“Eight?” Belle blanched and stood ramrod straight, her hand by her sides and her eyes wide with fear. Belle clenched her hands into tiny fists, gripping her dress tightly. “But sir!”
Mr. Jenkins shook his head. “You heard what I said, Ms. Laurel. Bend over my desk, or I’ll make it ten.”
Belle opened her mouth to protest again. It wasn’t fair! She was only fifteen minutes late! Yet before she could speak, Mr. Jenkins pointed at the surface of his desk. It had already been cleaned off, ready for the young woman to assume the position. The anger in Mr. Jenkins’ eyes was plain; delay meant extra strokes.
Bending at the waist and reaching for the far edge of the desk, Belle folded herself across her boss’s desk. She trembled when she felt Mr. Jenkins’ hands touch her bottom long enough to lift her skirt high, and she squeaked when her boss tucked her skirt into her waistband.
“Remain still,” he said, jerking her panties rudely to her knees.
Belle closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the rush of air cooling her thighs and bottom. Behind her, Belle heard a door creak, and she knew that Mr. Jenkins had selected a cane from wooden cabinet on the far wall.
Belle held her breath. She tried not to clench her bottom cheeks, but found her instincts overriding good sense.
After than, the strokes fell quickly, lines of fire that made Belle want to scream. She gasped at each impact and struggled to hold onto the edge of the desk. Belle knew that if she stood, she would an get extra stroke. So the young woman clenched her teeth against the fire as her tears streaked her cheeks.
She took the first four strokes with barely a sound. Yet the fifth impact broke her silence, and Belle howled as the cane cracked across her bare behind.
With three strokes to go, Belle fought to remain in position.