Smitha’s Mistake… humilation fucked smitha in office
My phone rings. “Hello, Smita here…. Yes sir, I’ll be in your office in two minutes.” His voice sounds irritated, even slightly angry. I feel nervous as I tread the corridor to his office. It is unlike him. He is always so kind. He never criticizes me and he always understands if I am ill or late. He is the perfect boss and this job is easily the best I have ever had.
Feeling gradually more confident, I arrive at his door. I knock softly and wait. “Come in Smita.” I enter cautiously, smiling. He smiles back. He is an attractive man, for his age. He must be twice as old as me. I am 26. “Sit down here Smita.” He gestures towards a chair, continuing to smile warmly.
“Thank you sir.” I was wrong, he is not angry. He sits behind his desk; his strong brown eyes gaze across at me. They dart across my face, then my cleavage. His eyes always wander. He likes me I know. It is my fault. I am wearing a thin blue sari with a blouse that plunges at the front displaying plenty.
“Smita, we have a slight problem here. Someone has invited Ravi Singh to next week’s luncheon.” I look surprised; Singh is one of my boss’s business partners. “Well, normally it would be fine Smita, but you see I’ve also invited Ahmed Hassan and he hates Singh. If Singh is there I can kiss goodbye any chance of getting a new contract from Hassan.”
Hassan is one of our important clients from the Middle East. He often visits our office in Mumbai, which is where I work. He is a lecherous middle-aged man. Since he has very close ties with my boss, he always treats me like I am his own secretary as well as my boss’s. He always tries to flirt with me. I try to ignore him, but each time he visits, he only tries harder.
I shift uncomfortably in my chair. “Did you invite Singh, Smita?” His question is so direct I feel thrown.
“No, no, sir.” But I know I did. I remember mailing the invitation. Why did I lie? I feel anxious, slightly out of breath. I know I am no good at lying. For a moment I’m not listening to him.
Then I hear him say, “Well, whoever did this has messed up a lot of hard work.” He frowns. Then he smiles again. “Smita, could I trouble you to return to your office and to bring me a copy of the computer file you used to generate the invitations that you personally sent? I meant to ask you to bring it when I called. I’m sorry, but I need to know who invited whom. Perhaps then I can find out who invited Singh.”
I feel myself blushing. “Yes sir.” I walk back to my office in a daze. Now what am I to do? You stupid fool, why did you lie? Why didn’t you just admit your mistake? At the office, I get an idea. Of course. Edit out the entry for Singh. For the first time in several minutes I feel relaxed, at least a little. Quickly I make the necessary changes. Within seconds, I am walking back to his office carrying my disk.
After knocking, I am summoned inside. “Thank you Smita, thank you.” He takes the disk. “Take a seat please. I hope I’m not keeping you from your other work. But this will only take a minute.” He puts the disk in his laptop and examines the file. “Yes, no sign of Singh here. Excellent.” He smiles. I smile back. What a relief. Smart thinking, Smita. But suddenly, “No, no, no, something is not right here. This file was edited just two minutes ago. Look.” I get up and see his finger pointing at the time. Oh no. What now?
For a moment he looks puzzled, but rapidly his face fills with understanding. Then he glances up at me and the understanding turns to annoyance. “Smita, did you delete Singh from this file just now, before returning with the disk?”
“No sir I didn’t.” I know I’m very red in the face and fidgeting nervously. My heart starts pounding harder.
His expression becomes stern. “Sit back down Smita.” This time the gentle tone is gone. I feel an uncomfortable tingle as I slide back into my chair. He stares across the table at me, his eyes penetrating me. I look down at the floor. I am too ashamed to look him in the face. There is a long silence as I tremble anxiously. Finally he stands. I look up at his form towering over me. “Smita, you edited this file and deleted Singh’s name, didn’t you?”
e pauses. He shakes his head back and forth. “Smita, I am very disappointed in you. Mistakes I can accept, though I must say that in this case your error will be an expensive one. However, when you lie to me and then attempt to cover up your lies by deception…” His sentence trails off. His face indicates how angry he really is. I bow my head again, this time lower. I wonder if my trembling is noticeable to him.
He walks behind me and then paces the room. Now he stops and speaks: “Smita, I am afraid that I can no longer trust you…. and if I can’t trust you…well…I am forced to let you go.” These words echo through my head as I feel a knot in my stomach grow tighter. Rapidly, tears well up in my eyes.
I sit up and half turn in my chair so I can face him. “Sir, please…. I’m sorry, really very sorry.” He is unmoved. “This will never happen again I promise. Please give me a chance.” I stare up at him, my pleading eyes meeting his merciless expression.
“No Smita, what you have done is inexcusable. If I let you stay, you will not have been taught a lesson. In your own interests, it is better for you to go. Then, I hope, you’ll understand how wrong it is to violate the trust others place in you.”
He seems set on firing me. I feel awful. I have blown the best job that could ever come my way. Maybe one last desperate plea. “Sir, I beg of you…. I am so sorry. I know what I did was wrong. I don’t know why I did it. Please sir, I know I need to be taught a lesson, but do you have to fire me? Please sir, I’ll do anything.”
He paces across the room. He is deep in thought. He returns to his desk and sits down again. He stares at me. I see the barest hint of a smile. “Well Smita, there is a way. Mind you, it’s not popular these days.” I shift uncomfortably in my chair. Somehow, I know this is not going to be easy. “A young lady who has misbehaved as you have could use a good spanking. Something that she would not forget in a hurry.”
He speaks coldly. All the while his gaze is unwavering. I blush slightly and gaze down into my lap. “If you will accept this punishment then perhaps we can save you your job here. But, it’s your choice. Think about it for a minute.”
He walks into an adjoining room. I can hear him shuffling papers or something. I have received spankings before, when I was little. They certainly hurt, but I want to keep this job so badly. My thoughts are interrupted by his return to the room. He stands beside me and places a hand on my shoulder. “What’s it to be then Smita? You can take the punishment or you are free to leave.”
“The punishment please, sir,” I find myself saying. I squirm in my seat as I speak and I feel my heart start to race. I look up at him, my eyes wide with apprehension.
He smiles. “Very well, come back to my office at 5 pm sharp tomorrow. Don’t be late now will you?”
“No sir, I won’t,” I stammer.
“Also, I want you to type up a statement that clearly states what you did wrong and that you will willingly accept any punishment that I administer”. “Take the statement home with you, and tomorrow I want to see your and your husband’s signature on it.”
He ushers me out of the room before I have a chance to think and I return to my work. Why, oh why does he want my husband to know this? I am sure he just wants to add to my humiliation. He knows that my husband is unemployed and is in no position to defend me. We cannot afford to lose my job.
I do nothing in the ensuing time. I sit and worry about my decision. Maybe I should have asked him exactly what this punishment involved. Surely he won’t be too harsh, but then again who knows? I saw a new side of him today and he frightened me. I type up the statement and take it home with me.
My husband is first amused then angry when he hears about what I did. I know he thinks I am sassy and hard to keep in line. He only seems glad to hear about my impending punishment. He signs the statement readily. I have little hope of avoiding the inevitable now.
I make sure I time my knock on his door at 5 pm exactly the next day. My knock is hesitant. His reply is anything but that, a sharp crisp “Enter!” that jolts me to alertness. I bow my head, open the door and enter the room sheepishly. I am startled when I see not just him, but another man of similar age standing on the far side of the room. It is Ahmed Hassan.
My boss beckons me forward and then motions me to stop just in front of his desk. “Now Smita, I want to make sure that you haven’t changed your mind. Have you?”
“No sir, I haven’t,” I reply meekly, not daring to look up.
“You are quite sure?” I nod several times. “Very well, Smita. For your sake I invited my friend Mr. Hassan. He is, shall we say, a neutral observer. He is here to ensure that I treat you fairly.” I look over at Hassan. He smiles back, a disgusting smile that makes me feel sick. I know he is really just here to view my spanking. My boss asks me to give my statement to Hassan. He reads it and chuckles before giving it to my boss. They both whisper something to each other, completely ignoring me. I feel so humiliated by their attitude.
My boss carries a heavy chair to the center of the room. It’s about to start. I swallow. I feel myself perspiring. My extremities seem to tingle. “Come stand right in front of me Smita. That’s it. Good girl. Stand up straight now and place your hands on your head. Elbows sticking out. Good. Excellent.” He pauses for a moment, as if unsure where to begin.
I am feel awkward standing with my arms raised. I am wearing a sari as usual, as he had asked me to always wear saris to work. I know it is necessary since I have to deal with our international customers. My boss takes me with him when he meets important clients. I know it is not because he needs my help. He likes to have a pretty girl like me at his beck and call, to impress his clients. My job is to look charming and to laugh at his jokes. He gives me a generous allowance for buying clothing that I like. Everything I wear to work is bought with his money.
I am soon awakened from my thoughts. I feel his hands on my shoulder, taking the end of my sari away from me. He starts to slide off the sari from my waist, away from my body as he walks around me, gathering the garment in his hands. Soon I am standing there in just my blouse and petticoat. I am shocked at how vulnerable I feel without my sari. I know I should have expected this if I was going to receive a real spanking.
I try to keep perfectly still, just the frequent rise and fall of my chest as I gasp to breathe. “Take your petticoat off Smita,” he orders me. For a moment I fumble in a fluster. I start to untie the string that holds my petticoat around my waist. Soon I have it sliding down my legs and over my high heels. Hassan gives an approving grunt as I stand up straight again. His eyes flow up my legs and across my crotch and breasts, now covered only by my skin-tight blouse and my lace panties.
My boss sits in the chair at the center of the room. “Come around to my right side Smita and put yourself across my knees,” he says sternly. I feel myself being pulled across his lap by my arm. My hands hold me up off the floor and my butt sticks up in the air in the perfect position for him to see. Hassan gets up and walks across the room to where he can get a better view. I strain my neck to see where he is going. My boss’s firm hand grasps the material of the panties just above my butt and pulls it up my back. This sends the material deep into the crack between my soft cheeks, effectively exposing my bottom fully. I feel so ashamed. He gathers my long black hair off my back, and lets it fall to one side.
I expect some more preliminaries but I am taken by surprise as he delivers a hard blow with his hand to my left buttock. I tense and absorb the harsh sting bravely, letting out only a slight yelp and that is more from the surprise than pain. Second and third blows follow quickly, one on each cheek. His hand is heavy and he holds back nothing. At this point I can grit my teeth and take each slap with no more than a jerk of my body and a slight frown.
By about the tenth slap my poor bottom starts to feel warm all over. Each new slap makes my buttocks sizzle unbearably. “No sir, please, it hurts,” I whimper, as I twist on his lap.
“Smita!” he retorts, “It is supposed to hurt. Keep still…and straighten your legs. I want that bottom held up high on my lap. Do not try to slide away.” I pull myself back into a more satisfactory position. I’m unsure why I oblige so readily. Is it just the fear of losing my job? Is there a slight guilty pleasure in what I am experiencing?
The spanking resumes, hard and fast. Each slap causes me to throw back my head and shout a begging protest. Hassan utters something about knowing it wouldn’t be long before I started crying. I briefly imagine the smug grin that must be on his face and I start to feel angry with my boss for humiliating me in front of this disgusting man. Such ruminations cannot last long though; as my mind is constantly brought back to the task at hand by the swift series of spanks I receive, alternating between one cheek and the other.
“I’m sorry sir, I’m sorry. Oh sir, please stop now. Arghhh!!” Tears stream heavily down my face. My hair sags over my face due to the flailing each slap causes in me. The intensity of the spanking increases until I feel like my entire butt is on fire. But suddenly and without warning he stops. I adjust my position slightly and reach up to rub myself with my right hand.
But his arm pushes me back down. “No Smita! Do not attempt to relieve the pain. Just stay in position. I want you to contemplate the burning sting a while longer.” How can he be so cruel? Have I not taken enough? Hassan chuckles. I assume he realizes how mean my boss’s command seems to me. He repulses me.
More than a minute passes until I am finally told that I should stand up. “Do not place your hands on your behind Smita. Put them back on your head like before.” I stand erect in that position. Behind me, I feel Hassan’s hot breath on my back. I know I must look like a frightful mess. My tears have ruined much of my mascara and makeup. The arms of my tight blouse are damp with my perspiration. My panties are still riding high on my hips, showing most of my reddening bottom.
“You certainly know how to treat a wayward employee I must say,” Hassan says. I shudder as he inspects the deep red glow of my exposed cheeks. Hassan walks around to face me. He expresses some mock sympathy when he sees the mixture of mascara and tears that trail down both sides of my face. He moves a finger to wipe away a tear. I want to step back and spit at him. Of course I dare not. I feel so humiliated by this man.
Himself tired and reddened by his exertions, my boss pours himself and his guest a cold drink from a small refrigerator in the corner of his office. After handing Hassan his drink, he says, “Now Smita, you have been punished for your mistake. That just leaves us with the matter of your lying to take care of.”
I am shocked. I had thought we were finished, but it seems that we are not. My face gives away my surprise. “That’s right Smita, we cannot let your devious attempt to deceive me go unpunished can we?”
“Uh…no sir, I suppose not.”
“Good girl.” Both my boss and Hassan smile at me wickedly. My boss continues, “Very well, remove the rest of your clothes. I want you naked for the next bit.”
I pause momentarily, alarmed that I must reveal myself in front of them. “Please sir, is it necessary to punish me further? I promise I will not lie in future.” I speak with pleading sincerity.
My boss replies with a sigh, “No it is not necessary, Smita. If you wish you may put on your clothes and go. However, don’t plan on coming to work tomorrow or any other day. It’s up to you. What is it to be?” In hopeless resignation I lower my face and begin to undo the snaps on my blouse.
“I think she’s made her decision,” says Hassan to my boss. The two of them exchange knowing glances, waiting for me to continue. After taking off my blouse, I reach behind my back and unhook my brassiere awkwardly. I feel their eyes biting into my exposed breasts as I remove and place them on a nearby chair. I take one more pleading look at them before bending down and stepping out of my panties resignedly.
I now have nothing to cover me. I feel silly wearing just my heels and jewelry; a pearl necklace, matching earrings and bracelet, and a traditional gold chain around my waist. I have no time to think about how I look. “Hands back on your head Smita. Stand up straight…that’s it. Very nice. Very nice indeed.” They stand in front of me, sipping their drinks, taking in, amongst other things, the sight of my full breasts sticking upwards and outwards due to the positioning of my hands, and my crotch covered only by my trimmed bush. I wonder briefly whether they like what they see. I wonder whether Hassan has ever seen an Indian girl naked before. I feel mortified. I would rather they just punished me than tortured me like this.
After several minutes of this, Hassan says, “What’s part two going to be?”
My boss responds, “I’m not sure. Lying is truly despicable. It has to be something she won’t forget in a hurry. What do you suggest?”
Hassan chuckles, gives me a sneering look and says, “I suggest that we get the little bitch across your desk and thrash her with my belt. Sound reasonable?”
My boss nods in agreement. I am appalled at hearing them talk about me this way. I am even more shocked to see Hassan unbuckle his leather belt and hand it over to my boss. I flinch in horror as I anticipate the brutal blows it is about to deliver to my defenseless and still aching behind.
My boss comes behind me. He taps my shoulder, only very lightly. “Right Smita, go over to the desk and bend across it.” I comply. The polished desk is cold against my breasts and stomach and hard where the edge presses into my thighs. “That’s good. Now straighten your legs and raise that pretty little behind of yours. Nice and high. I don’t want to miss and believe me you don’t want me to either.”
The wait for the first stroke is unbearable. My boss stands beside me. He places his left hand on my lower back. I tense as I feel his warm palm against my skin. He then takes a step back. I feel the belt brush my cheeks. He slides it slightly from left to right and back again, briefly letting it fall into the crack between my buttocks. He slides it over my buttocks down to my thighs and then back again. He repeats the whole procedure several times. Feeling anxious, I try to peep up over my shoulder. Finally, the belt is lifted high, and then brought down with speed and force. I hear a swish followed by a loud crack as the belt strikes me square across the middle of my ass.
Almost instantly a hot burning pain stings along the line of contact. I throw my head back. “Aaarghh!! Oh sir.” The pain spreads throughout my behind, but barely loses any of its intensity at the point that the belt had struck.
Recovery time is kept to a minimum as a second equally forceful and deftly placed stroke swipes the delicate underside of my cheeks. I contort my face in distress and yell a loud protest. A hard spanking such as I had received is one thing, the belt is a different kind of experience. The spanking had left my bottom so raw that the belt’s cruel punishment is even more intense than I would have ever dreamt.
My cries are accompanied by a gushing stream of tears and frequent comments from that pig Hassan. “That’s it, give it to her. She’s not going to forget this beating in a hurry.”
The blows stop after a while. Much to my surprise, my boss hands the belt to Hassan and asks him to complete my punishment. Hassan seems eager to add to my misery. He is even harder with the belt than my boss. I lose count of the strokes. The blows come in rapid succession. His aim is uncanny. He seems to find a new spot each time.
“Oh God sir, pleeease!!! I beg you!!! Stop!!!” As I endure the last two or three blows, I scream in agony, twisting and turning, barely able to maintain the required position.
Finally, Hassan stops and steps back. I lay across the table panting and sobbing. “I’m so sorry sir, really I am. I will never lie again I promise.” My bottom is covered in a series of welts that resonate with raw biting pain. I pray that this is the end of my punishment. I know I must not raise a hand behind me to soothe the agony. Never mind, Hassan steps forward and does it for me. The initial contact of his fingers increases the pain as he irritates the soreness, but as he presses harder he unwittingly brings limited relief to me. He grunts approval as he prods and probes me. He seems to delight in the soft moans each touch brings from me.
Hassan finishes feeling me up when my boss says, “That’s enough now Smita. I hope you have learnt your lesson. Please do not ever try to deceive me again.”
“I won’t sir, honestly I won’t.” I continue to sob.
“Now, be a good girl. Get dressed and return to your office. No one will see you. Everyone went home over an hour ago.”
He hands me my sari, petticoat, blouse and brassiere. He holds back my panties. I look at him questioningly. “You won’t need one for the next couple of days, trust me,” he says.
Terribly embarrassed, I accept the rest of my clothes. Somewhat comically given the amount of time I have spent naked before these men, I try to cover my breasts and pubic hair as I get dressed. I step into my petticoat and tie its strings around my waist. The men watch me closely but offer no help. Due to the shame I feel, I keep my eyes downcast as I put back on my bra and blouse. It takes me forever to put on my sari. Every time my petticoat rubs on my buttocks, I wince in pain.
I hurry towards the door. I open it, then pause, turn and look at my boss. “Thank you sir for punishing me.” Then I look at Hassan. “And thank you sir for giving your time to see that my punishment was fair.” The men look at each other. They are puzzled at first, but quickly their expressions change into delighted smiles.
My boss hugs me and runs his hand on my back. Hassan’s hug takes longer, and his hand lingers on my bottom, caressing me softly. He presses my body to him tightly and I can feel his hard-on through his trousers. I let him hold me as long as he wants. He brushes my hair aside and touches my lips lightly and then lets me go. My eyes fill with tears. I no longer feel angry at him. I bow my head once more and without fuss leave the room, closing the door softly behind me.
I do not encounter anyone during my short trip back to my office, just as they had assured me. I run to the ladies room to fix my makeup and to freshen up. I take the train to get home as I do every day. It is too painful to sit, so I have to stand till I get home.
At home my husband rubs my behind with a soothing lotion to ease my pain, but for several days sitting and even walking are uncomfortable. Of course, I go without panties for the next few days. It is certainly a beating I would not forget, even long after the welts had healed. Sometimes when I am alone giving myself pleasure, my mind wanders back to this incident. The memories never fail to arouse me.
As a footnote, the next day I arrived at work early. There was an envelope on my desk. Inside the envelope, I found a note from my boss attached to a check. The note read, “Smita, Please consider this a bonus and cash this at once.” The check was for $500, signed by Hassan. Also inside the envelope was my panties, neatly folded.
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