Charlie’s office is bright and airy; the epitome of modern. Not the least bit like Miss Parmenter’s office back in school, no, not the least… so why then do I always get little pangs in my tummy every time I have to go up onto the mezzanine floor where he works? I mean the sloping glass affords a gorgeous view over London and with my recent track record of stories you would think that I had nothing to worry about and I don’t.

But as I get to the door he looks over at me through the glass with that look. His phone is pressed to his ear and his mouth set in a firm hard line. He has hard features, like a soldier and his hair is shaved to a dark rough rash on his head to complete this image. He does have a lovely smile; it is just that he is sparing with it. I think he keeps it in reserve for special occasions.

Today is not one of those and his glower gets harder. He crooks his finger at me to beckon me to come in. I think of Bull-Face back in school and gulp.

“Hi Charlie,” I say breezily as I step through the door.

He commands me to close it behind me with his eyes and obey. I don’t know if the telephone call is about me and in any case he puts the phone down.

“Bannerman Stone,” he says sharply. His voice is firm and deep, educated but with a hint if East End Street. Estuary English some call it, but his tone isn’t nasal and has punch.

I open my mouth to speak, but only slowly as I wait for my mind to catch-up. It was one of my recent assignments and was ready for publication.

“Is it finished?” he barks.

“Eh… yes…?” I say uncertainly. At least I hope it is.

He nods and moves aside a document on his desk with one finger.

“No more on Trader Co?” he throws me a non sequitur.

It is another completed assignment, but we have discussed a follow up.

“No,” I tell him, nervous now.

His manner is brusque, more so than usual, and I know something is up.

“Good,” he retorts as he has come to a decision about something. “So you are ready for another job?”

I relax a touch but for some reason my bottom tightens and my lips are dry. My mouth pouts all by itself and some instinct tells me not to speak, although I nod curtly.

Then he puts a copy of E-Spy on the desk. The rival magazine is one of Charlie’s pet hates and I swallow down some apprehension. You see I had had dinner with the E-Spy Deputy Editor two days before and as usual he had offered me a job and as usual I had turned it down.

“Not thinking of leaving us?” Charlie smiles but his eyes don’t join in. Not a pleasant sight.

I go to speak but Charlie unfurls the magazine and folds open on an inside spread.

“Trader Co: The Never Ending Tale.” The headline screamed.

I have no opportunity to reply.

“They seem to think there is more to this story. Tony Trent, ace reporter,” he adds sarcastically, “Says an unnamed investigative reporter is hot on the case and…”

“I can explain,” I squeak.

“No need,” Charlie sighs. “You met with Douglas and mentioned you were still on the story.”

It was true and my heart sank. “I didn’t tell him anything,” I insisted.

Charlie gave me a sad look and I crumpled.

“But I may have mentioned I was still looking into it” I admitted dejectedly.

That look returned and I dipped my head. When I glanced up Charlie pointed to the corner.

“But it’s office hours,” I whined and gesticulated to the glass wall and door facing the mezzanine.

The look sharpened and Charlie’s eyes slanted meaningfully to the corner again.

Oh shit, I sighed and with a rueful pout slunk to where he had pointed as my hands undid the button and zip on my suit trousers. My feminine tailored pin-stripes made me feel more chic and confident but I was always conscious that my bottom tended to overfill them. But I knew the drill and years of guidance under Charlie had taught me not to argue.

By the time I reached the corner I had dropped my strides to my knees and stooped to add my knickers to the puddle of cloth that quickly formed around my ankles. I knew that with my hands on my head my bottom jutted out embarrassingly behind and I could only pray that no one from the main floor came onto the mezzanine deck, let alone wanted a word with Charlie.

*

Charlie took an age to finish his calls and clear his work list and by then my arms ached and my bare bottom was cold. That was in stark contrast to the heat that had gathered on my face. God alone knew if anyone had seen me, but at least no one had come to the office. Not yet.

“Come here you silly brat,” Charlie said at last.

I hated being called a brat, I wasn’t. But I couldn’t deny that I was often silly; stupid even. Douglas had played me. I pulled away from the wall and glanced towards the steps outside. No witnesses thank God. Then I saw the long ebony brush Charlie held.

“Ooh,” I protested and bounced up and down in some dismay.

The look shut me up and all but summoned me to a shuffle across the room. In a moment I was tumbled carelessly across Charlie’s thighs with my bare bottom a firm dome in his lap. My face was pitched into the carpet and I could smell nylon and dust.

“I have a good mind to put you back in the corner after I am done and make you stay there for the rest of the day,” he growled.

He might have me back later to finish up but I knew he wouldn’t do that during office hours. But I knew better than argue.

“Yes Charlie,” I said as made my voice as humble as possible.

The brush landed with a hard biting splat across my bottom. The impact burned like molten fire and clung to my skin as it sizzled. But his method was hard and fast and the second and third were the real tangers. Within half a minute I was rocking and mewling under the onslaught. By then my bottom was two globes of aching burn.

I try not to cry when I am spanked. It is good to hold out too. I mean it wouldn’t count if tears came too easily and if you are going to get spanked it might as well be done properly. Charlie, I can tell you, does it properly.

Around three minutes in the dam broke and chuckled to tears like a little girl; all hot rain on my face and grimaced raspberries at my mouth.

“Ooh Charlie, ooh Charlie,” I mewled; I also might have said I was sorry a few hundred times.

“Now get back to work,” Charlie barked as he let me drop to my knees on the floor.

“Yes Charlie,” I sob.

God my bum stings and will do for the rest of the day. I am pretty damn sure I won’t be sitting at my desk for a few hours.