Spanking the Monkey

10:10am Welcome back to work, Vanessa.
10:13am Cleaning yourself is a great idea! Did you think of that all on your own? I didn't want to say anything, but it was pretty obvious.

Sitting with her skirt pulled up around her thighs and a moist towelette in hand, Vanessa stomped her heeled little feet in angst.

He was there. With her. She had expected him, knew he would look, but she thought she might have a minute, a moment to herself. Anything.

She didn't. He was always there. Always seeing her, seeing into her. Reading her, playing her.

She swallowed. Just as the messages destructed, gone forever, another appeared. One eye open, the other squinted painfully closed Vanessa prepared to -

Elly. Elly's picture caught Vanessa's eye. She... Vanessa didnt want... she carefully placed the picture face down, and -

Click

10:15am I hope Cheryl didn't have to remind you. Let's have you stand and lift up your dress while you give yourself a good wipe down. We both know what could happen if you're allowed too much time down there. Your team needs you ready for work, not spanking your hole all day.

Another. Just as she was...

Click

10:16am No monkey business, okay, Nessie?

"Yes, Daddy," Vanessa- f-fuck! Fucking... whispered, reflexively.

She hesitated a moment longer, wishing she could take those little words back, agonizing over it for...for no reason, really, other than Brand seeing her. Hearing her. Laughing at her. Vanessa stood up, facing the camera.

God dammit. Vanessa squeezed the towelette in her hand, scrunching it and shimmying the hem of her dress the rest of the way up. Bare-assed, bare-bushed, she bent at the knees, and clenched her fist. Clenched her... if she was supposed to be getting clean of arousal, it wasn't helping to display herself for Brand. Brand, and, wherever the camera led. Maybe, maybe... others...

A swift, hard knock at the door was only warning enough to swivel Vanessa's head and drop her mouth stupidly agape before Cheryl walked right through the heavy oak door.

"Vanessa?"

The two woman looked at each other.

One was dressed, and young, and dignified. The other...

A wail welled, deep in Vanessa's throat. She clamped down, but it bulged, forcing its way up. Refusing to stop for her, refusing to quiet, even as she fought it until her face contorted in effort, her eyes bulged, her straining neck corded, taut.

There was no stopping it.

Vanessa's slack, gaping mouth began to tremble and -

"Don't. Start. That." Cheryl's spoke in a slow, measured tone with a strength, a ****, that took Vanessa's breath away.

Her breath, and her building childish wail - together, gone, with Cheryl's admonishment.

Cheryl took a breath, and shut the door.

"You're... cleaning yourself."

Vanessa fiddled with the little disposable cloth in her hand, turning it. It wasn't really a question, but she nodded mutely.

"I see." Cheryl glanced down at Vanessa's unkempt, sticky wet crotch, evaluating it with a long, unabashed look before returning her eyes to gaze evenly into the bare-bottomed negress' own shifting orbs.

Vanessa licked her lips nervously. Her stooped back, her curled hand underneath her - both began to ache. And still she didn't dare move... while Cheryl looked, and looked, and...

Finally, closed the seam of her blouse, pinching it tight with one hand, and slowly nodded.

"I'm going to turn my back." Cheryl spoke slowly, carefully, kind of... waiting. As if to see if Vanessa understood before going on. "I'll count to thirty in my head. You should be as clean as you're likely to get in that time, and your dress should be pulled down."

Her tone was no nonsense. She waited until Vanessa, signaled that she understood that... Jesus... that she was supposed to wipe herself, her thighs and va-vagina with Cheryl in the same room, counting down, making sure that -

"And Vanessa?"

The black woman paused, her tissue brushing, tickling the little hairs underneath that dark place. It... it had drifted closer. She...

"Please don't masturbate when I turn away."

It took a moment of opening and closing before Vanessa's mouth would work. For her answer to the absurd, demeaning demand. To look into Cheryl's serious eyes and t-try to, "N-no, Mi... Cheryl. Of course not. I wont ma-mast-uh- t-touch..." Vanessa's trailed off, her stuttered words caught. The colored woman pointed down with her free hand. Pointed to her private area with a long, dark finger.

The young brunette woman looked more than skeptical. She gave a little sigh, and turned her back.

It was an eternity before Vanessa realized that was her signal.

Thirty seconds. Vanessa started wiping. How much of it had she wasted staring at the back of Cheryl's straight, bare white neck? Her neck, her back, and her pert behind, outlined by...

Vanessa's eyes teared in frustration with herself, at the discomfort in her belly, as she wiped and wiped at her thighs, grabbing tissue after tissue, smearing the stuff as much as cleaning it. It wasn't enough time. She hadn't even started on the area that needed it most. Vanessa grabbed a fresh square, folding it once and dra-agged it through her damp pubic hairs, pressing into her soft...

"I'm turning around." Cheryl announced.

Dammit! Not yet! "J-just a second," Vanessa stammered, wiping her slit, back to front, then turning the towelette over to a clean...

Cheryl was looking at her. Vanessa's hand moved, completing another pass along her dripping quim while Cheryl looked... looked on.

The young woman's lip curled. "You just couldn't help yourself." She didn't sound surprised, or angry. Just stating a fact, while Vanessa shook her head uselessly, still sliding her fingers and hand along...

Oh, god. She dropped the filthy white little cloth in the trash, shaking it off her fingers as it clung perversely. Under Cheryl's watchful judgement, Vanessa pulled down her dress to its maximum length - midway down her thighs, and smoothed it.

Finally she stood, breathing deep, her bosom swelling from her own unnecessary, panicked exertion, her fast beating heart, and **** herself to meet Cheryl's eyes.

"It was a long weekend, Vanessa."

"I needed help. I still need help. I'm tired."

She started walking closer, to Vanessa's desk, and turned her body to the side. She put three long fingers on the smooth surface. She walked slowly, and spoke, fingers trailing fascinatingly along the smooth wood surface. "I've heard a lot of gossip, about this exec or that. A lot of inappropriate stuff. Some things that were just plain odd."

She paused in her slow walk, and enunciated clearly, "Nothing, ever, like this." The young woman's eyes were up, gazing at the wall behind Vanessa. At the older woman's credentials - certificates, diplomas, awards.

"I shouldn't have to put up with this." Cheryl spoke softly, almost to herself. She tapped, tapped her nails twice, hard, and resumed her slow walk.

Resumed sliding her fingertips hypnotically, on, around... she rounded the side of the desk.

All the way to Vanessa's side. She stopped.

Bare-footed, straight-backed, and on even ground, the two women would be about the same height. Vanessa might have about a finger width's advantage on her secretary. In her impractical pumps Vanessa stood unsteadily over Cheryl, who had chosen more practical inch-and-a-half heels.

"You said you wouldn't touch yourself."

Vanessa swallowed guiltily. But she... she had just been - "I was g-getting clean," Cheryl didn't answer, simply looking into Vanessa's eyes. Unbelieving. Despite their height difference Vanessa felt like she was shrinking, wilting, "It wasn't like - it was like, um, you said. Like you told me to. Just, you know - " Vanessa did a strange, wiping little hand gesture, bending her knees and curling her wrist; and immediately regretted the crude motion - willing herself, stopping herself from slapping her own stupid hand down.

"... And where were your eyes?"

Her...?

"Where were you looking, Vanessa, when you were touching yourself?"

Oh. Her...

"They were - "

"You were stroking yourself. Your skirt was pulled up and you were rubbing that mess between your legs. I was in the room. Did you turn your back?"

No. She had been...

"Were you looking at the wall?"

"The blinds?"

"The ceiling?"

"The floor? Your desk? The door?"

"No..." Vanessa whispered, and squirmed.

"No." Cheryl affirmed. "You were looking at me. You were touching yourself, and looking right at me." Her voice was granite, unyielding and certain.

God. Please, why wouldn't Cheryl just... why did she have to say it out loud? Interrogate her? Just... F-fuck. Vanessa put a hand on the desk, supporting herself.

"And even after I told you I was turning back. Even after I warned you. What do you think I saw?"

Vanessa was looking up at Cheryl now, bent, almost panting at a f-feeling - awkward, twisting... it radiated from her...

"I saw you. Looking at me. Looking at my legs. My backside. Not pulling your skirt down. Not even trying to finish, or pretending to look someplace decent. I saw you look right at me while you were playing with yourself, Vanessa."

The more Cheryl spoke, the more she ramped up. Quiet fury, furious indignation. The stress of the weekend, the frustration of work and her... her workplace violation. Vanessa's pervy eyes, her behavior, her...

It wasn't like that though! She -

"A-ah!"

Cheryl's wrist snapped, slapping Vanessa's hand away from fidgeting with the too-short hem of her dress. Stopping her from unconsciously bunching it up, a little bit higher.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

The wail came back.

"No."

This time Cheryl didn't catch it fast enough. It was too late. It had a life of its own.

"Stop that."

Vanessa was trying to stop it. She couldn't.

It started quiet. A bizarre, high pitched thing. An anguished mewling, a squeal.

"You're a grown woman! Pull yourself together." Cheryl's words only made it worse. Intensifying, and -

"Dammit, Vanessa!"

She was trying!

Both hands on the desk now for support, eyes squeezed shut, Vanessa stomped a heel, kicked a pointed toe into the floor. "Eeeee...!" Her mouth elongated into a grimace, her teeth bit down on the noise, changing the pitch of her cry but not stopping it. Cheryl was saying something. Vanessa couldn't hear it.

She couldn't hear anything over the sound of her own temper tantrum, her whining cry, her pounding little fists, her kicking foot. Papers were scattering and getting crumpled. Somewhere Brand was watching, but like a broken levy the flood that she had held back kept coming from the damaged woman.

She couldn't stop it. She couldn't even hear Cheryl, for her to help. It was coming, there was no holding back. It was coming and it was worse and building and worse and b-

Whap!

A soft, firm white hand connected with Vanessa's tushy. Brown flesh rippled. She gasped.

She gasped, and shut up. Her closed eyes flew open, wide in shock.

Whap!

The connection was on bare flesh. Cheryl had... had pulled her skirt -

Whap!

Vanessa body jerked, and her face winced. Her Afro bobbed.

"When I tell you - "

Whap!

"... to knock it off - "

Whap!

Vanessa's jugs jiggled with each blow, threatening to pop right out of her top. Her voice warbled. She cried out, briefly. Not a wail, but a pathetic squeak of pained humiliation. She planted her face on her desk, squashing her features.

Whap!

Sorry! Please!

It hurt! She wouldn't - she would be better!

Whap! Whap! Whap!

Vanessa accepted blow after blow. Cheryl's free hand held her torso down, bent her over like a-a-a-

Whap!

Sorry!

"I'm sorry! Please!" Vanessa sh -

Whap!

Her wiggling brown butt was on fire, and every blow -

Whap!

Please! M-

Whap! Whap! No! WHAP!

Vanessa's eyes rolled. She clutched the edge of the desk, squeezing it in her hands -

Please!

WHAP! Mm-! WHAP!

"Please, Mommy, d-don't! Don't s-spank meee-eee-ee!" Vanessa whined piteously, sobbing and waving her rear, bracing herself for m-more, and...

The next blow didn't come.

Cheryl started to laugh.

Something broke. Some tension in the room broke.

Cheryl started laughing harder.

Then more. Hysterically.

Even Vanessa, after a moment of her own, between sobs, through the soul crushing humiliation, laughed a single, tiny, **** syllable of her own.

"P-put...ha... p-ha-pull your dress down... whoo... hah...ha..."

Cheryl breathed. She slowly, between fits, wiping her eyes of mirthful tears, she calmed.

"Oh my gosh, Vanessa. 'Mommy'? Really?"

"Stand up. Just... just get it together. I'm... I..."

Cheryl stroked her nails through Vanessa's puffy Afro, trying to soothe her. Her fingers simply got tangled for her efforts; creating yet another awkward moment for both women, and a painful one for Vanessa, as Cheryl disengaged. She settled instead for a hesitant little double pat to her superior's poofy, nappy black fluffball instead.

"Here. Blow." Cheryl held a tissue to Vanessa's sniffly nose and the older woman, supporting herself again with both hands, didn't think to grab it for herself. It... was somehow natural, that she blow, and Cheryl pinched and wiped the black woman's nose for her, and crumpling the tissue wiped her spit-flecked chin with an untouched corner before tossing it away.

"Sit." She commanded Vanessa, and smoothly slid and turned her boss' rolling chair, helping the shaking woman onto the cushiony support. Vanessa winced at the mild pressure on her sore bottom.

"There's a girl..." Cheryl rolled the sniffly, teary negress into place, into her desk.

Vanessa, subdued, sniffled and sat. Cheryl quietly pet her hair.

"Better?"

No... or... yes. Yes, better than that... whatever she had... "Y-yes. Yes Cheryl." Miss Cheryl.

"Thank you," Vanessa whispered, absurdly thanking the young woman that had scolded and berated her and s-spanked her bare black ass.

Cheryl brushed a little curly, black hair off of Vanessa's shoulder.

"... Its time to work, okay Vanessa?"

Work...

Vanessa nodded. O-okay. "Okay, M-" Miss Cheryl.

"No more 'Mommy', stuff, okay Nessie? Vanessa?" Cheryl's voice held more than a small trace of amusement.

"Yes, M-Miss Cheryl..." Vanessa squeezed the words out. She had never called Cheryl 'Miss' anything before. When she did, a weight lifted off her chest. A strange burden. Cheryl petted her head.

"... Miss Thomas." The younger woman offered, her voice quiet.

"Yes, Miss Thomas." Vanessa nodded.

Yes, Miss Thomas. She got a pat on her head.

"I sent you an email attachment. One of the items I've been working on. It's complete, except for those finishing touches - I need you... Vanessa?"

Cheryl gently placed a nail under Vanessa's chin, raising Nessie's head until the younger woman had her brown eyes at attention, "I need you to help make it ready to turn in, complete, by noontime. I need you to double check the figures in some tables that I've listed, finish up the table of contents, including the subtitles, making sure they give the correct page number and that the references are properly listed, also giving the correct page number... it's all outlined again in the e-mail." Cheryl's hazel eyes never left Vanessa's, shifting back and forth, unsubtly reading the other woman's reaction. "Does that make sense?"

It made sense. Vanessa understood. She understood how utterly menial the task was. And somehow, after the catastrophic humiliation she just underwent... and the one before that and before that and...

Being assigned, at work, in her office, to such a simple task, was a special, crushing humiliation all its own. A test to see if Vanessa was even fit to do something that she, a week before, would have a twinge of guilt sending over to Cheryl, as a necessary waste of time and talent.

"Yes, Miss Thomas. That makes sense." All too much sense.

Cheryl nodded, and turned. She looked down, to her side, to the side of Vanessa's desk, and paused. She sniffed, and scrunched up her nose.

"You can also care for your own waste bin. I'd advise you do it soon, before you get any important visitors."

Cheryl left, her back turned, her hips and rear swaying, and calmly opened, and shut the door without a glance backwards.

"Yes, Miss Thomas," Vanessa whispered.