by Frank Martinet
Scene #1: Bridget and Alexis
Alexis thought it odd that her boss was standing. The voluptuous blond usually sat behind her massive desk like a queen, shouting, "Off with her head!" Now she'd moved her luxurious leather chair to the side and was standing as she looked down at her computer screen. The change made Alexis nervous.
"You called?" she asked Bridget, trying to keep her voice steady. She felt a wave of heat come over her and an urge to turn and look at the umbrella stand hidden behind the door. There wasn't an umbrella in sight, of course. Instead, the bin held a half dozen wicked rods of various thicknesses and lengths.
If Alexis looked, she might give the woman ideas. So she forced herself to remain frozen. She held her breath.
"What's the status on the Luciene sale?" snapped Bridget.
"Uh, we're still waiting to hear back from the bank."
"Damn it, they should have called by now. Call them back."
"Are you sure? I spoke with Cindy Kreller this morning and she said she'd call as soon as she got the final authorization. It might not happen until tomorrow."
"Are you arguing with me?"
"No, of course not, Bridget. I just don't want to pester her. Maybe we ought to give Cindy more time-"
"Call her again," came the imperious command, and Alexis blanched and nodded, darting from the room like a frightened jackrabbit. Her tall, willowy body swayed as she trotted on ridiculously high heels. The black leather pants were a second skin, the firm globes of her ass shuddering as her hips rolled from side to side. She passed through the open door behind which was the cane bin and her eyes closed with relief that she'd managed to escape Bridget's wrath.
What is up with her on Mondays? she thought with a dark shiver. Alexis had been working for Bridget for two years, ever since graduating from college, and though the woman had always been a bit of a martinet, lately she'd been as fierce as a starving wolverine. Especially on Mondays, she seemed intent on making Alexis' life hell.
Alexis reached back to fondly rub one leather-clad flank. It was bizarre. Bridget's canings were pure nightmare and she felt genuine relief at having escaped, but there was a touch of disappointment as well. Had she subconsciously wanted a thrashing? Friday's beating had been awful - Alexis could still feel the swollen lines on her rump when she moved or sat, despite a weekend of long baths and plenty of cold cream. Could Bridget be going soft? It was so unlike her to miss a chance to beat her pretty assistant.
The warmth was down low and deep inside, a longing Alexis doubted would ever be fulfilled. She adored Bridget. The blond was gorgeous. Not that tall, but incredibly voluptuous. Her breasts were as a big as a nursing mother's. Her hips were magnificent, wide and spacious, with profoundly jutting hams that Alexis couldn't help but wonder if they'd ever been kissed by a rod.
It seemed possible, judging from Bridget's passion for the stick. Perhaps, like Alexis, she'd grown up with a strict father who doled out harsh punishments for the slightest fault. Of course, for Bridget, that sort of treatment had ended long ago. Now she was mistress.
Alexis didn't mind, not really, or at least not often. Bridget was fair and didn't beat without cause, but Alexis seemed to give her plenty. She couldn't go a week without some sort of major infraction, and Fridays - when she paid off whatever minor slights she'd accrued during the week - were usually quite hellish. Still, Alexis was accustomed to such treatment. It comforted her to know that her errors would be unerringly corrected, and since she wanted to follow Bridget's path to real estate queendom, there was no better teacher.
She dialed the bank's number and chatted with Cindy Kreller briefly. "Sorry about this, Cindy, but Bridget's on my ass to get the deal closed."
The woman on the other end sounded harassed. "I told you I'd call the minute something happened. The hold-up's in Switzerland. We're still waiting for the wire."
"Okay, thanks. Sorry to bother you."
Alexis hung up the phone and returned to her boss' office. She knocked once and poked her head through the opening. "No progress from the bank," she said brightly. "We're just spinning our wheels waiting for the transfer from Europe."
Bridget frowned, unhappy with the report. "Charles Luciene is anxious and you know how temperamental he can be. One silly technical glitch and the whole deal will be off."
"I'm sure that won't happen, Bridget."
"So you can see the future now?"
"Of course not, I just meant-"
"I don't need platitudes, Alexis. I need results." The blond put her hands on her abundant hips. "I don't like your attitude. It seems I didn't beat you hard enough on Friday. See me after work today."
Alexis' stomach squirmed. She desperately wanted to protest, but she knew that only got her extra stripes, so she nodded meekly and murmured, "I'm sorry, Bridget."
It wasn't even three yet, so Alexis had several hours to stew. She wondered if this was to be a mere 'touch up' beating - perhaps three or four strokes just to keep her on her toes - or was Bridget irritated enough with her to make this a proper punishment? A tight six? Maybe eight? Or a horrid dozen?
Of course, she didn't dare ask. She just had to wait to find out, which made her so anxious she spilled her coffee and almost hung up on a client when she was transferring the call to Bridget's office. That would have been a disaster and her heart was racing like mad for ten minutes afterward. She couldn't sit still, standing up and pacing, or giving herself little errands to keep moving. She couldn't help but be aware of her bottom, feeling its round prominence when she bent to retrieve a file from a low drawer or the tightness of her leather pants when she moved.
Why had she worn the leathers? They were an advertisement for her ass, practically begging to be smacked. She doubted Bridget would let her keep them on for the caning. Sometimes she did if the pants weren't too thick and she was in a hurry, but neither was the case today. They were going to be hell to get back on afterward.
Five o'clock came and went, most of the associates departing. The phones stopped ringing. Alexis, like her boss, never left before six and often stayed as late as eight if there were issues pressing. The quieter the office, the more nervous Alexis became. She wondered if Bridget had forgotten the punishment, and she weighed the dilemma of reminding the woman or pretending that she, too, had forgotten. With the latter, if it turned out to be a test of loyalty by Bridget, the consequences would be unimaginable.
Finally at seventeen after seven Alexis' phone lit up. She pressed the intercom button. "Yes, Bridget?" She began praying that the woman just wanted a file.
"It is time to adjust that attitude of yours."
Alexis swallowed. Her breasts shook slightly as she trembled. "I'll... be right there, Bridget."
She stood, her knees wavering slightly. She took a deep breath, passed a hand over her haunches like she was wishing them good-bye, and marched into her boss' office.
Bridget had taken off her jacket and her short sleeves left her arms bare and emphasized the weighty orbs of her breasts which dragged at her blouse and left the milky-white tops exposed. She had a low center of gravity, with short stocky legs that culminated in broad hips. Her waist was as narrow as a girl half her age, and the effect was one of almost absurd femininity. When she stepped from behind her desk, she briefly revealed her body in profile, the big tits thrusting forward in front and the even more aggressive jut of her ass behind.
Seeing her, Alexis felt a strange tingling all over her body. She was hot and cold at the same time. She ached to see all of Bridget, to see those tits dancing bare and that gorgeous ass in all its glory, but she didn't dare jeopardize her career by suggesting something. She had far too much respect for Bridget to disappoint her.
Bridget was a good four inches shorter than Alexis, but it didn't feel that way and she certainly didn't act that way. She glided over on mile-high heels, her face icy and serene. Her lovely blond hair was pulled back into a tail high on the back of her head, the way she usually wore it. Her pale blue eyes snapped fire.
"Fetch me a good sturdy rod, would you? The forty-incher, I think."
Alexis sucked in her breath. Weakly she muttered, "The Dragon?" Her voice held awe. She couldn't believe she deserved that.
"Can you tell me a good reason why not?"
Because I want to keep my bottom in one piece? Alexis thought, but didn't say. She went to the bin without responding, searching for the lengthy Dragon cane. It was a lethal bit of hardwood, so stout it was practically a rapier, and yet it possessed remarkable flexibility, bending as easily as fishing pole. Alexis had tasted it twice before and hated every moment, for the licky stick burned like red-hot coals with every stroke. She didn't understand why she deserved such an implement for what seemed like hardly any offense, but she was wise enough not to question her boss.
Bridget flexed the long rod and swished it. It moved sluggishly through the air, a dull whirr. She lashed it harder, putting real muscle and energy into the swing and the cane suddenly sprang forward singing a high-pitched hiss that curdled Alexis' blood.
"Pants down and touch your toes."
The cane pointed to the spot on the carpet where Alexis was to go. The tall dark-haired assistant obeyed like a robot. She reached the position and took a deep breath. Then she fought with her leather pants. She had to wiggle her hips from side to side to get them down, her face hot and pink she felt so ridiculously vulgar. Gradually the clingy things came down, revealing the pink string of a thong snuggled deep into the cleft between the buttocks. The cheeks themselves were bare moons, pale and smooth as peaches. A few shadowy lines still decorated the mounds, the fading results of Friday's tally. One on the lower right in the crease was still swollen, its purple coloring now a muddy brown.
"That one still looks tender," said Bridget, poking the mark with the tip of the cane. "It was the ninth, wasn't it? I'm pretty sure I remember it."
I remember it, too, thought Alexis bitterly. She merely nodded, carefully drawing her thong out of her crack and down. It was absurd that she had to lower such skimpy underwear - it offered no protection at all - but Bridget was a stickler for details. Alexis dove for her feet, freezing once her fingertips reached her toenails. Her bottom bulged up high, the flesh round and tight and incredibly vulnerable.
Why do I do this? she wondered. I should call her bluff and just refuse. I bet she wouldn't fire me. She can't. She'd be lost without me.
But Alexis knew she'd never do that. No matter how hard the caning, she'd just have to endure it. That was one of things that made punishment so intriguing. It was a battle between her will and the pain. With Bridget, like her father, the consequences of failure were costly. Rising up without permission was an extra two strokes, and putting a hand back to rub was three.
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