You’ll call me Miss.
At school, Miss was a terrible student. It wasn’t that I was stupid or incapable; it was that I could never find the motivation to apply my effort, not to the subjects they teach in schools. There was just one branch of learning that Miss threw herself into with enthusiasm. At least it was learning for me. I tirelessly honed and perfected what I called my ‘brattitude’. Being a brat, to Miss, is more than a mere subject. It’s almost a religion; I am a goddess of brattishness.
Just a couple of years ago, you’d probably have thought Miss was less a goddess and more a bratty little kitten. This is the story of how I blossomed into a hellcat.
There was a painful lesson in my late teens. Miss had been taken onto the books of a high-profile modelling agency. After a couple of successful test sessions with well-known photographers, I started to get bookings from leading fashion brands. This was a dream career, the perfect path for the super-brat Miss was born to be. The trouble was that I dialled up my brattitude too rapidly. Complaints came in, and the agency kicked me out on my perfect little tush.
Miss tried rival agencies, but modelling, at the elite end, is a close-knit business. Word had spread. Eventually, after stern warnings about ‘expected behaviour’, one of those agencies did take Miss on. I thought I had my inner brat under control, but after a few months, when the bookings were flowing, I started to feel indispensable. My inner diva could be suppressed no longer. Sadly, it seemed I was not quite so vital as I’d imagined, and I was out on my pretty little ass once more. After that, no reputable agency would touch Miss. So I learned the hard way that I must carefully judge when and how to exercise my inner brat. Eventually, I worked out how to take my diva in hand, and I started to use her to my advantage.
An early benefit of learning how to regulate my brattiness was that I just about managed to keep a decent relationship with my parents. By the age of nineteen, with limited career prospects, it was helpful financially to live at home. I also managed to get myself a job in a small legal office that was tucked away in a courtyard behind the local high street. This was a relief; there was pressure from my parents to take a job at the local supermarket. That would have been a disaster. Suppressing my insatiable desire to be a prima donna while dealing with queues of people that stand in line for ages, then still haven’t prepared themselves for their audience with me, well, that would have been intolerable. Miss would have been fired within a week.
Miss turned on the charm during the interview with the law firm, and it worked. I became an administrative assistant to Gordon Stevens.
Most of the time, it was just Miss and Gordon in his small office suite. On Wednesdays, Gordon would arrange out-of-office meetings; he felt it more efficient to try to bunch them together. So he was away from the office all day. In Gordon’s place, each Wednesday, a consultant who advised the firm, a woman with the exotic name of Ach Kumari, would work from the office on various cases in hand and field any urgent phone calls that required legal input. Ach was short for Achila. Achila was also short in height yet all the more striking and formidable for that.
With a modicum of effort, I wrapped Gordon around my cunning little finger. It was clear he was attracted to Miss. Not that he did anything inappropriate, but I could tell from the way he reacted when I first walked into his office that he enjoyed being in the presence of a pretty, self-possessed young lady.
Mostly, I managed Gordon’s diary and helped with correspondence, expenses, and that sort of dreary day-to-day functioning. At the interview, Gordon had promised that if I showed aptitude, he’d consider paying for my training to become a qualified legal secretary. But Miss was never going to have the motivation required. I wasn’t remotely interested in law, despite what I’d said to get the job. I quickly fell into a pattern of doing just enough and flashing my pretty eyes often enough to keep the job.
Wednesdays, with Ach, were much trickier. She seemed to warm to Miss at first but quickly saw through the facade. Where Gordon made polite requests and gentle corrections, Ach was direct. Once she’d sniffed out my lack of motivation, she was determined to control every moment, dictating precisely what I must do and how quickly I should do it. That was a red rag to Miss’s not-so-inner brat. Having learned that early lesson, we were careful not to get too bratty too soon, but it was difficult not to be sarcastic with Ach, not to attempt to wind her up; she bit so easily. Ach said that she thought Miss was ‘unforgivably sloppy,’ with ‘an attitude that was appalling’. But if she shared those concerns with Gordon, it didn’t seem to influence his relationship with me. Not at first, anyway.
One Wednesday, Ach was barking orders as usual. I was up and down, filing, typing, printing, and generally hating every moment, when Gordon called in to say his late afternoon meeting had been cancelled. He was coming back to the office. This was a rare event; it was the first such occurrence in my time working in that office.
When Gordon returned, Ach was in his room, where there was a large desk and a small meeting area for use when, very occasionally, a client would drop in. Miss was in the front office by the filing cabinets. Gordon’s room had soundproofing, but he hadn’t completely shut the door. I could hear Ach complaining about something, so I moved closer to listen in.
‘Well, yes, she seems bright enough. But she’s sloppy, lazy, and her attitude sucks.’
‘I don’t know about that, Ach. Elena’s reasonably professional with me.’ I smiled. It was just as I had thought: Gordon was precisely where I wanted him. ‘I’ll agree there’s some rough edges, some lapses in attentiveness, but all she needs is a little time and input. Everyone does, at first.’
‘She’s bone idle, mouthy, and pouty. She needs a bloody good spanking, that’s what.’
I didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. My head was spinning like a dervish. Yes, I was concerned Ach might convince Gordon of my shortcomings. But the suggestion of her administering a spanking had set fireworks off in Miss’s head.
I returned to the front desk and immediately googled the topic on my phone. That was when I properly discovered BDSM. I embraced my study of that topic as I’d taken to studying all things ‘brat’. To me, they were like two branches of a fascinating science. And on those two subjects, Miss was a straight-A student. By the time Wednesday came around again, my head was already swelling with ideas.
It didn’t take long for Ach to start agitating that morning. Some papers were missing from a file Miss had returned to the filing cabinet the previous week. Ach barked at Miss to review the other files she’d worked on last Wednesday. After the best part of an hour, I found the papers Ach needed.
‘Have you any idea the cost of that wasted hour to this firm, young lady? You need a darn good…’ she paused, searching for an appropriate word.
‘Spanking?’ Channeling my bratty best, I looked straight at Ach with all the nonchalance I could muster. She was a little shocked; her mouth fell open.
‘Yes, Ach, I heard you speaking to Gordon last week.’
I was thrilled to see a slight flush of embarrassment dance across Ach’s cheeks as she collected herself.
‘Well, I wasn’t being literal…’ I cut her off sharply.
‘Yes, you were. You meant just what you said, even if Gordon didn’t think so. And, you know what? You were right. So you’d better get spanking or shut the fuck up. Which is it to be?’ Miss’s inner brat was on full boost now. I knew Ach had to flail my pretty little ass.
‘Well, if you’re going to speak to me like that, I’ve no choice but to give you the spanking you so richly deserve, you lazy, jumped-up little bitch.’ Ach’s eyes betrayed desire. I had her exactly where I wanted her.
That day, Miss had worn an especially short skirt. I knew Gordon wouldn’t approve; it would have made him nervy. But Ach enjoyed looking all the way up Miss’s long legs and showed no restraint in doing so. I reciprocated by making no attempt to hide my frequent, lingering gazes at Ach’s substantial breasts. I guessed Ach was in her late thirties. She was a good-looking woman who dressed in a way that was professional but made ample use of her sexual allure.
Miss had been sure not to wear any panties for the occasion. Ach had Miss bend over the desk for the spanking. My modesty was barely covered by my skirt when Ach proceeded to land her first blows. She enjoyed her role as disciplinarian, running through a laundry list of Miss’s ‘crimes of commission and omission’. That said, Ach wasn’t spanking anything like hard enough; I wanted some marks, and she appeared to think the session was coming to an end after only a few minutes. Miss had to do something. I stood up, uninvited, and looked Ach squarely in the eye.
‘You’re not going to spank properly? I mean, those few light spanks over a skirt will barely make any fucking difference, will they.’ I’d chosen my words carefully, figuring Ach would be suggestible. Her deep black eyes narrowed in her dark face. Ach went from attractive to stunning when she became pissed off. Stunning to Miss, at least. There is so much more satisfaction in entrapping a beautiful beast when it’s angry. Since that moment, I’ve often wondered whether a bull assumes it’s superior to a matador.
‘Right, you asked for this!’
Ach bent Miss back over the desk forcefully. Without a pause, she hoiked my skirt to my hips. There was a quiet, sharp gasp as Ach saw that Miss was already naked beneath. Deliberately, I spread my legs a little, pushing my neat little cunt out to give her a better view. She started to spank Miss hard now. I winced, and my head began to roil. After a few minutes, Ach made Miss stand up and remove her skirt altogether.
‘What is it with you young girls and your bald little porno pussies? What’s wrong with some sensual public hair?’
‘Are you punishing me or perving over my genitalia?’
‘I’m punishing you, you cheeky little bitch. And for your sass, you’ll spend the rest of the day working without your skirt or panties, young lady. Then perhaps you’ll learn who’s in charge here.’ Of course, I was not the one struggling to comprehend who was in control.
Once she’d given Miss’s bottom a proper going over, Ach had Miss filing, typing, getting up and down to do this and that, and taking calls. She demanded that Miss sit at the small meeting room table in Gordon’s office rather than at the desk in the front office. She said it was to keep an eye on Miss, but the meeting table had those cane-covered chairs with bent chrome legs. Those cane seats were excruciating on my bare, freshly-spanked behind. Checking in the mirror in the loo, I no longer simply had two red cheeks from the spanking; I also had the deep imprint of the cane pattern from the chair right across my behind. No wonder Ach was finding regular excuses to get Miss to her feet. I could feel her eyes ogling my gridded, tenderised bottom at every opportunity.
Miss was standing at the filing cabinet, with her embossed backside on display, when Gordon came striding through the office door. We’d not heard him turn his key in the lock as Ach was barking yet more orders to Miss at her most forthright volume. Not that Miss would have made any attempt to disguise what was going on. Miss felt no reason to mention to Ach that Gordon had warned his afternoon meeting could be cancelled again. Just the threat of reporting Ach’s spanking to Gordon would have been enough for Miss’s purposes. But Gordon walking into the scene enhanced Miss’s power considerably.
‘What the hell is going on here?! Ach, you’ve some explaining to do. Elena, for goodness’ sake, get dressed.’
Gordon strode through to Ach at his desk and shut the door to his office behind him before opening it briefly to hand Miss her skirt. Then, for all the much-vaunted soundproofing, I could hear a tense conversation developing. This time, I couldn’t quite make out what was said.
It was about twenty minutes later when Gordon called Miss into his office. Ach was standing to one side of his desk looking at her feet, very much NOT the budding ass-busting dominatrix that had been evident a short while earlier.
‘Now tell me, Elena, who instigated this… this spanking thing? Today?’
‘Me. I did.’
Ach beamed victoriously and started to speak. Gordon dismissed her with a wave of his hand. She looked dejected. Suddenly, Miss felt supremely powerful.
‘And is it true that you said you’d like spanking to be part of the disciplinary process at this firm?’
Gordon was doing a terrible job of masking his excitement.
‘Yes. It is.’
‘I see. Well, that’s highly irregular. I’ll have to give it some thought. And we’ll need to draft some kind of agreement… should I accept such an arrangement is possible and desirable, that is.’
Again, I could read Gordon like a newspaper headline. He was more excited than a small boy on Christmas Eve.
‘But it’s certainly true, Elena, that you need some sharpening up. Ach makes a valid point there. However, your discipline is not in Ach’s purview. Ach, I am seriously disappointed that you have overstepped your mark today. I feel I need to discipline both of you.’
Gordon wasn’t about to let the lack of a written spanking agreement spoil this rare opportunity to spank two attractive women. In short order, we were both stripped from the waist down. Ach was bent over Gordon’s desk, getting a dose of what she’d meted out to Miss earlier; Miss was left to watch.
Ach had an incredible ass. Bigger than Miss’s but sculpted over years of visits to the gym. Her deliciously hairy cunt was on clear display from the back, thanks to the well-defined muscles of her legs and ass.
Gordon spanked Ach for about four minutes. He wasn’t very forceful, but he produced a decent blush on her cheeks, and I was delighted by the shame Ash displayed at having her wings and fine ass clipped.
‘I shan’t be spanking you so much, Elena. You’ve clearly had quite a working over from Ach. But if you don’t sharpen your act, there will be plenty more to come, do you hear?’
As I was about to answer, Ach rose from the desk.
‘You’ll stay down there until I’ve finished with Elena.’ Gordon was uncharacteristically firm. Ach complied. On reflection, Gordon wanted me to witness Ach’s entire punishment while giving Ach a limited view of mine. It was part of putting Ach in her place.
Miss was bent over the desk to the right of Ach. I ended up face-to-face with her, just a few inches between our noses. Gordon could see my every expression as he spanked Miss’s pert little bottom, but he couldn’t see any part of Ach’s face.
I expected fury to be in Ach’s eyes, but in its place, I saw something entirely different and even more helpful to my purposes: lust. I blinked hard with each spank, and more than once, I opened my eyes to find Ach running the tip of her tongue around her lips and looking at Miss with filthy, longing eyes. I kept my face as neutral as possible. Both because Gordon could see it, and I loved that Ach was left guessing at my response to her advances.
I’ve come to understand that lust is among the most corrosive of passions. It compels people to desire beyond their capacity for reason. Those who lust all seek the same end: the completion of themselves. But lust is greedy; it becomes its own destiny. The desire to experience lust drives the destruction of any relationship that threatens to complete the person who lusts, thereby threatening their capacity to lust. So, as there is a cycle of life, there is a cycle of lust—germination, growth, blossoming, and atrophy. When handled carelessly, lust sucks a person to desiccation. Domination is often a matter of controlling someone’s lust so it feeds rather than destroys them.