Story from Whispers 02.
The secret of success
Not so long ago, the General Office of Makepeace and Co. would have been filled with the loud clatter of typewriters in use. Now, however, there was only the far less obtrusive clicking of electric machines as they did the same work far more efficiently. Soon, Jean Gleason said to herself, everything would be done with one of those computer 'things'. Even more efficient... but someone still would have the drudgery of operating it.
Jean hated the anonymity — not to mention the monotony — of the Typing Pool. It was soul-destroying. After a while one began to feel like part of a large, indifferent machine. It was not how she had envisaged office life when she had started at 17, almost a year previously. Then she had had the fantasy of her own cosy little office... with a benevolent, approving, but non-groping boss. Probably he would be in his thirties, still a bachelor, well-dressed and groomed, handsome with just a hint of grey at the sideburns.
Life, of course, was quite different. Jean Gleason had never even seen her Boss. His name was John Carver but he was generally referred to as the 'Major', though whether he was still entitled to use that rank some said was open to doubt. Jean imagined he was probably red-faced, balding, with a gingery-grey moustache. Not exactly her dream-boss, in fact.
As it was, all Jean's dealings were with the pale, gaunt featured Miss Staples, a dried up spinster in her mid-fifties. I'd rather die than get like her, Jean often used to tell herself. It just shows you what lack of a healthy sex-life can do to a woman, she reflected.
Yes... Jean hated office life. Particularly Makepeace office life. But she couldn't afford to leave since salaries were above average... and Jean had discovered living in London was considerably more expensive than she had bargained for. She was already behind with her rent.
What was unfair was that Jean Gleason reckoned she was just about the fastest and most accurate typist in the Pool. Yet that didn't win her promotion. How long was she going to have to wait before she got that office of her own? Before she could call herself a secretary and not just a typist? Already, of the twelve girls in that General Office, two had gone on to higher things. One, who had arrived only a few weeks before Jean, had become P.A. to a Director of one of the Company's subsidiaries: another, who had arrived after Jean, had actually become an assistant-secretary to Major Carver himself. That had really riled Jean Gleason since she knew that the girl, Stephanie, was not as good at her job as she was. She was certainly pretty, and she had a good figure, but Jean could scarcely believe that, in this day and age, promotion was gained on such grounds. Why, there were jokes about such things! With the Boss interviewing three girls to discover their efficiency and ending up by stating 'he'd have the one with the big tits'. Oh very funny!
In any event, Jean said to herself, I reckon I've got as good a figure as that Stephanie, even if I may not be quite so pretty. At the time, Jean had actually tackled Miss Staples about it, saying she thought she should have got the position. The old cow had got quite shirty about it, saying it was none of Jean's business and she would get promotion if and when she deserved it. Miss Staples had also said that Jean might just as easily get the sack — which was grossly unfair.
'Besides,' concluded Miss Staples, 'Stephanie has got special qualifications.' Jean Gleason refrained from asking what these were but, later, had a good cry about the injustice of life in general. What, she asked herself over and over again, was the secret of success in office life? It didn't appear to be simply competence and efficiency. Nor hard work. Could it be personality? It might, of course, be influence. Had those two had any influence? It seemed improbable.
Poor Jean found it both baffling and frustrating.
* * * *
The intercom on Jean's desk buzzed softly. She picked up the receiver. 'Extension 493,' she enunciated in her best answering manner.
'Would you step into my office, Miss Gleason. Right away.' It was Miss Staples, her voice as acid as her features.
'Yes, Miss Staples...' The phone clicked down. What had happened now? It was rare of her to be summoned... since one was usually summoned on account of errors. And Jean didn't make many. She stood up, smoothed creases from her neat, black skirt and jumper. It was very much an office 'uniform'. Fancy dressing was seriously discouraged at Makespeace and Co. Jean didn't mind that. One didn't have to make a decision every morning, nor compete with her colleagues. She walked down the carpeted corridor between the partitioned offices with their opaque windows. At the end was a polished brown door with a brass handle. Miss Staples' sanctum. One never went in there unless she called for you. Jean knocked deferentially and was told to 'Come'.
Inside it was like another world. There was no cheap steel partitions, no office noise. The carpet was thick, the curtains heavy, the furniture looked as if it had been bought at Maples. It was the office of a 'have', thought Jean, and I am a 'have-not'. Will I ever be a 'have'?
'Miss Gleason,' stated Miss Staples, without asking the girl to take a seat, 'you are to be considered for promotion...'
'Oh!' Jean clasped her hands together.
'Is something the matter, Miss Gleason?' enquired the harridan sourly.
'No... no, Miss Staples. It... it's just that... I'm very pleased.'
A grey head nodded perfunctorily. 'You are only being considered, Miss Gleason, that does not necessarily mean you will get the job. Major Carver is very particular about those who work closest to him.' Jean's heart gave a bound. So virtue was to be rewarded at last, was it? She was being considered for a job by the Boss himself! 'I have known many girls rejected by Major Carver,' Miss Staples was droning on, 'so take nothing for granted.'
'No, Miss Staples,' answered Jean politely. Inwardly, she was confident she would get the position. After all, she had all the right credentials, surely?
'You will report here at five o'clock then I shall take you to Major Carver's office.'
'Thank you, Miss Staples,' said Jean, even more politely. With a nod, she was dismissed. Jean felt as if she were almost floating as she left that opulent office.
It could well be that, at last, she was on the way to being a 'have.'
* * * *
Major Carver's office was very similar in appearance to that of his Office Manager, Miss Staples. Except that it was larger. There, all similarity between the two ended for, whereas Miss Staples was pale, thin and dry, the Major was ruddy, fat and overripe. Jean Gleason had been right about his colouring but wrong about the baldness and the moustache, since his upper lip was bare. In fact, it glistened very faintly with perspiration.
'This is Miss Gleason' announced the Office Manager.
'Thank you, Miss Staples,' he nodded; this time it was her turn to be dismissed, reflected Jean with considerable relish. She stood there, hearing a door close softly, almost feeling as if she ought to curtsey. A pair of pale, rather bulbous blue eyes roved over her and she strove to look calm and unruffled. An important test lay ahead of her. It could affect her life for years to come. How important it was to keep calm and make the right impression. Flustered secretaries were simply not required. 'Would you like to sit down, my dear?' The voice was soft and well-modulated, remarkably unmilitary. Jean was flattered that the Major actually stood as he indicated a chair set someway in front of his desk.
'Thank you, Sir,' she said with a faint smile. Seated, she crossed her legs so that she showed a fair bit of their shape, but not too much. Jean was aware that she had good legs. She was also aware that she had good firm breasts as well but she strove to fight down any idea that her promotion would depend on her shape rather than her ability. Surely Makepeace and Co. were too big for such things!
'What is your name?' The voice had a gentle, but hypnotic quality to it.
'Miss Gleason, Sir...'
'No... no, your Christian name, my dear. I address all my personal staff by their Christian names.'
'Jean, Sir.' It sounded almost as if she were already on that personal staff!
'Well, Jean, I've heard good reports of your work and of your background. That is why you are here. I hope you will wish to further your career by joining my personal staff.'
'Thank you, sir. I am very glad of the opportunity.'
The Major smiled. He looked relaxed and happy. 'Good... good...' he said, almost to himself. 'However, it is not quite as simple as it at first might appear. You see, my dear, my standards are far more exacting than those of the General Office.'
My God, thought Jean, they must be exacting! 'I'll do my very best, Sir. I... I'm sure I won't let you down.'
'I'm sure you won't, Jean,' said the Major in avuncular fashion. 'However, you must understand that, being a military man, there is a strong element of discipline in the way I run my private office. I am sure you appreciate that that is understandable!'
'Oh yes, sir...' Am I supposed to salute and stand to attention, she wondered?
'As in Army life,' the Major continued, 'there are rewards for good work. Perks, promotion and so on.' He paused. 'And for bad work, there are punishments.' The Major stressed that final word. It seemed to hang for quite a while in the heavy air. Jean felt a faint pricking of her scalp. Punishments? What on earth did he mean? Pay docked, holidays stopped? It seemed a funny way to run a modern office. But there you are... he's the boss.
'I see, Sir,' she said a little lamely.
'Do you, Jane? Do you? Oh I wonder if you do?' The Major smiled again and pressed pudgy fingers to his lips. 'If you agree to join my personal staff, Jean — and I do hope you will — you must also agree to accept my punishments. That must be fully understood.'
'Very well, sir.' Jean was prepared to agree to almost anything at that moment in order to get the job.
'Can you guess what those punishments are, Jean? For careless work, that sort of thing?' The voice was less mellow now.
Jean shook her head. 'No... no... I can't really, sir.'
'No, I don't suppose you can. Not at the moment.' Now the Major smiled again. 'So I must tell you. Show you, in fact.' Jean felt a vague unease. What was this man driving at? 'You know Stephanie, I believe?'
'Yes, sir, we used to work together.'
A nod. 'Well,' went on the Major, 'Stephanie made several errors in an important Report I gave her this afternoon. And Stephanie is now going to be punished.'
The prickling all over Jean's scalp intensified as the Major pressed a switch on his intercom panel. 'Come in, young lady,' he ordered crisply. Then he looked at Jean. 'This is a very private office,' he said, 'and what happens here never goes any further. Please understand that from the very beginning, Jean.'
What on earth is he on about? Jean was puzzled and a little frightened. She sensed something strange. Then she saw Stephanie come in through a door behind the Boss's desk. She could well be described as looking pale but confident and, seeing Jean, at once gave her a brief, flickering smile of what looked like sympathy.
'Ready for your punishment?' enquired the Major as Stephanie stood with an almost jaunty air of bravado before the huge desk.
The major swivelled his chair to one side and patted his thighs. 'That was a really careless effort this afternoon, young lady.'
'Yes, Sir,' nodded Stephanie. 'I'm sorry, sir.'
'You will be.' Again those plump thighs were patted. 'Come round here.'
Stephanie gave Jean a wink and another faint smile. Then, to Jean's amazement and shock, she walked to the Major and draped herself over his limbs. The Major looked at Jean. 'In this office,' he stated, a naughty, careless girl gets her bottom smacked. Doesn't she, Stephanie?'
'Y-yes, sir,' came Stephanie's rather choked reply. Then her short grey skirt was pulled up to reveal a pretty pair of flower-patterned briefs. Also, most of a pair of plumply-rounded buttocks.
'Stephanie!' Jean had leapt to her feet aghast, one hand to her mouth. 'How... how can you let him do that?'
The girl turned her head as far as she could. 'Because I want to keep my job in this office, Jean,' she said. 'And if you want to stay here, you'll have to do the same.'
A pleasantly wicked smile came from the Major. Again he looked at Jean. 'That's perfectly correct, my dear. Now, perhaps, you are beginning to understand a little better. A girl requires some very special qualifications if she is going to work closely with me!' With that, he yanked down Stephanie's briefs.
Jean uttered a series of protesting cries. Stephanie's bottom was bare! How absolutely awful! She must fetch Miss Staples. This must be stopped. The Major was a pervert... a horrible pervert! Jean ran to the door... only to find it locked. She turned around, her brain whirling.
'What do you think you deserve, Stephanie?' the Major was saying coolly.
'A... a... d-dozen... I suppose, sir...' came a weak reply.
'At least a dozen, Miss,' rapped the Major. 'I will not have slackness in the office.' Jean watched with disbelief as a palm descended on her colleague's naked bottom. The slapping sound seemed to burst in her ears; she saw a bright red splodge appear. To her amazement, Stephanie did no more than gasp as she threw back her head. How could she tolerate such a thing? Such an indecency? Such shame?
'Stop it... oooh... stop it!' she heard herself crying out.
But the Major didn't stop and, almost worse, Stephanie seemed to make no resistance... no protest even... as the Major continued to smack her bottom. The slaps were slow and well placed on alternate buttock cheeks. Cheeks which grew steadily redder and redder.
Jean sank down on her chair. She wanted to cover her face but something compelled her to go on looking at this incredible scene. Here was a well brought up girl having her bare bum smacked by a horrible middle-aged man! Not seeming to mind all that much either! Incredible... quite incredible!
A final smack fell across the centre of both crimsoning cheeks and Stephanie yelled rather than gasped. She had just about had enough!
The Major gazed with satisfaction on a joggling pink blancmange of a bottom. It was a sight which gave him the most infinite satisfaction. His palm was tingling but he knew that young flesh right before him was tingling even more. What a delight it was to smack a teenager's bottom! To see it jump and judder, to see it twist and wriggle. Mmmm... yes... seventh heaven!
'You can get off now, Stephanie,' he said, his cheeks even ruddier.
The girl slid to her knees and quickly pulled up her briefs which were twisted around about her kneecaps. She was flushed but dry-eyed, Jean saw. How remarkable! Who could ever have imagined that someone like Stephanie would ever put up with such treatment!
'Right, Stephanie... that's the second time this week, isn't it?' said the Major with mock sternness.
'Yes sir...' Stephanie was very complaisant, head hanging in girlish fashion. She knew the Boss liked it that way... and, since he was footing the bills, that was the way he would have it. The spanking she had just received had not been all that bad. Hurt a bit at the time, made the flesh burn for half an hour or so. Nothing to write home about... and certainly worth the extra money. Stephanie wondered why the Boss hadn't spent quite a while massaging her bum after he'd smacked it. He usually did. Possibly that was because Jean Gleason was looking on and he didn't want to put her off more than he might have done already.
'Going to be good in future?'
'Yes, Sir. I'm sorry for my errors, sir.'
'Alright Stephanie, you can cut along now. Take Jean with you. Explain what it means to be on the personal staff.' The Major grinned. 'In case she hasn't learned already!'
Jean saw Stephanie tossing her head in the direction of the door behind Major Carver's desk. Well, it would be a relief to get out of that office. She stood up and, head averted, hurried out after her colleague.
* * * *
'How could you... how could you let him?' Jean was in a frightful tizz. Anyone would have imagined it was she who had been spanked and not Stephanie. 'Letting him pull your knickers down... letting him spank you on the bare! Oh Stephanie... have you lost your senses?'
'Not at all,' answered the girl calmly. She lit a cigarette and dragged on it deeply. 'Can you believe it's worth getting a few smack-bottoms like that when your weekly pay is doubled?'
'Doubled?' Jean was almost as incredulous as when she had watched the Boss's hand at work. 'Do you really mean that?'
'Of course,' replied Stephanie. 'I wouldn't put up with it if it weren't true. There's a month extra holiday on top as well. Not bad, eh? Just for a few slaps on the bum from a stupid old sod. He never tries anything else, I may say. Just a bit of a grope, maybe. Nothing more.'
Jean Gleason considered what she had just heard with a fevered mind. She was on seven and a half a year... so double would mean fifteen! That was pretty good money for a man, let alone a girl of her age. Then she thought what she would have to endure, it turned her stomach. At the same time, so much money was almost irresistible. It's not prostitution, she told herself, just playing games. No sex; simply the awful indignity of it. Jean suddenly realised she was already seriously considering joining this bizarre set-up!
'I... I... wonder if I could do it?' she mumbled.
Stephanie raised an eyebrow. 'So did I, at first. It's not exactly pleasant but, on the other hand, it's not all that bad. Look at me now. I'm not in a terrible state, am I? My bottom is rather warm, admittedly, but that's not altogether unpleasant, I can assure you.'
'Does... does everyone agree to this? I mean, is it the only way to get promoted?'
'The only way,' answered Stephanie. Jean had finally heard the answer to her often-repeated question. 'No, not everyone agrees. Most, but not all. If they don't agree they get the push, plus generous redundancy. Well, sweetie-pie, how are you going to play it? Think it over... take your time.'
Jean did just that. She had to admit that Stephanie by no means looked upset by what had just happened, so it could not be all that bad. Hideously shaming at the time but not permanently damaging. No one else but the personal staff would know either. That was important. And think of all that lovely money!
'I think I might give it a try,' she said, after a long, long brood.
Stephanie smiled brightly. 'There's a sensible girl,' she said. 'Believe me, you'll go far in the world of commerce. You're absolutely sure, are you?'
'Yes... yes... I suppose I am...'
'Because he doesn't like time-wasters. If you say 'yes', you've got to go through with it. Think hard, Jean. If there's any back-sliding, I'm as likely as not to get the blame.'
Jean's conscience smote her. She couldn't let Stephanie down, could she? What she was proposing to submit to wasn't all that bad, was it? No... of course it wasn't! This was the age of the liberated young woman. She could do more or less as she pleased. 'I'll join,' she conceded in a choked voice.
'Right,' said Stephanie, 'that's settled then. Thank goodness. And, if I may say so, I think you're being very sensible. Frankly, after you've been spanked a couple of times, it's money for old rope. You think nothing of it. Might as well be taking some nasty medicine.'
'I'm glad to hear it. Frankly, I think I'm going to find it awfully difficult at first.'
'Yes... it's not easy at first,' nodded Stephanie. She stood up and put her arm around Jean's shoulder. 'There's something else,' she said, 'when you agree, he always wants to spank you right away. Just to prove you're genuine, I suppose.'
Jean gaped and shuddered. She almost reversed her decision at that very instant. 'You m-mean... you mean...?' she began.
'Yes,' said Stephanie. 'When you go back, he'll want to spank you.'
'Oooohh... it's intolerable!'
'Not at all. Either you agree, or you don't. I thought you'd made up your mind?'
Jean Gleason realised the very proximity of a spanking had made her think again. Could she endure it? Could she? Then Jean thought of fifteen grand again and reckoned she could!
'Yes,' she replied. 'I've made up my mind. Let's go.'
Arm in arm, the pair walked back into Major John Carver's very private office.
* * * *
Stephanie had been allowed to go home; Jean was all on her own. Her heart felt as if it were shrinking and there was a sick feeling at the pit of her stomach.
'My secretary has explained everything to you then, Jean, eh?' smiled the Major in his oily-oozing way. 'And you would like to join us as her assistant. Is that correct?'
'Yes... yes... sir...' whispered Jean.
'Very sensible, young lady. The rewards are considerable.' The Major paused. 'She told you I would need a little proof that your decision is a genuine one?'
Jean found herself flushing as she watched the Major's chair swivel. 'Y-yer... ess... sir,' she managed to say.
'Very well then, my dear, perhaps you would be so good as to come round to this side of the desk.'
On rubbery limbs, Jean Gleason made a small circuit. She could still scarcely credit that this was all happening to her... yet it was... it was! Then she was standing right before the Major. The Boss. He was smiling once again, bulbous blue eyes bright. He patted his thighs.
Could she do it? Could she? Then, suddenly, Jean found she had no option. She had been hauled across those plump limbs, her waist gripped. She shrieked in sudden terror as her skirt was yanked up. Jean heard it split. She shrieked again. Then she felt her simple white panties ripped off. Not pulled down. Ripped almost savagely.
'Stop... stooo... oooppp!' she begged half-hysterically.
But Major John Carver was not going to stop. Before him was a superbly curvaceous, virgin bottom... a bottom which he was sure had never been spanked before. Now it was his to deal with. He swallowed and then licked his lips as if some exceptionally succulent dish had just been set before him. 'Welcome to my personal staff, Jean,' he said thickly.
Then he began to smack the soft-lush, white flesh presented to him.
He began to smack it hard...