From the Top Shelf - Marianne

Today's selection is from a collection of short stories by Maria del Rey. I think you will enjoy it.

Marianne

'Stephen stood up and went to the window. The sky was a uniform milky grey, leeching the colour from the day and leaving everything dull and flat. He stood for a moment, looking out across the fields to the thin lines of trees on the horizon, the thin green plumes pointing to the hazy white disc that was the wintry sun.

"If we're going to do this then we have to do it properly," he had said earlier in the bar. She had agreed readily but had avoided looking at his eyes, staring instead into the roaring flames crackling in the fireplace.

The air felt heavy, the atmosphere was already very tense, filled with an expectation that was almost tangible. He returned to the desk and buzzed Marianne, jabbing a finger forcefully at the intercom.

"Yes, sir," she responded, breathlessly. He could imagine her sitting on the edge of her seat, waiting for his call, her legs crossed so that the tight skirt revealed the perfect shape of her thighs.

"I want your personnel file, please," he said clearly, managing to conceal the tremor of excitement with an air of cool formality.

"My-my file?" she asked, with a note of genuine surprise.

"Yes, please," he said, and cut the phone off, her quizzical note still hanging in the air. He leaned back, sinking into the welcoming comfort of the leather chair, and waited for her to come in. The Sullivan account file lay on the desk in front of him, the buff folder containing the full details of the most important account the company had ever had. It was the first file he had asked for when they had both arrived that morning. He remembered the nervous look in her eye as she handed it over, as if she wasn't sure she wanted him to see it. But the account had been lost and he had to see the file.

Marianne entered and smiled coolly, it was an efficient smile that managed to conceal whatever feelings she had, yet managed not to look false. "My personal file," she said, carefully handing him the blue folder with her name neatly stencilled on the cover.

"Thank you, Marianne," he said, deliberately placing it next to the Sullivan file.

"Do you need anything else?" she asked, hovering nervously in front of the desk.

"No, thank you." He looked down at her file, not bothering to wave her away. She hesitated for a second, standing in front of the desk, one leg crossed in front of the other, hands together, fingers locked tight. It was only when she turned to walk away that Stephen looked up again. She was wearing a smart navy skirt and jacket, with black seamed stockings with butterfly bows on the heel. Her skirt was tight and her hips swayed slightly with each step, emphasising the constraining tightness of the skirt and the elegant curves of her body.

She lingered at the door for a moment and he felt sure she was going to say something, but if she was she changed her mind. She closed the door gently and he felt a sigh of relief. These situations were always so difficult, so very tricky. He skipped through her file, flicking through the pages, not even pretending to read through it. He knew all that he had to know, but he was stalling for time, wanting just those few extra moments to think things through. He leaned back in his seat once more and looked around the comfortable office, at the framed certificates on the wall, at the book-lined shelves, at the painting by the door, at the drinks cabinet in the corner. Success - everything reflected the success of the company, and of the people who worked for it. Until now.

He buzzed Marianne again. She responded too quickly, her voice just a little too loud and a little too eager. "Marianne, can you come in again, please?" he said, as calmly as he possibly could. His heart was thumping and his throat had gone impossibly dry.

"Yes, Stephen," she said when she came in. Her smile was more nervous than it had been a moment earlier, as if she realised that things had finally come to a head.

"This is going to be very difficult," he said, playing with a pen nervously, finding it easier to look at that and not at her. "Very difficult," he repeated softly, "for both of us. You've been with us a long time now, and sometimes that's not a good thing."

"It's about the Sullivan account," she said quietly, barely whispering, her sharp blue eyes were suddenly full of tears.

"Yes. The Sullivan account." He paused and exhaled deeply. "But that's not the first time, is it!"

"B-but it wasn't my fault," she whispered, her lips trembling.

"I'm afraid it was," Stephen said, softly but firmly, hoping that she wouldn't make a scene. "You were late with the tender documents. We missed the deadline for the contract and they lost the job. They lost a major contract because of us, and it was our fault. YOUR fault. They were our biggest client and now they've gone. This was the third time you've screwed up, Marianne, the third. We've given you chances before, too many perhaps. We just cannot go on like this."

"Please, I'm sorry," she said, the anguish etched miserably on her face. Her skin was pale, making her red lips more prominent, pouting, alluring.

"I'm sorry too," he said, closing the file and pushing it towards her.

"Please, Stephen, I'll do anything..."

He shook his head sadly, exhaled slowly. "I'm sorry," he repeated, looking up into her eyes for the first time.

She looked at him, eyes wide, her body trembling, then she looked away. "Please....." she whispered.

"What else can I do?" he asked reasonably. "You've been warned before. You've been given chances. What can we do? It's as if stern warnings aren't enough. Sometimes I think there's only one thing you'd respond to. Sometimes I want to......." He stopped, suddenly aware that he'd said too much, gone too far.

"What? Do what? I'll do anything, you know I would. I'm so sorry," she said, earnestly.

He looked at her. She was beautiful, even the tears in her eyes and the anguish on her face was seductive. His heart was racing. He had said too much, letting the tension and the emotion get the better of him. "Nothing. Forget I said anything," he said tersely.

"Please, Stephen, what were you going to say? It's not fair to hold back, you can't do this to me. You owe me more than that."

He took a deep breath. "I was going to say that sometimes I think you would only respond to being properly punished."

She looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

"I mean treated like a naughty child. Punished with more than just a few sharp words."

There was a moment of tense silence and he regretted ever opening his mouth. It hadn't been a smart thing to say and it was going to make a difficult situation impossible.

"Yes. Maybe you're right," she said, very quietly, her face blushing pink. Her eyes were fixed on the ground avoiding his own questioning look.

"Pardon?"

"I said maybe you're right. Maybe I do need to be punished."

"No - I'm not sure you quite understand. I meant punished, as in smacked hard on the backside and taught to behave."

"Yes, I know," she answered quietly. "That's what I thought you meant. Perhaps I do need to be punished like that."

Stephen breathed deeply, his hands trembling. The tension in the room was overwhelming.

"Remove your stockings," he said, his voice almost hoarse.

Marianne's face was burning red, her embarrassment clear to see, but she obeyed. She turned her back to Stephen and pulled her skirt up at the front. She reached under and fiddled with her suspender clips. Stephen stood up and walked round to the front of the desk, his eyes fixed on her long, elegant thighs. She looked away from him but made no effort to cover herself. Her stockings were dark against her soft white skin, and when she rolled them down he felt the heat rising within him. It was like a dream, something he could hardly believe was happening. She slipped her shoes off and pulled the stockings off completely.

"Bend over the desk!" he ordered, putting a hand on her shoulder to stop her picking up her stockings. She stepped back into her high heels and then went to the desk. She bent over at the waist, pressing herself flat against the smooth leather topped desk, pressing her face against the cool surface, her hands up by her face.

Stephen stood behind her, enjoying the sight of her skirt pulled tightly over her bottom, pulling the buttocks slightly apart. Very gently, he took the hem of her skirt and lifted it high, up and over her waist. Her long legs were smooth and straight, the knees locked tight so that every muscle and sinew was stretched. Her snow-white panties were pulled tightly between her thighs, deep between her rounded bottom cheeks. The darkness between her thighs was unmistakable, the outline of her sex clearly visible.

"I'm going to smack you six times," he said, his voice trembling. "I don't want you to scream or cry. If you do, I'll punish you for that as well. Is that clear?"

"Yes," she said, her voice as nervous as his. "Yes, sir," she added, twisting round to look at him, her eyes sparkling with fear and excitement.

Stephen hesitated, eyeing her lovely long legs and beautiful rear. He reached over to the desk to the photograph of happy laughing children and turned it over.

The first smack echoed in the room, a sharp sound of hand on flesh. Marianne moaned softly, her hands pressed hard onto the desk, her eyes half closed. Stephen waited a second then smacked her again , a hard slap on the other buttock. He stopped to admire the imprint of his fingers, marked deep red on the soft white flesh of Marianne's backside.

"Does it hurt?" he asked softly.

"Yes, it stings horribly," she replied quietly, her eyes still half-closed. She was breathing hard though Stephen still couldn't tell how she was reacting, her feelings closed off from him, obscured by her silence and her half-closed eyes.

He spanked her again, two quick strokes in rapid succession. Each time she tensed and then exhaled slowly, the breath escaping from her glossy red lips like a sigh.

"Oh it stings. It's like a fire spreading..." she whispered, as if talking to herself, comforting herself.

Stephen's prick was hard, throbbing. Marianne's beautifully punished backside was the most erotic sight he'd ever seen. He wanted to stop and touch her, to slip his fingers under her panties, to part her buttocks and stroke her there, to press a finger between the inviting lips of her sex.

Marianne moaned again. She was opening and closing her eyes slowly, breathing hard and deep, almost gasping for breath. He saw that her panties were damp, and that the wet heat was spreading. The look on her face seemed to hover between pleasure and pain, her lips parted, half smiling, half scowling. He smacked her again, a hard stroke directly between her gorgeous arse cheeks.

"Oh, Jesus..." she moaned, her body tensing momentarily, her eyes flaring open. Another hard smack in the same place and she cried out, an animal cry that could only be interpreted one way. She had climaxed powerfully, the heat from her reddened backside spreading deeply into her sex.

"Don't move!" Stephen ordered sharply, stepping away from her.

Marianne opened her eyes and twisted round to look at him but he had retreated to the back of the office. He poured himself a drink from the glass cabinet and then turned back to her. He could see that her skin was patterned red with his finger marks, that even the white panties could not obscure the evidence of punishment. But it hadn't been enough. She had found pleasure in the punishment and the pain, and finally sexual release.

"Don't move, not until it's over," he warned.

"Yes, sir," she responded, so softly that he hardly heard her. He downed his drink and then, quickly, stripped off all his clothes.

"Stephen, what...?"

"Quiet!" he snapped, banging the bottle of whiskey down in front of her. "You haven't been very honest with me," he said grimly.

"I don't know what you...."

"Shut up! Now I'm going to punish you properly!"

Marianne screamed when the heavy leather belt fell across her bottom. She tried to move away but he held her in place and beat her again with the belt, striking hard at the tops of her thighs. The office resounded to the rhythm of the belt and Marianne's cries of pain and pleasure.

"Oh, please...please..." she whispered, sounding close to hysteria.

"Please, what?" he asked coldly, his own nervous feelings swept away by the wave of excitement.

"Fuck me, Stephen! Whip me with the belt and fuck me!"

Roughly, Stephen pulled her soaking panties down to her knees. Her sex was hot and wet, he felt her respond when her pressed his fingers into the sticky heat.

He raised the belt and brought it down swiftly between her bare arse cheeks and she climaxed again, arching her back and crying out deliriously. He picked the bottle up and poured the amber fluid over her smarting skin, watching it cascade down between her thighs, droplets glistening like jewels in the raw pinkness of her sex.

At last he took her by the waist and pressed his pulsing cock into the velvety heat of her cunt. She was hot and receptive, raising her punished arse up to meet the hard thrusts of his prick. She rode with his rhythm, moving with his body, eyes closed and a look of ecstasy etched in her face. She was beautiful, vibrant, sexy, the most fantastic fuck he'd ever had. He fell across her, covering her body with his own, pumping hard, crying out with her, sharing an explosive climax as one.

* * *

Marianne was waiting when he emerged from the office. She was trying to look cool and composed but her eyes were glowing and she looked a little dazed. He knew that her bottom must still be smarting, it would be marked for days, an eloquent reminder of her punishment.

"Thank you," she said quietly, counting out his money at the same time.

"Will we ever do this again?" Stephen asked, hopefully.

She shook her head. "I don't think that would be wise," she said softly and smiled.

Stephen nodded sadly. That was how it was, he had known all along that it was a one-off, but in the shared sexual excitement he had hoped that Marianne would change her mind. He took the money from her and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. They shook hands and she disappeared back into the office. Stephen waited a second in the Saturday morning silence, hoping that she would relent. He looked at the door for a moment, at the nameplate that read, 'Marianne Hughes, Managing Director' wishing it would open once more. But what was the point? He shrugged sadly, turned and walked away.

Wasn't that a twist!