Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

J oseph

Ingrid turned around. As sexy as I had found her reluctant walk to the desk, the sight of her blushing face as she looked down at the paddle in her hands sent an even stronger jolt to my dominant instincts. My cock leapt against my thigh when she raised her eyes to mine, still clearly under the influence of the command to look at me.

She started back toward me, and I stood up, extending my open right hand to receive the corporate-issued correctional implement. The expression on Ingrid's lovely face aroused me even more than her lingerie or her nakedness. Her wide, practically glowing blue eyes and her pink cheeks told transparently of the turmoil inside her as she began to process how helplessly her submissive sexuality responded to old-fashioned discipline.

One of the most marvelous things I had learned about the compliance wand, as I onboarded previous hires in the secretarial program, lay in how its operation affected a girl's innocence. I had never seen a young woman respond as strongly to this element of the effect, though.

In general, a girl under the influence of the device got to experience the satisfaction of her submissive needs without feeling crippling shame that might threaten her ability to develop into a fulfilled, mature woman. Before the arrival of the compliance wand, in fact, the range of young women Selecta had to recruit from had been a great deal narrower. Only a relatively small percentage of submissives had the psychological makeup suited for the company's available techniques for awakening them to their need for sexual discipline and service.

Without the wand, a girl like Ingrid Vogel wouldn't have represented a viable candidate for a secretarial role at Selecta. She might well have retreated into an unsatisfying vanilla sex life after the humiliation of taking those naughty selfies for her worthless boyfriend.

With the wand, she could feel that her innocence and her modesty still belonged to her, even as she brought me the paddle that she knew I would spank her with before I fucked her right here in my office—even, more important, as she began to understand how deeply she enjoyed it and needed it.

She had her lower lip between her teeth, and she worried it gently and from my viewpoint very seductively as she walked slowly toward me. I felt like I could even read on her features—in the mobility of her forehead, in her little blinks, above all in the coming and going of color in her cheeks—how the battle inside her head was going. She wanted to get her paddling over with, but the idea that to get it over with meant that she would be fucked all the sooner troubled her—but that distress came not from her real reluctance to submit to her new boss sexually but from the sheer urgency of the need between her thighs.

I wondered if I could even see, in the hard, visible way she swallowed as she extended the paddle gingerly toward me, that she couldn't stop thinking of her sweet young pussy as her cunt, since I had told her to think of it that way. The wand had varying degrees of effect, depending on the girl: I had never seen its operation take hold as strongly as it clearly had with Ingrid Vogel.

I'd heard that anecdotal evidence suggested that chemistry—something that most of Selecta's scientists didn't believe in—could heighten the action of the compliance wand. A little glow of affection lit up in my chest, very unexpectedly, as I wondered whether that could be the case with Ingrid.

I took the paddle from her hand. She shuddered as my fingers brushed hers, and her hand remained outstretched, as if awaiting my further orders. I had no intention of making her wait any longer.

"Turn around and touch your toes," I told her. "Feet shoulder width apart."

Ingrid

I gave Mr. Alden a beseeching look. The terrible indignity of the position he had commanded struck me as a punishment above and beyond the paddle itself. The expression on his face made my heart jump—and it told me that the wand's effect didn't rely on words alone from the man who used it. I could feel it, almost literally, how the set of my new boss' brow made me start to turn and start to bend.

I tried, as my body helplessly obeyed the humiliating command, to make it seem graceful in some small way. I didn't know why, but it seemed important to me in the moment that I display myself to Mr. Alden attractively. Insanity, but it felt like he might punish me for not doing my best to present myself for the paddle in a ladylike manner. He obviously wanted to get as much enjoyment as possible out of disciplining me and so, the hot, dark part of my mind said, the bare backside I offered to him, framed by my red garter belt and white stockings, should look pretty.

I could feel, though, just how ungainly I must appear as I bent my knees and stretched my arms, feeling the tension in my back and my thighs. I lowered my head for a moment and got a slightly dizzying view between my knees, of Mr. Alden's trousered legs, the contrast with my nakedness making my heart beat faster with embarrassment. I lifted my chin to avoid looking at him and stared across the carpet toward his desk, waves of hot blood surging into my face with every heartbeat.

At least he let me keep the thong on , I thought. He can't see everything. I watched my hands curl into fists and then open again, so that I could obey his instructions fully and literally touch my toes.

"I think I'll take those panties down after all, sweetheart," he said.

I let out a whimper, and then it grew into a sob as I felt his hands on my hips, stretching the waistband of the tiny garment. He started to pull it down, a dismayingly unique feeling underneath the suspenders that ran from the garter belt to my nylons. The thong remained stretched and taut around my thighs as Mr. Alden lowered it all the way to the tops of my stockings.

"When you wear a garter belt, from now on," he told me as if it were the most natural thing in the world for an executive to give his secretary this sort of command, "you'll wear your panties over the suspenders to make it easier for me to take them down—if I give you permission to wear panties at all. It's important that I have access to your ass and your cunt whenever I want it."

But… The word rose into my throat. But you can't say that. But that's… horrible… shameful… and I won't…

Mr. Alden hadn't asked me a question, though. I couldn't say any of it, and my tummy flipped as I remembered to my horror once again what he had told me about the operation of the wand. If he had told me the truth, the real reason I couldn't object to his instructions about my future conduct with respect to my underwear lay in my own dark needs.

I bit my lip at the terrible realization, and I closed my eyes, wanting to find some way of escape into somewhere, anywhere else. I realized too late the effect it would have on my balance, and by the time I opened my eyes I had already started to topple over.

Mr. Alden's left hand took hold of my hip and kept me upright. I started to straighten up a little, in order to regain my balance. Then I felt the puff of air that I had already become much too familiar with, the one a wooden blade generated, even one with three sizable holes in it, as it approached a girl's bottom at high speed.

I let out a little cry, and my body seemed to try to do a hundred things at once, each of them poised between the effect of the compliance wand and the overwhelming terror and shame of the degrading punishment. My hands tried to travel back to cover my bottom and all the secrets my boss had exposed to his view when he lowered my panties. My back tried to straighten up, as if maybe I could attempt to run away. My legs tried to twist around, as if in hope that I could make Mr. Alden miss with the awful paddle.

None of it worked, because he had told me, with his words and with his face and now with that steadying, restraining hand on my hip, that I must touch my toes so that he could deliver the terrible lesson he meant to deliver.

I heard the gunshot report of the paddle on my bottom, and I felt the impact just as pressure, full across both my little cheeks. He struck so hard that I could even feel it, just as a touch, on the tender cleft of my private part's outer lips.

I gasped, and then I cried out, as the pain started, then built into agony, and then I sensed Mr. Alden's weight shifting and I felt the puff again, just a little lower.

I screamed at the burning fire in my backside as the second swat echoed in the corners of the huge office and the pain just got worse. He clearly didn't want to give my backside time to recover; he meant to punish me, to make certain I understood what I should and shouldn't do, to teach me proper office behavior. I would learn, today.

The next time he told me to take off my clothes I would do so without hesitation, even without the help of his horrid wand. If my boss had told me I wasn't permitted panties that day, it wouldn't make the slightest difference; I would step out of my skirt and display my smooth, hairless cunt to him, waxed for his greater enjoyment in making me show it to him.

I screamed at all of it: the burning pain in my bottom and upper thighs, the terrible conflict in my mind and heart, the unwelcome but somehow reassuring hand on my hip that kept me in place for my first correction by my dominant new boss.

The shift and the puff and the crack of the blade against my backside came a third time, a fourth. I screamed, and I knew for certain everyone in the office could hear that the new secretary was being punished. Cathy at the reception desk could hear, of course; she knew that the new girl would emerge from Mr. Alden's office wincing as she walked, thoroughly paddled and thoroughly fucked, and stop at her workstation to set up an appointment for her first Brazilian wax.

The fifth swat struck where the first one had. Without my boss' strong hand holding me up, I would have fallen straight to the floor simply from the violent tremors the pain sent shooting through my limbs. My bottom-cheeks clenched, my hips jerked, all without seeming to take away the slightest bit of the flaming agony.

"One more, sweetheart," Mr. Alden said. For a moment I thought he would pause, to give me time to reflect. I welcomed it despite the mortification of the idea, just because it seemed to offer a tiny respite from the pain. But the sixth swat arrived in the same cadence as the other five, and seemed to turn every nerve ending in my lower body into a fiery torment.

"On your knees, Ingrid," his voice said as his hand enforced the order. "Face down, ass up. I'm going to fuck you now."

"Oh… oh… oh…" seemed to represent the only sounds I could make with my mouth as my limbs automatically assumed the posture into which he guided me. He pushed down on the back of my head with his left hand and then he took hold of my backside with the other and raised it. The hand on my head moved to my back, pressing to make me arch there and, to my utter mortification, to tilt my bottom and my private part upward.

"Get used to this position, sweetheart," Mr. Alden told me. "You're going to spend a lot of time in it."