The Boss

by Monica Belle

‘Oh. I’d have thought the spray paint would mess up the works?’

  ‘No. That’s one of its great beauties. You’ll see.’

  He didn’t tell me any more and it didn’t seem sensible to ask too many questions, so that was all I got as we drove out to the Hattersley Estate. He parked and we got out, Stephen looking doubtfully at a patch of scorched concrete where a car had been burnt out sometime before; nothing to do with me for once. I was praying nobody I knew was about and eager to move on, but very aware I wasn’t supposed to have seen this set of cameras except on the map.

  Stephen finally shook his head and started down the alley towards the river. I followed faithfully behind, doing my best puppy-dog imitation and keeping my eyes firmly on him. He stopped beneath the pole supporting the ZX-4, most of which was now Glitter Box purple instead of Ministry of Nosy Parkers black. It was at least a metre above his head. He sighed.

  ‘If only they’d put all that energy into something productive.’

  I declined to comment, waiting as he put the box down and took out a transparent bag with something inside that was obviously a camera part. Once he’d pulled open the bag he held it up to show me.

  ‘This is how we get around spray paint. This housing covers the front section of the camera, including the lens, and can be replaced in a few seconds, although it looks as if the entire casing is solid. They’re so cheap it’s hardly worth cleaning up the vandalised ones. Clever, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, very.’

  Well, it had fooled me, but replacing it wasn’t as easy as Stephen might have liked. He could climb the pole, but he couldn’t hold on securely enough to remove the old housing and replace it. After watching for five minutes while trying to keep a straight face I made a suggestion.

  ‘Maybe if I sat on your shoulders?’

  ‘Would you mind?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  He climbed down and picked me up with that easy strength I always like in a man, lifting me onto his shoulders. I had to bunch my skirt up, pressing the crotch of my knickers directly to his neck, a curious sensation and oddly embarrassing after what we’d been up to. I knew he’d be able to feel the heat of my pussy, but in typical Stephen fashion he didn’t comment, concentrating on the work by giving out completely unnecessary instructions as I twisted the old housing loose and replaced it with the new one. Just as he’d said, the expensive and delicate parts of the camera were completely untouched, while it was obvious that the housing could not only be spray-painted but hit quite hard without doing any damage at all. Removing the housing and then using the paint was going to look highly suspicious.

  The ZX-2 across the river he simply took hold of and bent back into the right position, then replaced the housing as before. So it went all along the path, with only the two cameras I’d managed to pull right off needing replacing and the whole job done in roughly the same time I’d taken in the first place. He was still cross about it, and looked far from happy as he dumped the purple-painted housings on the warehouse floor, voicing his opinion of the perpetrators.

  ‘Little bastards! You’d think even a child would realise that security cameras are for their own protection, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I suppose they see them as intrusive.’

  ‘Oh, right, so they can vandalise phone boxes and burn cars and spray their graffiti over every available surface. Why do these people do these things?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe they’re just bored?’

  ‘Bored? There’s a community centre, isn’t there? Or they could just read a book.’

  I shrugged, not wanting to get any deeper into the argument. There was a community centre, it was true, run by a church association and avoided by every self-respecting scally in Hockford. I’d never been there. Stephen went on.

  ‘I mean, you’ve lived in Hockford all your life. What did you do to keep yourself amused as a teenager?’

  The answer was that I’d vandalised telephone boxes, burnt cars and sprayed graffiti over every available surface, along with drumming for Rubber Dollies, indulging myself with boys, getting blind drunk and helping Steve smuggle booze into the country.

  ‘This and that.’

  ‘No, but really?’

  It was not a line of conversation I wanted to get into, and I found myself looking for a distraction. He was making me feel guilty too, because he was really upset over what I’d done. Again I shrugged. I knew what I wanted to say, but there was a hollow feeling in my stomach and it was hard to get the words out.

  ‘You seem really angry, Stephen . . . Mr English. Would it help at all if you were to take it out on my bottom?’

  He obviously hadn’t been thinking of anything of the sort, because for a moment he simply looked blank. Then he smiled and laughed.

  ‘That would be extremely unfair!’

  ‘Maybe, but . . . but I really quite like the idea of being punished by you.’

  ‘And I like the idea of punishing you, believe me, Felicity, but the mood I’m in it might be rather more than you could handle.’

  ‘I’ll be OK, as long as you stop if I say to. You can pretend it was me who vandalised all the cameras.’

  He frowned, glanced at his watch, then smiled and spoke again.

  ‘Actually, that’s an offer I can’t refuse. Come along then, over you go.’

  I was already shaking badly as I stepped forward, and he didn’t even bother to take me upstairs but simply sat down on the nearest packing crate to haul me bodily across his knee. Helpless excitement, fear, humiliation, all the emotions I’d known before came flooding back as he lifted his knee to push my bottom higher, speaking as he took hold of the hem of my skirt.

  ‘Right, skirt up, knickers down. I’m going to enjoy this.’

  As before, his voice was full of relish at the prospect of stripping me, but this time my exposure was brusque, allowing no time for my feelings to sink in but making me gasp in shock as my skirt was tugged high and my knickers whipped smartly down. I bit my lip, afraid of the pain but wanting it all at once, wanting punishment too but still screaming at myself inside for allowing such a gross indignity to be inflicted on me when I was in the right all the time.

  He cocked his knee up higher still, to draw a second gasp of shock from my lips as my pussy was put on show from behind, and a third of pain as his hand smacked across my bare cheeks. I cried out, astonished by how much it hurt compared with before, and again with the second smack, too breathless to protest as he laid into me. It stung crazily, his big hand cupping almost my entire bottom and setting both cheeks afire, a firm, no-nonsense spanking that had me writhing across his lap in an instant, with my legs kicking in my knickers and both my shoes already off.

  I tried to protest, but all that came out was a sob, and even as I squirmed in my frenzied pain one part of me was still saying I was getting only what I deserved. It was true too, my actions more than deserving of an over-the-knee spanking, and the more he spanked the more I felt I deserved it, until at last I gave in to my emotions and burst into tears. He stopped immediately, his hand resting on my blazing bottom, his voice full of apology as he spoke to me.

  ‘I’m sorry, Felicity, I shouldn’t . . .’

  ‘No. It’s OK, I . . . I’m just a bit emotional. I’ll be all right now, carry on.’

  He didn’t start immediately, perhaps doubtful, but with my bare bottom hot beneath his hand and the tears streaming down my face, I was undergoing a really intense experience, all my feelings flooding out, although I could still barely accept what I was saying as new words tumbled from my lips.

  ‘Go on, Stephen, do it, spank me . . . spank me hard. I want to be punished, Stephen, by you.’

  I thought he’d stop, unable to cope with my emotional outburst, but I was wrong. After just a moment his hand lifted from my bottom and came down again, not as hard as before, but a firm, purposeful smack, and another, applying my punishment the way a naughty girl ought to be smacked, or at least how I felt I ought to b
e smacked.

  My legs had come wide, showing everything, in that same state of absolute surrender he’d got me into before. I’d never understood before how it felt to be completely exposed in front of a man when, instead of being in charge, I was his to do with as he pleased. I felt sheer joy, knowing it didn’t matter what I was showing to him because he was giving me a well-deserved punishment.

  I’d given in, my toes braced wide on the ground to lift my bottom as he spanked me, still delivering those same firm swats full across my cheeks, but it no longer hurt, each smack now provoking a jolt of pleasure to my sex. He had me ready for entry, which was just as well because I could feel the hard lump of his cock pressing to my side and I knew I’d soon be accepting him inside me.

  He took his time, perhaps exhausting all his ill feeling on my bottom before his arousal finally got the better of him. First he began to smack lower, pushing up under my cheeks to increase the sensation to my pussy, which quickly had me gasping and shaking my head. I was no longer crying, but my vision was hazy and my mouth wide, completely abandoned to my emotions without thought for dignity. After all, how undignified can it get, turned over a man’s knee to be spanked and ending up turned on?

  At last he slowed and began to alternate the smacks with touches, first stroking and petting my burning cheeks, then more intimate still, his fingers stealing between my thighs to find how wet I was. The answer was that I was soaking, and he gave a low chuckle of satisfaction as he slid a finger deep inside me. Immediately I was pushing my bottom up to meet the pressure, allowing him to enter me deep. He began to play with me, exploring my sex and stroking my bottom, applying the occasional smack and then doing something exquisitely rude, holding my cheeks wide to inspect my bottom hole. A sigh escaped my lips at being so blatantly exposed, and again as he touched me, tickling the tiny hole until he’d got me whimpering and jerking in reaction.

  Only when he’d really had his fill of my bottom did he finally let me up or, at least, let me off his knee. He kept his hands on me, guiding me gently but firmly to the stairs and speaking in a low, firm voice, quite clearly a command.

  ‘Put your feet well apart, Felicity, and brace yourself on the steps. I’m going to fuck you.’

  The way he said it sent an extraordinary jolt of emotion through me, as if entering me, fucking me, was not a mutual thing at all, but part of my punishment. I still obeyed, setting my legs wide just as I’d been ordered to, with my knickers stretched taut between my thighs and my bottom on full show. My hair fell down around my face as I bent over, the same way it had been while I was spanked, so as I looked back it was through a curtain of golden strands.

  Stephen was standing behind me, his eyes fixed on my exposed, vulnerable body, his hand on his crotch, squeezing. For one moment I wondered what the hell I was doing, bent over the office stairs with my bottom all hot and red from spanking, waiting for my boss to enter me from behind. Then he pulled his cock out and I forgot my dignity once more, eager only to have him inside me.

  He gave a pleased nod, perhaps reading something of my lust in my expression, and he came forward. I felt him touch me, his hand on my bottom, holding me open for his cock, then the hot, round tip, pushing up inside me, and deep-filling my body with that blissful sensation that comes no other way. He took me by the hips and began to do just what he’d said, to fuck me. I tried to think of it as a punishment, because it was turning me on, to imagine myself spanked across his knee and then bent over and fucked.

  I had to come, just like that, with my bottom all hot and his cock deep inside me, fucking me as a punishment. My hand went back, leaving me supported almost entirely by his grip on my hips, down my half-lowered knickers and onto the warm, wet bulge of my pussy. He realised what I was doing and gave a knowing chuckle, but made no effort to stop me. My fingers found the crucial place and the right rhythm, rubbing myself to the motion of my fucking.

  His hard belly was smacking onto my bottom, his cock driving deep, helping to take me high as I thought of what he had done to me, taken down my knickers and spanked me, punished me, then made me bend over and fucked me too. I’d asked for it, and I’d got it, punished the way I so thoroughly deserved, and by my stern, suited boss, spanked and fucked with my bare bum sticking out from my smart little office suit and lowered panties.

  I came, and I screamed, unable to hold myself back due to the sheer power of my orgasm. Like all the best, it was as much in my head as my body, the thought of what Stephen had done to me and the motion of his cock inside me, still pumping deep and hard as I wriggled and shook and stamped my way through the most glorious climax. He even gave my bottom a last hard smack at the perfect moment, adding a final touch to my ecstasy as I remembered how I’d been spanked.

  Spent, I collapsed down onto my knees, my bottom still raised and open. He’d slipped out, and I stayed as I was, completely open to him as he finished himself off all over my smacked cheeks.

  7

  ALL MY EFFORT and I’d got exactly nothing for it. Well, I’d got a smacked bottom, but that wasn’t strictly speaking relevant.

  In fact I’d done more harm than good, as I quickly discovered. Mr Phelps and his cronies where immensely impressed both with the rapid repair to the camera system and the low cost of doing so, leaving Black Knight Securities very much in favour. Only then did I discover that we had not one but two rivals for the contract, the firm who’d supplied the small existing system and were offering to expand it and another who wanted to put in something very much like our own but apparently less cost effective.

  Stephen was well pleased with himself, and with me, both for my willing assistance and my desire to indulge him in his little perversion. I was rather less happy, both because of the failure of my plot and because I could feel that his little perversion was rapidly becoming mine. Before, I’d been amazed at how I’d accepted that I would let somebody spank me, but there had been no denying my enjoyment and despite my mixed feelings it had been intensely erotic from the start. I’d not only been given a painful punishment and still got off on it, but I’d wanted more almost before my bum had cooled down. I was in danger of growing addicted.

  I could just imagine what it would be like having to persuade people to spank me. Some I wouldn’t even be able to ask. Dave, for instance, because it quite simply wouldn’t work. Steve I could ask, and I knew he’d do it. He’d also laugh at me, but I had a nasty suspicion that would just turn me on even more. Fortunately Stephen seemed more than capable of looking after my needs, and very keen to do so.

  He was extremely attentive, and also friendly, taking me to lunch and dinner several times during the week and always talkative and considerate. I’d been worried that he might treat me badly after I’d given in to him so completely and in a way that left no doubt whatsoever that he was my boss in more than just the employment sense. Nothing could have been further from the truth. He was more intimate, kissing me and allowing his hand to stray to my bottom, but not in front of other people, while he was a great deal more polite and less arrogant than before. On the Wednesday morning he even made me coffee.

  I also got my third spanking, just a playful one, applied to the seat of my skirt and supposedly for making a spelling mistake in a letter I’d typed, but it made it very clear how things stood between us. As long as there was to be physical intimacy there would be spankings, and I knew that for all my low-key resentment of what he was doing to me I could not resist. That resentment would have been the only problem in my life had it not been for the cameras.

  My plan had failed and I was completely stuck for what to do next. Further sabotage was clearly pointless, as the best I could do would be to ensure the contract went to another firm. If it did, then I’d have no chance of changing anything at all, and no inside knowledge of how the system worked either. Possibly if I could destroy the entire system it might have some effect, but I didn’t have the time or the ability, while the specialist knowledge needed would surely mean I got caught.

/>   It would have been so easy to just give in. There were lots of good reasons. For a start my relationship with Stephen and work, which together were taking up all my time and keeping me out of mischief. Then there was the security the cameras undoubtedly provided, even if Hockford was short of maniacs, and the fact that my face wasn’t going to be recognised either. Lastly I could warn people, and if that meant everybody had to behave themselves perhaps it really wasn’t the end of the world after all.

  I still didn’t feel right about it. Some of the things I’d done in the past now seemed pretty unacceptable, and I could understand people wanting to put a stop to it. I could also understand the feelings of boredom and dissatisfaction which had led me to do them in the first place, and nothing was being done to remedy that except the same old platitudes. Other things were just too trivial, or offences only to those with stuffy, old-fashioned morals, but authoritarianism seemed to be all the rage.

  Then there was Mr Phelps and his colleagues, who came round occasionally. They were unbearably smug and superior about the whole thing, also immensely self-satisfied about all the poor sods they were going to land with criminal records for really very little, and even talking openly about the revenue they expected to raise from the fines. When he joked about taking an expenses-paid trip to Korea on the money, I’d have gladly planted my shoe up his saggy backside, and I had no regrets whatsoever about burning his car.

  I went back to brooding, generally late at night when I could lie in bed and let my mind run onto increasingly impractical schemes, such as swapping all the images on the database around so that every scally was automatically identified as Mr Phelps, or all my friends came up as the various dogs and cats the system was still recording. Sadly neither would have been more than a temporary solution, while the search for the perpetrator would have led straight to me. I couldn’t get into Stephen’s private editing facility either, as I didn’t know the password, but even that would only have been a partial solution.