This is a short work of fiction inspired by a true story according to Jane.

*

Everyone seems to think that sex wasn’t discovered until the 1960s and that kinkiness didn’t heave into view until the 1970s. Well I have to tell you that as a 20-something secretary we knew a thing or two. Oh to be sure we had to be discreet and sometimes the kinkiness had to be disguised, but looking back it was definitely there.

In 1955 I went to work for a law firm in London. It was a sexist world back then and pretty girls were often looked upon as office chattels and closely guarded by the lords of these various domains. There were all kind of rumours of course, but being something of a looker and a much sought after blonde to boot, I had it in mind to have an adventure and take full advantage of this secret world. After all I didn’t make the rules and a girl has to get on doesn’t she?

As I said there were rumours. One of the rumours was that one of the senior partners Sir G had a penchant for caning his secretary and any other young woman in his orbit. These rumours were fuelled by the combination of a high turnover of his staff and the ridiculously high bonuses his girls got. The ones that stayed really stayed for the duration.

This situation was coupled with extensive discretion around all matters Sir G and any attempts to poke someone for gossip from his team was met by an almost embarrassed air of silence. I was intrigued from the start.

Unfortunately I didn’t work for Sir G, I worked for Johnny Ed (which is as close to his real name it is appropriate to use). Johnny was a happy go-lucky guy and long on flirting and generous with his little perks for any girl who wanted to play.

I didn’t exactly dislike Johnny, but he wasn’t my type. He came across as too friendly and too over-confident. Also I thought he was a bit soft. I liked my men with an edge; men like Sir G who had supposedly been a para in the war and almost never smiled.

If six of the best across my bum was the price of a high salary and the opportunity for foreign travel, then I was more than game. To this end, no pun intended, I twice put in for a transfer to his office and twice had it blocked.

The second time, Johnny’s boss gave me roasting over it and told me to knuckle under. However, Johnny was more sympathetic and took me to lunch.

“If it’s a raise you want…” he had begun. “You don’t want to work for old G,” he continued. “He is a bit of a blighter…”

The gist of it was that despite the perks Sir G was a hypocrite and beneath the old guard disciplinary zeal he rather enjoyed his reputation.

“So what,” I said, “Maybe I don’t mind.”

Johnny brightened suddenly.

“Really,” he grinned.

I blushed. No I really blushed. Sex, spanking and the whole damn thing was all very well, but in those days you had to pretend reluctance.

“Well you know… I don’t enjoy it but…” I blustered.

“I do,” Johnny cut in. “I just don’t like to take advantage, not like some people.”

I laughed. “You don’t seem the type to me.”

Lunch got more interesting after that and we came to an arrangement. Not as lucrative as working for Sir G but quite good and I didn’t really believe in the spanking side of it right then anyway.

About a week later I was late. Not very late, but I figured Johnny for a push over and as I said, I thought we had an understanding. I knew something was up as soon as I got there.

“Bring me a coffee will you,” he said before I had even got my coat off.

I didn’t usually do that, but I guessed maybe this was part of our new deal. By the time I got into his office he had already removed his jacket and was rolling up his sleeves.

“Someone had been a naughty girl,” he said, patting his lap.

I must have frowned for in very short order he told me it was time to pay the piper and to take my knickers down. I am not slow, so I asked if I might keep them up. It was more than embarrassing to do what he had asked and I figured he would have me pegged for a trollop if I gave in that easily.

“Whoever heard of a girl getting a spanking without baring her bottom,” he said sternly.

I was quite thrilled. I was still going weak at the knees when he grabbed me and toppled me across his lap. I didn’t wear a girdle like some girls, but my slip was tight and my knickers didn’t go all the way down to my stocking tops. All the same he made a good fist of it and my skirt and slip were soon in the small of my back and he got my knickers down to my thighs.

The first slap stung and I squealed. This was mostly in surprised, but the spanking that followed was quite biting enough and I was soon panting hard and a little damp around the eyes. My bottom too was stinging and was still very red much later on when I inspected it in the mirror. I certainly felt it where I sat for the rest of the day.

“Next time I want better access or else,” he scolded me. But he had the good grace to wink.

Later that night he took me to dinner and we had our first kiss.

Spanking was pretty much a regular arrangement with us after that. Mostly I would engineer the thing, to my advantage of course. If I needed to pick up some dry cleaning or do some shopping I would be late in or come in from lunch after 1.30 and the only price was a spanking. I mean the spankings did hurt, especially once he knew I would play ball. I usually cried and sometimes I couldn’t sit down for a day or two. This was always the case once he started employing that damn clothes brush he kept for dusting down his suits. But afterwards we would usually do dinner in the evening or take in show. Sometimes he even gave me a pound or two towards a more convenient outfit.

I think we went on five dates before I thought it appropriate to stay the night at his. I have to say he was a considerate and skilled lover, but any chance he got to catch me out would lead to a pretty sound spanking.

Also if we were at his place or mine I would often find myself stood in the corner. A totally embarrassing game I hated but really turned him on. He said it helped put me in my place.

Then one day Johnny had a run in with Sir G. I don’t know the exact details but Johnny was asked to see a small group of senior partners to explain some irregularity. The boss was pretty pissed and although he agreed it was just a clerical error and not Johnny’s fault, they couldn’t very well fire the whole typing pool.

Johnny said it would blow over, but he looked pretty shaken all the same.

Then I had an idea. Figuring at worst I would lose my job, an easy thing to find in 1955, I sent Sir G a memo implying that the error might have been among the support staff, especially implying that it might even be my fault. It was a subtle enough hint, but I followed it up with a visit to Sir G’s office, where I not only apologised by way of identifying myself (he would not have known me from Eve otherwise), but while I was there I asked for a particular file I already knew was kept in the bottom draw. One carefully selected pencil skirt, one opportunist bend at the waist and an idea formed in Sir G’s mind.

“You’re the little filly who caused all the bother aren’t you?” he said.

I fluttered my eyelashes and replied I hoped he wasn’t too cross.

“I expect you have heard how I deal with naughty young women like you?” he said.

I nodded and feigned some real fear (a task that required no acting ability). Without explaining he asked if I would take my medicine to let the whole thing drop. He didn’t exactly spell it out but we both knew what he meant.

I didn’t tell Johnny. I had some idea that he might stop my little arrangement. Instead that Friday I reported to Sir G’s office promptly at six after his own staff had all left.

“Ever been caned before?” he asked as he removed a long thin yellow-brown stick from a cupboard.

“Oh rather Sir,” I lied. I thought it best to play to his imagination and give him his money’s worth. “At school both the headmistress and matron used to thrash me ever such a lot.”

“What six of the best or was it 12?” he said, adding, “Bare bottom drill was it?”

I gulped but decided to play it to the hilt.

“Oh always bare Sir, but there were too many strokes to count really,” I ventured nervously.

I hoped I look cute.

“Well if you took 12 or more as a girl, then two dozen should fit you now right enough,” he growled. “I bet you know the drill too.”

I didn’t but it didn’t take much imagination or ordering from him before I was bending over the back of stuffed armchair with my bare bottom mooning the ceiling.

The sound is hard to describe but after the first stroke I couldn’t have cared less. My bum felt as if a sword had slashed it and I yelled.

“Do try to keep quiet won’t you,” he instructed.

I obeyed for four more strokes before the searing lines across my bottom bettered me. By then I was crying and it was all I could do to stay bent over. I realised then that I had overplayed my hand. If I hadn’t been so brazen I am sure now that I could have escaped with a mere six. But it was too late by then and for the next 20 or 30 minutes I had to endure the worst punishment of my life so far. I say that long, it felt longer obviously, it is just a guess on my part. He must have given me about 24 strokes in all, dished out in four sets of six. I would guess that each set lasted two or so minutes, given the spaces in between. But then he put down cane and offered me a handkerchief to dry my eyes and rest.

Once the caning was finally done Sir G shook my hand and gave me a five pound note.

“Good sport,” he said.

I had to laugh, even through my tears.

Anyway all I can say that I cried all the way home on the bus, standing up of course with everyone staring, but I scarcely cared. On inspecting my behind in the bathroom mirror I could see a great many purple lines all standing out proud on my bottom. There were so many that they actually merged. I couldn’t sit down for almost a week and tenderness and marks lasted for most of that month.

Johnny was furious, but he couldn’t argue that the meeting with the senior partners was cancelled. Also he waited two weeks before spanking me for my little prank, which was pretty decent of him under the circumstances.

“Jane…” he said earnestly as I left the following Monday, “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” I replied, “It wasn’t so bad.”

That was a remark I came to regret, but that is another story.