Betty Warren had mixed feelings when the telephone rang in the office of her employer, Kyra Fletcher.

     In one way, it broke into a very unpleasant experience she was undergoing and, perhaps, would provide her with a few minutes of respite. On the other hand, however, she would just as soon get the whole painful matter over and done with.

     “Yes, Marlene? What is it?” Kyra asked impatiently. “It had better be important because you know I don’t like interruptions during a disciplinary session.” As she spoke, she was holding over her knees the body of her 22-year-old file clerk, whose bottom was bare and bright red, resembling two small hills ablaze in a summer firestorm.

     Kyra had become an expert at administering a spanking. She was certainly getting enough practice at it. Her hand had been falling methodically and nearly without pause for more than five minutes, and tears had just begun trickling down Betty’s face when the phone rang.

     Marlene, who knew better than to interrupt a corporal punishment session for anything minor—for fear of finding her own precious buns in their naked state and perched over the corrective lap—nervously explained that Fred Johnson, an important client, was on the line.

     “Good afternoon, Mr. Johnson,” Kyra said pleasantly after picking up the phone. “What can I do for you? ... Are you interrupting anything? No, of course not. Nothing important,” she smiled as she gazed down at the red bottom that still lay across her lap, “and I always have time for you. I’m just getting to the bottom of a filing problem.”

     “Cute,” Betty thought. “If it isn’t important, why am I lying here with my behind on fire?”

     As the conversation droned on, Betty soon realized, by the tone of Kyra’s voice, that her bottom would not be the only one in jeopardy that day, for a co-worker also seemed to be in line for a trip over the corrective lap. But she was not overly concerned with that, for she had a serious problem of her own. She shifted her body around on Kyra’s bony knees, trying to reach a reasonably comfortable position. No matter what position that was, however, the burning in her seat muscles could not be ignored and she wanted the session to end as soon as possible.

     A spanking as an adult was always embarrassing, but in the present circumstance she felt more juvenile than ever. Wouldn’t Mr. Johnson be surprised if he could look through the telephone lines and see fully developed feminine bottom cheeks red and smiling back at him?

     Of course, there was nothing to smile about at either end because Kyra was very upset with her filing clerk’s errors and was in the role of the angry mother chastising her errant teen-age daughter for smoking behind the garage.

     Spanking itself was nothing new to Betty, however, as she and the seven other female members of Kyra’s staff, including the aforementioned Marlene Robbins, had spent numerous painful minutes over the “lap of repentance,” as Kyra called it.

     Kyra, herself, was aware of what a sore pair of buttocks felt like, for both she and older sister Tanya had visited a lap often during their teenage years, but the lap had belonged to either her mother or father. Now, at 28 years of age, those experiences were behind her (no pun intended), though the man she was engaged to marry in a few months had demonstrated his remarkable technique in reddening a female fanny.

     Her last parental spanking was the result of spraying paint over a neighbor’s garage door one Halloween night. She and a couple of her female high school friends were caught in the act and, when she was brought home by police officers, she was reminded that her mother and father—when they combined their talents—were capable of painting her backside a nice crimson shade. She got some consolation the next day when she learned that her friends were also sitting on tender cheeks at their school desks.

     Mr. Fletcher had never tried to use his spanking skills on his employees, and Kyra often thought how much more efficient the electronics business would run if he had. After many years on the job, he retired, moved from New York to Florida and turned the business over to his daughter.      

     The two male members of the staff, quickly tired of taking orders from Kyra, whom they felt had an overbearing attitude, and quit. That made it easier for Kyra to install her policy of “get spanked or get fired” on the female employees who stayed on. She paid exceedingly well and the women figured that, occasionally, it was worth taking home a blistered bottom to be able to afford some luxuries in life.

     Anyway, they rationalized, they were adults and should be able to follow business rules for eight hours a day. What they failed to acknowledge, however, was that they were also human beings and thus were prone to making mistakes. When those mistakes reflected on the business, panties went down and bottoms turned up for lessons in responsibility.

     Currently, it was Betty’s turn to pay for her carelessness in misfiling a folder that resulted in valuable business time being lost. Wasting time was among the things that Kyra hated most. So, when Betty reported to Kyra’s office, she stripped down to panties and bra, the former now tangled at mid thighs, and was now waiting for the resumption of her punishment.

     Kyra had gone so far as to have her office soundproofed so that customers could not hear the sounds of an errant young woman being spanked. But the members of the sales staff knew what was going on behind that closed door, and that knowledge made Betty’s pretty face flush almost as red as the cheeks on her bottom.

     Those thoughts were dispelled, however, as she heard Kyra wrapping up the telephone call. “I’m sorry your order got mixed up, Mr. Johnson,” she said. “You can be assured that we will get this straightened out right away, and I promise that the woman responsible will be severely reprimanded. It won’t happen again. Thank you for calling.”

     “Reprimanded?” Betty thought. “Yeah. Reprimanded on the most tender part of the employees’ anatomy.” That was quickly to be confirmed.

     “Well, Betty,” Kyra said as she gently patted the two red orbs staring up helplessly at her, “Judy Harris’s bottom will soon be replacing yours over my knees. Like all of you, that little lady’s brains sometimes seem to be in her behind, so that’s where I will be trying to get through to her. Now, let’s see. Where were we?”

     Betty unintentionally wiggled her blushing bottom at that question.
      Oh, yes,” Kyra continued as her palm roamed over the rear cheeks, “I was about to wind up this portion of your punishment. But, my goodness, your buttocks have cooled somewhat, so I will add some more hand spanks before using the hairbrush.”

     “Geez, that’s awfully considerate of you,” Betty thought. But she knew better than to utter the words aloud. That would be like pouring oil onto burning water (or spanks on a burning behind). So, knowing that Kyra insisted on a relaxed bottom during the hand phase of a spanking, Betty did her best to comply just before the woman’s  palm landed smartly across the deep dividing crevice.

     “Ohhh, Ms. Fletcher ... Owwww ... I’ve had enough,” she pleaded. “Geeez, my rear end’s on fire.”

     “You know better than that, Betty,” came the reply. “I decide what’s enough here, and this little behind needs much more attention because of your carelessness. But you needn’t worry,” Kyra added with a bit of a snicker. “Your job doesn’t require much sitting down time.”

     “Maybe she should have been a comedian,” Betty thought, though she really could not see the humor in that remark. She had earlier been rejected in her request to postpone the spanking for 24 hours since she had a date for that evening. She was informed in no uncertain terms that, if a spanking was necessary, it was never delayed for any reason. So any date would have to be a stand-up affair.

     Her luscious, rounded buttocks were currently doing a dance of pain over Kyra’s lap, and the older woman enjoyed seeing them bounce and jiggle whenever her palm made contact. Kyra was a beautiful woman and, though she was far from over the hill in sexuality, she secretly resented her more youthful employees. Still, she tried to be fair.

     To allay any guilt she might feel, she rationalized that she was doing them a favor. When they were hired, she noted an undisciplined manner in each of them and assumed that they all came from permissive households. She knew the value of a sound bottom warming and made sure that each young woman shared in that knowledge whenever the occasion warranted.

     After several more minutes, Kyra’s palm was matching Betty’s bottom in redness, so, with another spanking yet to be administered that day, she took the hairbrush from its place atop her desk and placed its cool wooden backside against the fleshy backside of the beautiful young blonde. Betty cringed at the sensation.

     “I suspect you had your boyfriend on your mind while you were attending to your filing work, Betty,” she said. “I hope you are learning that there is a time for play and a time for work. Your parents apparently didn’t teach you that.”

     “Oh, but they had.” She had spent considerable time over one of their laps studying the carpet pattern in her father’s study while feeling a bonfire being built in her behind. In fact, she still lived with them and, along with her 18-year-old sister, Bonnie, was subject to the type of discipline she was now receiving from her employer.

     It was only two nights earlier that she returned home from work to hear the sounds of a spanking and the cries of her younger sibling. The door to the study was open and she couldn’t resist looking inside to see Bonnie’s cute, teenage buttocks bare and reddening over her father’s knees.

     Betty was to learn later that Bonnie had been sent home from school after slapping a male classmate across the face during a heated argument. Many more slaps were at that time being directed onto the female fanny that had been reluctantly offered up to Mr. Warren for paternal chastisement. She was sent up to bed without supper and took with her a well-tanned behind that would be very tender to sit on the next day.

     As her hairbrush spanking began, Betty knew she would have that same problem when she returned to her duties with still nearly four hours to go until quitting time. As Kyra had mentioned, it was a good thing that filing required little sitting down time.

     At first, Betty’s main concern was calling off her date that evening. It wasn’t that she lacked for suitors, given her lovely face and figure, but she was really beginning to fall for her current boyfriend, 28-year-old Jim Tabor, who, ironically, was the same age as Kyra.

     Now, however, that concern was transferred to her defenseless buttocks, which were feeling as if steam was rising from them. The hairbrush smacked deep into those mounds of flesh and she knew that they would be aching and burning for hours after the session was completed.

     She hollered louder than most any kid caught misbehaving and tears soon poured down Betty’s face. Kyra kept a firm expression as she spanked up one side and down the other, each round trip ending on the blonde’s upper thighs. The entire area was by that time darkly reddened and looked like two large, overripe tomatoes.

     Smack ... Smack ... Smack ...

     “Yowwww ... Owwwoooo ... Please ...”

     The symphony of hard wood landing on soft bottom flesh and the feminine cries that accompanied it continued until traces of blisters were seen making their appearance. It was at that point that Kyra called the disciplinary session to an end and began to tenderly rub Betty’s burning rear orbs.

     “As usual, you can use my office restroom to ‘freshen up,’” Kyra told her, giving the chastened seat a final couple pats, “and to put salve on these cheeks. Then get back to work while I take care of another problem.”

     With her panties still around her thighs, Betty walked painfully toward the restroom, her crimson buttocks testimony to a very sound spanking. Closing the door, she immediately inspected her crimson behind in the mirror over the washstand.

     She knew that the other “problem” Kyra had mentioned involved Judy Harris, an attractive 20-year-old redhead, whose chubby bottom would be more than matching her hair in color.

     It did not take long for Judy to be summoned to Kyra’s office. In fact, by the time Betty had composed herself and had washed the evidence of tears from her face, her co-worker had already been called to judgment. Betty had to pass through the office on her way out, so she saw another pair of feminine buttocks bare and receiving the early portion of her correction over the boss’s capable lap.

     That image of Judy’s bouncing and slowly reddening bottom and that of her own blistered backside, which was still burning, played over and over in Betty’s mind as she slowly made her way downstairs and back to the business office.

     “How’d it go, Bets?” Lili Turner inquired as she approached the young blonde, who was back at her filing duties. “Or need I ask?” she added.

     “Well, let’s just say I don’t have any desire to go horseback riding in the near future,” Betty replied with a weak smile. “I think Ms. Fletcher missed her calling. She could have made a fortune in hide-tanning.”

     “I know what you mean,” Lili said sympathetically. “The last time I made that visit to her office, I felt the results for nearly a week. Even a heavy pillow didn’t relieve the aching in my hind end for two days.”

     “When I left, poor Judy was getting reminded of Ms. Fletcher’s spanking expertise,” Betty revealed. “Something about mixing up an order for one of the clients.”

     “That’s pretty serious,” Lili said. “When a girl gets customer complaints, she can figure that her buns are going to get fried.”

     “Well, mine certainly have been,” Betty replied, “and, if I don’t want another turn on the griddle, I’d better get back to that filing cabinet.”

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