The first hard spanking

You know by your age that most things in this world are relative. The morning spanking you received on the second day of the policy very much felt like a severe one; so did the paddling you received together with Bella. The after-work appointment with Ms Stevens was no picnic either. Even today's one morning felt rough towards the end as the line of your subordinates filed past you one way, covering your already tender bottom with dozens of lines and the then other, repeating the process on a smaller scale but on the smaller and more delicate target of your boobs. It was in the early afternoon, however, when you thought about heading off to lunch, when you got a punishment that made you re-evaluate (when you could get yourself together to think coherently, that is) what "severe" might mean.

When you discussed with Peter the inevitability of dropping D&S as clients previously, you figured that Mr R., your direct supervisor (who is two levels below Ms Stevens) will not be massively happy, as he fancied himself having brought them into the portfolio (rather than having got some vague indications without any concrete obligations, as was actually the case). You rather underestimated, however, quite how annoyed he will be... And quite how directly her can make his annoyance felt to you. When he bursts into your office and starts borderline screaming before the door even shuts behind him you have quite a good idea what it is about, as does everyone else in your team. To his credit, Peter attempts to speak up, but he gets dismissed with barely a break in the tirade directed at you.

Mr R. heads more or less straight for the implements cabinet while talking. He ponders for a few moments after opening it (but without even pausing his speech), but unfortunately the consideration is followed by a very good decision (for him, that is - not at all for you). He takes out a short thick cane, almost a mix between a cane and a paddle that you noticed earlier and were rather hoping not to encounter any time soon. Only now, with implement in hand and towering over your small and very naked shape, he finally asks if you have anything to say for yourself and your less-than-capable-and-efficient team.

It is probably the hardest thing you have ever done. You know you are in massive trouble. Not in the professional sense, because any professional sanctions he may try to impose on you will easily get overruled by anyone above him (not even necessarily Ms Stevens) who takes ten seconds to look into the issue. No, it is your bottom that you know you cannot do much to protect unless you want to try to lay blame on someone else... which is not an option for you. So you stand up and calmly (or so you hope) tell Mr R. that you understand he is not happy with your decision, but you will absolutely not let any sanctions to be applied to your team. "Very well", the man growls. "It is you I'll deal with then. Face down on the bench". You walk to the bench and lower yourself onto it in what you hope to be a measured and dignified manner. The towering figure above you presses one palm down onto the small of your back and raises the stick.

If you were not sore to start with, you might have managed to take at least the first few strokes in relative silence. In the event, however, the truly evil piece of wood landing across your cheeks makes you shriek immediately, the pain simply overwhelming. It only gets worse, of course. The individual shock of spanks grows into one big fire into an agony you have never felt the likes of as Mr R. continues to punish you, letting you bawl your eyes out, probably loud enough to three departments in either direction along the hallway to hear. You like you think you have decent self-control, but you know (not that you care) that you would have rolled off the bench in a heap if not for the palm pressing you down. You later will be told that you got two dozen strokes, but long before he is done you feel like you have got hundreds and your bottom is becoming one whole bruise (although the latter part is probably true).

Although tears are streaming down your face and you are bawling like a toddler, when Mr R. tells you to open your legs and drop your knees on either side of the bench you do so immediately, without question or needing to process the command. He then steps over you facing your bottom, of course, and tells you to reach behind yourself and pull your cheeks open. You know you are supposed to be humiliated to show your asshole to your boss, but you only care about how much your cheeks hurt... And how much will the stick hurt hitting between them.

Only two of the last half dozen land on your exposed hole directly (although that's already two too many) while the other four scorch the tender skin around it. Your wails that have paused for a moment start again, but after your well-beaten cheeks the much softer but previously left intact inner areas actually hurt a bit less. Mr R. throws the stick onto your desk without bothering to put it back. "My office tomorrow, we'll talk about what to do next" he says in a much calmer voice than he used when he burst into your office. You only sob in response.