Lucy Receives a Spanking From Her Boss

The first morning of my new job at the hotel, Ned called through to the reception desk and told me he wanted to see me in the Swinburne Lounge.

“Just checking you are properly dressed,” he said when I stood facing him ten minutes later. There was something intense in his tone, something off-kilter in the way he regarded me. And I thought, Oh, here we go!

He sat on the long Chesterfield sofa and asked me to give him a twirl. "Very nice," he said, examining me from neck to toe. He seemed pleased with me. I curtsied and smiled.

His expression changed, "Your legs!" he said, in a tone that suggested I'd sprouted one extra.

"What about them?" I asked.

"They're bare."

I nearly said something about him stating the obvious, but didn't. Instead, I took a deep breath and held my tongue, waiting for him to tell me what it was about my legs that offended him.

"Didn't Angie tell you about hosiery?" he asked, more conciliatory now.

No, the fucking bitch didn't tell me about hosiery! I thought.

"Please don't say I have to wear stockings," I said.

“Stockings or tights; either is fine.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing; it was like being up in front of the deputy headmaster back in secondary school, collared for wearing my skirt too short.

“But it’s summer,” I pleaded. “And anyway, no one can see my legs behind the desk.”

“But I can see them!” he said — “and I insist you have them suitably attired.”

I felt like saying he could stuff his job. I was nineteen and absolutely resented him telling me what to wear, especially when I was proud of my legs, the tan they’d garnered while traveling in exotic climes.

He continued, “Are you sure Angie didn’t explain all this when she was sorting out your uniform?” He repeated as if the suggestion that she hadn’t was absurd.

“She never mentioned it,” I said. On purpose, I thought.

“Here.” He handed me a twenty-pound note. “On the way home, buy yourself a couple of pairs of tights. Nude-look, seven denier. Just for today, stay behind your desk, and make sure you only leave your post if absolutely essential.”

I took his money, feeling totally deflated. Not even a kiss or cuddle.

That night, when I got off the bus after work, I called into the supermarket and spent his money. I was careful to purchase exactly the type he said I should.

As soon as I arrived at work the next morning, Angie gave me a moment before saying, “Ned wants to see you,” and here she looked at me kinda conspiratorially, concluding with, “in The Swinburne Lounge.”

I looked at the ever-growing queue at reception, and then at Angie. I asked her, “Does he want to see me right now?”

“‘As soon as she arrives’, were his words,” she replied.

“Will you be okay on your own?”

“Probably not,” Angie said, then told a guest who had begun tapping the reception desk with the edge of her credit card, “If you could just give us one moment, please.”

“Sorry about this,” I said to Angie, before leaving her to the mercy of the guests.

At the double doors of the Lounge, I gave a cursory tap on the paneling and waited for his permission to enter.

His voice distant, telling me to “Enter”.

He was standing with his back to me, looking out of the large bay window, from where he had a clear view over the lawns that swept down to the lake.

“I hope you are dressed properly today,” he said, without turning to see if I was.

“Nude look. Seven denier — just like you said,” I said, pleased with myself.

He turned around and regarded me. “Try not to be so churlish, Lucy. It doesn’t suit you. Now take off your skirt,”

“My skirt?” I asked, his request hardly having time to make any sense.

When I just stood there and stared, he said, “Your skirt, Lucy. You know what your skirt is, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” I said, now beginning to understand.

“Well, I want you to take it off.”

When I understood he was serious, I was more than happy to oblige. I stepped out of my skirt and stood there holding it like an idiot, trying not to get it creased.

“Put the skirt down, Lucy, and then come here.”

I looked around the room for somewhere to leave it, choosing one of the two occasional chairs on either side of the door behind me.

“Take off your shoes, while you’re about it,” he added.

I sat down on the chair to my right and eased my feet out of my shoes while thinking, Such a fuss about how my legs look, and now I have to undress.

I stood up and placed my thumbs in the waistband of my tights, and he called to me, “Stop! Who said anything about taking those off?”

“I just thought — “

“When doing your job, out at reception, thinking is a good thing. In fact, I encourage thinking in all my staff. But once in here, I do the thinking for you.” He looked at me intensely. “Do you understand me, Lucy?”

The words I was formulating refused to come, and I just nodded my head.

“I asked you, do you understand me? If so, say, ‘Yes Ned, I understand you.’ ”

“Yes, Ned, I understand you,” I replied.

And I was beginning to understand him. I was now playing a part he had scripted for me. All I wanted now was to find out how the plot would unfold.

“At last, we’re getting somewhere,” he said.

He moved away from the window. I watched him go to the sofa and sit in the center, casually resting his right arm on its back. The salacious glint in his eye excited me, and I wondered where this was going.

I don’t know how long I stood there with his eyes devouring my legs. In the silence that established itself between us, I became self-conscious. I had to curb an urge to tug at the gusset of my tights, to slacken the seam that was slicing into my pussy.

“Don’t fidget so,” he told me. And then he had seen enough and then said, “Come and stand here.”

I went and stood directly in front of him, my arms dangling uselessly at my sides.

“Put your hands behind your back and keep them there. You won’t be needing them just yet.” He tapped the knee of my left leg with the palm of his right hand and told me, “Stand with your legs a little apart for me.”

I did as he said, granting his palm access to the inside of my thigh, just above the knee.

“There’s nothing I like more than the texture of nylon stretched over a young woman’s thighs,” he said, still seated but leaning forward now, his hand moving higher.

His touch sent a shiver running through me, and I thought about my panties and how icky they might get, and that I’d have to wear them all day.

His left hand synchronized with the right, both finally up over my buttocks, kneading and squeezing. I sensed how he was savoring me, how my hosiery somehow enhanced the flesh it contained.

He drew me down, positioning me across his knees that jutted into my ribs. I wriggled for comfort, trying to settle myself as best I could. My head became inverted, hair trailing down to the floor.

Back and forth his hands went, stroking my legs from the tips of my toes to the small of my back. It was as if he were playing me like an instrument, a maestro at his keyboard. I sensed the immensity of the pleasure having me gave him. He fell into some kind of tactile reverie.

But when his hands came to rest on my buttocks, and he paused to draw breath, I had no idea what was coming. When the flat of his hand first crashed down onto my bum, the crack of it split the silence of the room, the pain and surprise of it causing me to cry out.

“That’s it, little worm, you squirm away,” he said as the second blow fell, slightly harder than the last. A volley of swift cracks followed.

“You’re such a trooper, Lucy,” Ned said. I had refused to cry out a second time and endured his spanking in silence. “If you want this to stop, you must squeal for me.”

But crying out did not seem right — it just wasn’t me. I was too cool for pleading. And besides, I did not want it to stop. The pleasure that could be mined from pain was starting to make itself known.

He had found his rhythm now. Crack-Crack-Crack, his hand fell onto my stinging buttocks. I found myself subtly raising them to meet his hand halfway. My pussy was getting wetter and wetter as I grew more eager for each blow.

Eventually, it was not any one strike of his hand that caused me discomfort; it was more their relentlessness, delivered so quickly one after another, that took its toll.

He sensed the change in me, how I was straining at the end of my tether.

“Beg me to stop, and I will,” he told me as the slaps continued to rain down. “Just one word will end this. Call out ‘Mercy’ and your pain is gone right now.”

I gritted my teeth, enduring the pain for at least another minute. My arse became a hot plate awaiting its pan.

“Mercy!” I called out to him, hating my weakness, wishing I could have shown him my strength and let him know just who I was.

He eased me off his knee, standing up beside me, and took me in his arms. When he kissed me, I sensed his gratitude. A man possessed had been released from his demon.

In Ned’s arms, all my resentment drained away, and I felt cherished. It was as if he were beholden to me for freeing him of a darkness that had long plagued him.

When we broke from kissing, he looked into my eyes and told me, “Not a word to Angie. She can be a jealous little cow. Promise?”

“I promise?” I said, though there was no need for me to promise. The last thing I wanted was to mention to anyone the humiliation I had just endured — and even more, how much I had enjoyed it.

I left the room aroused and unsatisfied, wondering how I would now get through my working day. My backside was tingling, the gusset of my knickers sodden. I began to plot how I might displease Ned again.

Thank you for reading.

More episodes about Lucy coming soon.

The First Episode can be found here; https://readmedium.com/lucy-at-the-sex-auction-3adfdaa3f30f