by Robert Price
I am the manager of a small hotel in a seaside resort. We do good business in the summer, but in the off-season we have only three permanent staff (myself, the chef and the head receptionist), so we are heavily dependent on part-timers. Unfortunately, to remain competitive, we cannot afford to pay more than the minimum wage, so we have a high turnover of staff, either because they can earn more elsewhere or because they are idle and I have to fire them. (Let's face it, you only get what you pay for!) The majority of part-timers are young immigrants looking for a stepping-stone until they can find something better, so I was quite surprised when Marjorie turned up in my office one day to ask if there was any chance of a job.
She looked more like a Sunday School teacher than someone who might work in a small hotel. She was conservatively dressed in a trouser suit and had her hair permed in an old-fashioned style that made her look about ten years older than her actual thirty-something years. She had a pleasant enough face, but she hid it behind large-framed glasses which tended to give her an owl-like appearance. She was not the type of woman who attracted admiring glances from men, but that was partly because she did not make the most of what assets she had. She explained that she had been abroad for fifteen years, but had recently returned home to look after her elderly mother. It became clear during her interview that she was neither married or currently in a relationship (which of course had no bearing on whether I would offer her a job or not). She said she did not mind working for low wages as her main reason for seeking employment was to get out of the house for a few hours each day. We had a vacancy for a breakfast waitress, so I decided to take a chance and offered her the job.
This turned out to be a highly fortuitous decision. She was excellent. She flew around the breakfast room like a dervish, ensuring that no-one was kept waiting, yet she managed to find the time to great each new guest as they arrived with a friendly smile and a cheerful "Good morning." She instinctively knew how to engage in small talk long enough to make the guests feel welcome, but without intruding on their privacy. Everyone was courteously addressed as 'sir' or 'madam', even the occasional obnoxious guest or the spotty teenage couples who were only visiting for a dirty weekend. She was in her element and clearly loved her job. Apart from her infectiously cheerful disposition, the thing that impressed me most was her energy. She seemed to be continuously on the move, rushing around to ensure that all the guests were well attended to.
I often found myself mesmerised, watching her fly around the breakfast room as I made minor adjustments to the place settings, and the other fussy little things that we managers do to make ourselves look important. Most of the guests appeared to be oblivious to her existence, except when she spoke to them. A few days after she had started, I realised that, much to my surprise, my eyes kept gravitating to her ass each time she disappeared through the swing doors into the kitchen. I cannot explain why. There was no shortage of younger, more attractive women to lust over, not only on my staff but also amongst the guests, so to this day I cannot explain why I developed a fixation with Marjorie's butt.
Maybe it was the knowledge that she probably only wore panties and a bra under the flimsy polyester trousers and loose-fitting top that passed as our sorry excuse for a uniform - who knows? Her bottom was not especially large - it was in proportion with the rest of her figure - but it was a mature lady's butt, and therefore more filled out than some of the skinny teenagers who worked for me. It was also beautifully rounded, as was testified by the way her trousers tantalisingly clung from time to time. Given my predilections, it was not long before I began to wonder what it would be like to slap her nicely padded bottom, but this seemed no more than idle speculation until fortune suddenly presented me with an opportunity to abuse my position.
After she had been with us a couple of weeks, she was the innocent victim of an accident. She had been rushing through the breakfast room carrying two breakfasts, when an unthinking guest decided to get up suddenly and pushed his chair back into her path, causing her to trip and spill the hot breakfasts over a nearby table. Fortunately the table was empty, and no-one was hurt, but it made quite a mess. Marjorie apologised profusely to the guest who had caused the accident, and then immediately set about tidying up the mess. I told her that I would tidy up, and ordered her to continue looking after the other guests. However, I told her I would need to see her in my office before she went home. After the offending guest had left, a few other guests who had seen the incident assured me that Marjorie was totally blameless, but fortunately she was not present to hear this as it suited my plans better for her to think that the accident had been her fault.
Marjorie was still distraught when she reported to my office a couple of hours later. She believed she had been at fault and clearly feared that she was going to be sacked. She apologised repeatedly for having caused the accident and promised to be much more careful in the future. I felt so sorry for her that I almost succumbed to tell her that shit happens and that the accident was not her fault, but I somehow managed to stick to my game plan. I gave her a long lecture along the lines of 'imagine what would have happened if people had been sitting at the table where the food had landed... it could have resulted in a major incident... it is much too serious for me to let the matter slip... etc., etc.' By the time I had finished, the tears were welling up in her eyes. I decided that she was sufficiently softened up for me to play my opening gambit.
"If you were one of the younger girls," I said, "I would just put you over my knee, give you a good spanking, and that would be the end of the matter. But, I don't think that would be an appropriate course of action for a mature lady like yourself. Unfortunately, that leaves me with very few options. I hate to have to lose you, because you were settling in very nicely, but there does not appear to be any other alternative." (As it happened, she was the best employee we had ever had, and I had no intention of firing her, but I wanted to scare her by deliberately using the past tense). Much as I had anticipated, Marjorie burst into tears at this point.
"Oh please, could you not give me another chance?" she sobbed.
"I wish I could, but unfortunately this is too serious a matter to simply ignore," I lied. "I wish there was some other option, but my hands are tied".
I was worried that she might come up with some other alternative that I could not reject, but fortunately she was too panicked to think constructively. My supposition that she would do anything to keep her job proved correct, and after a long pause she swallowed the bait.
"Could you not treat me like one of the younger girls?" she tentatively asked in a barely audible voice, as if afraid that I would laugh at her. After all, if I had my pick of the younger girls, why would I bother with a middle-aged woman like her?
In point of fact I had never spanked any of the younger girls. There were plenty that I would have liked to have spanked, either because they had very spankable butts or because they were cheeky young articles who deserved a good spanking. Several even managed to tick both boxes. However, I valued my job too much to abuse my position with the female staff and had resisted the temptation. I was therefore venturing into new territory with Marjorie and was anxious that she should appear to be the one that made the suggestion in case there were any future recriminations.
"You mean, put you over my knee and give you a good spanking?" I asked, just to be sure we were on the same wavelength.
There was a long pause. It was obviously not an option she relished, but she eventually decided it was preferable to what appeared to be the only alternative. "Yes," she replied in a barely audible whisper.
"Well, I suppose I could," I replied, as if pondering the proposal. "But I must warn you that I am not talking about a few playful smacks. You will get exactly the same as any of the other girls. By the time I have finished with you, you will not be sitting comfortably for the next couple of days." I had no intention of spanking her very hard - after all, she had done nothing wrong to deserve it - but I wanted to make her feel that it was her decision. She nodded her acceptance.
I removed her glasses - she was actually quite attractive when she took them off - and gently pulled her over my knee. I could not believe my luck. Here I was with a mature woman, probably five or six years older than myself, lying across my lap, cringing in humiliation and waiting to be spanked like a naughty child. I suppose the spanking could technically be described as consensual, but in reality I had tricked her into accepting a punishment for an offence of which she was totally innocent. I realised that I was an evil bastard, mercilessly manipulating her to satisfy my obsessive desires to slap and fondle her ass, but I resolved I would make it up to her somehow.
I felt her cringe as I rubbed her bottom through her pants, whilst giving her a long lecture about how she was going to remember this spanking for a long, long time. Eventually, she relaxed a little. Then, when she was least expecting it, I put my thumbs in the elasticated waistband of her polyester pants and in one swift movement pulled them down to behind her knees, making sure to make sure her panties came with them.
"What are you doing?" she screamed in horror, flailing her arms in a fruitless attempt to reach back to grab her pants to pull them up again.
"I'm going to give you a good spanking," I replied, gently patting her naked cheeks. "All good spankings are done on the bare bottom. I thought you realised that. However, if you don't want to go through with it we can stop now. Do you want me to stop?"
"Could you not spank me with my panties up?" she begged, sobbing gently.
"No, of course not," I replied dismissively, as if it was a stupid question. Although her panties would have protected her modesty, they would have done nothing to lessen the impact of the slaps, but fortunately she did not query my decision and seemed to resign herself to her fate. "Okay to continue?" I asked. I took her sullen silence as a sign of acquiescence.
I have spanked a few girls (although not employees) in my time, and was often disappointed to find that their bottoms were not nearly as sexy when bared as they had appeared in a tight pair of jeans. Marjorie was different.
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