The cellphone picture (M/F story)

Stephen sighed as he thumbed through the stack of reports, trying to find the one that was actually relevant. The blond barrel-chested man in his thirties was sitting in a meeting room, preparing a presentation on a customer with Rachel, one of his coworkers, and there was a lot of old data to go through. It didn't seem to bother Rachel much, though – she had a sunny disposition.

His phone, which was lying on the table, buzzed with an incoming message. After a few seconds, Rachel looked over at him. The tall, well-dressed woman with the long, curly red hair raised an eyebrow.  "Aren't you going to see what it was?"

"It can wait. I'm trying to find the right file," he said absently, still working his way through the reports.

"It could be important," she suggested. "Or urgent!"

"If it was urgent or important, they would have called," he said drily.

"Come on, aren't you curious?" she ribbed. When he shook his head, she declared, "Well, I am!" And before he could react, she'd picked up the phone. "Oh, it's a picture! Someone sent you – " She went quiet, and for a few seconds, she stared wide-eyed at the screen. Blushing furiously, she placed the phone slowly down on the table, then walked out of the room, deliberately avoiding eye-contact. On her second try, she got the door open, and she almost managed to avoid walking into the doorframe on her way out. Her footsteps disappeared down the hall.

It was with a certain feeling of trepidation that Stephen picked up the phone.

The text had come from Molly. It was a picture of her bare bottom, coloured red and then beautifully decorated with cane lines that had just begun to bruise. It was accompanied by the words "Look what you did to my butt, you brute :-) Can I call you for another set once this one has faded?" A lovely text to receive from the petite imp, but not one he was eager for his female coworkers to see.

Stephen considered his options. He could run after Rachel, but he wasn't sure what he should say to her. A wrong number? Just a joke from one of his friends? A part of his private life and none of her business? Maybe she was running off to talk to HR, but if she did, he didn't see what would happen. He hadn't asked her to look at his phone, and he also hadn't asked Molly to send him that picture.

In the end, he decided to forget it happened, never bring it up with Rachel, and finally find that missing report. Which he eventually did.

Over the coming days, Rachel would blush and glance away every time she spotted him in the office, which led to some curious whispers around the office. People were clearly wondering what was happening, which meant that she hadn't spread the news. Which was excellent – he didn't want all of his coworkers to know about his fetish. In fact, he would prefer if NONE of them knew, but that was a little too late.

One day, as he arrived at the office, he was surprised to find Rachel there – he was usually the first person in. She approached him, a look of anxious determination on her face. "I want to talk to you," she said, her voice quivering slightly.

"What about?" he asked calmly, though he could guess what it would be.

"About that… that picture I saw," she said, trying to hide her agitation. "Who was that?"

He considered telling her that he didn't know what she was talking about, he hadn't seen any picture, and also, it was a wrong number. Alternatively, he could tell her to mind her own business. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm curious," she said, smiling nervously. "It's a flaw of mine. I thought you would have realized that now."

"She's a friend," he said noncommittally.

"One that you spank? And cane?" she pressed.

"It's all consensual," he assured her. "She's asking for it… " Realizing how that could sound, he clarified, "Literally! She'll contact me whenever she wants me to –"

She cut him off. "So… she's not your girlfriend? You're still single, right?"

Stephen stared at her. He'd been prepared this conversation to go in a lot of directions, but this was not one of the possibilities he'd considered. Somehow, she'd surprised him. He nodded.

"I was just thinking," she said, absentmindedly toying with a strand of her curly hair. "I shouldn't have looked at your cell phone without your permission. That was very naughty of me." She blushed, smiling at him.

He raised an eyebrow. He couldn't be misreading these signs, could he? She wasn't exactly being subtle. "Let me get this straight – you're asking me for a spanking?"

She shook her head. No. I'm asking for a caning."

An hour later, they were sitting in the meeting room. She was staring into her cup of coffee, going through old memories. "Back in school," she told him, "One of our teachers was this really attractive guy. Tall, good-looking, charming, charismatic – several of the girls had crushes on him, and I was one of them." She smiled. "One day, I was chatting with my friend Jessica, not paying attention to the lesson, when he suddenly slammed a cane down on my desk with a noise that made me jump. He then told us that if we had trouble concentrating, a few strokes on the backside might help keep our minds focused."

Stephen raised an eyebrow. "Caning was allowed at your school?"

"No, it actually wasn't – he was just teasing us. However, I wasn't sure at the time, and that event stayed with me. For months, I kept having nightmares about being dragged before the class and bent over his desk. He'd lift my skirt, lower my knickers, and cane my poor little bottom. I woke up drenched in sweat, breathing heavily."

He grinned. "And when did you realize they weren't actually nightmares?"

"About two months after leaving school," she grumbled. "I've always wondered what would have happened if I'd realized it earlier… if I'd approached him and asked for an actual caning."

There was silence, then Stephen smiled. "Well, if you want to find out what a caning is actually like, you can come over to my house Friday evening. How does 7 o' clock sound?"

"Why not tonight?" she asked dejectedly. "I've finally summoned up the courage to –"

"Because you have to sit at your desk tomorrow," he told her. "And I promise you that you don't want to do that on a caned backside." She opened her mouth to protest further, but he placed his finger on her lips to shush her. "None of that, young lady. Now, be a good girl and do as you are told."

She tried to glare at him, but couldn't stop grinning long enough to pull it off.

Finally, Friday evening came. As his doorbell rang ten minutes before the appointed time, Stephen chuckled – it seemed Rachel was feeling quite eager to begin. He opened the door to find her wearing a white blouse and chequered skirt that could almost pass for a schoolgirl outfit, if you squinted. She was wringing her hands nervously, but there was a wide grin on her face. "I'm here!"

"So I see," he said, returning her smile as he invited her in. She declined his offer for a drink, and told him she'd like to get started right away. "Tut, tut," he teased. "Such impatience."

The cane was lying on the table. Rachel stared at it with hungry eyes. Her hand inched closer and closer to it, finally picking it up. She looked at it, swung it to hear it whistle through their air, and tapped it against her palm, wincing at the impact. She grinned, despite the butterflies in her stomach. Placing the cane down on the table again, she looked at Stephen, waiting for him to begin.

Stephen sat down in a wooden chair, patting his lap. "Now, it's time for you to place yourself over my knee."

She frowned. "I thought I had to be bent over a table for a proper caning."

"You will be," he assured her, "but a quick warm-up spanking first will prepare you better for what's coming."

"But I wanted a caning," she whined, pouting.

He sighed. "Rachel, please believe me when I tell you that I have SIGNIFICANTLY more experience than you in such matters. Caning without warm-ups will hurt a LOT more. Maybe some other time, I'll let you try a cold caning, but for now, just do what I say and stop arguing, young lady." There was a tone in his voice that made her want to obey – or maybe see what happened if she didn't.

Still pouting, Rachel approached her coworker. He guided her over his lap, with her face down and her bottom up. He made she was comfortable before raising her skirt to reveal her white cotton knickers. Placing his fingers in the waistband, he slowly lowered them to her knees, causing Rachel to blush and bury her face in her hands.

As the first spanks landed on her bare, quivering bottom, Rachel winced and fidgeted slightly, but mostly from surprise – the smacks were slow and gentle. As he continued to spank her, moving from cheek to cheek, she grinned. Each slap brought a gentle warmth and a slight sting – a lovely experience. She'd never been spanked before, and found it more enjoyable than she'd expected.

Over time, however, he started to spank harder and faster, and she was soon squirming over his lap. Her bottom was now nice and toasty, the sting grew with every firm slap, and she was still smiling. "Is that enough of a warm-up?" she asked.

"Is it starting to hurt?" he asked. "Or are you eager for your caning to start?"

She hesitated. "Both," she admitted, which caused him to chuckle again.

"Yes, I think that's enough," he said, helping her to her feet. Glancing over her shoulder to study her backside, she was surprised to discover it was only slightly pink – she'd expected it to be much redder.

Picking up the cane, Stephen led her into his study, and Rachel shuffled after him, her panties still around her knees. Her eyes widened as she spotted a wooden desk, similar to the one her teachers had used – the one she'd dreamed so often about being caned over. He pressed on her back to bend over the desk, and she offered no resistance. With her skirt raised and her panties down, she lay over the desk, scarcely believing that her innermost fantasies were about to be fulfilled.

Stephen tapped the cane against her bare cheeks. "We will start with six strokes, and see how you take them. You will count each stroke, and thank me. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," she said, automatically adopting a submissive tone. "Thank you, Stephen."

He frowned. "I haven't started yet, Rachel."

"I know. It's just… thank you," she said quietly. "You have no idea what this means to me."

Smiling, he lifted the cane and swung it at her waiting bottom.

As the cane struck, Rachel frowned. Was that it? Was that she'd been fantasizing so much about? It took a second before a line of fire burned its way into her consciousness, making her howl. She jumped to her feet, clasping her bottom. Suddenly, she remembered that she was supposed to count. "One, thank you, sir!" She rubbed her cheeks. "Oh… do I have to take that stroke again, since I didn't stay in position?" she asked nervously.

He thought about it, but shook his head. "This is your first caning, so I don't think that's necessary… this time."

Grateful for this small mercy, Rachel bent back over, presenting her backside to him. He tapped the cane against her cheeks and swung it. As the cane landed, Rachel yelped, but managed to stay down. "Two, thank you, sir!"

Stephen lifted the cane again and swung it, but stopped before it landed. She flinched, goosebumps appearing on her flesh as she waited for the cane to land. It took a few seconds before she realized what he'd done. "Don't do that," she pouted. "It's mean of – OW!" She screamed. "Three, thank you sir!"

He stepped forward, rubbing her aching posterior. "How does it feel to be caned in real life? Anything like your fantasies?"

"It really hurts, sir," she admitted.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

She blushed, but nodded. He placed one of his hands between her legs, confirming that she was telling the truth. "I see. This naughty girl definitely deserves her caning, then."

He swung the cane again, causing her to arch her back and howl. Tears were at the edges of her eyes. "Four, thank you, sir!"

The fifth stroke made her leap up again, howling, but she managed to yelp out "Five, thank you, sir!"

Stephen delivered the sixth stroke with slightly greater force. Tears pouring down her face, she sobbed "Six, thank you, sir." He stepped forward, rubbing her bottom again. She pushed her backside into his hand, eager for him to soothe her burning pain.

"How do you feel?" he asked gently.

"Sore.  Tired." She grinned. "Happier than I've felt in a long time."

"Would you like to stop now?" he asked. She thought about it, but shook her head. "Another six, then?"

She bit her lip. "I don't think I could take six more. Three, maybe? Is that OK?" she asked nervously.

"Of course it's OK," he assured her, still caressing her poor posterior. After a few minutes, he picked up the cane again, tapping it against her bottom, which was already covered by deep red lines. "Continue counting," he told her. "This will be the seventh stroke."

Rachel screamed as the cane slammed down, and she started to bawl again. "Seven, thank you, sir!" Not only had she asked for this pain – when offered a chance to stop, she'd asked for MORE! She really needed her head examined.

The next stroke caused her to kick her legs, clenching and unclenching her cheeks as she tried to wriggle the pain away. "Eight, thank you, sir!"

He lifted the cane again, slamming it down on her wriggling rear. She cried out in pain and relief. "Nine, thank you, sir!" The most wonderful experience of her life was finally over.

Stephen helped her up, hugging her close and whispering soothingly to her as he kissed her forehead and stroked her burning bottom. She buried her face in his chest, sobbing.

Once she'd calmed down somewhat, she could finally meet his gaze. Her eyes twinkled up at him, revealing the gratitude she felt for what he'd done for her.

"Would you like me to fetch the lotion?" he asked. "It might help dampen the pain you're feeling."

She shook her head. "Not right now. There is something else you can do," she said, blushing. "As you already commented… I REALLY enjoyed this… I'm soaking… could you…" Her blush deepened, and she looked down, unable to finish her suggestion.

Fortunately, she didn't have to. Grinning, he bent her over the desk again – this time on her back. She smiled up at him as he undid his zipper, ready to enter the wet, willing woman.