The Pending Tray – The Beginning

Two versions of the same office spanking story but featuring different characters and at different times.

The central character, Lucilia, features both stories but she plays different roles. The stories are set at different times in her relationship with Michelle. In between Lucilia and Michael have attended a BDSM party at a luxurious mansion and this story of this night is featured in the Naughty Invitations Anthology. Don’t worry dear reader, I am not going to leave you wondering what happens if you do not buy the book. All the stories are standalone and complete pieces of erotica


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The Pending Tray

“Miss Goodall, my office.”
Oh shit, what have I done now? Lucilia, my office means a slight cock-up – well, not a cock-up, since my boss is a woman. Well not just a woman, but one of the most confident, glamorous and downright sexy women on the planet, unlike me who is just, well… Oh, I seem to be getting a bit confused here. That seems to happen a lot around her. I am really good at my job but she just seems to make me go… Anyway, Lucilia meant anything from a mild telling off to another task to complete. Miss Goodall definitely means trouble.

“Miss Goodall.”
I leap up from my desk and catch the mug of pens and pencils that I had precisely placed three inches from the left-hand edge and front of my desk with the floppy sleeve of my sweater. The mug clatters to the ground and scatters the neatly arranged contents across the floor. “Fuck.” I kneel down and start to pick up the pens and pencils and replace them in colour order in the mug whilst cursing the sweater. It is probably not the best dress for the office but it hides my tits, which are, well, huge. Well, maybe not huge, but quite large and not something you would want to be showing off in the office. The rest of me is fine, long, slightly wavy, chestnut hair, narrow waist, cute butt and long legs. It’s just the tits. Why do men like big tits so much? I mean I like men but I seem to find it impossible to work out whether they like me or just my tits – I’m going off track again.

The pens, pick up the pens. I kneel down and start to slot them back into the mug. Feet clad in an elegant pair of very expensive shoes appear in front of me. I look up long slender legs clad in sheer black nylon and try to avoid my eyes following the curves under the hem of her skirt. The face looking down at me seems to almost disappear in cloud.

Michelle, my boss, crouches down. “Lucilia, are you OK?” Her elegant legs spread slightly causing her black skirt to slide up her thighs. There’s a flash of flesh and a little voice in my head is shocked that she is wearing stockings.
“Erm, oh, yes, sorry.” I cannot stop my eyes from veering toward the little black triangle in the shadow of her skirt where her thighs meet. Is that material or…
“Come on.” She grabs the last few pens, shoves them in the mug and then, gently grabbing the tops of my arms hauls me to my feet.

We stand there for a moment, I can feel the pressure of her fingers through my sweater and find I am looking directly into her dark eyes. There is some sort of connection. I don’t know what it is. I can almost feel my thoughts, my desires, flowing out of me, across the small void between us and into her mind.

She smiles and breaks the contact. “Come into my office.”
I follow her thinking she almost walks like a model whilst I shuffle along behind her.
“Close the door.” She indicates the chair in front of her desk.
I sit down and there’s a tingling sensation that seems to be running up my limbs as if I’ve received a mild electric shock. I wriggle slightly on the chair as I realise it is making its way down between my legs. I hope I am not going to leave a wet mark on the chair.

“Lucilia,” Michelle’s voice is soft.
“Yes,” I look up into those dark eyes again.
“We are about to have a conversation that, at its worst, might end with you suing me and at its best might result in something wonderful for both of us.”
I tip my head slightly as if I’m not sure what she has just said, which I’m not.
“Have you ever had a relationship with another woman?” She is speaking quickly.
“Err, no… well… yes. Err, not really a relationship, just…” My mind feels as if it is blurring and throwing the world out of focus. “Sex,” I cannot believe I just said that. “Once – before I got married – and then divorced.”
“I’m sorry to hit you with all of this at once but this is probably my only chance.” She takes a deep breath. “And have you ever had a relationship with a Domme – where you are submissive?”

My mind is working so hard I can almost hear the synapses firing in my brain. How did she know? All those naughty little fantasies that I have had all my adult life but never acted on, well unless you count persuading Mark to spank me once, which I have to say he was hopeless at, seem to come flooding into my brain. The room is silent, it is getting late so most of the other staff have left, but inside my mind a thousand people are screaming and yelling to get my attention.

Michelle looks nervous, something that has never happened before. She has just revealed something to me that could have a momentous effect on us, on her if I say no. My conservative, conventional self wants to leap up and leave, storm out of the room full of righteous indignation. I wriggle on the chair, now sure that the wet patch has soaked through my skirt and is marking the chair.

“Go home and think about it,” Michelle forces a smile. “Take a couple of days off if you like. If you come back and say no, there will be no consequences from me.”
“No, I want to stay.” That tiny little piece of me that has always wanted an opportunity like this is fighting her way into my consciousness. Like a drowning woman breaking the surface she gulps in air and I hear her say, “Show me.”
Michelle’s eyes widen and for a second she freezes. “You’re sure?”
“Yes – show me, here, now.” I’m fighting the urge to run, willing my body to stay still. I can almost taste the delicious sense of suppressed desire in the air. Is it from me or her?

“OK, we are going to play a game,” she leans across her desk. “You need a word, something that you can say if at any time you want me to stop.”
“A safe word?”
“Yes,” she smiles, suggesting that she is relieved that I at least have some idea of what she is talking about.
“Raspberry.”
“OK,” She raises an eyebrow and stands. “Stand up and come round to this side of the desk.”

I look down at the seat of the chair as I move. Is there a revealing silver patch on the leather? I’m not sure.
“Your work has not been up to standard recently Miss Goodall, there will now be consequences.”
I’m jolted back into reality by her words and it takes a few seconds for my mind to adjust to the game.
“Yes Miss,” I find myself smirking.
“This is no laughing matter. Bend over the desk, elbows flat on the surface and your hands in that tray.”
I can feel the edge of the tray through my sweater and my tits are hanging down and touching the hard top of the desk despite being restrained by my bra. My nipples are pushing against the thick material, swelling until they feel, well, yes, like raspberries.

“Lift your skirt and pull your panties down.”
I pull the hem of my skirt over my back and wriggle my white panties down, wishing that I had chosen something a little less sensible this morning. They stick to my lips for a moment, held there by the excitement seeping from me. I feel the blood rush to my cheeks and my face feels warm. I look up Michelle is standing in front of me.
“You will remain in that position in my pending tray until I return. Do you understand?”
“Yes, yes miss, mistress.” What! My mind is screaming at me, what if someone comes in?

She turns and walks out of the office. Christ, she’s left the door open. I can feel panic surging through me but there is something else flowing through me as well and I think I can feel it trickling down the inside of my thigh.

Seconds tick by as if they were hours and then there is a shadow in the doorway. I tense and almost stand up from the desk. It’s OK, it is Michelle. She is holding something black, flat and about a foot long that seems to flex slightly as she walks into the room. She disappears behind me.

Something is sliding across the skin of my behind. Not fingers, something firm and smooth like leather. I gasp and my muscles tense, fingers are sliding between my legs and over my lips, parting them gently, slipping just inside the liquid coated folds. The fingers disappear and there is a stinging sensation across the top of my behind.

“Aah,” I gasp. There’s another slap and then another. Tingling sensations run across my skin and then begin to penetrate inside me, running up my spine. The blows move down across my cheeks until they are landing on the tops of my thighs. A fire begins to burn, I can feel it raging across my skin and sweeping between my legs. The blood is pulsing into my sex, my brain seems to be hot-wired to the nerves there. It feels as if it has grown to an enormous size, pushing my thighs apart, gaping like a sea anemone, trying to suck in anything passing that would feed it with the ultimate stimulation.

The fingers are sliding into me again, pushing deep inside and then slipping out to press on the swollen button that triggers an explosion. Someone is crying out, wailing and moaning, the sound echoing off the office walls. Just before the world dissolves and I flow down onto the top of the desk I realise that it is me.

I feel myself flowing off the desk as if I am molten liquid. I twist around and rest on my knees. Michelle is lifting the hem of her skirt and I tear at the thin material of her knickers. Two thoughts permeate the fog in my mind. One is, so she is wearing some and the second is that the Japanese have a word umami for that wonderful savoury taste that is indefinable. The scent of that mixed with sweetness assails me as I plunge my mouth against her, sucking greedily at her, my tongue pushing deep into the folds of her sex to lap up as much of the taste as I can. Her hand pushes against the back of my head and she jerks against me. This time it is her howls that echo of the walls as she clamps herself against my mouth, her every muscle and nerve pulsing.


It is two weeks later. In the office we have managed to maintain a semblance of professional decorum. Out of the office is different, Michelle is sitting at her breakfast bar wearing a thin silky kimono which has slipped open to reveal the delicious curves of her body. She is holding a black card that has arrived in an embossed envelope, presumably in this mornings post.
“Would you like to go to a party?” She asks.
The wicked look in her eyes tells me that this is not the sort of party I normally go to.

Read After the Party more office BDSM

Why do my heroines submit to spankings, canings and whippings?


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