The fluorescent lights of the accounting department hummed with a sterile, oppressive buzz, a sound that usually signalled productivity but today felt like a countdown to something much worse. Rebecca sat at her desk, her fingers trembling slightly as she stared at the blank screen in front of her. Her white blouse was crisp, her black skirt tailored perfectly, and her black hold-up stockings were smooth against her legs, held up by the tension of her posture. But inside, she was shaking. It was 4.55 pm and her appointment with Mr Sterling, a senior partner at the accountancy firm, was in five minutes.

It had only been one week. One week since she’d started her ten-week work placement at this old and prestigious firm. And while she had shown flashes of brilliance, catching discrepancies others had missed, organizing files with terrifying efficiency, the rest of the week had been less good. She had arrived late for work on Tuesday and Wednesday as she'd overslept due to a late night with her school friends the first time and missed her train the next day; no excuse. Then, on Thursday, she had sworn at Sarah, the head of administration, when the printer jammed, using words that echoed off the cubicle walls and left a trail of horrified silence in their wake on floor 1.

****

Earlier that afternoon, Mrs Robinson, her line manager, had called her into her office. The door clicked shut behind Rebecca, sealing her in a small, carpeted room that smelled of old paper and lemon polish. Mrs Robinson didn’t yell. She didn’t even raise her voice. She simply slid a manila folder across the mahogany desk and looked at Rebecca with cold, unblinking eyes.

"You have potential, Rebecca," Mrs Robinson said, her voice smooth and dangerous. "But your attitude is a liability. In this firm, discipline is not just a suggestion; it is the foundation of our success."

Rebecca swallowed hard. "Yes, ma'am. I’m sorry. I can do better and will do better…" her voice trailed off sounding weak.

"Promising to do better isn't enough," Mrs Robinson interrupted. "You need to understand how lucky you are to have this opportunity and more importantly how to conduct yourself."

She leaned forward, steepling her fingers. "Normally, you would simply be walking out through those doors right now, never to return, your reputation and that of your school in tatters. However, you are the first pupil we have accepted on a work placement from Singleton Academy and mainly because the Partners know your headmistress, Ms Cartwright. She told us how good you are. Nonetheless, your behaviour has been very poor. So, we have spoken to Ms Cartwright and as a reprieve, because it is your first week, you can, if you wish, head up later today to see Mr Sterling, a senior partner. His style of correction will, I am sure, teach you a lesson in punctuality and good manners. She did mention that she will be having a word with you back at school.”

There was a pause as Rebecca pondered the situation she found herself in. The shame of being sent back to school after a week and letting Ms Cartwright down was unthinkable.

"So what is it to be? You have a binary choice. You can either take some, what shall we say, traditional discipline, or, you can leave us, immediately,” Mrs Robinson pressed.

Rebecca's breath hitched. To leave meant admitting defeat in a field where she knew she had genuine talent. The lateness and the foul-mouthed outburst were blunders, yes, but they were correctable. Being dismissed would brand her as unreliable and possibly unemployable before she even had a chance to prove her worth.

She looked down at her polished black shoes, then back up. Her face was pale, but her jaw set hard. "I’ll stay," she whispered. "I’ll take the correction, whatever form that comes in."

"Very well. You have an appointment with Mr Sterling at 5.00 pm. I suggest you are not late."

"Yes, ma'am."

****

Rebecca rose in the lift to the top floor, walked down the corridor and knocked on the door marked ‘Mr Anthony Sterling - Senior Partner’ at exactly 5.00 pm.

"Enter!" came the command.

She walked into the office which smelled of old cedar and cold ambition, a space where the architecture of power was reinforced by the sheer scale of the mahogany desk. Mr Sterling did not look up from his ledger immediately, but allowed the silence to stretch out until it felt like a physical weight pressing against Rebecca's chest. When he finally looked at her, his eyes were not angry, but clinical, as if he were auditing her very soul and finding a significant deficit in her conduct.

He presented the choice again; being immediately released or corrective discipline which, she thought, sounded as antiquated as the firm’s founding charter. Rebecca looked at the door behind her, then at the man, and realized that the shame of failure was far more painful than the prospect of physical penance. She chose the latter, the decision feeling less like a submission and more like a desperate gamble for redemption.

She confirmed her choice and Mr Sterling reached for the phone, dialled an extension and after a brief moment said into it, "Hold all calls." His eyes then settled back on Rebecca.

The room was thick with tension, the silence a palpable thing that wrapped itself around her like an invisible shawl. She knew then, in the depths of those unyielding eyes, that this man would not tolerate lateness and bad language lightly. This was going to be a painful exercise.

He stood up, an imposing man, took off his tie and jacket which he placed on the back of his chair and then walked round his large, wooden desk. He gestured at her with a flick of his wrist.

"You've got spirit, Rebecca. I like that about you," he started as she stood frozen to the spot. "However, your, let's call them 'indiscretions’, cannot be left unchecked," he continued.

"No, sir," she replied, completely mesmerised by his tone and the atmosphere of formality and power he created with just his voice.

"Very well," he said, his tone devoid of sympathy but not unkind. It was purely professional. He turned the chair in front of his desk round and sat. "Shoes and skirt off, please."

Rebecca complied instantly, kicking her shoes off gently and moving them expertly next to each other with perfect precision using her stockinged feet. Next came the skirt. She hesitated, took a deep breath and undid the zip. She pushed it down over her hips, letting it pool around her feet, exposing the smooth white skin of her thighs and the sheer black hold-ups that clung to her legs. She stepped out of the skirt, folded it and placed it on the corner of the large desk. Stood there in her white blouse, white knickers and black hold-up stockings feeling embarrassed, ashamed and nervous as hell.

Mr Sterling looked up. "Your tardiness will not be tolerated and, like a naughty girl who is continually late for school, I will put you over my knee and smack your bottom. Hard.

"As for swearing at another member of staff. This is something that will not be tolerated in this firm. Ever. For this outburst your spanking will be longer than I would normally consider. I have already spoken to Ms Cartwright who, I am sure, will have something to say when you are next in school."

Rebecca had never been spanked apart from a light tap on the bottom once from her mother when she was very young. She was speechless and stood frozen to the spot next to the senior partner. She felt small, vulnerable, and entirely at his mercy. What a mess she had got herself into. She had however decided to take her medicine and move forward.

"Bend over my knee, Rebecca, and place your hands on the floor on the other side," he instructed, pointing to the carpet on the other side of his lap. She was guided expertly into position, her backside popped up into the air with her white panty-clad bottom exposed. It jutted out invitingly, though 'inviting' wasn't quite the right term, given her mental state.

The first strike of the hard palm of his hand came unexpectedly. It was sharp, a quick crack that sent shockwaves through her right buttock. Rebecca bit back her cry, forcing it deep into herself so as to appear more stoic then she clearly was. The second followed quickly after the first. It landed on her left buttock, causing a fresh jolt. Rebecca's toes curled involuntarily, feet in the air, as her hands clamped down harder on the floor. There was a brief pause and then more swats of the palm. They came hard and fast, exploring every inch of her buttocks. The heat was rising and Rebecca began to grunt and squirm on his lap. It was uncomfortable and her raised legs began to kick. Mr Sterling had a firmer grip than she expected and much harder hands than expected, and soon her bottom felt as if it had been placed over the fire pit at guide camp.

The spanking continued for what felt like forever. Her bottom felt hot and sore as she squirmed and her knickers rolled into the crack of her bottom, exposing the bright red cheeks which were wobbling and now aching.

The spanking ceased as quickly as it had begun and Rebecca panted, trying to catch her breath. She could just hear his voice, "Up you get."

She stood up quickly and rubbed her bottom. It felt warm to her touch. This was obviously not the first spanking Mr Sterling had given, she thought. She reached for her skirt, her movements jerky and uncoordinated.

Sterling had already returned to his ledger, the sound of the turning page a crisp, indifferent snap. He didn't look at and her legs trembled slightly as she put on her skirt and her black shoes, realizing that the office had become a different kind of map. The distance between the desk and the door was now a chasm, and the silence of the room was no longer a void, but a recording of her shame and of everything she had been forced to trade to continue her placement.

The act of dressing was a ritual of re-entry into the world of work as opposed to the world of shame and dismissal. It was a slow masking of the trauma that had just occurred, yet the phantom heat remained, pulsing in time with her heartbeat, a secret that would burn into the architecture of her workday for the rest of her time at the firm.

She left the office and looked around. The corridor was empty, just the light of Mr Sterling's PA room shone, illuminating the way to the lifts. The PA had no doubt heard it all. She scurried past the open office door, deciding not to make small talk, and pressed the button. Once the lift arrived she descended to her cubicle on floor 1. She collected her bag and decided to go home with some work, as sitting at her desk right now was not an enticing option.

*****

When Rebnecca got home there was an email in her school Inbox from Ms Cartwright, Headmistress of Singleton Academy. She was clearly not happy.

The email read, ‘Dear Rebecca, We have things to discuss about your placement. As this coming Monday you are at school for a university day, please change into your PE kit after school and make sure you are sitting outside my office by 4.15 pm."

Rebecca’s heart sank. This meant only one thing. She was in for a caning. The weekend was one of dread.

*****

Rebecca was nervous as she sat outside the headmistress’s office at 4.10 pm in her slightly too small white sports T-shirt and tight, maroon PE shorts that moulded themselves around her athletic buttocks, showing the outline of her white knickers underneath.

A few pupils and two teachers walked along the corridor while she sat there. They all gave her an awkward smile as they knew that within the next 30 minutes she would not be sitting as comfortably.

“Ah, come in,” Mrs Cartwright appeared in her doorway and beckoned her in at exactly 4.15 pm.

As she entered, Rebecca saw the 3ft whippy cane already lying peacefully on the mahogany desk; a desk which sort of mirrored that in the senior partner’s office.

The dressing down was short and to the point, as was Ms Cartwight’s way.

“Rebecca, I trusted you with the school’s reputation by calling in some personal favours and building you up. And you let me down. I hear Mr Sterling spanked you on Friday night, and rightly so. But that is really not enough. How could you use such foul language? Bad enough using it here in school but when you are representing the school at such an important firm, I despair. I have no choice, Rebecca. Three strokes of the cane.”

“Yes, Miss. I am sorry. I really have let you and the school down,” Rebecca replied. Her voice echoed her feeling of remorse and the fact that she knew she deserved this so she could improve going forward.

"Bend over the desk, please," was the next command.

Rebecca had never been caned before but she instinctively moved forward, placing her forearms on the cool dark mahogany wood of Ms Cartwright’s desk. She bent at the waist, arching her back slightly, her head hanging low, her dark brown hair cascading down like a curtain over her face. The position forced her abdomen against the desk’s edge, leaving her rear end elevated and exposed. The vulnerability was overwhelming. Every nerve ending seemed to tingle in anticipation of the pain to come. Her head was turned slightly and she caught sight of the cane being picked up from the desk. Her heart raced with dread, yet there was a strange excitement which she seemed unable to control.

"May I suggest you stretch forward and grasp the far edge of the desk for balance?" the headmistress said, helpfully.

Rebecca complied without repost, feeling the grain of the mahogany pressing into her stomach where her T-shirt had writhed up; a hard, unyielding surface that anchored her to the reality of her situation.

The first stroke of the cane arrived with a sudden, whistling velocity. It didn't thud; it sliced. The sensation was an instantaneous, white-hot wire being drawn across her flesh, a concentrated burst of pain that made her spine arch involuntarily. Her fingertips dug into the mahogany, her nails scratching the expensive finish as she let out a sharp, strangled gasp. It was a different category of discipline altogether.

Ms Cartwright looked at the white imprint which appeared on the maroon knickers, and was most likely turning red and angry across the centre of Rebecca's bottom. Rebecca lay across the table wriggling and gasping, her left foot rising and then returning to the floor; legs straightening again to present the hot bottom for another stroke.

She was not allowed too long to recover. Mrs Cartwright waited only until the initial yelp had subsided into a ragged whimper and the sting of the first stroke had subsided, before applying the second stroke. The cane whipped and bent into the young lady’s bottom an inch below the first stroke, creating a searing heat into the flesh underneath the shorts and knickers, which provided little protection. The air in the room seemed to thin, and the adrenaline was now running freely through her veins. Rebecca's vision blurred at the edges, the surroundings of the office dissolving away, leaving only the singular, agonizing focus of the rattan meeting her bottom.

Once again there was a pause while Ms Cartwright waited for feet to be re-grounded and the correct position to be re-taken with legs straight and bottom sticking out. The third stroke was delivered with a deliberate, lingering pause, a psychological suspension that felt longer than the punishment itself. When it finally landed, it was a crescendo of white noise that drowned out the distant hum of the sports’ field. The impact was a focal point of absolute clarity. The cane drew a third line intersecting the other two and thus causing two points of white heat on her buttocks. Rebecca yelled and grasped the edge of the table. Rebecca rested flat on the table, her muscles trembling in a rhythmic, uncontrollable shudder that vibrated through her entire frame.

“You may stand up,” Ms Cartwright said as she placed the cane back on the table in the same spot it had been before it did its dreaded work.

Rebecca peeled herself off the desk and rubbed her bottom furiously. After thanking Ms Cartwright she left the office and headed to the girls’ toilets. She winced as she pulled her shorts and white knickers down and gasped in horror as she looked at the three angry, purple ridges which had been branded onto her bottom. Ms Cartwright had had plenty of practice and Rebecca was not going to sit easily for quite a while.

With the hand spanking given by Mr Sterling combined with the caning from her headmistress, Rebecca had been thoroughly punished for her errors the previous week. She had learnt her lesson and she was determined that for the next nine weeks she was going to show everyone how good she was and how much she deserved a second chance.

The End

This story was inspired by a role play with Rebecca W

© Colin Brooks 2026