by Philip Kemp
But part of his secret, he firmly believed, was running his office in such a way that there, at least, everything worked with clockwork precision and predictability. The keen edge of his forensic mind, Leon maintained (for he didn't lack vanity), was too valuable to risk being blunted by matters of daily trivia.
So it was with some irritation that, entering his chambers in Lincoln's Inn one Monday morning at his regular time of 8.05, he discovered he was the first to arrive. He hadn't expected to see most of the staff, who generally got in at 8.30. But he was surprised not to find Susan there.
Susan Maitland had been his secretary for some six months. When her predecessor, Jenny, left to have a baby, Leon doubted he'd ever find her equal. But Susan, to his delight, had exceeded all expectations. She'd come highly recommended, and had more than lived up to her reputation. Fast, efficient, cheerful, hard-working and highly intelligent, she was everything that a rising young barrister's personal secretary should be. Added to which, Leon had to admit, she was a pleasure to look at. Jennifer, though an excellent secretary in every way, had been nothing special in terms of looks. Not ugly, by a long chalk, but a touch overweight and certainly no raving beauty. Whereas Susan...
Not that she set out to be the least seductive. She dressed smartly but quietly - 'demurely', Leon felt, was the mot juste - usually in a well-tailored dark jacket and skirt with a crisp white blouse, her dark hair becomingly pinned up. Her behaviour towards him was friendly but formal, with no hint of a come-on. In any case Leon had always practised a strict 'hands-off' rule as far as his office staff were concerned. Involvement of that kind, he reckoned, risked just the sort of messy complications he didn't want disrupting his smooth-running routine.
Still, he had the natural male instincts, even if he kept them firmly under control. So he couldn't help noticing that Susan's eyes were of a warm, liquid brown that it was pleasing to gaze into; that her dark hair, though neatly pinned up, was rich and lustrous; that her mouth was full and could well have been described as sensual; that she used very little make-up, and had small need of it; that her legs were slim and shapely, with well-turned ankles; and that her figure, in those demure dark business suits, curved very appealingly in all the right places.
And if his morning journey to work ever proved stressful, it was relaxing to reflect that Susan would invariably be there ahead of him, waiting to welcome his arrival with her warm, quiet smile and a cup of his favourite Sumatran blend of coffee.
Except that this morning, she wasn't.
Peeved to realise that not only was Susan absent but that he didn't even know where she kept his coffee, Leon got himself a distinctly inferior substitute in a Styrofoam cup from the machine and returned to his desk. Just as he reached it he remembered that before leaving last night, he'd asked Susan to have the deposition in the Hobhouse case mailed over. With luck it should have arrived by now. Heading back into the adjoining office, he switched on her computer and, accessing her inbox, scanned the most recent emails.
The subject of the topmost item jolted him like an electric shock to his groin, as though a whole nexus of instincts that had been lying dormant were suddenly activated and connected up.
Sweet sexy spankable Susie, it read.
Taking a deep breath, Leon sat down, opened the email and gave it his fullest attention.
Dear sweet, sexy, spankable Susie: I just wanted to tell you - though I'm sure you must already know - how much I adored every moment of our time together last night. Ever since I first met you I've been yearning to take you across my knee and spank you resoundingly on that lovely bare bottom of yours; but last night was even more delicious than I'd ever imagined.
Leon found himself riveted, gripped by a fierce erotic compulsion. Unbidden, the image sprang into his mind of Susan - quiet, industrious, demure Susan - face-down across a male lap, skirt up and knickers down, kicking and squirming while her bare bottom blushed a hot rosy red beneath ringing spanks. The image was keenly arousing. This was clearly private correspondence, and to read it was scarcely ethical, but he couldn't have stopped if the entire Bar Council had been holding a pistol to his head. Fascinated, he read on.
I just can't wait for tomorrow night, my sweet naughty darling - and this time you're going to be spanked even more soundly, because we'll have the hairbrush! Will you remember to put it in your handbag? Well, if you don't, my sweet, you'll just have to go home and get it, won't you - and earn yourself a hundred extra spanks for disobedience.
You really are such a sweet joy to spank, Susie - I've never enjoyed spanking any girl as much as you. Right from the very first moment when I told you I was going to put you across my knee your response was just perfect: your look of excitement mingled with that delicious frisson of genuine fear in your eyes. And then the little wriggles and squirmings, and yelps of mingled pain and arousal at each smack, and your bottom so adorably soft and rounded, curving provocatively upwards over my lap just begging to be spanked - and blushing so beautifully.
As you can tell, my memories are vivid. I can still feel the warm slim weight of you across my lap, and the closeness of your body against my erection; I can still see your smooth pale bottom-cheeks reddening and trembling beneath my hand, growing redder and hotter and yet more tender with every stinging spank. I relive that exquisitely erotic mixture of cruelty and tenderness at punishing your quivering mounds, mercilessly disregarding your pleas to be let off. (I suspect you'd have been as disappointed as me if I'd heeded them.) I remember pausing in your punishment to slip my hand down between your legs, into the warm secret wetness of you - and then, the first yelps and shudders of your approaching climax, and the way you gasped 'No! Don't stop!' as it mounted, so that I had the delight of spanking you right through your convulsive, moaning orgasm.And then afterwards, when you lay there face-down on the bed with your beautiful glowing bottom on display, and lasciviously arched it up as if offering it to me, and I felt your spanked cheeks hot against my belly as I drove into...
At which point, Leon heard the outer door of the office open. Hastily switching off the computer, he shot into his office. By the time Susan entered, full of apologies about a safety alert on the Northern Line, he was firmly ensconced behind his desk, deep in perusal of a hefty legal document, and responded to her explanations with a nod and a distracted smile.
"I'll make up for lost time during my lunch hour, Mr Richards," she promised, bringing him his regular coffee and deftly disposing of the Styrofoam slop. "I'll have those witness statements ready for you to check by 3.00. Oh, and you're lunching at the Garrick with Mr McFarren at 12.30."
"Fine, thanks, Susan," Leon murmured, still seemingly preoccupied. But in truth he hadn't read a word of the document he was holding. His mind was still racing, striving to reconcile the erotic images aroused by the email with the cool, soft-spoken young woman gliding discreetly around his office. Not a hint of last night's steamy exploits was betrayed by her level speech and calm expression; in her black-and-white costume, with her air of quiet dedication to the task in hand, she might have been some kind of secular nun. Yet this was the girl who, only a few hours ago, had been writhing across a man's lap, yelping in a climax of mingled pain and ecstasy while her bare bottom was spanked scarlet. To his disconcertment, Leon realised he had a rampant erection.
Somehow he managed to attend to some work, though images of rosy, wriggling female bottom-cheeks kept slipping unbidden into his mind. Around 12.00 the intercom buzzed. "Mr McFarren for you, Mr Richards," came Susan's gentle tones.
"Fine, put him through."
"Leon? How are you, m'boy?" Jock McFarren, Leon's old law tutor, sounded flustered as usual. The very opposite of his star pupil, he lived his life in constant disarray. "Listen, m'boy, going to have to postpone lunch. Sorry and all that. How's Monday next instead?"
"That's fine, Jock. No, no problem. Same time, same place? Fine, see you there." Leon put down the phone and was about to buzz Susan to tell her of the change. But at the last mome
nt he stayed his hand. No. Let her think he was still going out.
Susan looked up as he crossed her office, putting on his coat. "Shall I order you a taxi, Mr Richards?"
"No, don't worry, Susan. It's a fine day, I'll walk. I'll be back well before two-thirty."
Outside, he set off briskly in the direction of Covent Garden, just in case Susan might be watching out of the window, then after a few hundred yards dived through an adjacent staircase, doubled back and re-entered his offices. One or two of the juniors glanced up, but he gave them a preoccupied nod to discourage speech, and quietly pushed open the door to Susan's office. As he'd hoped, she had her back to the door and was typing busily on the computer.
He coughed. Susan whirled round, her face a picture of confusion. Simultaneously her fingers shot to the 'Save and Exit' key.
"Oh - hello, Mr Richards," she murmured, recollecting herself. "Did you forget something?"
"Not exactly," responded Leon; a true lawyer, he never lied unless there was good financial reason for it. "What were you typing, Susan?"
"Just those witness statements in Regina vs Nybrand." She had regained her habitual calm, and Leon was almost convinced. But then he recollected the email. And why had she been so quick to clear the screen?
"May I see?" he asked, leaning over and clicking on 'Open file'.
Susan made a small noise, a muted protest, but it was too late. Words had appeared on the screen.
Dear Alex, Leon read, Please - don't email me at work! You know it could get me into trouble. And I think I'm in quite enough trouble already - don't you?!
But yes - last night was truly wonderful. For as long as I can remember - ever since I was a child - I've harboured fantasies about being spanked, but for years I never dared admit them to anybody. And even when I hinted at it to boyfriends, they just laughed or looked shocked. I was beginning to think I'd never meet the secret man of my dreams: the man who was strong and masterful, but also tender and loving, who would cherish and adore me, but not hesitate to put me over his knee and spank me long and hard whenever I deserved it - not in cruelty, but in love. So when last week, at my flat, you gave me a playful slap on the behind and jokingly threatened to 'spank the living daylights' out of me, my heart turned over. Did you notice how excited and thrilled and scared I was at those words? All week I dreamt of what it would be like if you acted on your threat, and wondered how far I dared go in provoking you.
Did you know I was deliberately playing you up last night - acting impudent and capricious, trying to vex you to the point where you'd have the perfect pretext for punishing me? I was so worried that I'd overdo it, that you'd just become exasperated and never want to see me again. But I think you knew what I was doing, didn't you? I think you soon sensed the game I was playing, and knew the rules, and went along with it until the glorious moment when you leant over the table and said, in that wonderful quiet, stern voice that turned my insides to liquid, 'You know, young lady, I think I have to take you home and give you that spanking I promised you.'
Thank God the restaurant's so near your flat. I was so dizzy with emotion I could scarcely walk. By the time we got upstairs, and you calmly helped me off with my coat, then led me over to the couch and drew me down across your knee I was trembling with excitement and terror. At last my fantasy was about to become reality and suddenly I didn't know if I could take it. Would it hurt terribly - more than I could bear? I almost cried off, but you talked to me so calmly and firmly but warmly, telling me what a bad girl I was and how I really needed to be thoroughly spanked, that I just lay there and welcomed my fate. And when you lifted my skirt and drew down my knickers so slowly and sensually, then caressed and squeezed my bottom-cheeks, I almost came then and there.
Do you realise that was my first-ever real spanking? Yes, though I'm 24 and I've been fantasising about it since I was six, I'd never been properly spanked. I think you guessed, because you led me into it so skilfully - first smacking me lightly, almost caressingly, brisk little smacks that just stung the skin, gradually getting harder until every inch of my bottom was tingling and glowing deliciously. And all the time telling me what a lovely spankable bottom I had, and how beautifully it was blushing. So by the time you started spanking me for real, with hard strong smacks, I was in such a state of adoration and arousal I was happy to take any degree of punishment. Each spank hurt more and each spank hurt better.
Did I really beg you to stop? If I did it was just because that seemed to be the thing to do, my role in the game to enhance your pleasure in spanking me. Certainly I never intended you to do anything of the sort. Far from it - I was thrilled and pleasured to my very core by what was happening to me, and would happily have let you go on spanking me all night. Strange - to an outsider I'm sure it would have looked as if I was being cruelly punished, but in fact I felt loved, cherished and protected as never before. It seemed that for the first time in my life someone had found me - someone who truly knew who I was and what I needed, and how to turn me on as no other lover had ever done. The heat radiated out from my bottom till I was quivering with arousal - and when you slid your fingers...
There it ended, in mid-phrase. Leon turned and looked at Susan, seeming to see her for the first time. She was flushed with embarrassment and avoided his gaze, but there was a sensuality in the depth of her brown eyes that he had never seen there before.
"Well," he remarked lightly, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice, "who'd have guessed Regina vs Nybrand was so ... stimulating?"
"Mr Richards, I-" Susan began, but he cut her off.
"Later, I think, Susan; right now perhaps you should get on with the work you're paid for. Can you stay a bit late this evening? Good - we'll talk then."
Again, through the long afternoon, Leon tried to concentrate on work, but other thoughts kept intruding. 5.30 came and he heard the juniors leave. At 5.40 his clerk came on with some papers, then said goodnight; and finally silence descended over the chambers. He gave it ten minutes, in case anyone returned unexpectedly, then called, "Susan - would you come in here please?"
She came in and stood in front of his desk, twisting her fingers together. She seemed to be having trouble meeting his eyes. Leon studied her. She really was remarkably pretty - all the more so, he felt, for the blush of embarrassment now mantling her cheeks. The image of her other cheeks, blushing even more vividly, again rose unbidden to his mind, but he tried to suppress it.
"Well, Susan," he said, keeping his voice calm and level , but with a faint hint of that steely asperity that had so often chilled witnesses in the courtroom, "what have you to say for yourself?"
"I - I'm sorry, Mr Richards," she murmured, her eyes still lowered.
"Sorry? Oh, I should think so. Didn't you tell me you'd make up for any lost time during your lunch hour? And yet no sooner have I left the office than, instead of doing the work I pay you for, you're composing erotic emails to your lover. Isn't that the case?"
"Ye-yes, Mr Richards. I'm really very sorry. It won't happen again."
"Well, I'd like to think so, Susan. But how can I be sure? The next time I'm in court, I'll be wondering just what you're up to back here in the chambers. Exchanging erotic fantasies with - what's his name, Alex? Texting him, perhaps? Maybe even phoning him, planning your next assignation? Not exactly conducive to your concentration, I wouldn't imagine. Nor to my peace of mind, come to that. No, I'm sorry, Susan," he added with genuine regret, "but I'm afraid you'll have to go. I'll give you an excellent reference, of course - until this unexpected lapse you've been a perfect secretary - but I'm sure you realise it'd be impossible for me to keep you on. And I imagine that in any case after all this embarrassment, you'd probably prefer to leave?"
"Oh no, Mr Richards, I wouldn't! I really wouldn't!" The urgency in her voice surprised him. "I've loved working for you - it's the best job I've ever had! Please don't make me go!"
Leon looked at her, taken aback by her agitation. Her lower lip was trembling, and there se
emed to be tears in her eyes. "Well," he said, "I really don't see that I've got much alternative..."
"Couldn't you..." she hesitated, "couldn't you punish me some other way?"
Leon leant back in his chair and laughed. "Oh, you mean spank you? From what I've been reading, Susan, I hardly think that would be much of a deterrent as far as you're concerned. Quite the reverse, in fact."
"Oh, but it would! It really would! You see, what happened with - with Alex, that was just playing. An erotic game, if you like. Whereas this would be a real punishment. You could make it as hard and painful as you liked. Don't you see how different it would be?"
Leon sat back and considered, thinking hard. One part of his mind, the instinctively cautious forensic side, was telling him this was nothing he should go anywhere near. Even if he took every possible precaution to cover himself legally, should the slightest hint of it ever leak out his career could be finished. Besides which, this kind of activity ran directly contrary to his long-held principle never to get intimately involved with his office staff in any way. No, said the lawyer in his brain - stay away from this. Well away.
But the darker, more instinctual side of his mind was pulling the other way. Like most men, Leon had administered the occasional bedroom swat to a girlfriend, and found it quite stimulating. A recent and widely publicised divorce case, though not one he was in any way professionally concerned with, had piqued his interest. ('MATT SPANKED ME!' CLAIMS EX-GLAMOUR MODEL TRINI, the papers gleefully reported.) And now, the steamy emails between Susan and her boyfriend - if that's who he was - had gripped his attention, and aroused his libido, in ways he hadn't expected.
No question, the thought of the shy, pretty Susan Maitland yelping and squirming as she had her shapely bare bottom spanked bright red was hugely erotic. And the idea of spanking it himself was even more so. But if he was to do it - if, if - it would require very careful handling.
