A is for...

Abbie was the kind of English girl that probably inspired a thousand saucy seaside postcards; rosy apple cheeks and the soft features that men want in wives but not mistresses. She had a perfect apple bottom requiring the high maintenance of cream cakes and walking briskly past the gym.

We were alone in the office of the accountancy firm of Andrews, Abraham and Achilles, working late preparing for a meeting the following day. I had been supervising Abbie's preparation of a set of final accounts. Nothing earth shattering; a medium sized engineering firm with a decent level of import/export trade and a couple of million pounds in turnover, but plenty for her to sink her teeth into.

I considered our mentoring arrangement to be advancing admirably. We had the odd heated exchange of views, but on the whole, our dialogue was frank, open and constructive. Abbie was a talented young accountant; shrewd, down to earth, and had that crucial level of attention to detail. She was one of the new breed, working on tablet computers and multitasking, familiar with social media and smart phones. She shopped for things on the internet during her lunch breaks which she alluded to but never said outright, so I assumed they were sex toys.

I was the last of the old school. I got assigned to the sort of clients who, when they asked me to look at their books, produced a set of old fashioned feint ruled ledgers, with notes in their margins and tea stains on the covers. I kept an eighteen inch wooden ruler to help me on such occasions. It could stretch across the open pages, and gave me a certain amount of gravitas with those company directors who attended school back when corporal punishment was commonplace. They would nod approval when I brought it out of my briefcase, and consider me a decent sort of chap as I donned my spectacles and asked where I could plug in my adding machine.

The ruler took pride of place on my desk. A powerful symbol to young accountants of the way things used to be done. Abbie had occasionally shown an interest in it, picking it up and then asking to borrow my quill pen or abacus. She was feisty, but charming with it.

We had both been staring at our computer screens for too long when she let put a deep sigh of boredom. She stretched her arms up and then said, "You never stare at my chest, Artie!"

I tore my eyes away from a spreadsheet, unsure that I had heard her correctly. With her arms extended upwards, the material of her blouse was stretched across her chest and I could see that her bra was pink with a complex lace pattern.

"I watch you staring at the other girls' boobs," she said, acerbically.

I blushed knowing what she had said was true, but her eyes twinkled mischievously. It was more of a flirtatious provocation than accusation.

I seized the opportunity to be candid, "That's because I prefer looking at your bum. And when you tell the postman that you have eyes in the back of your head, I fear you might catch me admiring your bottom."

Her expression changed and I realised that I had crossed some invisible line of office politics and political correctness. That's it, I thought, solid career record ends in sexual harassment case.

Abbie stood up from her desk and walked over to the filing cabinet where we keep the employee handbook. She bent at the waist to open the bottom drawer and the material of her skirt stretched across the plump derrière that was going to be the agent of my downfall. She looked behind her to make sure that I was watching. Her long chestnut hair fell down so that it almost touched the floor.

She extracted a file and carried it to her desk. It was entitled 'Mentoring for Professional Standards'.

"Well," she said, "I'm going out on the fire escape for a ciggy."

And with that, she sashayed down the hall like a catwalk model on the towering high heels of her black patent Mary-Jane shoes. She really did have the most delicious derrière. I sat at my desk quietly reflecting on the seismic shift in the nature of my relationship with Abbie.

On her return, she plonked a cup of tea down in front of me and stood by my desk with her hands on her hips.

"Ugh, it's freezing out there. My nipples could poke your eye out."

She looked down her blouse to admire her own chest.

"Shame you're not a boob man, eh? My bum's nice and warm. Sensible knickers. What sort of knickers do you like Artie? Do you like women to go out on the town with no knickers on?"

She was firing questions at me without giving me time to answer. She leaned her elbows on my desk and rested her dimpled chin on her palms; her back arched pushing out her bottom.

"I mean, do you like lacy knickers or silky knickers?"

She playfully stroked my necktie and waved the end of it in front of my face.

"It's a lovely word," she whispered, so close I could smell the cigarette smoke mixed with her perfume, "Knickers, knickers, knickers."

Then she threw her head back and laughed.

"I've made you blush. At last, I've made Artie blush," like she was addressing a conference room full of people.

"I hope you show this much confidence tomorrow, Abbie," I said, trying to turn the conversation back to work despite the counter argument in my trousers.

"I'll be fine. Their accounts are done, thanks to your help. I will breeze through a meeting with a bunch of old flat cap and tweed engineers. What sort of dull bits and bobs do they make, anyway? Oh fuck, I hope they don't make us endure a tour of the factory. I do not look good in a high visibility tabard. We can have some fun now, the pressures off."

"Oh, so that's why you've gone all giddy."

"Maybe," she said.

"Thought you might have followed me into the kitchen when I was making your tea. It's so small in there, this keeps bumping into stuff. You could have innocently had a rub up against me."

She slapped herself lightly on the bum. I thanked her for the tea.

She said, "I didn't figure you for an ass man."

I said, "I'm not really. It's just that yours is rather splendid."

"Oh, Artie you do talk funny, 'rather splendid', you sound like an old Ealing comedy. "

Mock hurt, I said, "Just because I'm twenty years older than you doesn't mean I can remember when films were black and white."

Without prompting she sat down on my lap.

"Comfortable?" I asked.

"Very comfy, thanks. You?"

"Very," I replied, although, the effect she has creating inside my trousers was causing slight embarrassment. My erection was so hard that she must surely have felt it pushing against her.

"Can I tell you something very personal, Artie?"

I shrugged in an attempt at nonchalance.

"That what's poking into my hip is really turning me on."

She shuffled round in my lap and threw an arm around my shoulder. She gave me a big smacker of a kiss on the cheek. I pulled her face to me and we kissed passionately.

When she broke away, she said, "See, I knew you were a gentleman. A lad would have stuck his hand up my skirt and into my knickers by now."

I said, "Sometimes strength of character is expressed by what you don't say or do."

She seemed perplexed by that and changed the subject back to her agenda, "And can I tell you another secret."

I allowed her to continue confessing, "It's only fair, now that we are really getting to know each other on a more personal level."

"I have a thing for older men. I don't mean sugar daddies. I just mean more charming and polite than blokes my own age."

"I think men become more considerate lovers when they get older." I shocked myself at the boldness inherent in that statement, but I pushed the point home, "We're less selfish than the young bucks."

"Yes, that too suppose. But I like to be told what to do, if you get my drift."

I remained silent, now she was beginning to blush.

"I like the sort of firm discipline that younger men never got at school, and so don't know how to... administer."

She lifted the ruler from my desk. "Is this really just for show, Artie, or do you know what to do with it?"

"My dear," I said gravely, "you are not the first trainee to be taken under my wing. The partners understand that I have quite a penchant for ameliorating apprentices, especially pretty young novices with beautiful bottoms."

Sweet old Artie had disappeared; the tone of voice I adopted was that of Arthur the disciplinarian.

"As your mentor Abigail, I have tried to guide you and support you. I feel that I must give you more direct feedback."

"I will appreciate your feedback", she said, and then added, "sir", rather coyly.

I took the ruler out of her hand.

"Do you understand what I mean when I say direct feedback Abigail?"

"Well", she gulped, "I hope it means bending me over and spanking me."

"Yes, that is exactly what it means."

Her eyes lit up at the confirmation that I wanted to spank her beautiful ass.

"Have you been spanked before, during your adult life?"

"No, but it's been my fantasy for quite a while. When I saw that ruler on your desk, I just knew that this day would come."

This was going to be wonderful, taking her spanking virginity. I was so excited I could hardly focus. I knew I must take her in hand and press home my advantage.

I said firmly, "Bend over my desk".

She complied meekly. The fabric of her skirt stretched across her buttocks. I took a firm hold of the hem and pulled the skirt up. Oh and what a beautiful sight. Her pale creamy thighs above the bands of her jet black hold up stockings and the contrast of her neon pink knickers.

I squeezed her beautiful ass through the lacy material; kneading her soft buttocks, spreading the cheeks and pressing them together. I could smell the sweetness of her arousal. I slipped my hand between her legs, up high above the band of her stockings. My fingers felt the heat if her pussy as I rubbed her, feeling her knickers getting damper.

"Not the most demure garment of staid business attire that one expects of an accountant."

I yanked her knickers down roughly and unceremoniously. They contrasted beautifully with the black patent of her high heel shoes as they rested around her ankles.

The ruler made a swoosh as it cut the air and then a crack as it landed squarely across Abigail's big soft buttocks. She yelped in shock. Her fantasy had become a harsh reality. I rubbed her ass and asked her if she was okay to continue.

"Ooh, yes please," she said.

A beautiful red welt was beginning to appear across her buttocks.

"Eleven more strokes." I announced.

I decided I was going to administer them slowly to extract the maximum pleasure for myself, and draw out the delicious agony for Abigail. The opportunity to spank an ass as beautiful as this came around so rarely. I placed my left hand on her lower back, slipping it up under the waistband of her raised skirt.

"This will teach you..."

Whack, the ruler landed just above the previous stripe. An "ouch" emanated from under her veil of lustrous chestnut brown hair.

"to be more respectful..."

Whack. Delivered below the previous two,

"towards our clients."

"I don't know what you mean" she complained.

I set the ruler down and massaged her buttocks.

"Alpha Associates should not and will not be referred to as a bunch of grease monkeys with rusty spanners. You will sit down with the client tomorrow morning and still feel the afterglow of the welts I am putting across your bottom today."

I took the ruler and delivered three slaps in quick succession. She yelped, and wriggled her bottom deliciously.

"You will be demure, speak when you are spoken to, and be amenable to all of their requests.

I raised my right hand back to deliver a powerful blow across her ass. The previous half dozen were just to warm Abigail up. She let out a yell, and started swearing but she did not change her position. Abigail continued to present her wonderful ass to me for punishment.

"Do you understand, Abigail?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

"If you even dare to misbehave in front of our client, I will make you bend over their boardroom table and display these marks to them. Do you want that to happen?"

I stroked her bottom, and explored between her legs. Even without touching her labia, I could feel the heat of her arousal.

"No sir."

"Do you understand the damage that would do to your career?"

"Yes, sir."

Suddenly, I had an incredible desire to take her in my arms and hug her. Just to run my hands down the small of her back and over the delicious curvature of her ass. It was spectacular, made all the more perfect by the red welts of my wooden ruler.

I wanted to explore and invade her; take complete ownership of her, penetrate her ass or push my fingers between her pussy lips, anything to connect with her sexuality in an overwhelming primal way. My heart was racing from animal lust.

Under that shock of lustrous dark hair Abigail was moaning softly. I was discovering how well she could handle the pain and humiliation of spanking. I needed to know that she had the resilience to face even the toughest client. A young accountant has to tell cold hard truths to powerful men. Sometimes they react badly and some of them really cannot accept hearing it from a pretty young female. Bent over my desk, I knew that Abigail was showing the inner strength to deal with that sort of pressure.

As I paused to reflect and admire her beautiful ass Abigail demanded, "Finish me off," and then realising that her tone was disrespectful, added a "please, sir" to the end of it.

"Patience is a virtue," I said and patted her buttocks gently and then delivered two sharp open handed slaps. They felt intense, intimate and didn't count towards her tally of a dozen slaps of the ruler. I spanked her four more times with my bare hand. It felt so good.

Abigail started to rise up from being bent over my desk.

"Where do you think you're going, young lady?" I shouted and grabbed a fistful of her hair to push her back down into a submissive position.

"But I thought..."

"You thought wrong. I said twelve strokes WITH THE RULER. How many have you had?"

"Seven, sir."

I was impressed that she could keep an accurate count under pressure.

"Yes, and they were just to warm your bottom up. These next five will be the strokes of pain that you take with you into the client meeting tomorrow. I expect that you will cry."

But I knew that she had the self-control and discipline to put up a stoic front. I took hold of the ruler and prepared to give Abigail the stinging slaps across her bottom that she would never forget. A girl never forgets her first time, they say, and that counts for a grown up spanking experience as it does being penetrated by a lover for the first time.

I steeled my resolve to deliver the last few strikes to Abigail's bottom with a measured degree of sadistic intensity. I brought the ruler down onto her buttocks for the eighth time, a hard intense kiss of wood on flesh. She tried to raise her foot up but was restricted by the panties loosely binding her ankles.

I stroked her bottom with the ruler, aggravating the welts that it had inflicted on her. She moaned with something that sounded like four parts agony and one part admiration for my expertise.

I placed the ruler across the lower part of her buttocks finding my aim on her sweet spot. I wanted the impact of the last four whacks of the ruler to radiate through to her pussy lips. I intended to give her that heady cocktail of pain and orgasmic pleasure that would drive her to beg me to spank her on a regular basis.

I pulled my arm back swiftly and then landed a sharp strike on her.

"Oh fucking hell," she cried and then let out a low moan.

I repeated the move and she responded with short shallow breaths. I paused to let the heat and impact register in her cunt. She was becoming unsteady on her feet. I held her and leaned over her to whisper in her ear.

"Just two more, Abigail. You're doing really well." Looking at her so closely, I could see that she was on the edge of tears.

I swung my arm and delivered the final two licks from the ruler in quick succession. She yelled and babbled incoherently. The soft flesh of her buttocks glowed red from the twelve hard swats that I had laid into her. It was a beautiful sight. I dropped the ruler on my desk and took a buttock in each hand, she moaned as I kneaded her and then opened her up to admire the dark little puckered bud of her anus set in her delicious yielding flesh. I probed at her asshole with my index finger. Her buttocks clenched with the shock of it.

I whispered in her ear, "You have a lovely bottom, Abigail. I could do whatever I wanted with you in this position." I kissed her on the cheek and stood up.

"But this is a lesson about decorum and self-control," I said with loud authority.

I slipped my hand between her thighs. She tried to open her legs wide but was restricted by the panties around her ankles. I feared that I would betray my own composure. I looked across at the file marked 'Mentoring for Professional Standards', resting on Abigail's desk.

I withdrew my hand and helped her get to her feet. We hugged and I caressed her bottom to feel the heat radiate from her soft flesh.

"Oh Artie, I mean, sir. Oh I don't know what I mean anymore. I don't know if that was punishment or reward. It just felt so, so good. Thank you."

She composed herself, straightening down her skirt and tucking in her blouse, making the effort at a professional appearance demanded of a young accountant. Then she stepped out of the panties that had loosely bound her ankles, leaving a bright pink wad of lacy fabric on the floor by my desk. She gathered her hair up into a bun and fastened it with two perfectly sharpened HB pencils.

"Tomorrow," she said thoughtfully, and I expected some great insight into the task ahead of us, "I'm not going to wear any knickers."

"Oh," I said, somewhat taken aback.

"And I'm going to think about letting you fuck me in my ass."

Then she smiled, angelically, and gave me a peck on the cheek, allowing me another opportunity to squeeze her magnificent bum.

I gave her my highest compliment, "Abbie, you have wonderful strength of character."

"Oh, Artie," she sighed, and then sashayed away towards the fire escape again.