Still, my boss’ bonus was going to be affected if the reports weren’t re-submitted correctly by Monday morning, as I had just learned in the ass-chewing that I got that Friday afternoon. That meant that the whole office would have to spend their Saturday re-creating the missing data so that the spreadsheets would be corrected by Monday’s opening.
I was also told, in no uncertain terms, that some sort of disciplinary action towards Therese would be expected.
Thankfully, the promise of over-time, a free lunch, and relaxed dress code produced the co-operation of my staff necessary to get the work done on what was normally everyone’s day off. Everyone was in by eight, mostly in jeans and golf shirts. But at about 4:00, when I went out of my office to see what the progress was, I sensed some disgruntlement. It seems that Therese had “vanished” a half hour before I walked out, without telling anyone where she had gone. The work was completed by 5:00, but Therese was nowhere in sight.
Since Therese and I were the only ones with security access to the spreadsheet, I let everyone go home, planning to spend the next three hours or so inputting data. At 6:00, I heard a rapping at the front door to the office suite. Upon opening the door, there stood Therese. But, instead of the casual clothes she had been wearing earlier, she was now wearing a black silk waist-length jacket over a white silk camisole, a dressy black skirt, stockings and heels; carrying what looked like a large matching tote bag. She appeared to be dressed for a night on the town; all in all a very sexy picture.
And I was pissed. Seething, I ordered her into my office. Once inside, I slammed the door shut and directed her to sit in the visitor chair across my desk. As we sat, she removed her jacket, hanging it over the chair back.
“How dare you!?” I bellowed, barely able to control myself. She was visibly taken aback, such that she actually began to physically shake as she sat there, awaiting my next move. It was then that I noticed that she was not wearing a bra; a fact announced by the sight of what was clearly the aroused nipples of her pert breasts, high and firm, almost poking a hole through the silk fabric.
“What are you going to do?” she asked timidly.
“I ought to fire your ass!” I replied, still angry but slightly less brashly as it was clear by her reaction that I had her attention. “First you screw up royally, so that I get in trouble. Then, while everyone else is working their day off, you disappear, coming back after the work is done, dressed to the nines and not, in my opinion, expecting to work.”
“Please don’t fire me,” she pleaded. “I can’t afford to lose this job. You can punish my ass, just don’t fire it,” she replied.
Now I was the one taken aback. “What do you propose, then?” I asked.
With a mischievous grin, she rose from the chair, her deep breaths accentuating the movement of her breasts beneath the camisole; her nipples looking even harder, if that were possible. Reaching into her tote, she pulled out a leather strap split down the middle, with a handle attached, which she handed to me. Then, dropping her skirt, she walked over to the couch in my office, now clad only in the camisole, stockings and garter, heels, and a black lace thong. Straddling the back of the couch so that her legs were spread and her buttocks in almost a presentation of penitence, she calmly stated, “I propose that you punish my ass.”
Tawse in hand, I walked over, for the first time realizing just what a delectable ass it was. And, more importantly, it looked quite spankable. As I surveyed what was being offered, my cock began to harden. I placed my hand on the smooth, soft skin of Therese’s bottom, running it over the curve and texture of both cheeks. Roughly squeezing one cheek, I tapped the other with the handle of the punishment implement.