Office Junior

                      Author : Jay Bee JBates3327@aol.com

In 1961 when I was sixteen I had to leave home and get a job. My dad found me work as an office junior in a small wholesale stationary firm. There was Mr Jackson, the boss, who was in his forties, balding and a bit fat, a buyer, a salesmen, the office clerk, a typist and me. I was the youngest by at least twenty years. I wasn’t very keen on going there but my dad insisted. So that spring I left home and found lodgings in the town and settled into the job.

It was really boring. I had to be the first in to do any cleaning and answer the phones. Then I made coffee, dealt with the post, ran messages, made foot deliveries, filed papers and generally did whatever no one else could be bothered to do. The others were all middle aged and into gardening, their houses or fishing. None of these topics interested me so I rarely talked to them. It was a relief to get back to my lodgings at night. At least I could chat to Mr Foster, my landlord, and his housekeeper.

Mr Foster was strict. After I had been at his place for about six weeks I got a really good - and well deserved - spanking. It was the first one I had had and I was a bit subdued after it. Not that anyone at work noticed that I was sitting down a little carefully for a few days. They were too wrapped up in X & Co’s order for 10,000 envelopes or what had happened to the delivery of biros that had been promised last week. As the time went on I got more and more fed up.

This didn’t affect my work. I was careful to be seen as a willing employee. I even volunteered to do extra at times. Mr Jackson was pleased with me, or so he said, but there was never any mention of a pay rise. The real problem was the three men I shared the main office with. None of them went out of their way to be friendly. At times when they could get away with it they’d go to the pub for two or so hours over lunchtime, leaving me to cope. They never included me in their boring conversations. One, Mr Timms, would only address me as `boy.’

As a result I became more and more surly with them. If they wanted coffee I would get it but it might be a bit cold when it arrived. Personal messages from their wives or mothers - Mr Marshall still lived with his - might not reach them. Their ashtrays could remain full for a few days or their bets might not get placed in time. Any good relations between us rapidly faded. I hated them and they disliked me. Being young and foolish I didn’t care about that. I was soon to learn the error of my ways.

Everything came to the boil one Thursday afternoon when I had been there nearly three months. Mr Jackson was at a long meeting at the Town Hall where he was trying to land the Council’s stationary contract. This involved taking a councillor and two officers to lunch. We all knew he was unlikely to make an appearance for the rest of the day. The three men went to the pub early. That left me and Mrs Phipps, the typist, alone. I got on okay with her but she was in her sixties and not someone a boy could talk to with any ease. She had her own little office to which I brought tea at regular intervals. On this day she typed like mad until 12.40 and then went out to a lunchtime concert in a nearby church.

After two hours of kicking my heels and answering the occasional phone call I was even more fed up than usual. At about 2.30 the men came back from the pub a little merry. They were chatting and laughing and sent me out of the room to make coffee. When I came back they were playing a stupid office game. There were three wastepaper baskets in a line in the middle of the room. Each had to head a ball of scrap paper into his bin in turn. They would have fifty goes and the one with the most balls in the basket won. I knew who would have to go round afterwards cleaning up the mess.

I stood and watched for a bit but Mr Timms turned to me and said nastily "Boy, if you don’t have anything better to do you can go and sweep the corridor."

I didn’t argue. I went and got the broom and swept up. When I got back they had nearly finished. Mr Marshall, the clerk, was in the lead, Mr Lemon, the buyer, was in second place and Mr Timms was losing badly. As I came back in Mr Timms yelled at me to go and do some work or I would be in trouble. I was ready for this. I had a plastic dustbin in my hand and said, "Fair enough, I have to empty the waste baskets." With that I tipped the contents of each basket into the dustbin and rapidly left the room. They were speechless. I was laughing so much I could hardly walk.

About half an hour later, when I judged that their anger would have subsided, I went back into the main office. Mrs Phipps could be heard typing away but Mr Jackson hadn’t come back yet. As I entered the room I saw they were all clustered around Mr Lemon’s desk. They looked up at me but said nothing and turned back to whatever it was they were writing. I went and sat at my desk and got on with some filing. They were busy muttering to each other. I couldn’t hear what they were saying and wasn’t very interested anyway.

After about ten minutes Mr Marshall came over to my desk with a sheet of paper. "You’d better read this, Jay," he said coldly, and walked back to the others.

I looked down at the sheet. It was headed `Complaints about Jay B.....’ I was stunned and read on. I was insolent, ill mannered, failed to pass on messages, lazy, untidy, unreliable and all in all not the sort of boy who should be employed by the firm. At the end of the paper was `Recommendation: that Jay B.....’s employment with this company be ended on seven days’ notice.’ It was signed by all three of them.

I went cold. I couldn’t afford to lose my job. If I did I wouldn’t be able to pay the rent. I’d have to go back to dad’s place; if he’d have me. I knew it would be difficult to find new work if I was thrown out for this sort of conduct. What sort of reference could I expect? I slowly stood up and looked at the three of them.

"You aren’t going to give this to Mr Jackson, are you?" I said. "Please don’t. I need this job. It’s not as if I was living at home."

"You should have thought of that before you started behaving like this." Mr Lemon replied. "Why should we have to put up with your nonsense any longer? You are a rude, obnoxious, childish young man who obviously thinks himself too good for this firm. You should be grateful for the job. Instead you act as if you are doing us a favour by being here."

"I’m sorry, sir," I stammered, cut to the quick by what he was saying, " I’ll try and do better. But none of you make any attempt to be nice and I hate being called `boy.’"

"It doesn’t matter what you like or don’t like, boy," snapped Mr Timms. "You are here to work and do as you are told. You are not at school now. You must learn to get on with us, not the other way around."

"Yes sir," I mumbled. "I’ll change I promise, please don’t give that paper to Mr Jackson."

"If I had acted like that at your age I’d have got a good thrashing," Mr Marshall chipped in. "That’s what you need, young man."

The others nodded their agreement. I stared at my desk. They wouldn’t, would they?

"Do you want us to make this formal complaint about you to Mr Jackson?" asked Mr Timms.

"No sir,"

"Well there’s only one alternative. We’re fed up with you. You either accept our punishment or you see Mr Jackson."

I couldn’t believe what they were saying. I either had to take a spanking or lose my job. I thought furiously. I definitely didn’t want to be whacked by them. I could tell Mr Jackson about their visits to the pub and some other things. But that wouldn’t do me any good. I knew that they were far more important to the firm than I was. Office juniors were easy to come by. Experienced workers who knew how the firm operated would be much more difficult to find. If I challenged any of their complaints I would be sure to lose. Then I would be out. I would get little sympathy from Mr Foster and none at all from dad. I might even end up with a good spanking from both of them. Reluctantly I made my decision.

"Please sir, I’ll take the punishment." I whispered.

"I’m sorry," Mr Lemon said ,"I didn’t hear that."

"Can I have the punishment, please sir?"I repeated in a stronger voice. Inside I was shaking with anger. They had me where they wanted me, but I vowed revenge.

Mr Marshall crossed over to his own desk and picked up a heavy ruler. It was 30 inches long, two inches wide and about half an inch thick. One edge was a thin edge and the other was blunted. He turned to face me.

"Come out from behind the desk," he ordered.

Thoughts of revenge faded as I hesitantly stepped out into the middle of the room. I didn’t like the look of that ruler. I would have bruises for sometime after a beating with that.

"Clear a space in the centre of your desk, take your jacket off and put it on your chair," Mr Marshall continued.

Sullenly, I obeyed. I put the papers I was working on to one side. I pushed any pens and pencils to the other side so that there was an empty area in the middle. I then took my jacket off, leaving me in white shirt and black trousers. I put the jacket on the chair and turned back to them.

"Right," said Mr Marshall, " You are going to get four with the blunt edge of this ruler from each of us. Perhaps that will teach you to show more respect around here. Now turn round and bend over the desk."

Four from each with the blunt edge!! That would be like getting twelve with a senior cane. I felt a sudden urge to go to the loo, but luckily I had just been. I wanted to beg them not to do it. Pride forbade me. So without a word I faced the desk again and, trembling, bent myself over it.

"Straighten your knees," Mr Marshall ordered, " Bend over further and get your feet apart."

I did as I was told so that my bottom was high in the air. I heard Mr Marshall move to stand to my left. There was a pause then the first stroke fell. It seared across the top of my seat and I automatically bucked with the pain. However I managed to stay silent. I settled back down for the next one. It hit me dead centre. Again my body spasmed with the impact and the desk moved a bit. The next two were just as bad but lower down. By the time Mr Marshall had finished I was shivering and gasping with the pain.

Then Mr Timms said "Just stay where you are, boy."

I heard him take the ruler from Mr Marshall and Mr Marshall walking away. Mr Timms came up to stand by me and laid the flat of the ruler on my rear end. There was a pause then he lifted the ruler away and brought the blunt edge down hard on the part of my bottom by the crease with my legs. I couldn’t help myself and let out a yelp of agony.

"Stop wriggling, boy" Mr Timms snapped, "Otherwise I’ll give you an extra one."

The next stroke was really hard, just above the last one, and I almost cried out again. His third landed on an area already welted by Mr Marshall and I couldn’t hold back another yell. Somehow I stayed down for the fourth which was the worst of the lot. He angled it across me, re-igniting the fires others had started. I howled with pain, jumped up and clapped my hands to my bottom.

"Get down there," Mr Timms ordered, "or it will be worse for you."

Sobbing by now, I bent back over the desk and watched my tears soak into the wood. There was a long pause before I heard Mr Lemon come up behind me. This gave me a bit of time to recover myself. I stopped crying and got back into the correct position. Without any warning his first whipped into me. I gasped in agony and began to sob again. If this went on he’d have me begging for mercy. The next followed almost immediately and I screamed.

Suddenly the office door opened and I heard Mr Jackson’s voice ask what was going on. I didn’t dare get up, so I stayed where I was and listened to Mr Marshall muttering to him. Then I heard Mr Jackson say, "Only two more? Very well. Do him good." With that the door closed and I could hear him walk away to his own office.

There was a silence. I could almost feel every eye turn once more to my taut buttocks. There was a light tap with the ruler then it came down hard and I yelled again. The last was just as bad. Once more I howled my sorrow. I heard Mr Lemon walk away but stayed down. I was crying softly now but after a minute the tears ceased. My bottom was sore all over. I longed to be allowed to stand up and give it a rub.

About five minutes later Mr Marshall told me to get up. I slowly raised myself from the desk and turned to face them. My hands crept behind me. I started to rub away the pain.

"I hope that has taught you a lesson, young man," Mr Marshall said. "In future we expect no more insolence or misbehaviour from you. We tell you to do something, you do it. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," I replied, eyes looking down at the floor.

" Good," he responded,"well see you remember it. For now we’ll tear up this complaint. But bear in mind that we can easily write it out again."

Mr Timms left the room and I heard him go into Mr Jackson’s office. The others went back to their desks and got on with some work. I couldn’t look at them. I wanted to go to the loo and inspect the damage but thought better of it. I put my jacket back on and sat down gingerly. Sitting was painful, particularly where Mr Timms had got me lower down. The initial agony was fading into a dull, throbbing ache. Sighing, I picked up the papers I was filing and started to sort them out.

Mr Timms came back into the room. "Mr Jackson wants to see you, boy" he said with a nasty little smirk. "Oh, and you’re to take the ruler in with you."

I gasped. Not more! I sat frozen in place for a moment. Reluctantly I put down the papers I was working on. I rose slowly from my chair. Tears began to form again and I had to brush them away. I crossed to Mr Marshall’s desk and picked up the ruler. It was heavy in my hand. I desperately didn’t want any more. But there was no help for it. I left the office and made my slow way to Mr Jackson’s room. The door was closed so I knocked and waited for him to say `enter.’ When he did I went in and shut the door behind me.

"Come here and put the ruler on the desk," he told me. "Now what was all that about?"

I stared at his desk and told him what had happened. About how I felt about the others always ignoring me and treating me like dirt. I said how much I hated being called `boy.’ Everything flooded out. Stupidly I even said something about getting revenge. When I finished I looked up at him.

"Well," he said, "I suppose I had better inspect the damage. Go and stand by that chair, take your jacket off and put it over the back of the chair."

Obediently I went over to the wooden office chair he indicated. I took my jacket off and hung it over the back.

"Now, take your trousers and pants down, bend over the seat of the chair and hold onto a leg with each hand."

"But sir!" I cried,"What if Mrs Phipps comes in?"

"She won’t, I’ve told her not to for the next twenty minutes; so do as you are told please."

I undid my belt, unfastened my trousers and let them fall to my knees. Remembering what Mr Foster had wanted in the spanking I got from him I then pushed them down so they were round my ankles. My white pants followed them. I lifted my shirt tails clear and then bent over the seat of the chair. I took a tight grip on its legs. I straightened my knees and inched my feet apart. Looking round, I saw Mr Jackson pick up the ruler and come over to me. He spent sometime looking at my bare bottom. With a corner of the ruler he traced over one of the welts. I winced at the pain even this relatively light touch brought.

"I’m not pleased with you, Jay" he told my backside. " You are clearly a very immature young man. I accept you work hard. I have no complaints about that. But that is only part of what working in an office is about. You must also be part of the team, a fact you simply fail to grasp. I have some sympathy for you but I will not tolerate any kind of revenge on the others. If anything they have taught you a valuable lesson. You should thank them for it. Just as you will thank me for what you are about to receive."

"Oh please, sir," I begged. "No more sir. I promise I won’t get back at them. I’ll be good."

"I’m sorry but I need to be sure your attitude is going to change. I am not convinced of that yet. I’m going to give you six with the flat of the ruler to help you make up your mind."

"Oh sir," I moaned, "please don’t."

He made no reply but stepped back and to one side. I felt the cold wood of the ruler massage my bare, hot flesh. It actually felt quite nice and my cock began to rise in response.

Then the ruler lifted away. It came back with a loud crack that resounded around the room. It was a heavy piece of wood and the flat really stung. I yelped but stayed down. Five more whacks followed in quick succession up and down my poor, battered bottom. By the end I was howling and sobbing as the welts from the previous spanking were whipped back into action. There didn’t seem to be a single part of my backside that wasn’t on fire. I knew I would be sore for days after.

Like Mr Marshall, Mr Jackson made me stay down for sometime. When he allowed me to stand up I was almost recovered. I was certainly well enough to be embarrassed at being on display in front of him. Again my cock stiffened. But he hadn’t told me I could get dressed so I had to stand facing him. I wanted to cover myself with my hands but they were being put to better use behind me. He gave me a long appraising stare. My cock went rock hard. Out of nowhere I suddenly remembered that he was not married. By the time he told me to get dressed I’m not sure which set of my cheeks were redder. I hastily pulled my pants and trousers up and then put my jacket on.

"Now," Mr Jackson said,"Am I going to have any more trouble from you?"

"No, sir," I replied.

"And what do you say?"

"Thank you, sir. I’m sorry sir."

"Alright then. I don’t think you’re a bad boy but you must grow up. Even if you don’t like those you work with you must try and get on with them. No more of this nonsense. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir,"

Mr Jackson dismissed me with an order to send the others in to see him. I got a slight sense of revenge by seeing that they were worried by this summons. They trooped off to his office. I got back to work. A few minutes later they came back in, followed by Mr Jackson. He gave us all a little speech about working in harmony and made me shake hands with each of them.

When I got home that evening I had a look at my bum in the mirror. It was lined with purple weals from the edge of the ruler, while the marks of the flat glowed redly. I had a hot bath to try and ease the aching. By the time I went down to supper I felt a lot better. But sitting at the table was difficult and I wriggled about trying to get comfortable. Mr Foster noticed what I was doing.

"Can’t you sit still, Jay?" he asked,"Anyone would think you’d just had a good spanking."

My face must have given me away. I had to tell him and Mrs Davies, the housekeeper, what had happened. It was the first time I had really talked to them about the job. I went into some detail. I suppose I whined a bit. Mr Foster made no comment at the end but asked me to come and see him in his study at 9.30. A heavy weight settled into my stomach. On the last occasion he had told me to come and see him at that time I had been whacked. Surely he wasn’t going to do it again?

But by 9.40 I was kneeling on his footstool - head on the floor, bare bottom raised high in the air - while his leather tawse showed me how much sympathy he had with me; none at all. I got six scorchers right across both cheeks. For the third time that day I howled and sobbed and fervently promised to mend my ways.

He too made me stay down to `reflect on my sins.’ I must have been kneeling, effectively naked, on that stool for a good twenty minutes when I heard the clock strike ten. At that he got up from his desk. I heard him open a drawer. I shivered with fear. I knew what was coming next. Stinger!! Stinger was a long, whippy cane that lived up to its name. With any luck I was only going to get one, to remind me what was in store if I didn’t improve, but one was more than enough. I raised my quivering bum up to receive it and made sure my knees were wide apart. He came to stand behind me and rested Stinger on the top of my back. His other hand felt my bottom as if to check that I was fit for more punishment. Then without a word he stood back and lifted Stinger away. There was a pause then it whopped through the air and landed with a thwack on my unprotected stern. I howled in agony and wriggled so much I nearly fell off the stool.

He let me up after that and allowed me to get dressed. When I had been spanked by him before it had ended with a smile and a little joke as if to say, ` you’ve been naughty, you’ve been punished, now everything’s back to normal.’ There was none of that this time. After I thanked him I was dismissed with a curt warning to grow up. It was a very sad, sore and thoughtful young man who put himself to bed that night.

The bruises lasted more than a week. However things improved at work. I buckled down and did as I was told, if not with a smile, at least without complaint. I was careful to address them all as `sir’, to do anything given to me as best I could and, though I hate to admit it, I stopped acting like a child. In turn they became more friendly. Mr Timms stopped calling me `boy’; although he could rarely bring himself to say my name. I even started chatting to Mr Marshall who told me of his time in the Royal Engineers in the war. He had been captured at Dunkirk when he was eighteen and spent four years in a prisoner of war camp. He had some really good stories to tell.

As I settled back into the job I became used to it. I never liked it but at least I coped. Mr Jackson was pleased at my progress but linked it to that Thursday and the good spanking I had received. From time to time I had to take the ruler into his office to ensure the lesson stayed fresh in my memory. I had no regrets when I left there a year later.

Jay Bee. March 26 1998