Two sides to a story

Catherine Clarke over at Shameful Desires asked for a writing prompt recently, and I gave her a final sentence. The very erotic tale she told deserved a counter-view, so I present here the Boss’s view of the events of that day…


Today did not start well, to put it lightly, yet it ended in a way I could never have imagined.

I spent my first hour having my balls chewed by Miss Fitzwilliam, our noble General Manager and part-time despot. She came to us from the world of Education, and we’ve never been allowed to forget it. She likes to think we are all still students in short pants, I am sure. Every time I visit her office it feels like I’m back at my private school, about to drop my pants and assume the position. Today was no different. Month end reports showed a drop in all the key measures for the Division and she was taking it all very personally. I swear, this time she was one step short of ripping my dick off and shoving it up my arse. Fair enough, I know the results were off, but it’s a tough economy and I’m not the only one working here. Foolishly, I tried to tell her as much. She loomed over me (I’m not short, but she’s a good six-footer).

“Lack of focus,” she roared, inches from my face. “You run a slack ship,” she bellowed. I winced as I caught scent of her breakfast burrito. “It is high time we saw some APPLICATION!” She punctuated this last assessment by slapping a wooden ruler hard on her desk. I am absolutely certain she imagined my behind under that ruler as she punctuated her vitriol with smacks to the desk until the wood gave out and fractions flew in all directions. She looked down, puzzled at the shard remaining in her hand.  She took that as the end of our morning chat, and turfed me out with a final rebuke.

“If we were 20 years ago at Saint Julian’s, you would be carrying the marks of my wrath on your buttocks for many days, MARK MY WORDS. You are a pathetic apology for a manager. Get your house in order or so help me, then next time, it really will be your arse on the line!”

I was getting a coffee an hour later, still stewing over Fitzgerald and the patent unfairness of it all. Her stinging words had taken me right back to my school days.

I had been set up as a prank by my classmates. Someone had slipped a tiny sheet of equations into my pencil case before a test. Miss Greensmith saw it and sent me straight to the Head. He had bawled me out just like Fitzgerald had, but instead of slapping a ruler on the desk, he had slashed his cane six times across my trouserless buttocks, punctuating each swipe with an assessment of my worthless future as a cheat and a liar. I carried his mental chastisement for far longer than his physical one, and the chaps certainly had a field day when they saw my purple stripes in the changing rooms next morning.

These parallel injustices were playing in my mind when in strolled Miss Clarke, a half hour late and tottering on heels more suited to a nightclub than the work place.

“There’s my problem,” thought I, “There’s where my ‘lack of productivity lies’. Never done a hard day’s work in her life!” I took in her white blouse straining against the force of her out-thrust breasts, and the expanse of toned thigh revealed when she bent to stow her bag by her desk, her too-short summer skirt riding up as she did so. I swear she was an inch away from showing her panties – if she even wore any!

“Women like her, they use their sex to get on, then complain about women’s rights,” I remember thinking. “That woman radiates sex you can smell. How’s a man to do any work with that as a distraction?”

I took my coffee to my desk, lost in my self-pity. As I glanced up I realised I had a perfect profile of her chest. As I stared I realised she was constantly fidgeting. She was continually shifting in her seat like she had an itch to scratch. Her tits joggled as she shuffled around. I could stand it no longer. In two seconds I was up and standing at her shoulder. I looked down at her, suddenly aware that my stance had given me a perfect view right into her cleavage. I reached for the mail as a distraction, but all the while I felt my eyes drawn to the strain of her white blouse, a button too many undone and revealing rather too much of her firm, smooth breasts and the edge of a pale-yellow brassiere. Her breasts were the size of large navel oranges but with the flawless texture of silk. I could see the push of her nipple, straining to be free of its bounds.

I coughed and she glanced up. I quickly adjusted my eyes to hers, but I know she saw me staring at her breasts. She didn’t speak, just parted her lips so slightly and dragged her tongue across the underside of her top lip.

I know I started slightly. “The little hussy is taunting me,” I thought. She looked away and returned to typing. My view cast downwards from her chest, to her waist and to the spread of her hips. She sat a little taller, thrusting out her buttocks as her lower back dipped inward.

“This is a woman in need,” I thought. “I can smell her need, her want.”

“My want, Mr. Smithers?” She looked up from her work, a look of confusion and – something else – on her face. OH MY GOD –I had spoken aloud!

In for a penny, as they say. I might not have a job tomorrow. “Yes, Miss Clarke,” I said. I cleared my throat again. I leaned forward and whispered, “I can smell your want.”

She froze. “Excuse me?” She was trying to be all uppity now, but I knew that’s why she had come to work today dressed like that.

“Your want, Miss Clarke. I can smell it,” I said. “I’m finding it quite distracting. In fact, I’ve been distracted by it for several weeks now.”

She sat, staring up at me, confused but with something underlying – was it fear? No. Anxiousness? Possibly, but mixed with an eager anticipation. “She wants this,” I thought, “I was right”. I pressed home on my advantage.

“It is quite distracting, Miss Clarke, that hunger that you have.”

“My … hunger?”

“Your hunger.” And here I whispered again. “Between your legs.”

Her hands rested lightly on the keyboard, tremoring slightly in time with her shortened breath. I fancied I could see her heart fluttering in the soft flesh of her bosoms.

“Your distraction is becoming a concern, Miss Clarke. A concern I need to address. Nip it in the bud, so to speak, before things get out of hand and Miss Fitzgerald becomes involved.”

She said nothing. The tension was palpable. Her fingers still rested on the keyboard, twitching as she tried to control her emotions.

“I think, Miss Clarke, that I need to deal with this behaviour, this distracting behaviour, so that we can move forwards. You know we have high standards, and that failure must be punished.” I took the back of her chair. “Miss Clarke, please stand.”

She looked at me and slowly, stood up. She nervously smoothed her skirt over her bottom. She was flushed, her heat accentuating the musky scent of her perfume.

“Good. Now, Miss Clarke, please bend over your desk.”

I could see her nipples clearly now, making their presence known through the sheer fabric of her blouse. “She wants me, wants this,” I thought, and I felt my penis stiffen at the thought.

“Miss Clarke, lean over,” I whispered.

She pushed aside her keyboard and some papers and then, very slowly, she lowered herself until her elbows rested on the desk. Her bottom thrust outwards against the loose fabric, but I wanted more, a better target, a better view.

“Miss Clarke, all the way down please,” I said. She lay her chest on the wooden surface of the desk, arms stretched forward to the far edge. Now her bottom was presented optimally, clearly outlined through the thin summer fabric. Her feet were slightly spread. I leaned down to whisper in her ear. Her scent was delightful. “Miss Clarke, you know what I am going to do with you…”

I reached forward and picked up the ruler she kept on her desk. A solid 18” wooden ruler, aged by many hands. She gasped as I swished it experimentally.

Could I really smack her bottom? Should I? She wants me to, or she would have slapped my face and stormed over to Fitzgerald. The ruler seemed to have a life of its own as it whipped down and smacked across her skirted cheeks.

She jumped and yelped, more from shock than pain, I know. She didn’t really feel that little swat.

“Miss Clarke, control yourself,” I whispered. I smacked her again and this time she let out a low moan, telling me he wanted more, she wanted to be punished. I gave her another half dozen or so smacks, but this was not working for either one of us.

“I do not believe you are getting the message, Miss Clarke,” I panted, “I need to take this further. Please raise your skirt.”

Without hesitation, she reached back and slowly slid the fabric up, revealing her cheeks and tiny lace panties.

“Beautiful, Miss Clarke, ” I breathed, “Just beautiful. I may need to have you after this, Miss Clarke.”

She swallowed again. “More, please, sir,” she whispered.

I took the ruler again. Smack! The sound exploded across her almost-bared cheeks, and a pink rectangle blossomed.  I smacked her again, three, four times. She was whimpering now and her cheeks had a pinkness to them. I dropped the ruler and slipped my fingers into the waistband of her panties. I eased them over her cheeks and down her thighs. I rested my hand on her cheek, feeling the warmth. I spanked her, open palmed, and she yipped. I did it again, then I got into a rhythm and I slapped her firmly and rapidly. She squirmed and yelped, but with no real resistance.

Finally, I stopped and I cupped her cheeks, feeling the firmness and the heat. Her white bottom was now a delightful rosy red. I traced her bottom cleft and she clenched as I pressed a finger inwards towards her anus. I gave her a sharp smack and she relaxed so that I could tease her cheeks apart and view her delightful hidden offering. Beneath, I could see she was wet, open and ready.

I undid my belt to release myself. She gasped as she heard the leather pull loose from the fabric loops. She glanced at me and I saw a need different to the one I had expected. I glanced at the belt in my hand, and at her naked buttocks. I swear she twitched her bottom, enticing me onwards. I folded the belt in my hand. As she lay there I whispered to her, “This is because your cunt is so wet, Miss Clarke. I … need to teach you a lesson.”

Before I knew what was happening, I had raised my arm high and swung that belt downwards with a crack. She cried out as the leather whipped around. I did it again, strapping her seven or eight times. The deep red weals popped even against the rosy glow of her earlier spanking. She was crying now, and I was as ready as she. I dropped my trousers and stepped between her legs. She pushed back to meet me and I slid easily into her wet, tight cunt. I Slid deep, feeling the grip of her all the way in, and I rested there, balls deep.

“Tell me what you want, Miss Clarke. Tell me now.”

Please fuck me!” 

That was what I needed to hear. I slid slowly back and forth, and she countered my thrusts perfectly. I quivered as I fought to control my orgasm, desperately trying to squeeze out every sensation from this moment. I realised I had wanted this woman for a very long time. She was murmuring, “Oh my God!” as we discovered each other. I could hold it no longer and my orgasm ripped through me like a freight train through a tunnel. As I came I rammed hard and deep, pushing her over her own edge as I did so. I am proud to say, she screamed as she came.

We lay there for the longest time, with me slumped across her back. Finally, I got up, plucked a handful of tissues from the box on her desk and cleaned off before rearranging myself.

“Miss Clarke,” I said, “You are remarkable. I will have you again.” And I went into my office and closed the door so that I could sit and dwell on the serendipity of life.

Through the glass door I could see Miss Clarke as she rose and tried to pull herself together. I saw her sit and suddenly jump up again. I leaned forward, curious, before I realised why and I laughed to myself, recalling my own chastisement years before.

“Yes,” I thought, “She will be sore for a while, and bruised for longer. We won’t have any problems with the dress code for awhile. We won’t be seeing those short shorts this week, that’s for sure. But I think it was very much worth it.”


image from Dreams of Spanking

Sophie’s Choice


“Damn this report!” James cursed, pushing himself away from the desk. He slumped back in his chair, staring malevolently at the silent, blinking cursor still placed at the end of the first paragraph. He had written and deleted those opening words a dozen times already. He stabbed at the delete key and his words disappeared, leaving a blank page once more.

He knew company policy required him to write up Sophie for her performance issues. As her manager if he didn’t deal with her tardiness and failure to deliver to deadlines, he himself would be under review. The trouble was, she was a great worker when she put her mind to it, but just lately things had been slipping, understandably so after her husband walked out on her after 8 years of marriage. James did feel for Sophie, had a bit of a soft spot for her really – or more often a hard spot, especially when she wore those figure hugging skirts and heels. They flirted mildly for sure. More than once he’d gone almost too far with his comments. One time he told her she would make a great secretary fantasy, all bookish with her hair up and glasses, or the many times he had been mock stern over a minor transgression, suggesting there could be firm consequences for a naughty girl. He often imagined bending her over his desk, lifting her skirt over her back and easing her knickers down to her knees for a nice, firm bottom warming, followed of course by a good long fuck from behind.

James shifted uncomfortably as his cock rose to join the party in his mind. He glanced around, making sure no-one was looking into his glass-walled office. Seeing the coast was clear he shoved a hand into his waistband to release his rapidly stiffening shaft from the knot in his underwear. He squeezed himself as he did so and rubbed the leaking juices around his cock head as he allowed his mind to develop the details of his little fantasy.

He decided he would ask her to stay late one evening, so they had the office to themselves. He would call her in, and lay out the issue of her attendance and poor work performance over recent weeks. He would have her sit, and he would stand in front of her – no, he would just lean on the desk, in front of her so they were close, but a bit more casual. He would be sympathetic, maybe even reaching out and touching her arm, but he would be firm that he had responsibilities. Of course he would lay out the consequences, including the likelihood that she could be fired. And once he had her suitably worried, he would hint that he could go out on a limb, put his own position at risk just this once if he could be sure she would turn over a new leaf. She would assure him, of course, but he would press the point that he could not be sure she would change, unless the transgression carried some firm consequence..

“Surely we can work something out,” she would implore, tears in her eyes.

“Well I don’t know, Sophie,” James would say, “My hands are really tied. If I’m to risk my own position I need to be totally assured you will fix this problem, once and for all. Actions must have consequences, otherwise nothing changes.” And then the springing of the trap – “You know, this lateness and petty underperformance is really childish. The sort of thing the old short, sharp shock would have cured back in the day, I’m sure. But sadly those measures are out of the question today.”

And then Sophie would look up at him, confused but curious. He could almost see the cogs turning in her mind, perhaps recalling their flirty innuendo. “My ex said as much,” she would say, haltingly. “He said ‘actions speak louder than words’. Said we should have brought our issues out into the open, dealt with them in the old-fashioned ways. I never took him seriously, and Chris was not someone to be forthright about his intent so it never went any further – and now look at us.”

James would push a little harder at the opening door. “Sometimes we all need to see the error of our ways, and sometimes some old-fashioned discipline might avoid more serious consequences. That could be an option for us, keep this out of HRs hands.”

And then she would utter the magic words, “Would you do that James? Would you … punish me, for my bad behaviour? Would that be enough to let us put this behind us?” and as she spoke she would reach out and rest a hand just a little too high on his thigh.

James would want to appear resistant to the idea, cautiously testing out the ground ahead of him. “I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt you – but then a punishment needs to be hard enough to act as a deterrent. And it would have to be kept as our secret of course, otherwise we would both be fired.”

James continued to squeeze and stroke his trapped erection as the fantasy took hold. He scooted his chair closer to the desk to avoid being seen and resumed his mental planning.

They would skirt around the edges a little more, neither wanting to say the words. Finally James said that if Sophie was sure, she should ask for punishment properly so there was no question of duress. So she would look into his eyes, take his hand and say, “James, I’ve been a very naughty, silly girl and I deserve to be spanked. Would you please teach me a lesson I won’t quickly forget? Please put me over your knee like a naughty girl and spank me so hard I can’t sit down for a week!”

James’s cock was painfully hard now, and the urge to cum was overwhelming. He pulled his hand out of his waistband, unzipped under cover of the desk and pulled his cock free. His shaft stood tall and he was able to stroke himself more freely, using his free-flowing pre-cum as a lubricant.

He imagined bending Sophie over his knee and stroking her firm, round bottom through the light summer dress. Once she was in position he would tell her all naughty girls had to be spanked on the bare. She would protest enough to make a show, but offer no resistance as he drew up the skirt to reveal stocking tops and cream, silky knickers. He would slide her knickers down to her knees, revealing the wonderful sight of her twin moons bisected by the deep crevasse hiding her bum hole. He would adjust her position so that her bum was positioned nice and high. She would spread her feet to steady herself, opening her cheeks as she did and giving him a tantalising glimpse of her bum hole, and a glorious view of her pussy beneath. He imagined she would be neatly trimmed – not bare. He would stroke her buttocks, testing the resiliency before spanking her with firm strokes to warm her up. As they got going, he would make his spanks harder until there was a definite pinkness to her cheeks. He imagined he would see her arousal growing despite her protests, and at that prompt he would spank her harder to bring her colour to a deeper hue.

James slowed his stroking, eager to play out his story to the end before shooting his load. He mentally moved Sophie off his knee and over the desk.

She would willingly dip her back as she bent forward across the desk, opening her cleft and lewdly displaying her moistening pussy. He would have her spread her feet wider to give him a clear view of her wrinkled sphincter, her pussy lips swelling and parting with excitement. He imagined pulling her cheeks apart so that her bumhole was stretched open and beneath, her wet and open pussy lips revealed her full arousal. James would stroke and fondle her cheeks, wetting a finger in her juicy cunt before dragging a finger up her cleft to probe her anus. He would then pull his belt from his pants and double the strap in his hand. He mentally brought the strap down square across her cheeks and he imagined her gasp, before she thrust her bottom back for more. He kept mentally whipping her until he felt his orgasm was too close to hold back. As his orgasm built he imagined grasping her red, sore bum cheeks and sliding his hot, hard length deep inside her willing pussy. He fucked her hard and fast as his hand pumped under the desk until he shot his load with a cry. Suddenly conscious of his location, he glanced around the office to see a couple of curious faces looking his way, wondering no doubt what the noise was about. He ducked behind his computer screen and grabbed some tissues from the box on his desk to clean up.

Sated now, he took another look at the blank screen before him, before turning to pick up his phone. His call was answered after a couple of rings.

“Ah, Sophie, there’s something we need to discuss. Would you be able to stay a little late tonight?”

Remedial Action


Carla threw down the cane after leaving 20 or more criss-crossed lines across Sammi cheeks. Sammi lay still, sobbing softly into the leather of the Chesterfield, her hot, sore bottom still pushed high over the arm. Carla stepped behind her between her feet, forcing her knees further apart and opening her behind. The cane strokes had deepened to angry purple where the strokes had overlapped, yet in the cleft between her punished cheeks where the cane did not bite the flesh remained smooth, soft and tender. Sammi flinched as Carla laid her hands gently on her buttocks, caressing the hot welts with a butterfly touch.

Carla spoke as she softly stroked her lover’s punished bottom. “All done now, time to kiss it better.” Sammi jerked as she felt her lover’s tongue slide down her unpunished cleft to circle her anus. She thrust her bottom higher to open herself more to Carla’s tongue as she trailed down to tongue the groove of her sex, wet now after the pain-pleasure of her caning. Sammi’s legs were wide apart and her back arched right over the sofa’s arm as she presented her pussy for Carla’s tongue, desperate to extract every ounce of pleasure from her loving. Sammi cried out as Carla squeezed her whipped cheeks in her lust for her pussy, yet soon forgot the pain as Carla found her clitoris and flicked the nub with a stiff tongue. After only a few minutes, Sammi stiffened and cried out as her orgasm flooded through her.

Carla stood and wiped the juices from her lips before speaking. “There now. All done. Now you just have to deliver the same message to the Sapphire crew. Take Dom with you – he’s shaping up to be a good shoot director. Maybe he can talk sense into those wanna-be catwalk queens.” She looked down at Sammi, still recovering on the sofa. “Did you want more? I see the paddle in there if you’d like a round with that next?”

“NO! No, that’s, that’s good enough. Message received loud and clear.” Sami stumbled off the sofa and grabbed her skirt and knickers from the floor where Carla had tossed them earlier. The knickers were ripped apart so she just tossed them in the trash can and stepped into her skirt. The silky lining felt good against her sore bottom as she gingerly walked from the room.


Dom chuckled as he watched Sammi trying to find a comfortable position as she drove them over to the Sapphire shoot. He had heard the unmistakable sound of a cane striking flesh as he came back into the main office after lunch, and he had spent the last half hour on his knees peering through the keyhole to spy on the lovers. He had seen Carla standing over Sammi as she lay on the sofa. He couldn’t see her bum, but he did see the cane rise and fall a good many times. He soon had his cock out and was stroking his shaft as he had watched as Carla disappeared from view behind Sammi. His imagination had filled in the rest and we had wanked himself in time with Carla’s tongue and Sammi’s moans, shooting a gob of spunk onto the carpet as Sammi screamed her release. He had barely had time to clean the mess and get back to his desk before the door was flung open and Sammi had gingerly but purposefully stalked over to his desk. With a voice made hoarse by the tears and screams, she instructed him to get himself downstairs and wait in the car.  She came down some time later  having cleaned herself up. She threw a kitbag into the trunk and dropped into the seat. He laughed out loud as he recalled how she had nearly shot through the car roof as her bum hit the seat.

Sammi shot him a mean look. “Not a word. Not a single, fucking word unless you want some of the same.” Dom tried to keep a straight face and nearly choked as he smothered a laugh. Sammi broke down too then, and laughed with him. “Okay, yes it was fun. Fucking painful, then and now, but good fun. And it will be even better fun when I pass the message on to that wanker of a shoot director and that gaggle of supposed models he employed. That little tosser is a week overdue and I’ve seen nothing yet. And after that, I’m going to give it to Angie-fucking-Mosely. I’ll show her how she needs to keep her models in order. Watch and learn, Dom. Watch-and-learn!” Dom adjusted himself as his cock began to grow at the thought of the action still to come that afternoon.



Continued from HERE, and the A to Z story started HERE

Prima Donna, Punished and Quaking


“Hey Sammi,” called Carla, looking up from her computer, “did you realise you and Dom share a birthday? I was just updating the HR system and I realised you and he are both going to be a year older next week. Calls for a special celebration I think, especially since you complained of missing out on the fun a couple of weeks back.” Carla peered over her monitor to gauge the reaction of her partner in love and work. Sammi made no reply, so Carla picked up a stress ball and lobbed it at her head.

“What the fuck? Carla, I’m busy. I don’t have time for your games right now. The Sapphire shoot is fucked up and I can’t get hold of the crew. Fuck, fuck, fuckety fucking shit-heat toss- pot arsehole cunt whacking FUCKERS!”

Carla sat back, amazed at the outburst from her partner, normally the level head in the relationship. “O-kay. Seems like someone lost her teddy. Chill babe, not that bad!”

“Carla, what the fuck do you know? I’ve been working the Sapphire shoot all alone and those lingerie models are all a bunch of prima donna queens. I would just love to go down there and thrash the arse off every one of ‘em, and the crappy crew who let them walk all over them. Bunch of pussies every one. I bet there’s not a stiff dick amongst them, least not until they get back into their dark room.” Sammi snorted in derision. “I should go down there, whip all their arses and peg the crew for good measure. Shove some ginger up the models arses and see if that lights their fire.” She flung her notebook down on the desk, sending a coffee mug flying across the files and papers strewn over the desk.

“SAMMI! Jeezus, you crazy bitch! You could’ve ruined the computers, portfolios, everything.” Carla was mad. “You just need to chill! Seems like you;re the rpima donna queen here!”

“Fuck it, fuck it all! I’m through. See you at home.” Sammi pushed back from the desk and stood up. Carla quickly followed suit.

“Oh no you don’t. You don’t throw a paddy and storm out, leaving me to clean up your mess. And you don’t shout at me in my own office. Maybe you’re onto something if you think a good thrashing would solve the workforce problems over there at Sapphire. Maybe we should start with the project manager, see if that fixes anything.”

The two women faced off, neither willing to back down. They had been here before – two fiery, passionate women whose tempers flared quickly and who would never concede to the other without a fight. It was partly what gave their relationship such dynamism, and what made the Whiplash Agency one of the foremost marketing teams in the city. Sammi went to sidestep Carla and head out the door. Carla was too quick and she grabbed her arm and yanked her back. Sammi tried to pull free when the rip of fabric stopped her cold. She looked at her hand and saw she had torn Carla’s blouse, ripping the fabric open to reveal her red lace bra cupping her firm breasts.

“Oh shit, Carla I’m sorry – serves you right though. You shouldn’t try to stop me.”

Carla was fuming now. “You are gonna pay for that. And not with money!” She tightened her grip on Sammi’s wrist. “get your arse over the sofa. NOW!”

Sammi tried to tug free again, and scratched her lover’s hand in the process. Carla wrenched her back, pulling her off balance so she stumbled backwards on to the Chesterfield. Carla quickly flipped her legs up and smacked her palm down hard on her skirt-covered seat. The smacks were not hard compared to their normal games, but the shock brought Sammi down to earth. She stopped writhing and allowed Carla to spank her several more times with her open palm. She didn’t resist when Carla tugged down her zip and yanked the skirt of her legs, nor when Carla ripped her knickers off to bare her buttocks for more serious assault. With the target cleared, Carla resumed her rapid-fire spanking, venting her anger on her lover’s upturned bum, whacking indiscriminately across her spread cheeks. More than once Sammi yelped as she caught a sharp smack on her pussy lips, and her anus stung from the many slaps that landed directly on her hole, spread wide in this position.

Finally, Carla’s anger abated and her pace slowed. She was flushed and panting as she lowered Sammi’s legs back down. But she was not yet ready to forgive. Not until Sammi was ready to be much, much more contrite. Instead of letting Sammi rise, she flipped her over the arm of the Chesterfield. Fr both, this was one of their favourite spanking positions. The arm thrust the penitent’s buttocks high and the seat gave plenty of support to sustain a long assault. Sammi suspected she may prefer to lie on the sofa rather than sit for the next few days, judging by the quiet anger emanating from her lover. Sammi wisely decided not to inflame the situation still further. She adjusted her own position so that her buttocks were high and spread, her feet apart to open her cheeks and expose her pussy to view.

From her prone position Sammi watched Carla walk over to the cupboard that housed their spanking toys. These toys were well used around the office for play and discipline. Just a couple of weeks ago she had used the leather strap on Dom’s delightful rear when he and Jo had fought in the office. She had lit a fire in him that day, she recalled. No doubt her cheeks would feel the same way very soon. She watched as Carla looked through the assortment of straps, paddles, hairbrushes and other implements bought or donated by the staff for their amusement. She gasped as she saw that Carla had found the one item Sammi truly feared.

“No! No not the cane. Please Carla, not the cane. You know it stings terribly, and I’ll still have marks in weeks!” Sammi was visibly quaking as Carla approached with the vicious rod.

“Oh I think my marks will be there as long as yours,” Carla said, showing the back of her hand where three bloody striped showed the effects of Sammi’s earlier assault. “At least your marks won’t be bleeding. Possibly.” Carla stepped up behind Sammi and measured her distance. “Now, we’ve got a $90 shirt ruined, plus the work on the desk covered in coffee, plus my scratched hand. I can’t even think of a total. I will just keep going until I’m tired or bored I think.” A she spoke she punctuated the words with swift, hard cane strokes, each biting deeply into the lush, upturned cheeks before her. And each time, Sammi yelped and then presented herself for more.

As she caned her lover Carla said, “you know, we didn’t finish discussing your birthdays. You know, we could have a costume party. You already have a costume – you can go as a tiger with nice, bright stripes.” She laughed as she continued to add to the decoration of her lover’s bottom.



And that was P and Q for the A to Z Chalelnge. It all began HERE, and I listed all the posts in the series to date HERE.

Juvenile, Knackers and Leather

The next day, Carla and Sammi were in the office working on the shoot for the Bryson Motors campaign when raised voices disturbed their concentration. They tried to ignore the commotion, and almost succeeded, until the shouting turned to shrieks and then the distinctive sound of a palm striking bare flesh. The pair looked at each other, dropped what they were doing and dashed outside.

The sight before them stopped them in their tracks. Dominic had Jo across his knees. He had her skirt up and knickers down, and he was spanking her bare bottom vigorously. Jo was kicking and bucking, screaming at him at the top of her voice, “Stop you fucking moron! If you don’t stop fucking smacking me I will rip your knackers off and shove them down your throat OWWWW!!” (more…)

Horny for Humbling

Carla’s phone pinged with the unique tone she had assigned to Sammi. She picked her phone up, curious to see what was important enough for her to be disturbed at her desk:

message 1

Carla closed her door and browsed to the blog page. The image on the post was really erotic, even though it was just a cartoon, and it had Carla wriggling her bum to relieve an urgent pulsing in her pussy. ‘Nice,’ she thought. ‘I could see us handling young Dominic like this.’

She moved on, chuckling to herself as she read the hilarious verse penned by Rudi. When she had finished she browsed through several other postings on the site, noting a few that gave her ideas for spanking scenarios. One story in particular really got her juices flowing, and she couldn’t resist pulling up her skirt to probe her rapidly moistening sex. Her fingertip gently circled her clit as she imagined herself enacting the story Rudi had so eloquently told. She spent a delightful few minutes bringing herself to orgasm as she imagined thrashing an unsuspecting shopper with a spatula. When she had come back down to earth she picked up her phone once more:




Carla put down her phone and smiled as she imagined bringing young Dominic to his knees in the open office. She recalled the pleasure he took from whipping her with the leather belt a few days earlier. He had left her with some vivid reminders. And while she had certainly enjoyed the experience, she called the shots in the bedroom and the office. It was time for Dominic to realise he could be a Dom in name only if he wanted to stay working under her, in every way imaginable.


Part H of the evolving adventures of Carla and Sammi, for the A to Z Challenge. The adventures started here.

Rosebottom recruits

 The Rosebottom Centre for Attitudinal Adjustment



Product Development Assistants

“We strive to achieve Bottom Marks”

Rosebottomers leave no bottom untouched in our pursuit of the perfect Rosebottom result. Our employees bend over to present our clients with the perfect opportunity to test our products and enact any scenario. We provide the perfect tools for attitudinal adjustment.

We are constantly seeking the next big thing in correctional devices, seeking new ways to excite, entice and warm the hearts of our clients’ bottoms. To assist, we need a new group of Product Development Assistants to provide practical help in the design, testing and marketing of a new range of leather, wood and acrylic adult goods.

To thrive as a Product Development Assistant you must be flexible, resilient and tolerant of painful and uncomfortable situations. You should be able to withstand an environment which may be taxing yet intensely enjoyable.

Every item we sell is  individually inspected and tested in a real-life environment. To assist our Testers you will assume a number of positions throughout the day. Essential safety equipment is provided to protect non-test areas of the body. Clothing restrictions often apply to testing environments.

If you work in our New Product Division you can expect to test many unique products designed for attitudinal adjustment. We employ a bottom-up, hands-on and highly participative methodology that delivers startling results when rigorously applied. Your bottom lines will be testament to the rigour of our Testers.

Quality control Development Assistants will assist as Subject participants in our OTK (Objective Testing Knowledge) protocols. These include:

  • Impact Testing: efficacy of the product in delivering a trademark Rosebottom glow; measures speed of heat transfer to Subject bottom.
  • Ease of Use: testers rate products on ergonomic handling and comfort (Subject comfort is inversely proportional to Tester comfort)
  • Longevity: occasionally we utilise destruction protocols to test product longevity. These can be particularly arduous to Subject bottoms as it is the product destruction we are testing, not the Subject.

As these protocols are rigorously applied they are particularly demanding on Development Assistants. We offer recovery rooms and massage service. Recovery rooms also provide options for ‘personal relief’ following testing sessions.

Successful applicants need to be flexible, inhibition-free, open-minded and highly resilient. You will be required to work in close, intimate and physically demanding personal situations with colleagues on a daily basis. Due to the nature of our work, we offer a clothing-optional work place.

We offer a lifetime supply of Rosebottom products for your personal enjoyment.

Please note that our interview process is long, rigorous, physically demanding but intensely enjoyable. We often require multiple personal testing sessions before making a selection decision.

Join us now, and you could become our next Rosebottom of the Month.