Spanked by my Boss
by Pan
Chapter 22:
After talking everything through with my co-worker, my head was much clearer. I stopped overthinking things, and let myself enjoy what was happening.
And boy did I enjoy it.
Every day for the next week, Mr. Peterson spanked me as I counted, gasping each number from one to twenty, and as soon as he was done, I’d drop to my knees and look up at him pleadingly.
Every day, I’d hope that would be enough for him to let me do what we both wanted me to do.
But it never was. Almost as though he was teasing me, he would just look down at me, a half-smile on his face, and wait.
The first few times, I tried to ignore him, and reach for his fly. But he’d swat my hands away and stare at me patiently.
Expectantly.
Waiting for me to beg.
And I did. Every day, I’d hold out for as long as I could, but the need would overtake me and I’d beg. I’d beg my boss to let me jerk him off, to let me use my hands to bring him pleasure. When I got to work each day, I was a proud woman, a professional, a mother of two, a loving wife.
But being spanked, all of that disappeared. The need was too great. After receiving my daily punishment, I was desperate to jerk Mr. Peterson off. I would have done anything.
Anything.
After he was satisfied with my begging (which could take a while), he’d let me unbuckle his pants and pull out his erection. Every day, I’d enter a flow state as I wrapped one hand around his cock, stroking him until he came on my bare breasts.
There was something about feeling his hot seed splattering on my skin… it was one of the most erotic, visceral feelings I’d ever experienced.
I’d only ever had one ex-boyfriend cum on my chest, back in my teen years, and I’d hated it. It had felt so degrading. Aaden had never done it, of course—I wouldn’t have let him, and I don’t think he would’ve wanted it.
It was different with Mr. Peterson. It felt… right.
Of course, it was right. We were only doing it for practical reasons. If I wore a shirt, it would get stained, but having him finish directly onto my chest? I won’t deny how much pleasure I got out of it.
It made me feel owned.
And it invariably made me cum. Screaming, gasping orgasms as his cum ran down my chest, down my stomach.
He’d look down at me with a smile, but though he never repeated those compliments from the first day, that was what ran through my head as I reached climax.
Good girl.
Amazing.
I was Mr. Peterson’s good girl.
He thought I was amazing.
Then, he’d return his focus to work. I’d clean myself off, get dressed, and return to work.
The whole thing had become normal. And why wouldn’t it? I needed to be punished, he needed release, and what was the harm in both of us enjoying it?
Any guilt I’d felt was gone—after all, it’s not like I was cheating. It became a normal part of the day: like checking my phone in the morning, it had become a regular component of my daily routine.
Go into Mr. Peterson’s office, get spanked, jerk him off, clean up, back to work.
Just part of the job.
There was one thing that was a tiny bit... unusual. And if I’m being honest, perhaps I should have done or said something about it.
But I didn’t.
Partly because I didn’t want to draw attention to it; it was almost as if Mr. Peterson didn’t notice he was doing it. But mostly because... well, because I liked it. I knew I shouldn’t, but I did.
You see, ever since that first time getting topless in front of my boss, he got into the habit of playing with my nipple rings.
Not (only) while they were exposed... all the time.
All the time.
Any time I had to talk to him—about anything—he’d reach out and just casually play with them. Through my shirt and bra, even when we were discussing the most boring of subjects. It was like his fingers had magnets in them; he’d just immediately zero in on the metal bars, and start tweaking and playing.
Now, nipple play isn’t something that turns me on. I wish it did, for the fascination that men seem to have with my breasts, but it does nothing for me.
What did do something for me was the way that my boss couldn’t seem to help himself. I knew he wasn’t attracted to me, he’d made that abundantly clear... but apparently there was something about my nipple rings that fascinated him, and a glow filled me whenever he did it.
When I’d first started working at Gio, I’d thought Mr. Peterson was a little too physical, especially with a new employee. Perhaps this was the energy I’d been picking up on—an unconscious touchiness. Back then, it had been hands on my shoulders; now, it was fingers on my nips. I don’t think he could help it, it was just something he did with his hands without thinking about it.
I liked my boss’s attention. I realized how inappropriate my feelings were, but it’s true. I had a big dumb crush on my boss, and having him pull and tug on my piercings made me feel giddy as a schoolgirl.
I even found more reasons to talk to him throughout the day. I know that’s a little unprofessional about me, but it made me feel so good about myself. I won’t deny, it fueled my crush, knowing that his hands were uncontrollably drawn to my tits.
No, that’s not fair. His hands weren’t on ‘my tits’. It was only ever his fingers, and only ever on my nipples. And not even on my nipples directly, not really. Just… tweaking and pulling at my piercings.
It felt so good. Everything felt good. It was like my entire life had settled into a comfortable, satisfying routine, and everything was exactly how it should be. Bringing my boss pleasure with my hands, with my body... it felt so, so right, and made me so happy.
And then, of course, the week ended.
“Can I help you?” Mr. Peterson said, a note of confusion in his voice. It was next Monday: I’d entered his room at the standard time and started removing my pants—I hadn’t been spanked (or jerked my boss off) all weekend, and I was starting to get antsy. Nothing filled me with as much satisfaction as helping my boss find his release.
It took a moment to realize what he was referring to.
Of course. The punishments were over. It had only been for a few weeks, and those weeks—those glorious, satisfying weeks—were past.
I didn’t need to be spanked any more. And, as a result, Mr. Peterson didn’t need to be jerked off.
It was over.
The happiness in my heart turned to lead, and I felt myself freeze up. He’d only been spanking my bare ass for two weeks, and I’d only been jerking him off for one, but it already felt like a core part of my existence.
The thought of going even one more day without feeling Mr. Peterson’s seed splashing against my bare tits...
It didn’t bear thinking about.
Part of me wanted to cry. Part of me wanted to deliberately make a mistake, just so the punishments could start again... but, of course, I couldn’t do that. I was a professional.
I was a good girl. I was Mr. Peterson’s good girl.
My boss glanced down at the towel in my hand, and an idea struck me.
I don’t really think of myself as a ‘bold’ person. It’s not that I’m a coward, I’m just… sensible, I suppose. I take safe bets, I get my work done. I value reliability—it’s why Aaden and I work as well as we do.
He’s not exciting, but he’s reliable.
And so I knew that even jerking Mr. Peterson off in the first place was playing with fire. As soon as I’d realized I had a crush on him, I should’ve done whatever I could to avoid spending unnecessary time with him.
Getting naked in front of him and milking his cum onto my tits was almost the opposite of that.
The most forward thing I’d done before starting at Gio was probably asking my husband out. Yeah, I’d asked him on the first date: as soon as I’d seen him, I knew that he was the one for me.
So what I did next was relatively out of character. It was bold, even a little risky.
But if it worked, I knew it would be worth it.
Instead of mumbling an excuse and pulling my pants back up, I decided to double down. Lowering my panties, I kept my gaze on my boss’s face… and I swear, Mr. Peterson’s eyes flicked down to what I revealed.
Rather than stop there, I began unbuttoning my blouse. Normally when I took it off in front of my boss, I was so worked up that I’d just toss it to the floor, eager to expose myself to Mr. Peterson’s hungry eyes.
Well, I liked to tell myself they were hungry. Perhaps that was wishful thinking.
This time, I carefully folded it and placed it on the chair that Mr. Peterson had so often watched me masturbate on. Finally, I removed my bra, draping it over one of the chair’s arms.
The room was quiet. Mr. Peterson was looking at me, but neither of us were saying a word. I was standing there in nothing but heels, completely exposed, naked in the middle of the workday.
For no reason.
Well, for one very good reason. And that was all I was thinking about at the time.
“Please, sir,” I said, looking Mr. Peterson directly in the eyes. “I’d like to get you off.”
My boss didn’t say anything, just raised one eyebrow. In response, I dropped to my knees and put my hands together as though praying.
“Please,” I said again, my voice cool and assertive. “Please, Mr. Peterson.”
One side of his mouth curled up, and I found myself grinning in response. He was always so calm, so collected—getting any kind of reaction from him felt like such a feat.
“And this,” he began, and I found myself leaning forward slightly, desperate to hear what he had to say (and, not accidentally, causing my breasts to sway slightly as I did), “is because...”
“I told you,” I said, as innocently as I could. “This is just something I like doing. It’s...”
My mind raced as I tried to remember the words I’d used to convince him in the first place.
“...it’s fun for me.”
Mr. Peterson’s eyes bore into mine, and his face gave away nothing of what he was thinking. I wish I could say the same about my own, but it’s as transparent as glass. For all my attempts to play the cool cat, I felt like he knew exactly what I was doing, exactly how much I wanted this.
Perhaps that’s what convinced him.
“Okay,” he said, but before I could move, he held up one finger. ”If you beg.“
“Please, sir,” I repeated, but shook his head and I trailed off.
“And mean it,” he said.
This was not the first time he’d done this. As if it wasn’t enough to have me naked, on my knees, literally begging to wrap my hands around his cock... he’d make me repeat my pleas, again and again, until he really believed I wanted it.
I’d do it, of course. I would have done anything for Mr. Peterson.
Anything.
But, I’ll be honest, it was much easier after a spanking. Feeling his hand rain down on my bare ass, feeling his fingers sink into my cheeks as he punished me, it made me feel so... feminine. It made it much easier to put the passion into my voice as I pleaded my case.
“I... please, Mr. Peterson, I need...”
I trailed off, and flushed.
“You need what?” he prompted.
“I... your cum. I need your cum on my chest.”
“Why?” he asked, and my blush grew deeper.
“Because it feels so good,” I admitted.
“How so?”
“It makes me feel...” I trailed off. I could feel the warmth returning, filling my body. It wasn’t just that it felt good, it was that the thought of it made me feel hot.
Normally when I begged, I was coming off the high of feeling Mr. Peterson’s hand on my ass. Now, I had too much time to think—to overthink.
It was a tricky line. On one hand, I couldn’t admit to my boss that I felt anything sexual. We were in a professional environment, after all, and if Mr. Peterson knew that anything was happening beyond one workmate helping another, he’d be horrified—he’d probably send me to HR, or have me transferred.
Hell, it would be the right thing to do. My feelings were inappropriate, and so even though hiding my intentions is one of the things I’m worst at, I knew I had to try.
“It makes me feel happy,” I smiled. “To help out a friend.”
The man standing above me raised one eyebrow. He wasn’t buying it.
“It’s fun,” I said again. “Please, let me... let me have fun.”
Mr. Peterson didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He’d asked me to beg, and this was the best I could come up with?
No, I was better than this. I reached deep inside myself, I embraced the warmth that my boss’s attention gave me, and I tried again.
“It makes me feel like a good girl,” I said, looking him in the eyes. “Getting you off with my hands, feeling you finish on my chest, letting you do whatever you want... it makes me feel like a good girl. Like I’m your good girl. Like I’m fulfilling my purpose, giving you the pleasure that you deserve. I feel good when you use me like that, when you reward me. When you let me be useful for you.
“Please. Let me be your good girl.”
For a moment, I saw what looked like a flare of lust in Mr. Peterson’s eyes, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. In response, he just nodded, and my entire body pulsed with pleasure as he did.
“But,” he warned, before I could leap forward and undo his pants. “I have a busy day, so I’m going to have to work as you do.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, already unbuckling his belt. “Whatever you need, sir.”
Mr. Peterson nodded. He wasn’t smiling, but I still felt as though he was approving of me, a feeling which—in combination with the sight of his erection—gave me a surge of energy.
Of pleasure.
Once his pants were down, Mr. Peterson sat behind his desk and shifted his attention to his laptop, as though having an employee kneeling, naked, before him was an everyday occurrence.
Which I suppose it had been, recently.
I tried not to moan—I didn’t want to distract him, after all—as my hand wrapped around his shaft. The familiar feeling of his hard, hot cock, filling my hand, filled my body, and the giddiness that accompanied it was stronger than ever.
I’d been so close to losing this, and it felt so good to have it back.
As my hands moved up and down his shaft, Mr. Peterson typed away, the faint sound of his fingers on the keyboard filling the room. I was careful not to moan, not to let out any noises at all, even as his precum started dripping from his cockhead, even as I moved one hand beneath my own legs...
After all, he hadn’t said I couldn’t.
I was trying to respect his time and make him cum as fast as possible, but I knew Mr. Peterson was never quick, and more important than expediency was doing the best job I could. I soon lost track of the time—the only thing that mattered was making sure Mr. Peterson got the most out of my hands, that I did all I could to service him.
That I made him proud of me.
That was the thought that kept running through my head as I stroked him. I wanted to impress him. I wanted to be what he thought about when he came, just as I always thought of him when riding my husband, or playing with myself in the shower.
Every time I stroked Aaden, it was Mr. Peterson that I was thinking about. His cock in my grasp, his eyes—and hands—on my tits, the way he made me feel. The butterflies I got in my stomach at the thought of his praise.
Yeah, I had it bad.
I didn’t cum with my husband, not any more, but I still liked getting him off. I hadn’t been lying, when I’d told Mr. Peterson how being of service turned me on. Not just sexual service, either (not that what I was doing with my boss was sexual)—I’d always liked being good at my job, but since I’d started working at Gio, getting my work done had started to bring me an intense pleasure. Just the idea of being of service, of knowing that I was serving Mr. Peterson. Knowing that I was serving my boss.
But yeah, serving him with my body got me hottest of all.
So Aaden was probably getting some spillover from that. The idea of serving Mr. Peterson with my body was so erotic, letting my husband use my body sexually was like an extension of it. Often, while I was fucking him, I’d imagine my boss was telling me what to do, instructing me, telling me what a good job I was doing.
Mr. Peterson glanced down at me, and I realized my hands had slowed. There had been something about that last thought that didn’t feel right, and I’d gotten distracted. I smiled back at him, and resumed pumping him—it took so long to get him off, I wouldn’t have been surprised if my right arm was getting substantially stronger than my left.
What was wrong with the logic of what I’d been thinking? I had sex with my husband because it reminded me of my boss. Surely that was... no, something was... why would it...
Before I could finish the thought, Mr. Peterson grunted a warning, and I returned my full focus to the task at hand. I moved as quickly as I could, pumping him, stroking him, moving my hand up and down his shaft as quickly as I could.
I felt his cock pulse, and I let out a long moan as his cum shot out and landed on my tits, his cum splattering across my pale skin, coating the nipple piercings that he loved so much.
My boss closed his eyes and leaned his head back. The look of pleasure on his face made my core ache, and I let out a long, soft whine as my own bliss hit me, my entire body shaking and quivering as a long, powerful orgasm came across me.
I stayed there, kneeling before him, until both our breathing had slowed, until his cock had deflated, and I could feel his cum making its way down my stomach. Without a word, I wriggled out from under his desk, cleaned myself off with a towel, and got back to work.
What a perfect start to the day.
* * *