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A few weeks later, she was in tears again. The string of mistakes and foolish errors she had made had mounted up. She was told he would no longer tolerate her silly remarks, the small stamps of her feet when he sent back an error-strewn document, nor the tardiness in her arrival in the mornings.
“Casey, do you have it in you to work hard? To be valuable and appreciated?” he asked as she sulked in front of his desk, clutching another one of his tear-sodden handkerchiefs.
“I do. I just can’t get my head into
gear. It’s like I’m split into two. I desperately want to do a good job, and then I find I lose my way. I’m distracted easily, and my focus drifts.” She looked at him with pitiful eyes. “Please help me, sir.”
It was the beginning. A new contract was arranged between them. When Mr Tolchard told Casey what he wanted to do, she gaped at him and then found everything she wished for was slotting into place. Rob Tolchard was transforming into her chivalrous knight come to rescue her, and though his methods sounded unorthodox and slightly scary, she welcomed them.
He gave her rules. He told her how he would punish her if she broke his rules.
“Spank me!” she gasped. “I’m not a child!”
“No, and I would never spank a child. That is the point. You are a mature adult with her own mind. Use it. Take what I have to offer you and let me shape you into someone you will love to be, and I will be pleased to call you my assistant.”
Her first spanking was a nervous affair. When she was late to work, a mere ten minutes, he summoned her to his study. After a reminder about his rules and consequences, she asked to be spanked, saying the words with her eyes clearly fixed on his dark ones. He let her bend over the desk rather than have the indignity of being over his lap. Later she would find she preferred his lap.
As an event in Casey’s life, it was imprinted indelibly in her memory. Her hands had been pressed flat on the surface of the desk. Her breath misted up the whorls of polished walnut. There was the shiver of anticipation when he lifted up her skirt and raised her bottom up. The plain white knickers remained in place, and he did not ask her to lower them. His hand was firm, and it swung back in a perfect arc before landing with a wallop. She jolted with surprise at the sting. His palm was steel-like and had morphed into an implement.
His hand did not approach at right angles but instead slapped across her cheek as if he were clashing cymbals together.
Left cheek.
Right cheek.
Left cheek, and so on.
Methodically he moved back and forth until tears sprung in her eyes. Her first spanking was painful. The nerve endings had not grown accustomed to the onslaught and seemed super-sensitive. Mr Tolchard had been moderate in his force—though Casey at the time was oblivious to his restraint, and she felt only a pervasive hot burning sensation. Later, she found out what a hard spanking entailed. Back then, her legs stamped on the floor, and she reached behind to try to rub her flaming buttocks. Both actions were admonished by Mr Tolchard in a quiet, stern tone of voice. His other hand lowered her back down with a nudge in the small of the back. It did not frighten Casey to have him push her into position, and she felt relieved when he continued to hold her in place.
She learnt he did not like her to move, that she should not cry out too loudly, and that she should show gratitude and meekness. She learnt to accept that what he did, he did for her and not him.
After several weeks, things progressed. The spankings varied and became enticing to her. The second time he issued his punishment, she felt his cool hands lower her knickers to her knees, and then on the third occasion, he asked her to lay across his lap. Staring at the features of his expensive rugs became a spanking pastime as she tried hard to absorb the smacks. Some of them seriously hurt, but others made her feel wet and desirous. Each time he told her to take off her knickers, she felt his eyes on her. She loved his dark eyes.
* * *
His fingertips nudged her back and brought her back to the present, and as she stood there in his library, she was reminded he had the right to inspect her whenever he wished. It was in the rules. She was hesitating too long, and it did not do to keep him waiting. She knew the procedure well. Reaching up underneath her skirt, she pulled down her knickers and then turned to face the table. With both hands resting on the smooth surface, she bent over.
“Lift up your skirt,” he commanded, and she almost exploded on the spot with the tone of his voice. Immediately, she tried to keep her legs squashed together. There was no way she could hide it from him. He did not need to touch her, he would see she was completely aroused and ready for what may come her way. Except she should not be and was not expected to be.
“Casey, this is most displeasing,” he said softly. “What have you been doing?”
“Nothing, sir,” she said indignantly. She thought he meant touching herself.
“Then why do you appear so wet?” he asked.
“Sir?” she said, and her hands trembled on the table.
“Have you allowed your dirty little mind to tempt you again?” he said leaning over her and whispering in her ear. “What happened to our little discussion about focusing on your tasks?”
“I did, sir,” she said pleading. “It was these books…”
“Books?” He picked one up and thumbed through the pages of sweet making. “They seem innocuous to me,” he remarked.
“I’ve very sorry, sir,” she said. “I did not keep my silly thoughts in check.”
He shook his head in disappointment. “The punishment for failing to keep slutty thoughts out of your head is ten strokes of the paddle, yes?”
“Yes, sir,” she said meekly.
