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Pepper's Paddling

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The first two times I’d found myself here I hadn’t thought much of it. Being called into the boss’s office sucked, and was embarrassing since he always made employees he’d stand just outside his closed door and wait to be called in. It reminded me a little bit of being called to the principal’s office back in middle school, about to get paddled for misbehavior. Thankfully I’d gone to a more progressive high school that didn’t believe in paddling students. While I’d ended up in detention plenty, it was better that the soreness that lasted for what seemed like forever but really was never more than a day or so.

Now, though, I wished I was waiting for the principal to paddle me. The company where I worked had a three strike rule. I’d just had my third strike, and was certain I was being called in for him to sign the papers saying I was fired. I sighed unhappily. I’d liked working here. The people were nice and everyone went by their first names, the work was rewarding, and there was always fresh coffee in the break room.

“Come in please, Pepper,” I heard as the door opened. I stepped through, moderately surprised that he was still calling me by my first name. He closed the door. “So,” said as he sat behind his desk. “Third strike, Pepper.”

I’d hoped to avoid crying, but before he’d even officially fired me I was already tearing up.

“Why are you crying already? Plenty of time for that later.” His light-hearted tone made me angry, partially because I didn’t understand his words and thought he was making fun of me.

“Because I liked working here, and I hit my third strike, and third strike ALWAYS means you’re gone…. And I don’t want to be fired.” He sat up straight, suddenly looking stern.

“Did someone actually tell you you’d be fired after your third strike?”

“Well… no. But it always…. “ he held up a hand and I stopped mid-sentence.

“Not. Here.” I gaped.

“But then… what’s the three strike rule about? Just to scare employees off from acting out?” I felt anger building in me again.

“Pepper…” I shut my mouth. “No, the three strike rule does have consequences – consequences that you will want to avoid after your first experience, trust me.” I was completely lost at this point, and just slouched back into my chair.

“Tell me, Pepper. When you were standing outside my office, what did you feel like?”

“A kid sent to the principal’s office,” I muttered. He leaned forward and looked me in the eye.

“Now tell me this, Pepper. Did they paddle students where you went to school?” I froze in shock. Surely he wasn’t implying…

“Um. Only through middle school.”

“And were you familiar with this process?” I flushed red, and he nodded. “That gives me my answer.”

“So are you saying the three strike rule ends not in firing but… “ I couldn’t get myself to finish the sentence. He did it for me.

“Corporal punishment, yes.” He leaned back. “Of course, if you are unwilling to accept the punishment, we will move to termination. But I’ve only had that happen twice in the twenty years I’ve held this position. And I sincerely doubt you’ll make the third.”

“So, um… I just have to accept a few swats and I won’t get fired?” That didn’t sound so bad.

“It’s more than a few, Pepper. A full dozen. And you don’t get to keep your modesty like you did in school.” It was true, the swats had always been over my pants, or whatever was covering my bottom at the time.

Those two facts made it very clear why he’d said I’d want to avoid this after my first experience. Getting fired from this job wasn’t an option. It’d look bad on my resume. My parents would be disappointed. But most importantly, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to find a job I liked this much again.

“Well, Pepper? Which form should I bring out? The consent for corporal punishment, or the termination papers?” I didn’t even hesitate.

“The consent.”

“Good,” he said as he nodded and opened the bottom desk drawer. “I really didn’t want to lose you as an employee, but the rules must be enforced. You understand that, right?”

“Yes, sir. So um, when does this happen? After hours?”

“Nope,” he said, handing me the form and a pen. “Now.”

“What?” I said, my hand frozen above the paper. “But everyone will know! This room is nowhere near soundproof, and surely you don’t expect me to take it silently, and even if I could you could still hear the swats!”

“I’m aware,” he said calmly. “No one will tease you for it, I promise. That’s grounds for a paddling right there. Yes, people will know. But no more than they know about your misbehavior. Consider it another incentive.”

I scanned the form and paused a bit where it warned about marks.

His eyes caught mine, and saw where I was looking.

“These are no child’s swats, Pepper. You will be marked.” I understood now why he said there was plenty of time for tears later, as a couple leaked from the corners of my eyes.

I took a deep breath and signed my name. The signature was a little shaky, but it was still clearly mine.

“Good girl,” he encouraged me as he signed his own name as witness. “Let’s get this over with.”

Throat too thick to actually say anything, all I could do was nod.

"Good." I watched as he reached into his desk and pulled out a paddle. My eyes widened. That paddle looked a lot meaner than the one I was familiar with from middle school.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised. That one was designed to discipline 11-13 year olds. This one was not meant for children, that much was immediately clear. If the sheer size didn't give that away, the holes drilled without did.

"You....you said I wouldn't be allowed to keep my modesty," I stammered. "How far were you talking about?" I had a sinking feeling about his answer.

"Bare from waist to knee."

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the instrument of corporal punishment. Before I'd seen it, I had been determined to take the strokes in silence. Now, I knew that was all but impossible.

"Pepper," my boss said, drawing my attention away from the paddle. "At least half the employees here have experienced what you are about to. They will not think any less of you for not taking it stoically."

I nodded, reminding myself that this was infinitely better than losing my job.

"Okay, stand up and move your chair off to the side."

My head was spinning as I obeyed, and then watched as he cleared a space in the middle of his desk. This was really happening.

He picked up the paddle from his desk and pointed it directly in front of it. I didn't need verbal directions to understand that, and I moved to the point indicated.

"Take down your jeans and underwear, push them all the way to your knees."

My fingers trembled as I unbuttoned my jeans, grateful I hadn't worn a belt today, and unzipped the zipper.

"It's easier if you do them both at once," he offered.

I closed my eyes and followed the advice.

"Good. Now reach forward and grab the other side of the desk."

This required a bit of adjusting, but my boss was patient. As soon as he was satisfied with my position, he took a step forward and rested the paddle on my bottom.

"Okay, Pepper. Hang on, and stay in position."

The holes prevented me from hearing the tell-tale swish of the paddle as it hurtled toward my unprotected bottom, so when it landed it was all I could do to keep from yelling out. Instead I sucked in a deep breath and squeezed my eyes shut and fingers on the desk.

'One,' I counted mentally, followed by a silent whimper. Just that one stroke was equivalent to the four I'd gotten when I was thirteen.

The next stroke forced a whimper, and upon application of the third, I could no longer hold back an audible cry.

The strokes continued with terrifying precision. Each one covered at least half of the previous one, and I could imagine the welts and bruises blooming on my backside.

Six had me sobbing in agony, fighting for my life to keep a hold of the desk. Staying totally still was impossible, but he didn't scold more, and the paddle never missed its mark.

After the sixth swat, he paused and set the paddle down on the chair I'd moved and came around to the front of the desk.

"Look at me, Pepper."

With some effort, I tilted my head up to look at my boss, and after a moment he nodded.

"Two minute break. We're halfway done."

I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or horrified at the proclamation. Kind of one of those glass half full or half empty scenarios.

I managed to catch my breath during the break, though my tears only slowed, not stopped. I idly wondered how long it was going to be before I stopped crying when he was done.

"Two minutes up. Let's continue."

I let out a sob but took a firmer grip on the table. I may not be able to stay quiet, but I hoped I could at least follow that one order. My whole bottom was on fire, and I'd started to feel the ache underneath during the break.

I didn't bother to try to stay quiet as the second half of my paddling started. I just wanted it over with, but the strokes continued in the same methodical manner as before. I was grateful to hear when he informed me that this would be the last one, but that it would be the hardest of all.

I sobbed at the proclamation, and even more when he informed me that for this last one I was expected to stay still, and to not get up until he'd did I could. Disobeying would find the stroke repeated, in the exact same spot. That was the last thing I wanted, so I nodded and took one final firmer grip on the table.


The stroke echoed throughout the office, followed immediately by my cry of agony. There was no way that hadn't been heard throughout the office, but I didn't care. All I cared about was that it was over. A full minute later I was given permission to get out of position, but all I did with it was bury my face in my hands and continue crying.

I felt a tap on my forearm and looked up to see a tissue box being handed to me. I gratefully took a couple of tissues and started to clean myself up. I filled half his small desk trash can with tissues before I'd fully calmed down.

"Now, Pepper. Going to do better with following protocol and more thorough in your reports?"

I nodded vigorously.

"Excellent. You're back at zero strikes, three more will have you back here for double the number of swats."

My eyes widened, not even able to comprehend that sort of pain.

"Needless to say, that's pretty rare. I've never in my twenty years had someone come back for a third round. I will be very upset if that is ever broken, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"You have the rest of today and tomorrow off with no penalty. You'll still be soure when you come back, make no mistake, but you'll have had some time to adapt."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Get dressed, go home, and get some rest. Report back to me on Thursday. Dismissed."

I pulled up my pants and panties with a hiss of pain as the material chafed my sore bottom.

The receptionist waved as I headed out.

"I'm glad I'll see you Thursday."

"I'm glad I'll be here." I gave her a small smile through my red and slightly puffy eyes.

As I headed back to my car, I couldn't resist reaching back and rubbing my bottom a little bit. I'd been paddled...hard...but I still had a job. This wouldn't have been the first job I'd lost for not following protocol.

This was certainly a deterrent from messing around. Even if I got another job somewhere down the road, I'd remember.

Maybe this was what I'd really needed.

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thats a good story thanks for sharing

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What I want to know is what kind of crazy company are you working for if half the employees have gotten written up three times.

Yes, I know it's fiction ;) nice work!

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Thank you for the great story

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