From the Top Shelf - Unavoidably Detained, part 1

This is a short 'autobiographical' story by Therese Copeland, set in the swinging 60s. It reflects the kind of office life that spanko men always fondly hope exists but never seem to find. Timid, submissive Therese comes to grief at the hands of her very toppy and rather unpleasant boss.

Unavoidably Detained

Having been brought up never to say "no" was the reason I found myself starting my first proper full-time job at the age of 18. Six months prior to that I had worked in the office at my father's firm.

The fact that I was doing office work at all was a disappointment to my family. My two elder sisters left school with a clutch of 'O' and 'A' levels, went on to get good degrees at university, and took up challenging careers in different parts of the country. Mum and Dad were very proud of them. I, on the other hand, failed all my exams except Religious Knowledge, and my grades were so poor that it wasn't even worth re-sitting them. My ambition was just to get married and have babies. I never saw anything wrong with that, but my parents gave me the impression that I'd failed them, and paid for me to do a typing course. After that, as I say, I worked for Dad for a while but things didn't work out...

Mom and Dad talked it over and decided I should try for an outside job. Everything in my life was planned by my parents at the time, and a couple of interviews were arranged. When one of them actually offered me a job I accepted. I didn't particularly like the look of the place or the people, but I had the idea that if someone was willing to employ you it was wrong to turn them down.

I started at McKay, Brent and Piper without having any real idea what they did or what my duties were to be, because the interview had completely confused me. The three bosses had scrutinised me, all obviously competing for the job of top boss among themselves. So, not knowing who to listen to, or answer, or agree with , I just said "yes" and kept smiling. I had the feeling too, that they only gave me the job when they saw how easy going I was - and, perhaps even then, one particular boss there knew I'd probably take whatever he wanted to dish out. I really didn't fancy the place but I thought there was some law about taking jobs you were offered. Naive, wasn't I!

It was a very early start, and I had to be up by 5:30 to leave the house by 6:30. During the hour's travelling time on the train I got a brief rest before starting the day. I needed it. I have never worked in a colder, more unfriendly place. Everything was so official. I even wondered about the home lives of these people, or if they just went into little boxes at the end of the day. I just couldn't imagine them anywhere else except at the office...

Even worse than all this, the entire company was staffed by men—apart from me, though somehow I didn't think I counted—from the three bosses who gave it its name, through the small body of clerks to the office messenger. It was somehow natural, therefore, for me to take on extra duties in addition to the general office work, and I found myself running errands, providing refreshments, cleaning and taking the blame for everyone else's shortcomings. The job was too much for just one person, especially one with my lack of experience, yet I thought all the pressures and mistakes were due to my own inadequacies, and simply tried harder to get it as right as I could. I don't think I ever finished anything at all in the time I was there. At least that's how it seemed.

I was exhausted by the end of my first month, but still couldn't bring myself to simply say 'no' when I was asked to do something new. The three bosses each spent their time countermanding the instructions of the other two, and I could never decide whose instructions were supposed to take precedence. It seemed as if every time I put a piece of work in the typewriter and started on it, one of the men would take it out in mid-type and say "Do this instead. Its more important."

My three employers had different roles in the company, and it was hard to switch from one job to another without getting confused. Trying to juggle three extremely demanding and conflicting bosses was a nightmare. They were all very different individuals too. Robert McKay was quite elderly and walked in a way that suggested he had far more important things to do than run a business. He wore a constant frown, and I don't remember him ever saying so much as a 'hello' or 'goodbye' to me in all the time I was there.

The second, Robin Piper, was by far the nicest. He was fiftyish and terribly fat. Every morning he would sit behind his desk, rub his huge belly and say, "I could do with a roll, Therese." I used to love escaping from the office to go down to the delicatessen for his snacks, because it was always warm there, with steaming kettles and lots of food about. He was the only one of them I would have called 'human'.

The real pain was the youngest one, Trevor. How I hated him. He was the son of the original Mr. Brent and not long out of university. He had mousy colouring and, despite at first appearing to be friendly, was the most unpleasant character I have ever come across. He dressed badly (though I'm a fine one to talk) and didn't seem to realise that his tie absolutely never went with his shirt - which was always slightly dirty, probably due to the fact that he wasn't likely to have a girl-friend willing to wash them. His work involved a lot of figures, and I was forever making mistakes when I typed it up.

I spent each day at work praying for it to be five o'clock, and all my leisure hours dreading my return to the office. The worst period came around 4:45 p.m. I would invariably finish one piece of work, but not have enough time to complete another before going home. I was not allowed to go home until it was exactly on the hour, but neither was I allowed to leave work half-typed overnight. So during these last minutes I had to try and make myself look busy, without being found out - or else end up doing a lot of unpaid overtime (which was more often the case) while everyone else had gone off back to their families or the pub.

On one particular evening I was getting ready to leave because it was, quite literally, only a couple of minutes away from 5 p.m. I suppose I should have learned better by then than to try and get away with even a second! Sure enough Trevor Brent came out of his office, saw me picking up my handbag and motioned for me to follow him back in. I felt my heart sink into my stomach as I entered. It was a musty, ill-lit room with a high ceiling, tiny window and flaking grey paint. He sat down importantly behind his vast wooden desk, a short thin man in a badly fitting suit that matched the paintwork.

"Leaving early, Miss Copeland?"

He lounged in his swivel chair and templed his fingers under his chin, then I noticed again how darkly stained they were from nicotine. I stood there in my unbuttoned coat , wishing I could vanish into the woodwork. I was wearing a frumpish suit, and although my glasses were stylish, my pudding-basin haircut and inexpert attempts to glamorise myself with make-up made me look like a child in a dressing-up game. Even now the memory of how I must have looked, and how helpless I felt, makes me cringe with embarrassment.

I stammered my explanations about having finished my work for the day, and the problems I had getting home before dark. He glanced at the wall-clock and asked when my next bus was due.

"In ten minutes' time," I replied, obviously anxious to get away. "I'll have to wait another half hour if I miss it, and then I won't make the connection with my train, and have to wait another hour." To my horror I heard a tremor in my voice, and my lowered eyelashes felt damp.

"Do your parents worry if you are late?" he asked. "Do you get into trouble?"

"Oh no," I assured him, "In fact, they're getting quite used to it."

"Well there's no problem about you staying until your appointed time and earning your salary then," he retorted brusquely. "Is there!" Then he proceeded to lecture me on my responsibilities and obligations to the firm, all fairly meaningless and repetitive, his eyes glancing now and again at the clock. I don't know why, but I just felt totally unable to move or break away as his voice went on. I suppose it was because, whatever I may have thought of him personally, Trevor Brent represented authority, and that fact alone seemed to drain all my energy and will.

Suddenly he stopped talking and told me I could go. It was twelve minutes past five and he knew I had missed my bus. As I walked to the door he called after me, "Tell Mommy you were in detention," and chuckled heartily.

About a week later I again found myself with 10 or 15 minutes to kill at the end of the afternoon and decided to occupy myself typing a list of things I had to do at home, just so I'd look busy. At one minute to five Trevor suddenly appeared, pulled the page from my typewriter and said, "Never mind that, whatever it is, I need these accounts typed now."

He thrust a wad of papers at me and walked off, still holding my list of domestic tasks. I went cold with dismay at the thought of him reading them. Looking at the reams of figures he had given me, I calculated that they would take at least an hour to prepare. Miserably, but resigned to my duties, I set the tabs for the columns and was just aligning the paper when Mr. Brent stormed through the door. The place was now empty but for the two of us, and he simply said, "Miss Copeland!" and motioned me with a crooked finger to follow him back to his office.

I stood in front of his desk, literally shaking in my shoes as he waved the list I'd been typing in my face, and ranted on about how dare I use the firm's time and equipment for my personal business. Then he rose from his creaking executive chair and came around the desk, then stood so close to me that I was forced to inhale smoke from his cigar. It made me cough and blink and I flinched from him.

"What do you think I should do about this sorry state of affairs?" he rasped.

I stuttered that I didn't know.

"Shall I tell my partners?"

I shrugged my shoulders and snivelled a little and brought out a Kleenex to blow my nose.

"Shall I tell your parents about your slackness and incompetence?"

I whimpered that I would prefer him not to. I didn't like to imagine what Dad would have said.

"Shall I sack you on the spot for abuse of your position?"

"Oh no!" I implored, making it sound as if the horrible little job was a true vocation which I was desperate not to be deprived of.

"So it rather looks like another detention, doesn't it!" he said, returning to his seat. "Well we had better make sure you learn your lesson this time. How can we do that?"

I was so relieved not to be fired that I didn't care. I assumed he would find me even more typing to do before I was allowed home, or get me to rearrange the filing system.

"I think I'll give you lines to do," Trevor snapped. "Yes; go to your desk and type out, five hundred times without errors: "The property of MacKay, Brent and Piper is not to be used for my personal convenience." Off you go now!"

He had to tell me to go again, because I was so amazed at what he said I thought it must be some kind of joke. He seemed serious enough though so I choked back any questions and went off to type my 'lines'. It took me three hours to complete the task, thinking only that the moment I was finished I could go home. During all that time my boss stayed in his office with the door open, watching me. It seemed unbelievable. He wouldn't even let me make myself a cup of coffee and, by the time I typed the final line, I was tired, hungry, thirsty and more miserable than I would ever have believed possible. I took the 'work' to him and he went through it word for word to check for mistakes. He seemed disappointed not to find any.

Trevor passed the pages back across his desk to me. Then,as I automatically turned towards the door to leave, something else he was saying finally impressed itself on my exhausted brain.

"Read what you have typed aloud to me," he repeated.

I blinked down at the first line on the top page and swallowed hard.

"The property of MacKay, Brent and Piper is not to be used for my personal convenience" I read out, then looked up at him. "Can I go now, please?" I whispered.

"Go on!" In great relief I ran to the door to collect my coat when he stopped me with a shout. "I mean go on and read them all," he said with a sneer.

Damp rushed to my eyes.I took off my glasses and dabbed the wetness. "Please let me go home," I begged, becoming seriously worried about getting a train at that time of night. But Trevor made me read the statement out another 499 times, and sat through my desperate recitation obviously relishing the power he had over me. I know it seems impossible nowadays that a girl would stand there and obey a command like that, but I did. When I had uttered the hateful sentence for the last time, I could hardly see through my tears, but he made me stand there for several minutes in sniffling silence before he said that he "trusted I would remember the dictum for as long as I worked there, and would never steal the company's resources again."

Then, as I once more made for the door, he said, very quietly but distinctly, "Next time I shall take even sterner measures, Therese Copeland!" I was too relieved to at last be going home to even analyse what this might imply.

What could be worse than typing lines? We will all find out next week.

From the Top Shelf - A Man of Authority, Part 2

Last week we read Part 1 of A Man of Authority, in which a hitherto meek and gentle manager suddenly began to assert himself. The assertion continues:

Despite her distress, Marian swung her head round and stared at me in horror and astonishment.

"I didn't give you permission to look at me."

She stared into my eyes for a moment longer before fear conquered her amazement and caused her to swiftly throw her face back to the juncture of the walls. I delivered a sharp whack to her buttocks with the ruler. She let loose a breathy and startled yelp.

"Don't do that again."

"Sorry," she said anxiously.

"What?"

I mean, sorry, Sir," she said, even more anxiously.

"Obviously I haven't been smacking you hard enough over the last few minutes. At least that's the impression your insolence is giving me."

"You have, Sir!"

I hit her with the ruler once more, barking, "Shut up!"

She wailed, her entire body jerking. Then she stood rigid and silent. From where I was, I could see her pretty, fresh face was crumpled in the effort to make no sound as she wept.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you to speak only when spoken to?"

She nodded, eyelids bunched.

"Perhaps I need to ring your mother to tell her of your misbehaviour." Her eyes widened at the prospect but she dared not say anything in reply. "What do you think, Marian?"

Having been given permission to speak by an interrogative, she could barely manage it. "Please don't..." she whimpered.

"Hmmm. Well, I shall see if your attitude improves after the next round of punishment. If it doesn't - if I get any more insolence of the kind you've just shown me - then I shall ring your mother. Is that clear?"

She nodded miserably.

"Right. I want you on top of the desk on all fours."

She turned slowly and, teeth sunk into her lower lip, walked with an air of complete dejectedness back to my desk. As she climbed onto it in the ungainly way her half-mast underwear necessitated, I was treated to the sight of her vaginal lips peeping briefly between her thighs before she settled herself and demurely closed her legs.

I crossed over to her and pushed her blouse further up her back - which gave me another excuse for a prolonged bout of contact with that soft silk-like flesh. At my thigh level, the worn soles of her court shoes pointed at me rather in the manner of those cartoons where a horizontal man and woman are represented only by the bottoms of their feet. It was such a demeaning position for a young lady and it gave me yet another surging thrill. I was emboldened still further.

"Chin on the desk," I said.

Marian lowered her face until it was resting among my papers. I put my fingers inside her pantyhose and knickers and slipped them as far down her legs as they would go.

"Now spread your legs," I commanded. There was just a perceptible hesitation, then she parted her thighs about one centimetre. I smacked one of her cheeks and shouted "Wider!"

She let out a sob but she still shifted her legs as much as was possible. She was now in the most undignified and revealing position of all... I swallowed hard. I could have simply stood and stared at this beautiful sight for hours. I gathered my reeling senses and positioned myself to one side of her. I raised the ruler. Just as I was about to strike, I stopped and shifted my aim. I swung my arm down and the transparent end of the ruler made contact right below her open bottom cleft. Marian let out a desperate scream and her torso sprang upwards. I moved quickly, grabbing her neck and savagely thrusting it back the way it had come.

"Down! Down!" I ordered.

Groaning in agony, shell-shocked, she sank back towards the desk-top.

"You will not scream. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," she moaned in a delirium of pain. Her hands were fluttering around her thighs. I took hold of each of them in turn and threw them onto the desk.

It was the first time I had been worried we might be overheard. Marian's work space separated us from where our nearest colleagues might conceivably be, and even that was an underused corridor. However, such was the piercing quality of her exclamation that it was just possible someone might have heard it. I waited for a few moments, frozen with one hand clasped around Marian's neck. There were no sounds of feet pounding in our direction, no anxious banging on the door. I relaxed.

I squeezed her neck harder and said, "Marian, if you disturb our workmates by making a row like that again, I'll double your punishment. Clear?"

Her lips struggled across the paper they were pressed flat against and enunciated a distorted "Yes, Sir."

"Good." I let go of her neck. I walked around the desk and retrieved from one of its drawers a plastic, tubular container. I lifted Marian's head by pulling on a clump of her red bob and instructed, "Open your mouth!" She did so. I put the glue canister lengthways between her lips. That done, I circled back to her other, even lovelier end. "Now. We shall start again."

And we did. Down would come that ruler with a whistle like a flying arrow. Muffled would emerge the vocal response as Marian squealed through the fat tube of plastic that was keeping her expression in a permanent grimace. Bang would go my heart at the knowledge of the delightful suspense I was creating in her mind by varying my target; she never knew where one of the downward sweeps would land. For another ten minutes this went on - without doubt the greatest ten minutes of my life.

When I finally went back round the desk and removed the tube from Marian's mouth, so deep were the teeth marks that I was surprised she hadn't bitten clean through the surface.

I told Marian she could stand up. As she did, I was gratified to see that she was now so submissive that she resisted the urge to comfort her bottom and instead stood to attention, hands flat against her sides.

"You now know what the consequences of tardiness will be, Marian. I expect no more of it. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir," she muttered in a cracked voice. "It'll never happen again, I promise."

I sucked my lips in to hide my smile. Oh yes it would! For the first time in my life I had experienced a taste of power and I would surely arrange a way to exert it again. And again. And again. It didn't matter how meticulous Marian was from now on. She would continually find herself having to report to me in disgrace with the news that an article had - inexplicably - gone missing.

"Get dressed," I instructed her and she did so with alacrity.

You may think this is the end of the story. Not so. Our wedding invitations have just been sent out and you never know, you may be one of the lucky ones!

Hooray! A happy ending (pardon the pun:)

From the Top Shelf - A Man of Authority, Part 1

This short story was published in Kane magazine years before the movie Secretary came out, but I think the similarity is striking.  The author of A Man of Authority is unknown, but he has clearly described his fantasy of taking command in his office. I hope you enjoy it.

" I don't want to have to tell you again!!

My words were stern and unforgiving. My tone, unfortunately, wasn't. My secretary - a girl called Debbie, in her early 20s with an insouciant jut to her mouth - glanced towards a female colleague who was in the room to collect something and shared a smile with her. I turned towards my own office door with a briskness that was an attempt to hide from the two women the fact that my face had turned crimson - which no doubt would have given them even greater amusement.

In my office, with the door blessedly closed, I sat with hammering heart. Scenes similar to the one which had just taken place had been a regular feature of my working life for the previous three weeks. Ever since I had secured my first significant promotion.

Wielding authority does not come easily to me. Not even ticking off a lowly secretary for leaving the telephone ringing while she gossiped with her friend. I'm a man from a fairly humble background who has, until recently, known only the experience of being an underling in his professional existence.

That all changed less than a month ago.

As a general office help at a magazine concerned with foreign travel, I was deeply surprised to learn from Maurice, the outgoing deputy, that I had been short-listed for his job. My vaguely defined position at the magazine may have entailed hard work and long hours but I would hardly have thought that made me material for the second most important post in the building.

That's my inferiority complex talking, I suppose. The very thing which makes me embarrassed to try to throw my weight around now that I do indeed find myself with an important place in the hierarchy. But when you've only been a 'gofer' since leaving school, there's a part of you that can't help thinking you have no right to be telling other people what to do.

As I sat there at my desk, I realised my throat was dry. Nerves always do that to me. I craved a cup of tea to calm me down but I was too ashamed to buzz for one. The smirk Debbie would inevitably have on her face when she brought it in would only make me feel worse. Thank God she was leaving at the end of the week. No doubt I wouldn't be any more able at dealing with her replacement but at least we would be starting afresh. I wouldn't be thinking as I bathed and shaved each morning of whatever embarrassing incidents there had been the previous day and consequently dreading the knowing 'Good Morning Mr. Evans' as I walked through the door. Not until the new one had experienced my pathetic attempts at being masterful, anyway.

By a couple of days later I had interviewed two girls for Debbie's job and I didn't like either of them. They both had Debbie's air of breezy confidence - the kind so often found in the young these days and which translates into a contempt for authority - and particularly mine! I was forced to admit to myself, however, that both of them would be able to do the job competently; whatever the deficiencies in their attitude, their secretarial courses had bestowed on them faultless shorthand and typing skills. I still had one more applicant to interview but I had just about made my mind up to accept one of the first two I'd seen on the grounds that she had more qualifications than either of the others.

Before I did I would have to go through the formality of talking to this third girl as the interview had already been arranged. As well as her modest academic achievements, the form she'd completed in advance told me she was named Marian Ball and was just eighteen years old.

I could see the difference between her and the others immediately I laid eyes on her. She entered my office in a somewhat tentative manner - as though she might not be welcome even though I'd told Debbie to show her through. I stood up and said "Hello."

"Hello" she responded in a soft voice, grinning and averting her eyes shyly.

I motioned her into the seat in front of my desk. She sat down and put her knees together, her handbag in her lap.

Marian was a redhead, but not the stuff of legend. Fiery was not the word to describe her. Throughout the ten minutes we spoke, she barely looked at me, keeping her gaze fixed on the table top between us. I didn't mind this in the slightest, for it afforded me ample opportunity to take in her pretty features. Although Debbie was attractive, there was a far greater appeal to this girl. Beneath her boyishly short hairstyle, she had a fresh faced appearance that was quite lovely. Her creamy skin was given just a tinge of colour by the small dashes of natural redness on her cheeks. Those dashes of red frequently ballooned in size when Marian found herself looking into my eyes or was compelled to divulge a fact she apparently considered intimate (things like how she'd found her recently finished secretarial course or how easy would it be to travel to the office).

It was this bashfulness that supplied the finishing touches to her beauty. Her shyness was part and parcel of what made her so appealing. It was also a hugely refreshing change from the over confidence of the women I worked with day after day. Midway through the interview I had decided; Marian would be my new secretary.

I told her this as I was showing her the door. She swung round to me with such an expression of gratitude and joy that I thought she might fling her arms around me.

"Oh, thank you," she cooed.

"See you first thing on Monday," I smiled.

As she turned to walk out, I couldn't help but notice the pertness of the bottom which protruded through the black material of her skirt. Evidently her face was not the only pretty attribute I would have the pleasure of seeing daily from now on.

From the Monday of Marian's arrival as an official employee of the magazine, I felt as though I had a new lease of life. No longer did I dread coming in to work to be confronted by surliness and mickey-taking. No longer did I have to put up with the barely disguised insubordination of a gum-chewing slut. Marian was the soul of politeness and propriety. She was such a good-natured and timid little creature that the very idea of not doing as she was instructed - and furthermore, not doing it eagerly and methodically - would have appalled her. I was instantly and profoundly happy.

As a secretary, Marian wasn't quite as good as Debbie. I, of course, had expected this as I had overlooked the superior qualifications of the other two applicants in favour of the more demure personality. However, as a man newly promoted, I was naturally very anxious to keep in the good books of John, the editor, and when Marian came to me one day and shame-facedly told me she'd lost the copy of one of our writers with the printer's deadline only 3 hours away, my reaction took no account of the fact that, had I chosen one of the cleverer women it probably wouldn't have happened. In short, I lost my rag.

"For God's sake!" I barked angrily.

To my surprise, Marian almost jumped out of her skin. She looked at me with startled wide eyes, before jerking her face down and staring at the floor. She remained in that position.

It was the last thing I'd expected. I knew she wasn't insolent in the manner of Debbie, of course, but I was surprised at the lack of any hint of irritation or sense of injustice in her expression. She merely looked crestfallen but totally accepting of my fury.

Something inside me stirred. The sight of her meekly lowered eyelids and limp stance sent a ripple of pleasure through me. I banished the notion I'd had a moment earlier to apologise for my outburst. Instead, I injected greater venom in my voice, as I barked "What do you think you're playing at?"

It was the same tone I'd often used with Debbie, but whereas Debbie had always snorted with suffused laughter, Marian was so intimidated she actually flinched.

"Sorry," she managed in a strangulated voice, not looking up from her feet.

I gazed at her. This was a young woman who clearly accepted authority uncritically. She was simply too naive to think that my behaviour was out of proportion to her offence. As that thought entered my head, a tremendous sensation of excitement welled in me. An excitement prompted by a notion my brain hardly dared articulate of the possibilities that had just opened up for me.

"Stand up straight!" I said in a quieter but still severe voice.

She looked at me momentarily but did as she was told, moving her eyes from me to the wall over my shoulder. I licked my lips. This was just too good to be true. I was so excited that I had to moisten my throat with saliva before speaking again.

"Are you trying to get fired, Marian?"

"No!" She protested. "I'm just... I'm just... I'm sorry."

I chanced my luck. I had to see how far I could push this. "I'm sorry, Sir" I corrected her. "When you have just jeopardised the printing of an entire issue of the magazine you work for, you will have the courtesy to address me as 'Sir'."

This was make or break. An outraged response to this gambit would tell me I was barking up the wrong tree. But in the next second, my hunch was proved to be gloriously correct as Marian quickly attempted to make good her mistake. "Sir," she appended in an anxious voice.

"That's better," My tone might have been harsh but I was having difficulty breathing, so delicious were the thoughts tugging at my mind. I walked slowly round the desk and sat in my chair. I looked at her for a few seconds. When I had managed to gather myself, I spoke again to the forlorn looking figure standing as rigid as a flagpole before me.

"So you wouldn't want to lose your job, would you, Marian?"

"No," she then quickly added, "Sir."

"Can you give me a good excuse why you shouldn't? You realise how serious this is?" Of course, it wasn't that serious at all, insofar as, even if the writer couldn't be contacted to supply a new copy of the article by fax, it wouldn't be the end of the world to delay printing by a day. But I was by now almost certain that Marian was too naive and simple a creature to have worked that one out.

"Yes sir. I'm sorry. I'll never do it again."

She took her eyes off the wall to look at me. I maintained a steady, merciless stare. She flicked her eyes away.

"Please, Sir," she was close to tears. "I'll never do it again. Please don't fire me. My mum will kill me!"

As I thought. Her personality had suggested it to me since she had started work, as had her demeanour over the past couple of minutes. With that comment I knew for sure. This was a girl who'd had a very strict upbringing. A girl who took dressing-downs from her superiors without resentment or question. Someone who therefore, surely, would accept whatever punishments were deemed fit for her transgressions. My heart was, by now pounding almost unbearably.

"Marian, you have two choices."

She turned her frightened, doe-like eyes on me once more.

"You can be fired. Or you can be punished."

I kept up the merciless stare. This time she was too frightened to even look away. "Which is it to be?"

"I don't want to be fired, Sir," she wailed.

I was astonished by how calm I remained. "Very well then," I said, rising and picking up my 12 inch plastic ruler as I walked round to her side of the desk. I used it ordinarily for working out the layout of pages. I was now going to use it for a purpose that I had never anticipated in all my wildest fantasies.

"Come here," I ordered.

Marian stepped forward the two paces that took her to the edge of the desk.

"Bend over the desk."

Hands still at her sides, she looked at me wide eyed, at the ruler in my hand, back at me.

My nerve almost failed me for a moment. But I realised I had already come so far that there was no turning back.

"Now!" I commanded.

At that, any thought of resistance in her crumbled. She simply did not disobey such firmly issued instructions. I said a silent prayer for the magnificent values that had so clearly been drummed into her by her mother. Marian dipped and put her palms on my cluttered table top. As she did so, the breadth and depth of her admirable bottom swelled quite wonderfully.

She still had one leg bent and was only making contact with the desk with her hands. I soon corrected that with a firm "I said right over the desk!" which prompted her to lean forward and press the full weight of her bosom upon my papers.

I crossed to the door and locked it.

Then I moved back to Marian and started to unclip and unzip her dark blue skirt. Again, I surprised myself with the calmness of my actions. For a man who had never been comfortable wielding authority, I was now finding it incredibly easy to abuse my power to an outrageous extent. Marian's head did not move as I performed the actions and not a whimper of protest emerged from her. Emboldened by this, I yanked her skirt down without even bothering to tell her to lift herself slightly off the table to assist the process. When in fact she did lift her body, unbidden, on my first tug being unsuccessful, I knew I was home free. She was now completely pliant. From here on I could do what I wanted.

I roughly grabbed her ankles in turn and lifted them so as to pull the skirt completely off. I folded it neatly and put it on the chair she had recently been sitting in. Beneath the skirt she was wearing white pantyhose and - visible through the translucent material - white knickers. I lifted the tail of her red blouse to find the waistband of the hose. I put my fingers inside and slowly rolled the pantyhose down to her thighs. The material of her knickers was revealed to be wedged into the cleft of her bottom. The sight of this indentation in her underwear struck me as so intimate and made her look so pathetic and totally at my mercy that it caused a feeling of pure, unadulterated power to surge through me. It manifested itself in a delirious slap to her backside.

Marian's body jerked and she exclaimed "Oww!". There was no tone of affront in her voice, though, only that reluctant acceptance which had set me on this course in the first place, but if there had it would have made no difference. The way her plump little buttocks had wobbled under my palm had intoxicated me. Even as the yelp was leaving her lips, I was tugging down the last remnants of her modesty.

Marian did not react for a couple of seconds as I yanked her white knickers down to join the hose at her thighs. But then a hiss escaped from her lips and, from the way her shoulders began to shake, it was obvious she had begun to cry.

I was too busy feasting my eyes on that nude derriere to take much notice. One can see women's backsides in any number of magazines at any corner newsagent's shop but to have a real, fresh young bare bottom before you is something else entirely. I could have gasped at the sight. Marian had a rear that was as near to perfect as it is possible for anything to be. It was generously proportioned , though not so large as to be grotesque, and had an appearance of flawless smoothness. And, as I watched, its appearance was enhanced by an irregular quivering that was the result of its owners body contracting with sobs. I knew as soon as I saw this delight that the ruler would have to wait. I quietly laid it on the chair beside her skirt. No implement could transmit the sensations to be experienced by actual physical contact with her delightful flesh.

I laid my left hand on the small of her back. Marian looked round at this. I had the feeling that she thought I had decided to show mercy and was trying to attract her attention in order to tell her. In fact, it was for no other purpose than that I wanted to maintain a permanent union with her fair tender skin. When she saw me lift my other hand in order to strike, she turned her face away in disappointment. This gave me a cruel pleasure - as did my next action. I swept my right palm down. Those plump buttocks - cold to the touch - shivered impressively and Marian let out a shrill, elongated "Aaaaahhh!"

"You've got no one to blame but yourself, Marian," I said sternly.

"I know," she replied in hysterical apology, her voice muffled by her face's proximity to the desk top.

"And there is much more to come yet."

She whimpered but didn't argue.

This time I concentrated my force on one cheek - the left one - and watched with satisfaction as it rolled momentarily towards me before bouncing back to rest in its natural position. Another high-pitched sound emanated from Marian. I felt vaguely disappointed that it was not as loud as the previous one. So her right cheek now got sterner measures and I was rewarded by the most distressed vocal emission yet, together with that whiplash roll of her buttock.

Both cheeks now carried a light smear of crimson. This fact, and what I'd done to cause it, was having quite an effect on me. I could feel the blood racing through my veins, borne forward by the frantic activity of that bodily machine responsible for controlling its flow. The hand which was pressed flat on the patch of skin just above Marian's bottom was clingy with sweat. In normal circumstances, an abundance of perspiration would have embarrassed me and I would have wiped it away. The beauty was, I realised, that I did not have to care a damn about it. Was this girl - this, by now, abjectly obedient creature - going to register a complaint? Of course she wasn't! I could afford to act with the kind of heady abandon I had never known in all my adult subordinate life. As far as she was concerned I was the man of authority and that was that. In a frenzy of delight, I walloped my hand down again and again, spanking away with a sense of reckless freedom.

Everything was now a blur - but a wonderful electrifying blur. I could barely keep up with the myriad of delicious sights and sensations I was experiencing, yet was securing a mind blowing excitement from the cumulative effect: Marian's shocked, despairing yelps, which were interspersed with the hiccoughing sounds of her weeping; the way her back undulated against my hand in futile attempts to lift herself; the swaying and wriggling of her tender white thighs as she tried somehow to avoid each successive blow; the ever deepening scarlet of her buttocks - the initial slight redness quickly assuming the furious hue associated with a serious case of sunburn.

Finally I slowed. I was shaking and out of breath, but this wasn't the reason. I wanted to begin a rhythm which would afford me more opportunity to let my hand linger. So I began to spank in a leisurely, methodical way. With each landing of the palm, I kept it against her rear for a second, sometimes two - not so long as to arouse suspicion but just long enough to gain some enjoyment from the feel of her lovely skin. No longer the cool surface it had been on my first strike, it was reminiscent of the outside of a kettle that had been recently boiled. I was going along almost in slow motion; an unhurried smacking motion with an abrupt halt at the end of it as I held her indented buttocks pressed flat while my hand drank in the sensation of the two gorgeous globes and the narrow valley between.

Marian's cries were now less hysterical and had settled into a series of mild exclamations that - even though she was unquestionably in distress - almost sounded routine. She would issue an "ooowww" or an "aaahhh" or a whimper or sob as though she felt she was expected to make some noise with each connection of my hand and her bottom. It occurred to me that this was a way of trying to gain my sympathy. I took supreme delight in resolving to show her none.

"Stand up and face me!" I said.

Head bowed, face glistening with tears, upper body shaking, she did as she was told.

"Stand up STRAIGHT!"

Instantly she jerked her body rigid and bit her lip in an attempt to control the motion of her torso. My eyes fell to her groin level, for she stood with hands at her sides, like a soldier, making no attempt to cover herself. For the first time I was witnessing her naked front. Before me was a perfect triangle of hair the same red as was present - in bobbed form - on her head. I had to tear my eyes away from the view. Her own eyes flicked away from me as I brought my gaze back to her face.

"Well", I demanded, "Are you beginning to learn your lesson now?"

She nodded and, barely able to speak for her tears, managed to utter "Yes, Sir."

"Good. Now go and stand in the corner, facing the wall." I indicated the other side of the office.

Marian made to pull up her underwear but I angrily swept her hands down.

"As you are!" I ordered.

She had to pull her mouth in to prevent another outbreak of crying. She moved in the direction I had ordered. The sight of her blazing bottom dimpling as she walked away will stay with me for a long time. As will the memory of her pantyhose and knickers bunched around the tops of her legs - a spectacle the ludicrousness of which she must have been only too painfully aware of.

I moved the skirt aside, picked up the ruler and sat on the chair, watching as she stood with her nose an inch from the point where the two office walls met, listening to her sniffling and hiccoughing.

After a minute or so I called over to her. "You're not going to lose any more articles in a hurry, are you Marian?"

"No, Sir."

I rose, ruler in hand, and walked across. Standing beside her, I asked, "Did it hurt?"

She nodded, bit her lip until she could manage to speak without sobbing and finally managed, "Yes, Sir."

"Well that's the point. The only way to ensure there will be no repetition of such carelessness is if you are put right in a way you will never forget. Now, I want you to get ready for the second part of your punishment."

Yes, there's more to come, but I will save that for another day.

Complete the Caption for Vintage Photo I

Here's a vintage postcard depicting an attractive young lady with some luggage. But why is she kneeling on the wooden box? Is she expecting someone to give her posterior some attention? Who is she? A secretary? A maid? A girl going off to college?

Write a caption for this charming picture. Tomorrow, besides publishing your captions, I will also show you the original caption that was printed on the postcard.

Secretary: the Sequel

"Pay attention when I'm talking to you."

Thank you to Office Humour.