Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
She’s already aroused, the increasingly assured voice of what I guessed I had to call my dominant intuition told me. Mandy needs this as much as you do.
“Yes, miss,” Mandy said, visibly swallowing.
I had only barely picked up on it the first time Mandy had called me miss, but this second time it sent a jolt of arousal through my system. I had to fight the impulse to swallow hard myself at the clench between my thighs.
That’s right, you disrespectful chit, I thought, amazing myself with the old-fashioned, quasi-Dickensian way I’d put it to myself. Now you’re showing me the proper respect, when I’ve put you down for a bare-bottom correction.
“Stand up,” I told her, “and follow me.”
Blinking at me as if part of her couldn’t quite believe I had such authority in me, Mandy rose and smoothed down her knee-length blue skirt.
“Yes, miss,” she said, her face suddenly woeful and downcast. “I’m ready.”
I led Mandy to the elevator, maintaining a stern silence as we rode down to the fiftieth floor. I could sense Mandy’s nervous energy, the way the other woman fidgeted and avoided eye contact. Part of me felt a twinge of sympathy, remembering my own recent experiences over Stuart’s knee. But a larger part felt a growing sense of righteous authority.
Mandy is disrespectful and lazy, unless dealt with firmly. She needs to learn her place, and I’m the one who has to teach her, because she disrespected me.
As we exited the elevator, my eyes swept the hallway, noting the discreet doors labeled simply with numbers. I found room 5003 and ushered Mandy inside.
The punishment room was austere but not stark. In its basic outlines it resembled nothing as much as the sort of generic office a visiting executive might use. A polished wooden desk dominated one side, with a stylish, modern desk chair behind it. Next to the chair stood a cabinet that I recognized immediately from Heather’s quick briefing as the location of the various disciplinary implements sanctioned for correcting Selecta staff. Against the far wall stood a piece of furniture that could easily be mistaken for an ottoman, if one didn’t happen to know that a variety of restraints lay concealed behind subtly arranged faux-leather flaps in its sides.
My breath caught a bit in my throat as I took it all in. This was really happening. I was about to discipline a subordinate, to assert my authority in the most primal way. My pussy clenched again at the thought of the sheer nearness of what seemed a turning point in… well, in everything. I forced myself to focus.
“Stand in front of the desk, Mandy,” I ordered, pleased at how steady my voice sounded. “Put your hands on your head.”
Mandy complied, her eyes downcast. I moved behind the desk and sat in the chair, fully aware of how the height and bulk of the polished surface emphasized the power dynamic between us. I took a deep breath through my nose, looking up steadily into Mandy’s pretty, blushing face.
I folded my arms across my chest, feeling how the pose channeled Stuart’s commanding presence. My eyes traveled downward to assess Mandy’s sizable chest. I realized, to my pleased surprise, that I felt no compunction at all about looking at her that way: the idea that I should feel embarrassed to enjoy disciplining another woman for her misbehavior suddenly seemed ridiculous.
“Do you know why you’re here, Mandy?” I asked, my tone cool and professional.
Mandy nodded, her cheeks flushing. “Yes, miss. I was… disrespectful. And lazy with my work.”
“That’s right,” I confirmed. “Your behavior has been unacceptable. You’ve wasted company time and resources, and you’ve shown a complete lack of respect for your superiors. This stops now. Do you understand?”
“Yes, miss,” Mandy whispered.
I stood and moved to the cabinet. I opened the door to reveal the paddles, straps, and canes hanging inside. Slowly and deliberately, certain Mandy watched every gesture, I reached inside and fetched out the official white Selecta paddle with the blood-red logo on the blade—the same kind Sharon and Stuart had used on my own bare bottom.
With its cool, hard handle in my right hand and its blade resting in my left, I moved around the desk to stand beside Mandy. “I’m going to paddle you now. You will count each stroke and thank me for correcting you. Is that clear?”
Mandy nodded, her breathing quickening.
“Verbal answers, Mandy,” I admonished.
“Yes, miss. I understand,” Mandy replied quickly.
“Good. Now, bend over the desk and lift your skirt.”
I watched as Mandy complied, her movements hesitant but without real resistance. As the other woman’s skirt rose, revealing a lacy red thong, I felt a surge of arousal. Not really unwelcome, but beside the point right at the moment, I told myself.
Then, with a flash of insight, I thought better of that rejection. I remembered the touch of Stuart’s hand on my bottom, of how terribly effective an assertion of his authority, within the unique culture of Selecta, it had seemed to me.