by Frank Martinet
Sir Richard accepted the sheaf of papers from the lovely form of his chief assistant, Shara Collins, and began signing the forms. Everything was routine, the same payment authorizations the billionaire signed every day. That was until his still-sharp 70-year-old eyes detected something odd on the eleventh document. He paused to actually read what he was signing and had to work to restrain a smile.
"What's this, Collins?"
"Looks like a Bonus Authorization, sir."
"One made out to a certain Shara Collins. Did I instruct you to bring me this?"
"No sir."
"Then how did it get here."
"I wouldn't know, sir," the young woman responded, her face expressionless, her clear blue eyes focused on the far wall.
"You know this is inexcusable. I cannot let this go unpunished."
"Of course, sir."
Richard nodded curtly and the pretty woman, after the briefest of hesitations, a delay that would cost her, began to remove her pencil skirt. The man watched it descend, noting the obedient lack of knickers as remarkably plump, cheeky buttocks came into view. Like a hinge, the elegant woman touched her toes.
Smiling grimly, Sir Richard removed a narrow, 30" rattan rod from his huge desk. Approaching the shivering buttocks, he lined up the cane and delivered a crisp blow right across the center of the succulent orbs.
Snip!
"One sir," Shara said loudly and clearly.
Snip!
"Two, sir."
Snip!
"Three, sir."
She was like a robot. He put a little more energy into the fourth.
Snip!
"...F-four, sir," she said, a slight breathiness to her voice.
Sir Richard frowned. "That last one was a bit off, I'm afraid. Very crooked. I apologize. I shall have to redo it."
"Of course, sir."
Snip!
The attractive hips didn't even waver. "Four, sir."
Snip!
"Five, sir."
There was just a hint of stress in her count that time, and the man grinned. He drew back the rod and swished it forward.
Snip!
"Six, sir." Shara did not rise up, but she breathed out slowly. "Sir," she added calmly. "You may wish to repeat that last one. It is traditional that the final stroke be a bit smarter."
"Thank you for the observation, but that was not the final stroke," said Sir Richard. "I'm giving you two extra for your sluggishness in getting that skirt off."
There was no hesitation this time. "Of course, sir," she replied instantly.
"These extras shall be a bit 'smarter,' as you point out."
He delivered them extremely hard and fast.
Snip! Snip!
There was a tiny pause and then: "Ahhh. Seven... sir. Eight, sir."
Richard studied the rounded buttocks for a full minute, admiring the reddening lines gradually coming to the surface like a developing photograph. The woman didn't move until he told her she could get up, and then her step was cautious as she retrieved her carefully folded skirt and slipped it back over her wounded haunches. The material was so snug the billionaire thought he could see the faint bump of the cane weals bulging the cloth, but perhaps that was only his imagination.
"There are two more items requiring your signature, sir," said Shara, once again his efficient assistant. She indicated the papers.
Sir Richard obeyed, whipping off his signatures quickly and then, after the briefest pause, selecting the Bonus Authorization form and signing it as well. Shara's blue eyes glowed and her cheeks sucked inward.
"Sir," she panted, "that's... that's a million pound bonus! It was, uh, meant to be a... a prank, sir."
"I realize that and I applaud your ingenuity." Sir Richard took the form and slipped it into a drawer of his desk. "I shall keep this for the moment. One day, if you're a good girl, it shall be yours."
"Thank you, sir!" gasped the woman. For the first time since he'd known her, she appeared genuinely flustered.
"Now get on with you. I have a busy day scheduled."
"Of course, sir!"
Shara gathered her papers and shuffled out, her succulent hips rolling as she trotted on sky-high heels. If the stripes on her bum bothered her, she gave no sign.
Alone, Sir Richard sighed pleasantly, a soft smile playing on his lips. He rotated his chair to gaze out the window at his estate. The familiar grounds comforted him. He rarely bothered going to the office any more. It was far more pleasant to work from home. Besides, he'd earned the privilege, and things were a lot more... interesting here.
He decided to go for a morning stroll. He found his hat and his coat and went down the stairs. One of the maids was in the foyer, dusting. The old man couldn't resist. He approached the girl, a pretty lass of just eighteen and in his employ for a mere four months.
"Meghan, isn't it?"
"Yes sir."
The girl was remarkably pretty, with flawless ivory skin and the cutest tiny snub nose, slightly upturned. It gave her a faintly piggish look and it was irresistible.
"Slacking at your duties, I see."
"Sir?" gasped the girl.
"The lamp. You did not lift it to dust underneath!" He pointed at the heavy Tiffany lamp on the side table and the maid blanched.
"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know-"
"That's no excuse, young Meghan, now is it? Up with the skirt, please."
Though clearly rattled, to her credit the girl didn't hesitate. With admirable urgency she worked the short black maid's uniform up over her hips, revealing an appropriately knicker-less bum as sweet as a peach. Sir Richard admired the jutting cheeks for a heartbeat or two, then indicated the nearby sofa. The girl draped herself over the back.
Three broad strides had the man to a corner of the room where an umbrella stand was discretely placed. It contained no umbrellas, however, but a variety of crock-handled canes. He selected one, a meter-long wand of supple thinness, and returned to the maid.
Snip! The rattan sank deeply into the rounded meat and the girl squirmed, the flesh of her bum twitching deliciously.
"One sir," she panted.
Snip!
"Two sir." Already there was tension in her voice. She was not as experienced and jaded as Shara, and Sir Richard enjoyed her naivety.
Snip!
"Ah, three, sir."
Snip!
A sharp gasp, a little moan, and then a panted, "Four, sir."
Sir Richard waited a moment, admiring the pale, quivering bottom with the spreading stripes, and then swung even harder.
Snip!
"Ah! Five, sir." The hips shifted and the buttocks rippled as the girl fidgeted. Richard debated counting that as insubordination, but decided the girl had been a good sport about it all. He did place the final stroke low, right between buttock and thigh, and was pleased the with the maid's half-shriek of alarm.
Snip!
"Yeee! Ooh, six, sir."
Tears glittered in the pretty eyes, but the girl did not make the mistake of rising without permission, and though her hands were making furious fists as she gripped the sofa urgently, she did not reach back to massage her stinging bottom.
"Very well, Meghan. Let that be a lesson to you."
"Thank you, sir." The girl rose and carefully unrolled her skirt so the black fabric covered up the lovely, well-striped bum.
Sir Richard had a wild impulse to instruct her to keep her bum bared for the day as she went about her work and his imagined vision of the bare-bottomed maid cleaning the house was tremendously appealing. But he said nothing, knowing that the revealing of the buttocks was so exciting because it was rare. Though he was rich enough to afford a whole town of nude servants if he wanted, he wisely was more restrained.
With a respectful nod at her employer, Meghan picked up her duster and resumed her work. He noted that the first thing she did was to dust under the heavy lamp and he couldn't stop smiling with delight.
Outside, the air was crisp and fresh, a recent shower leaving everything dew-covered. The sun was still weak and struggling to penetrate the overcast sky, but it was a glorious day and Sir Richard felt alive and half his age. He felt inspired to inspect his gardens and headed in their direction.
Ten minutes later he was smelling a veritable Noah's Ark of flora, a bewitching array of roses, tulips, and orchids of every color. Many of the flowers he couldn't even identify, though he knew his gardener, Mary Price, could name every one in both Latin and English.
He found her outside the greenhouse. She was a tall, broad-figured woman of African descent, with coffee-colored skin and a wide, white-toothed smile. She was giving instructions to her two assistants, pretty young things barely out of school, who trembled with terror when they saw Sir Richard approaching. Like birds at the sight of a cat, they flittered away as he arrived.
"Trouble in paradise, Mary?" he asked.
"Nothing a sound dose of the stick wouldn't cure," said the woman, her smile dazzling.
"Then why didn't you apply it?"
"Oh, don't worry, I'm keeping a log and those two will be bottoms up before nightfall. They're lazy and incompetent, but that's why you hired them, isn't it?"
Sir Richard laughed. "Methinks you're getting a little cheeky yourself. Why did you deny me the pleasure of watching you correct them? Perhaps I should take out my disappointment on your own charming behind."
"Perhaps you should," said the woman smoothly, guiding him into the greenhouse. In an open corner, she found a selection of stout garden rods and gave the man one. Her green coverall quickly shed, revealing a surprisingly curvy figure underneath. Tan shorts hugged the broad hips and when they descended, the chocolate buttocks displayed were magnificent.
The beating was much harder than the one he'd given the maid, for Sir Richard knew exactly what Mary Price could take. With her thick hips and massive bottom it took a full dozen to stripe the abundant flesh properly. Mary said nothing but the count, delivered in a loud, clear voice as her employer demanded.
He beat hard and fast and the punishment was complete within ninety seconds. Her face was impassive when she was given command to rise, though a flicker of distress briefly crossed her features when she reached back a hand to massage a heavy haunch.
"You're in a mood today," she muttered ruefully. "I'd hate to see my bottom if you were displeased with my work."
"I should love it," responded the man with a laugh, "but the gardens are always immaculate and you never give me the excuse."
"I take too much pride in my work to do anything wrong intentionally," she sighed. "But the occasional touching up is certainly not unwelcome."
"Perhaps you can call me when you're going to deal with those two miscreants of yours. I wouldn't mind observing your technique."
"They're off at five, if you're in the area. I always beat them off the clock, telling them they aren't being paid to have their bottoms smacked."
The man laughed at the untruth of this, for he paid such generous salaries precisely for that reason and everyone knew it. "I'll be here," he said, waving goodbye as he exited the greenhouse.
"I'll keep them bare bottom in the corner waiting until you arrive," she called out after him. "Anticipation's good for the soul."
"Ah, it's good to be the king," he sighed as he marched through his domain. He felt unusually virile this day and looked around eagerly to see if there were any more bottoms he could beat. Sadly, he was alone at the moment, the two garden girls wisely making themselves scarce.
"Ginger!" he said suddenly, snapping his fingers and grinning as he headed for the garage. The tall, willowy redhead was nowhere to be seen when he arrived, and he made a mental note to thrash her soundly for neglecting her duties.
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