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After I left school I bummed around a bit, not knowing what to do with myself. Not having school to keep me occupied and having no job got boring real fast. I mean, what does a young lady do on a cold wintry day? Sit at home and knit? That’ll be the day.
Fortunately I landed myself a job at the local mall in one of the bigger stores and I found myself being a shop assistant in the women’s clothing section. The work was interesting enough and we got a store discount on the clothes, mainly because we were expected to buy them and wear them. I acquired several very nice outfits, paid for out of my own money. It gave me quite a fillip to know that I’d earned the money myself and wasn’t depending on my parents to finance me.
I enjoyed the work. Most of the customers were young women about my age and most of our clothes were designed for that customer base. Sometimes we’d get an older woman in, buying things for daughters and nieces and I liked being able to advise them.
Sometimes there was the other sort of older woman who was buying the clothes for herself. You’ve heard the expression mutton dressed as lamb? Some of these women were more in the category of old cow dressed as lamb. They would look terrible and I’d have to smile and say, “Yes. It suits you perfectly,” when I really wanted to say, “I know a place where you can get a good yashmak.”
Not that the older women worried me as long as they were reasonably polite. Or even if they were not too rude. Some of them came across as very supercilious. A you’re there to serve them and don’t you forget it attitude, but even that type of woman can be polite.
There is the occasional customer who is walking hell on earth. If you see her in time, you hide, and let some other assistant get stuck. I didn’t know this. I was an innocent little newbie, wasn’t I. When one of the more senior assistants tapped me on the shoulder and directed me towards an older customer I just smiled and went over to help her.
Let me digress for a moment. We had a number of part-time staff who had a lot more experience than me. While not technically my superiors, me being full-time, I was quite willing to accept that they knew more about the business than I did and to learn off them. Most of them were quite helpful.
The floor manager was a man and, oh boy, was he a man. He was tall and handsome and very firm. One did not back-chat the floor manager, at least, not twice. While strict, and somewhat older than me, he must have been pushing thirty, he was fair minded and easy to get along with as long as you did your job. He was also quite a studly guy, not that I noticed that, of course, being young and innocent. Reasonably innocent, anyway. OK, being young and still learning some things and learning them with a certain amount of enthusiasm.
So there you have the situation. Nice job, friendly staff, and a decent manager. So when I was pointed towards an older customer off I went, a lamb to the slaughter.
When I spoke to the woman she had already picked up a number of items that she wanted to try on. I politely explained that the store only permitted a maximum of four items in the change-rooms at any one time. Boy, did I cop a mouthful. Was I accusing her of being a fucking thief? Who did I think I was, trying to tell her what she could and couldn’t do? She wanted to try all these outfits and it was my job to let her.
She was loud, rude, and belligerent, but I kept insisting that it was store policy and that I had no choice in the matter. We did bend the rule sometimes, but only up to about six items and she had at least ten things. Eventually the woman dumped most of the outfits into my unwilling arms and barged into one of the change-rooms.
Oh, boy. Customer from hell. After she tried on each outfit she would toss it out of the change-room onto the floor, demanding I put that one aside as unwanted and let her have another one. I’m standing there, fuming, picking up each item as it came flying out and either hanging or folding it, putting them amongst the things to go back into stock. If I didn’t hand in a replacement outfit fast enough I was sworn at.
Of the items she selected and tried on she liked none of them. She dumped the last item and came sailing out of the change-room, telling me to come with her. I trailed along behind while she returned to ravaging the shelves, stopping every so often to dump something into my unwilling arms. My customer, so I would be expected to put the shelves back in order. I looked around for help but not one of the rotten bitches who worked here would even look at me.
Then it was back to the change-room with more outfits and more abuse and more mess and no sales. Nothing she tried on was suitable and it was all my fault. The woman gave her opinion of the store, the clothes, and me, personally, in a loud and obnoxious voice, returning to the floor to forage for more outfits and more shelves to mess up.
After whatsapp escort the third trip to the change-room I’d had enough. I was not going to trail along behind this harridan one more inch. When she turned and snapped at me to hurry up I said no.
“What did you say?” she demanded.
“I said, no,” I repeated. “As in no, I am not going to hurry. No, I am not going to help you anymore. No, I am not going to serve you. If my service and the shop and the clothes are so terrible you’d probably be happier somewhere else. I know I’d be happier if you were somewhere else.”
She went into full rant mode, swearing and carrying on. By a strange coincidence there weren’t any other assistants around. Not one of them. I wouldn’t put it past then to be hiding under the counter, not that I blamed them.
I stuck to my guns, though. I told her plainly that I was not going to serve her and she would have to find another assistant. And good luck with that, I thought. The rotten woman swore at me one last time, turned and barged out of the shop, swearing to never return. I’d lost us a customer and I didn’t give a damn.
I didn’t give a damn until I turned around and saw Mr Revans, the floor manager standing there, looking at me.
“Come and see me after your shift finishes,” he told me. “Now I suggest you get busy and start tidying this place up. These shelves are a mess.”
Mess was putting it mildly. That woman had been a one-woman wrecking crew. I got busy and started tidying the shelves. Strangely enough, with the woman gone the other assistants were back, and they pitched in with the tidying up.
I spent the rest of the evening sweating over what Mr Revans was going to do. I didn’t think he’d fire me for a first offence, but I had been rude to a customer. I fretted and worried and served customers until it was time to shut up shop.
Even then I dithered and delayed, and I think I was the last person in the store by the time I made my way to Mr Revans’s office. I knocked, hoping that he’d left, but no such luck. I entered when told to.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I said quickly, apologising as soon as I walked into his office. “I screwed up, I know. I was rude to a customer. I’m dreadfully sorry. It won’t happen again.”
He didn’t say anything, just giving me a thoughtful look. The suspense was killing me.
“Um, what are you going to do to me?” I asked, visions of summary dismissal in mind.
“”Well, I thought I’d make an object lesson of you,” he said quietly. “You know the sort of thing. Strip you, bend you over the desk and spank you, and then screw you until you can’t walk straight.”
I was appalled. And he said it in such a matter of fact manner. How many other girls had he taken advantage of in this fashion? But if I said no I’d lose my job. Then I thought of my clothes.
Oh my god. My top was new and it had these fragile lacy ruffles on the front. If he went pulling at that he’d tear it for sure. And I was wearing stockings with a suspender belt. Some of the customers wanted to know what they were like so I wore them to show. But the stocking did have a tendency to run. He could ruin them if he tried to take them off.
“Oh, no,” I said quickly. “You’re not taking off my things. You’d probably ruin them. I can take them off myself.”
To demonstrate I was already undoing my blouse as I spoke. Mr Revans looked startled. I didn’t care if it shocked him to have me do it myself. They were my clothes and I wasn’t going to have him ruin them. I was rolling down my stockings, blushing furiously, when it occurred to me that my undies were a matched set. Light green and heavy on the lace. If he pulled at them he’d tear them, I just knew it. I’d have to take those off myself as well.
I put my clothes neatly to one side and stood there naked. What was I supposed to do now? Just bend over the desk? Mr Revans got out of his chair and walked around the desk and stood in front of me, looking me over.
“Ah, tell me, Cheryl,” he said softly. “Did it occur to you that you looked terrified when you came in and maybe I was using a bit of sarcasm to shock you and make you stop and think?”
“I think you’ll find that there’s nothing in the employer/employee lexicon that describes a situation where a manager can spank an employee.”
“What?” I was feeling slightly stunned. What was going on?
“Y-you mean that you weren’t going to strip me and spank me and have sex with me?”
He slowly shook his head.
“I don’t think that that sort of thing is permitted under the store rules,” he said.
“Th-then why didn’t you stop me getting undressed,” I demanded, face absolutely burning.
“Why would I do that? You seemed eager to do so and I don’t mind looking at naked young woman, especially when she’s as pretty as you. Very nice breasts, by the way. I like the way they stand out istanbul escort bayan so proudly. All white and pink and kissable.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” I said, all offended dignity, “I’ll get dressed again.”
“No, I don’t think I will excuse you,” he said, sitting down in a visitors chair. “Come here,” he added, patting his lap.
“You got yourself all worked up and ready for a spanking. It would be a pity to let you down at the last moment. Come along. Over my knee.”
“But, but you said that sort of thing wasn’t allowed,” I half wailed.
“Neither is yelling at the customers,” he pointed out, “and, like I said, you seem to be expecting it.”
He patted his lap again and instead of grabbing for my clothes I found myself moving towards him. He took my arm and guided me so that I was lying across his lap, not really believing that this was happening.
“Do you want a little lecture to go with the spanking,” he asked.
I shook my head. I didn’t even want the spanking. So why, in that case, was I bent across his knee?
“That’s good,” he murmured. “Damned if I know what I would say. Did I mention that you have a very nice bottom? Very shapely. Makes a man want to touch it.”
That didn’t surprise me. Try standing in a crowded train and you’ll soon find out if men want to touch your bottom. His hand was resting on my bottom, lightly rubbing it, not spanking. I squirmed slightly, waiting. He must have sensed my impatience.
“Oh, yes, spanking,” he murmured.
He lifted his hand and he actually spanked my bottom. Until his hand landed I hadn’t really thought he would. I gave a little yelp and his hand came down again. He gave me half a dozen quick spanks, and they smarted, and then his hand rested on my bottom again.
He slid his hand over my bottom, lightly prodding at the gap at the top of my legs.
“Move your legs a little further apart,” he instructed, so I did, not even questioning it. I questioned it fast enough when his hand slipped between my legs and started rubbing me there.
“What are you doing?” I demanded.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Just making sure that you’ll be prepared for after the spanking.”
With that his hand lifted and another spank came down. I was distracted from this by the fact that his other hand had slipped under me and was holding my breast.
“Um, your hand is on my breast,” I muttered.
“I know, and a nice soft breasts it is,” he said, rubbing my breast to emphasise how nice and soft he found it. “You have nice responsive nipples, too.”
He should know. His thumb had settled on one and was rotating it, and I could feel it responding to him.
“Ah, you’re not supposed to be doing that,” I said in a half gasp.
“Well, I know that,” he told me. “I’m also not supposed to spank you like this,” hand coming down again, “or poke you like this.”
I gave a shocked cry of outrage at that last one. His finger had prodded me at just the wrong spot on my mound, spearing between my lips and into me.
“You stop that,” I gasped.
“Don’t be such a baby,” he said in a nice soothing voice. “It’s only a finger. You won’t get to feel my cock until after the spanking is completed.”
“What do you mean, your cock,” I demanded, wincing as another couple of spanks landed, although I had a suspicion I knew exactly what he meant.
“You got undressed on the understanding that I was going to spank you and then have sex with you. I wouldn’t want to let you down.”
With that he suddenly swung me to my feet and stood up himself.
“Why don’t you bend over the desk? I’ll be right with you.”
I’m looking at him, feeling as though I’d been run over by a train. Nothing was making sense. He didn’t really think I was going to bend over so that he could have sex with me, did he?
The answer appeared to be yes, because he was undoing his trousers. Then they were going down and his cock was on display, and it was well and truly on display. I was searching for the right words to say no way known, and he was moving towards me, and I was backing up, and then I could feel the desk pressing against my bottom and his cock was brushing against me.
“Are you going to turn around or do you want to watch?” he asked and I just stood there looking down at his cock.
He eased a foot forward, nudging it between my ankles. I swallowed nervously. If I turned around and bent over, that cock I was looking at was going to take me from behind. If I didn’t turn around, he was going to ease my legs apart and I’d be watching while he took me. I shifted nervously, and it was purely accidental that my legs moved further apart.
He moved even closer, reaching down to adjust the position of his cock, letting it ease between my legs. After that his hands came up and closed around my breasts, rubbing them. I was breathing hard, feeling hot özbek escort and flushed. I could feel his cock rubbing back and forth against me.
He was rousing me, and he knew it. It was obvious I guess. My nipples were standing out and I was breathing hard and, even though I hate to admit it, I was rubbing myself against his cock. It wasn’t a case of would I let him. It was a case of how would he do it.
The hell with it, I decided. I wanted to watch it happen. I was leaning back against the desk, hands gripping it to either side. His hands dropped away from my breasts, moving down to make a few minor adjustments. I knew just what those adjustments were. I could feel his fingers moving my lips apart and I could see him directing his cock into the space he had prepared.
Then he was pushing forward and now I could feel him, pressing into my passage. I was watching it happen, seeing his cock slowly vanish as it speared up into me, holding my breath as I watched in fascination. I gave a startled gasp as he pushed it home that last little bit and I lifted my eyes to look at him. He was smiling warmly and I could feel my heart turn over. Oh, my, he was hot. His hands came up to cover my breasts and now he was starting to move.
Oh, so was I. I couldn’t stay still with that sensation drilling into me. I wanted to scream at him to do it, do it, do it, but could only manage a sort of ah, ah, ah. He seemed to know exactly what I meant, his cock spearing into me with ever increasing force.
He was taking me good but apparently he decided it wasn’t enough. His hands slid down and closed over my bottom, lifting me so I was half sitting on the desk. His hands dropped further down, running around behind my legs, tugging at them. I knew what he wanted. My legs came up, closing around him, opening me more fully, pulling him deeper.
That was what he had wanted, all right. Now he really got to work on me, his cock pounding in at a great rate. I was gasping and making little noises while I urged him onward, relishing his movement. His hands were back on my breasts, rubbing them roughly, and I was loving it.
His hands slid from my breasts to my back, lifting me slightly, while his mouth closed over my breasts, biting and sucking and kissing, while all the time his cock was pounding, pounding, pounding, and I was being lifted higher and higher.
I don’t know how long he went on for and neither did I care. As long as he was making me feel like this I was content. Even my bottom didn’t hurt. Much. I was gasping and shaking, my whole body was heated, and I just knew I had a fever. And I was getting hotter. I couldn’t stand it. Neither could I stand the thought of not having this.
When he finally settled down to finish me off I was beyond caring. He came driving in once too often and I climaxed, shuddering and clinging to him, almost sobbing with the relief.
He climaxed, I know. I could feel him squirting inside me. Afterwards he just moved back to the chair and sat, taking me with him, cock still inside me. We sat there in silence for a moment, but eventually I pushed against his chest. I really did have to get cleaned up and dressed.
Easy for him. All he had to do was pull up his trousers. You don’t put stockings and suspenders back on that fast.
“I should have left these on,” I grumbled. He showed his intelligence at that stage. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t even smile, although I suspect he was biting his cheek. Smart man.
Finally I was dressed and ready to go.
“The reason I asked you to see me was to discuss that awkward customer you had,” he suddenly informed me.
Well, I knew that, and I had apologised.
“We don’t pay our staff to take personal abuse from customers,” he informed me. “If that sort of thing happens again you should call security and request the customer be escorted out of the store. They’ll take it from there.”
“I’m not in trouble for being rude to the customer?” I asked carefully.
“No, but you should read your employee notes again. It does mention security and acceptable behaviour.”
“Then why,” I asked, speaking very carefully, “did you spank me?”
“You wanted me to. Why else would you have got undressed and bent over my knee,” he asked, sounding all innocent and guiltless.
Of course. Why else? It wasn’t as though I thought I had to. It wasn’t as though I thought I might be going to get fired. It must have been because I wanted to.
“Ah, you look as though you’re not satisfied with that answer,” he said. Very perceptive of him.
“I’ll tell you what. Come and see me tomorrow night after work and we’ll see if you want to get undressed and spanked. You can leave your suspenders and stockings on tomorrow. It will be interesting to see what happens.”
With that he was ushering me out the door, chatting blandly about what a good job I’d been doing and reminding me to read up on the employee notes.
Just like that I was outside the store, heading homeward. I had no intention of going back to his office after work the next day but there was one thing I couldn’t help wondering about. What would it be like to just be wearing the suspenders and stockings? It sounded sinfully erotic.
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