," she said. Then with a knowing look on her face. "Woman to woman," she began, "if I were you I would get up to his room and wiggle my wares in his fat face and get on my knees to give him an apology he will never forget." She stood up. "We both know what he wants. Take the rest of the week off and report back to me first thing Monday morning for your instructions."

I always felt confident and even powerful in my business suit and expensive stilettos, but now, standing outside room 238 I again felt like a naughty schoolgirl summoned to the headmaster's door. I knocked and waited. I could hear the heavy footsteps of the fat man and the door opened and he beckoned me in.

He sat on the corner of his bed. "You have something to say?" he asked.

"Yes Sir," I answered not knowing where to start. "I'm sorry Sir," I stammered.

He stuck his large hand in the air to stop me. "Actions speak louder than words," he growled. "Miss Graham wants a letter from me, and you, my girl, are going to have to earn it."

"Yes Sir," was all I could think to say.

I could guess what was coming next. This was one of the men who threatened to put me over his knee when I was a room maid for some minor fault. Now he didn't need to threaten it. I could tell from his body language and how he had seated himself that I would be getting a spanking before I left his room. I couldn't afford to lose my job so I accepted it. I shifted nervously from foot to foot, conscious that he was eyeing me up and down as he spoke, first my legs and then my breasts got the long stare.

The big paw-like hand tapped against his thigh indicating it was time. "Over my knee, Miranda," he confirmed. He wasn’t the sort to have a discussion with.

So over I went. Not being very tall and him being so large made it easy for him to tilt me forward and spread me across the huge expanse of his lap. He encircled my waist and lifted me forward so my legs hardly touched the floor and my head draped down his other side, arms outstretched to the carpet. I felt his knee rise beneath me lifting my upturned bottom towards him, my toes leaving the floor and I was now dangling fully over his knee. His paw of a hand slowly stroked the seat of my skirt, tightly stretched across my bulbous cheeks.

'SLAPP! … SLAPP! … SLAPP! … SLAPP!' He swatted my left cheek four times in quick succession and I bucked on his knee.

'SLAPP! … SLAPP! … SLAPP! … SLAPP!' He gave me another four on the other cheek and the heat beneath my skirt quickly intensified.

'SLAPP! … SLAPP! … SLAPP! … SLAPP!' Returning to the first cheek he bounced his large hand off my rear end in exactly the same point on my derriere, turning up the heat by an order of magnitude.

'SLAPP! … SLAPP! … SLAPP! … SLAPP!' I could feel my bottom jiggling beneath his palm even though it was restrained by the tightness of my business skirt.


"Ooowww! … ooowww! … ooowww!… ooowww!" I responded unable to be silent any longer.


"Ooowww! … ooowww! … ooowww!… ooowww!" I was thrashing about on his knee like a schoolgirl. No longer containing my squeals.

I could feel his chubby fingers around the clasp on the back of my skirt and suddenly the waistband slackened as he pulled my zip down. I was in no position to argue! His arm encircling my waist lifted me slightly off his knee whilst he tugged my skirt down from beneath me. I felt it slide clear of my bottom now protected only by my blue and white polka-dot knickers. I suddenly wished I had put on my tights this morning but being mid-summer decided against it, going bare legged instead. They wouldn’t have offered much protection but anything was better than none. His hand returned to my seat, smoothing across the thin cotton of my little pants.

'SLAPP! … SLAPP! … SLAPP! … SLAPP!' Again his hand swatted each cheek four at a time and I bucked like a bronco.

'SLAPP! … SLAPP! … SLAPP! … SLAPP!' The heat spread across my other cheek, much more intense now I was minus my skirt.

'SLAPP! … SLAPP! … SLAPP! … SLAPP!' The speed of his spanking hand was mind boggling and I had no time to recover before he was tanning the other side of my bottom. My legs were in mid air and kicking wildly.

'SLAPP! … SLAPP! … SLAPP! … SLAPP!' With no skirt to restrain them, my little orbs were wobbling like jelly inside my knickers. This big man had got the measure of me and I was dancing to his tune and squealing in unison.


"Ooowww! … ooowww! … ooowww!… ooowww!" I wailed, howling like a banshee between each spank.


"Ooowww! … ooowww! … ooowww!…

I thought he must be done with me when the rapid spanking stopped, only to be horrified when my knickers suddenly vanished from around my waist and were tugged down to my knees.

"Panties down, young lady," he announced unnecessarily as they slid down between my thighs. The cool air surrounded my burning globes and I felt really vulnerable as the protection vanished from my pouting 'womanhood' now fully exposed to his view. A silly thought came to me. Why do women always call them knickers and men refer to them as panties?

'SMACK! … SMACK! … SMACK! … SMACK!' The silly thought left my head as my bare bottom resounded to his bare hand in an ear splitting cadence as he resumed his rapid tanning of my backside.

'SMACK! … SMACK! … SMACK! … SMACK!' Now my legs were well and truly alive, dancing a mid-air tango for him to the music he was playing on my maidenly rear end. My stilettos amazingly stayed firmly on my feel.


"Oooow! … yeeoooow! … owwcch!" I danced, kicked and squealed. My arms pinned to my side to prevent me seeking to protect my back end, head rearing up and down with each spank.


"Pl.. please Sir, Ooooooow!"

'SMACK! … SMACK! … SMACK! … SMACK!' I squirmed like an eel on his lap, my legs akimbo and kicking wildly, unable to wriggle free under his vice like grip. I knew my moist woman-fruit would be fully exposed against his knee but I just didn't care any more. He was aroused at spanking me, that I could tell, the bulge beneath me growing harder with each stroke he gave me.


At last the spanks stopped and suddenly he was lifting me to my feet. I tottered on the slender heels of my stilettos to regain my stance then thrust both hands to my rear in a frantic attempt to extinguish the fire he had put there. Both knickers and skirt slithered to the floor but I didn't care, far too busy concentrating on my behind than preventing him from ogling the little wispy patch on my front.

Mr Phillips stood up, the bulge in his trousers like a tent pole poking towards me. I began to reach down to retrieve my knickers and skirt when his hand arrived on the top of my head, applying a persuasive downward pressure. His intentions were obvious and however unpleasant, I had little choice but to obey and so down on my knees I went. His cock was like the rest of him, wide and stubby, and almost burst out of his trousers as I unzipped him. I slid him between my lips and bobbed back and forth on his erection and in no time he jerked off, his white liquid squirting across my face and still buttoned up business jacket.

I had satisfied him just as Miss Graham suggested and he assured me his letter would be with her later that day. I had rescued my career and went home to reflect on my stupidity, and clean my suit for the following week! I may be at the bottom of the pile again, I thought, but I had been there before and worked my way up. I was confident I would do it again. Who would be my new manager, and would she be easy to work for. Those two questions dominated the rest of the week.

I was in Miss Graham's office promptly that morning, smartly dressed in my business suit and satin blouse with its contrasting scarf neatly tied and tucked inside my buttoned up jacket. My little badge announcing 'Miranda Johnson - Manager' was still fastened to its lapel, although not for much longer. That would be replaced with a less glowing one announcing me as plain 'Miranda Johnson'.

Miss Graham didn't invite me to sit down so I stood before her desk waiting for my instructions.

"I have received Mr Phillips' letter Miranda," she began. "As junior receptionist you will report directly to the new manager Mr Jenkins," she announced.

A man! I thought, not a woman? This was bad news, then it hit home, Mr Jenkins! That's Bob, the new College guy. How on earth could he be the Manager? There were far more experienced people above him!

She obviously read my thoughts. "Mr Jenkin's qualifications are exemplary and made him an ideal choice to replace you," she explained. Lifting the phone she called reception. Two minutes later he was knocking at her door.

I couldn't believe his transformation. Bob was wearing a very nice tailored suit and towered above me in both height and stature, he gave me a wry half smile, self satisfied and smug even, and a shudder went down my spine. I knew I was in for a hard time! His new badge proclaimed 'Bob Jenkins - Manager."

"You will report directly to Mr Jenkins, Miranda," she instructed. Leaning towards me with a serious voice she added. "Any problems between the two of you will lead to your instant dismissal, Miranda," she warned. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes Miss Graham," I acknowledged. I flashed him a glance and saw that arrogant grin spreading across his face. I knew I was in for it. And there was nothing I could do, except leave my job. And I couldn't afford to do that.

He acted quickly. Back in my office, or rather his office, he read me the riot act and gave me a severe dressing down within earshot of the other girls in the back office next door before I'd even started work! His final instructions were to call him Mr Jenkins at all times and to report to him in room 100 in half an hour!

Room 100 was a large bedroom kept spare at all times for emergency use, and very frequently for very private conversations including disciplinary meetings. I had used it myself often when giving my staff a lecture. My stomach turned over at the prospect of having a private dressing down from this upstart.

Half an hour later I was knocking at the door of room 100 and being ushered in by my new boss. The first thing I noticed was the uniform of a junior receptionist lying on the bed, very downmarket from the tailored suit I was currently wearing, even worse was the pair of flat heeled shoes that went with it. I looked down at my own very expensive stilettos and felt a sadness that I would no longer be allowed to wear them to work; they made my legs look great.

Bob strutted around the room, arms behind his back and his nose in the air. "You will change into the junior's uniform NOW please, Miranda," he ordered.

I nodded and was immediately rebuked for not saying 'yes Mr Jenkins' and I waited for him to leave so I could get changed.

"NOW, Miranda," he repeated.

"But Mr Jenkins …" It was no use arguing, the male chauvinist wanted me to strip in front of him and there was nothing I could do about it if I wanted to keep my job.

I began with my jacket, unbuttoning it and slipping it from my shoulders and placing it neatly on the bed next to the new outfit. Next the scarf, untying it and placing that on top of my jacket. Skirt or blouse, which should I take off next? Bob's eyes were fixed on me, waiting in expectation for me to show him my undies. I opted for the skirt, reaching behind me to unclasp it and loosening the zip, slid it down my legs and stepped out of it, folding it carefully before placing it on top of the others things. He was having a good look at my shapely legs, enhanced by my ultra high stiletto heels, my navy blue high-leg cotton knickers provocatively peeping out from below my blouse. If I had known I would be stripping for a man, any man, I would have put on something much sexier, and much smaller.

Unbuttoning my blouse raised his attention as my matching blue lacy bra came into view, this was a much sexier number and showed my ample assets off perfectly. So there we were, me and my new boss in room 100, he, arrogant in his new suit, arms behind him and ogling me from head to foot. Me in my knickers and bra feeling vulnerable and slightly silly in my high heels, like a pole dancer with no pole. Except the one in his trousers poking menacingly at me!

I reached for the new uniform to get myself covered up.

"Not yet," he said suddenly. He picked up one of the flat-heeled shoes. "I think I need to establish my authority," he added.

"Please Bob .. I mean Mr Jenkins," I stammered, realising what was coming next.

"My point exactly," he said. "After I have finished with you my girl, you will not dare to call me anything but Mr Jenkins or Sir."

"Pl .. please Mr Jenkins, Sir. I …"

He cut me off, slapping the flat shoe against his other hand. "Bend over, Miranda."

My situation was hopeless, Miss Graham had been very specific, any argument between us and I would be dismissed. He could do anything with me if I wanted to keep my job! I could just leave of course but I decided to accept anything he commanded. I never envisaged me standing half-naked before my own junior staff member, now my superior, waiting for him to give me the slipper! I had never been slippered before, spanked at home and even caned once at school but never the slipper. The boys got the slipper at my school, touching their toes at the front of the class. Girls were sent to the headmistress who usually spanked us over her knee or, in serious cases, gave four strokes of the cane across the seat of your knickers. I was about to find out what the boys had felt!

He was getting impatient. "Come on Miranda, bend over and touch your toes!"

The whack of the hard rubber sole against his hand jolted me into action and I bent forward and reached for the ends of my shiny stilettos. He moved to my rear and tapped the shoe lightly against each of my panty-covered cheeks in turn.

'WHUPP!' The dull thump of the shoe against my pants preceded a hot spot on one side of my bum.

'WHUPP!' He repeated it on the other side. I stayed in position just wishing it was all over.

'WHUPP! … WHUPP!' He quickly bounced the rubber sole from one cheek to the other and I gave a little dance whilst perched precariously on my slender heels.


"Aaah! … Sir!” I squealed. "Six of the best is enough for any girl!"

"Pull down your panties, Miranda," he said tersely.

I couldn't believe my ears and didn't react at all, just stayed bending, fingers against my shoes. Hoping it was all over.

"NOW Miranda," he commanded.

My mind was in turmoil; I had no choice if I wanted to keep my job, but did I want it so badly that I was prepared to bare my all for him? He would surely see my 'girlie bits' which had always pouted very prominently from beneath my well-rounded cheeks. Well I had come this far, getting spanked by that odious fat man, and now stripped and punished from a man who was my flunky until last week! Suddenly I realised I was getting wet, my pussy was actually tingling at the prospect! I hooked my fingers into each side of my waistband and pulled them down to my knees, red-faced at the sight I was presenting him.

"All the way down," came the order from behind me.

From my position I was now staring directly at my own knickers stretched between my slightly parted ankles. He was almost certainly staring at the crimson-red behind he had given me, and my now exposed and excited womanhood.

'Tisch… tisch… tisch…tisch!' came the sharp sound of him gently testing the shoe against my bare bottom.


"Yeeeoww!" I squealed as the smooth rubber sole of my ladies size eight shoe connected with my female size six petite posterior.


"Yeeeoww!" He set fire to the other side of my bottom and I jumped to my feet rubbing it furiously, looking directly at him for clemency and suddenly realising that I didn’t want any. I was actually willing him to continue. And he did!

He put his hand at the back of my neck and bent me back over.

"Touch your toes," he ordered simply. Gingerly I released the grip I had on my behind and reached back down to my shoes.

''THWAKK! … THWAKK!' He delivered two more in quick succession.

"Yeeeoww! …eeeooowwwch!" I squealed. "Ooooh! Mr Jenkins, Sir," I breathed using his new title respectfully.

''THWAKK! … THWAKK!' My new work-shoe bounced solidly on my bottom in response to my pleading thoughts. He was not a man to be persuaded by the squeals of his junior. I was his property now and he was my master. And we both knew it!

''THWAKK! … THWAKK!' Again my little hands went to the aid of my scorched rear end in an attempt to put the fire out. At least this time he allowed me a minute to rub it. When his patience ran out he tapped the shoe lightly across my fingers and I quickly returned them to my toes.

''THWAKK! … THWAKK!' The sheer strength behind his strokes pumped the breath out of me, leaving me gasping and squealing at the same time.

''THWAKK! … THWAKK!' He whacked my bum twice more and announced that I could stand up, which I did with both hands clamped to it. I replaced his view of my intimate area with that of my little 'bush down there' as I gyrated my hips before him, both hands cupping my sore cheeks.

Could he read my thoughts?

“Bend over the bed Miranda,” he said softly, his hand unzipping his flies. I hesitated watching as he released his cock, hard and meaning business as it grew even more in his hand. I turned and bent over, hands on the bed as he reared up behind me.

“Ooooooh!” was all I could muster as his length slid between my oozing pussy lips, urgently seeking my inner depths. I gyrated on the end of his pole until he was ready and withdrew, spurting hot cum across my still burning bottom.

"Get dressed Miranda and report to me in my office," he said smartly tucking his spent cock back into his trousers and returning the new work shoe to me. "Make sure you are wearing those, no more high heels for you my girl."

It was strange wearing the basic uniform again and the flat shoes felt really uncomfortable as I made my way along the corridors back to reception. Two room maids approached and prodded each other, sniggering at my reduced situation, 'found you out at last then, Miranda,' one of them had said as they went past, giggling as they added sarcastically, 'ooh sorry, I mean Miss Johnson.' My backside was still on fire as I wriggled past them.

Mr Jenkins had rounded up the other girls in the back office when I arrived and they all turned as I entered, my new uniform confirming all the rumours of my demotion. The badge on my lapel said it all, 'Miranda Johnson - junior receptionist'. All the other girls had either 'receptionist' or in the case of two of them 'senior receptionist'. I was the bottom of the pile. This was confirmed quickly by Mr Jenkins who announced to everyone present that I was now the tea-maker and general flunky for them all. Sniggers and giggles circled the room and I was dispatched to do just that - make coffee!

After the meeting had dispersed I was alone with him in his office. "I'll be watching you Miranda," he declared. "Any mistakes and you will be reporting to me in room 100. Is that understood?"

"Yes Sir," I said, my bottom still smarting from my first disciplinary meeting, my pussy tingling in anticipation of further encounters!

I tried hard to be the perfect junior but inevitably I found my way back to room 100…

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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