Retirement Day

Photo-story from Janus 122

Len Shawcross had yearned after girls for years. Especially ones who worked in offices. In his younger days the diligent but solitary accountant’s clerk had peered in painful longing at the loose-fitting blouses and spreading jive skirts that hid alluring feminine secrets as their owners took dictation, answered telephones and arranged appointments for the boss.

When, in the sixties, mini-skirts had come in, and typists and secretaries suddenly developed legs all the way up to the tops of their thighs, and had bent, reached and stretched their way about the office as office girls do, Len had exulted in treasured glimpses of their skimpy-knickered lower bottoms.

But never had he dared to touch. Len was a peerer, not a groper. He was far too scared of the angry shriek, the slapped face and humiliating proceedings that would have surely followed such loss of self-control to ever allow himself that welling-up of rapture as his hands contacted the forbidden curves of a girl’s posterior.

Now time had overtaken him. His retirement day had arrived. From tomorrow there’d be no more need to set the alarm clock, no yawnful ride into town on the packed train, no more luncheon vouchers or business appointments or holiday rosters.

From tomorrow there’d be no more office girls.

No more girls to gaze at and dream upon. No more chances to peer furtively at their legs and bottoms, to sidle closer and thrill to the smell of their perfume and hairspray. But Len’s biggest unfulfilled dream was not only to touch, but to spank the prim, inviolable, heavenly bottom of a girl from the office.

One like Loretta Rowlands, for example. She had only been temping there at Grimsdyke and Smithers, Industrial Engineers, for a week, but already Len was lost in hopeless but fabulous fancy about her. With her dark hair tied casually back, the blouse with the unfastened buttons that teased him with glimpses of her breasts when he stood over her at the computer, and the short skirt that clung seductively to her rear and rode up when she bent forward — almost, it seemed, to taunt him further. When she caught him peering at her bottom, she actually smiled, and instead of slapping his face she stroked it.

How different girls were these days, Len thought. Oh for the joy of bringing his hand down on that divine derriere with a resounding smack! Had Len been aware that his peerings and sighings had been something of a joke for his colleagues throughout the years, he would have died from embarrassment. But, to some, it seemed a pity that this basically kindly and inoffensive person was to retire without ever having tasted the fruits of temptation.

It was the office manager, Jason Lomax’s, idea to hire in a rather special office temp during Len’s final week. He had been most specific in his requirements, and Loretta had been the result. Yes, she was pretty and yes, had ‘a lovely arse’. Yes, she could operate PC systems too, had keyboard skills and could file like a veteran.

But in her spare time Loretta was a Stripogram girl.

A deal had been struck.

Hey, and anyway, she liked the old boy. Had become really rather fond of him. He mustn’t know what had been planned, of course — that would never do. But today was the day, and the moment had come.

Jason gave a little speech about Len’s forty-odd years with the company, and made a joke about quill pens and ledgers and coming to work by horse and cart. Everyone smiled, and Len blushed. It was Loretta herself who handed him the wrapped gift, and smiled at him in a way that made him feel warm all the way down to his size eight shoes.

‘Unwrap it, unwrap it!’ she said, clapping her hands in girlish excitement. Len did so. And stared. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘It’s very nice’ Then he blinked at them. ‘Wh-what is it, exactly?’

‘It’s a slapstick,’ said Jason.

‘But what’s it for?’

‘Can’t you guess?’ said Loretta, smiling saucily and tossing her lovely dark-maned head.

Len’s throat went dry. ‘I know what I’d like to do with it,’ he ventured huskily.

‘Go on then,’ she coaxed. ‘It’s your last day. What would you like to do with it?’ A chorus of encouragement greeted this.

‘If you’d…’ He couldn’t get the words out. But her eyes were shining into his.

‘Go on,’ she urged.

‘If — if you’d just turn round and bend over… I’d show you.’

There was a collective, well-rehearsed gasp.

‘You mean… smack me with it?’ Loretta was pretending to look shocked.

Suddenly Len felt bolder. ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice strengthening. ‘Bend forward over the desk This is for spanking naughty girls’ bottoms with, isn’t it?’

‘And I am very naughty,’ she said, swinging round and, to his bedazzled amazement, doing just as he said, sticking out her bottom in a provocative manner.

Trembling, Len raised the brief skirt that had been driving him mad all week. He felt dazed, as if he’d fallen asleep and found himself in the middle of a dream. Heaven’s gate began to open as he stared, trembling, at what lay immediately beneath. Loretta was wearing transparent panties. Through them he could actually see her bottom, a real live girl-bottom.

Hoping that his heart wouldn’t stop from the excitement of it, he lifted the ridiculous-looking slapstick and brought it smartly down to smack against Loretta’s voluptuous bottom-cheeks with a loud clapping sound.

The girl yelped, and Len faltered, but the others, who had withdrawn to give him space, egged him on. Elation filled him as the hand-shaped object rose and fell repeatedly, working up a rhythm. Why, he might have been doing it all his life. Len had discovered he was a natural spanker!

For Loretta, what had begun as a bit of fun was becoming distinctly uncomfortable. The nice old boy was bringing that thing down with some force, covering every inch of her backside with sharp, hard bites of hurt. The grunts and hisses he was making as his arm rose and fell were evidence of his growing excitement which mounted steadily in pace with the smarting in her backside, while the watchers clapped in time to each smack till it sounded like applause.

‘Yow! Ow! Blimey! Sodding hell! OUCH.’

Len delivered another flurry of smacks at Loretta’s exquisite bottom, then paused. ‘Stand up! he said, his voice surprisingly deep and commanding. He seemed to have forgotten the office and the grinning watchers: it was between him and this beautiful girl with the enchantingly naughty bottom. It was also, as he was later to realise in his solitary reveries, between him and all those lovely bottoms he had yearned to spank throughout the years.

‘Take your knickers down!’ How often, too, had he fantasised about actually saying that. Loretta had stopped smiling. Her bottom was hurting, and Len was no longer a figure of fun but someone to reckon with. She peeled the panties down her legs.

‘Now get back over that desk!’

Loretta was no novice at baring her bottom in public, but never had she had such an enthralled reaction as this. As she leaned forward into position again and pushed her naked buttocks out, the man gave a cry of rapture. It made the girl shiver with strange ecstasy, that the mere sight of her bare bum could cause such delight.

The others in the office were silent now, and seemed to melt away as Len raptly raised the implement, measured his distance, and swept it to its luscious target already pink from his previous attentions.

Smack-slap-smack-smack-slap. The sound was loud and sharp, hitting the walls and windows. Loretta began to cry out and plead in a girlish way: ‘Please don’t hit my bottom so hard, sir! Please don’t! I promise not to be bad again, sir!’

The girl wasn’t entirely acting now, either. For her, the joke was over. As her bare bottom bounced, reddened and stung from the repeated whacks of the ludicrous flail, the pain was genuine enough.

Smack-slap-smack-smack-slap. No laughing matter at all. Every lusty stroke of the stick made her body jump galvanically. Her eyes had moistened, and tears threatened. Yet there was a sweetness about it all somehow, too, that made her not really mind. She was young and healthy, and her bottom could take it.

Len Shawcross seemed to sense the girl’s acquiescence as he brought the slapstick whapping down yet again to compress those pillowy mounds whose nubile elasticity appeared to spring the stick back high in the air again ready for the next stern crack. Her bottom was really red now, as if it were blushing from the shame or excitement of being punished. And, as he continued to heartily smack, she shook her hips from side to side as though to disperse the heat, and gave out little pleas and gasps that filled him at first with compassion and then elation.

‘Stand up!’

Slowly, whimpering, Loretta stood up. To be honest, Len was a bit puffed from the unexpected but heaven-sent exercise. He lowered himself on to the typing stool where this girl’s own pert bottom — the same one he was now dealing with so soundly — had nestled and squirmed as she worked the keyboard, driving his temperature up until he had yearned to be that lucky stool-top.

But now that very same bottom was his to attend to. Len watched in enthralled fascination as she rubbed her sizzling buttocks. ‘Oh, Mister Shawcross,’ she gulped, fixing him with a look of new respect. ‘You’ve got a hell of a whack on you.’

‘Yes,’ he said sternly, ‘and there’s plenty more from where that came from. Set me up for an old fool, would you? Take off your skirt!’

‘What?’

‘Never mind “what”, girl. Off with that skirt and get across my knee!’

Loretta took off her skirt and dropped it to the floor. He was grinning at her as she did so — not maliciously, but with a sort of giddy pleasure, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was all really happening, yet was savouring every moment anyway.

The girl lowered herself tentatively down across Len’s capacious lap. It felt snug there, and she wriggled around to get comfortable.

But she wasn’t comfortable for long. With knickers down around her calves, Len Shawcross, for the first time in his life, spanked with his hand a girl’s bare bottom, profoundly enjoying the feel of his broad palm clapping loudly down on those superb, previously forbidden, buttocks. It was, indeed, a dream come true: the sound and sensation of his hand slap-clap-smacking, sinking briefly and painfully into the pads of curvaceous girl-flesh, then flying back to repeat the action, again and again and again, was sheer joy.

As Loretta, her bottom beginning to feel like a steadily stoked furnace, squirmed in pain and discomfort across Len’s broad lap, his hand began to tingle from its constant contact with that heavenly flesh. Not wishing to let up quite yet, he reached for the slapstick and continued with that.

‘Ow! Yow! Ow-ooh-no…’ The girl began to buck and heave, her crimsoned bottom afire with a sensation such as she never wished to repeat. Except, as she later decided, the whole affair was not only extremely painful but weirdly sexy.

Whap-whap-whap-whap-whap. Oh, how that devilish toy stung! By the time Len, sated and gloriously happy, finally let her up, Loretta felt that her bottom was in flames. The girl staggered to her feet, hands kneading the hot fleshy pillows.

‘Oh!’ she gasped as the heat simmered and throbbed.

‘Let me have a look,’ he commanded, and she turned her bottom to him so he could inspect his handiwork. She moaned softly as his hands roamed exquisitely over that perfect bottom, caressing and fondling, basking in the musky womanly tang that came from her nearness, that almost had him howling like a wolf as his palms raptly squeezed and stroked and probed towards the forbidden secret female entrances.

Loretta winced as his hands roamed her burning cheeks, although the soothing sensation of those hard, capable hands was by no means unpleasant, and she felt a stirring and moistening in her genitals.

‘Take everything off cried Len. The bra — all of it!’

And Loretta did. Well, she was used to stripping in front of people, but it always gave her a buzz. She peeled off her bra and stood there before the retiring Assistant Accountant, seeing the flush in his rubicund cheeks and the lively twinkle in his eyes as he savoured the sight of her nakedness.

There was a pop! Champagne flowed. The office staff were cheering, clapping. Glasses were filled, flooding over the rim. Loretta, smiling despite the pain in her rear, poured some for him.

But Len Shawcross needed no bubbly to brighten his day. ‘Bring that gorgeous bottom here again, young lady,’ he murmured, and when she turned and pushed it obediently out towards him he poured the fizzing coolness over her heated cheeks, so that champagne dribbled between her buttocks and down the backs of her legs while she crooned with pleasure.

‘In my day,’ declared Len sternly, ‘a spanking wasn’t meant to be enjoyed, it was meant to be felt, young woman. Bend over again — I’m not quite finished with you!’

It was almost the end. Soon the curtain would come down, and all there would be left for him would be rose-growing and flyspray and tending tomatoes in his little greenhouse till the sun finally set on his life.

The girl seemed to know this. He would remember her forever as she turned again, her bottom running with intoxicating wetness, and gave it a provocative wiggle. Then he slapped that silly slapstick over her soaking rumps, making them smart and sparkle, rousing the silky skin to a deeper red till her bottom smouldered and prickled deliciously.

Len sat back at last. ‘You may get dressed now,’ he told her. He was smiling as she picked up her clothes, knowing it wasn’t really a game, and that she had been thoroughly punished. He had spanked the bare bottom of a beautiful office girl who, thoroughly chastened, was going away to get quietly dressed and reflect on her chastisement.

For Len Shawcross, life was never going to be the same.