Who’s the Boss?

Rose and I met on a spanko website and immediately realized we had very similar interests. Soon, we decided to move ahead from on-line banter to in-person play. Neither of us had much experience with role play but really wanted to explore that space. The relationship we chose to try were boss/employee and I suggested for our first session that Rose be the boss. That plan had gelled on Friday with the intended discipline to occur the following Monday. Most of our communication had been via email but Rose chose to call me to scold and instruct.

“I understand you’ve succumbed to your more base instincts and had an inappropriate liaison with an intern,” she began.

I was impressed with the scene she had concocted, “Yes, ma’am. I messed up. I’m really sorry.”

“I hope you realize that you will be disciplined and according to the company handbook this sort of behavior merits corporal punishment. Do you understand?” she scolded.

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.

“Good. I will see you after work on Monday. I am emailing you a weekend project that I expect you to finish and bring along,” she added. I was puzzled and was about to ask a question about what sort of project but she hung up. A few moments later I felt my phone vibrate with an incoming email. The note contained a PDF and opening it, I saw it was a scale drawing of a paddle. She knew of my woodworking hobby and that I had made a number of paddles for other spanko friends. This was a first, in that its inaugural use would be on my own bottom.

I spent a few hours on Saturday, cutting the shape from a plank of half-inch oak, then bored holes in the contact zone, rounded the edges and sanded the whole piece smooth. Lastly, I gave it a coat of tung oil and set it aside to dry. Later that evening I applied a second coat of oil and then on Sunday slid some shrink-wrap onto the handle and used my heat gun to tighten the plastic around the grip. I snapped a picture of the finished paddle and sent it to Rose. She replied with peach and flame emojis.

Usually when crafting a paddle, I have a vision in my head of the recipient’s bare bottom recoiling with each strike. This time, the imagery was much different but yet exciting. I imagined being over Rose’s lap as she whacked my bare butt with the new implement. The notion made me hard and more than once I felt compelled to relieve that pressure. On work Monday, I had difficulty focusing. My thoughts kept drifting to what would unfold that evening as well as musing about which intern I was being accused of violating.

I arrived at Rose’s at the appointed time with the paddle in a canvas shopping bag. She welcomed me in and led me to her living room. She was already in character, “I’m very disappointed in your behavior. Trysts with an intern by a manager - even if they are not your direct report - are completely unacceptable. Company policy recommends corporal punishment and allows me wide discretion on the particulars. Have you prepared the paddle as instructed?” I nodded and withdrew the paddle from the bag. “This will do nicely,” she said, appreciatively. As eager as I was to be spanked, I was also looking forward to part two of our series, where I would be the ‘boss’ and was definitely intending to try our my new creation on her round bottom.

She laid the paddle on the arm of the sofa and took a seat in the center. She beckoned me to her right side and quickly opened and pulled down my pants and then underwear before guiding me over her lap. She began to spank with her hand and it felt wonderful. My bottom was warm and stinging. I craved the ability to see my own ass turning pink under her swats. “Lift your bottom,” she commanded and I pulled my knees up to raise my ass. If I let my hips sag back towards her lap she would order, “Bottom up!” and give me several very hard swats. Occasionally she would pause to allow my bottom to cool and soothingly rub and squeeze my stinging cheeks. A few moments of relief and then the spanking would resume. After several cycles, she ordered, “Hand me the paddle,” and I retrieved it from the arm in front of me and handed it back. The spanking cycles continued but now with the added intensity of wood rather than her hand against my bare cheeks. Eventually she paused to inspect her work. “That should do for now, but if I learn of any further transgressions, this will seem like a tickle. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied. She prompted me to rise and briefly looked at my erection that was near bursting from the spanking and contact with her lap. She dismissed me and I hurried out to my car and climbed into the back seat. In the early evening, the darkly tinted windows provided the necessary privacy to lower my pants once again, now with my raw cheeks against the leather as I coaxed myself to a quick orgasm.