Belinda Smith could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she ran up the long, seemingly endless flights of stairs from Reception up to Mr Cathcart's office. It was quite a warm day and the sun was streaming through the long windows in the council offices. And she was hardly dressed appropriately. She was wearing black, medium heeled court shoes, and black pantyhose, a very short grey skirt and a chafingly tight, white shirt buttoned tightly at the collar. She was also wearing a blue and white striped tie pulled as tightly as possible to her throat and a heavy wool blazer in the same shade of blue as her tie.

Under her right arm she carried the reason for her evident haste, a folder with documents in that Mr Cathcart had told her had to be picked up in reception by her personally and delivered to his office within a five minute timeframe. Belinda didn't really know what was inside the folder, and she didn't care that much either. All that she knew for certain was that if she was even one second over the allotted five minutes then Mr Cathcart would spank her over his knee like a naughty schoolgirl at the very least.

He was such a vile man! For maybe the hundredth time that week Belinda cursed the luck that had brought her under the control of the horrible old pig. He wasn't just mean and nasty; he seemed to plan her humiliations. Not only did he spank or slipper or ruler her bare bottom at regular intervals he'd also take to putting her "on display" as he called it which meant making her stand somewhere public and exhibiting her glowing red buttocks to anyone who might be interested.

Yesterday for example he'd made her stand on a low stool in the centre of the main office holding up her short skirt with her tights and knickers pulled to her knees so that everyone could see that she'd just been shamefully spanked. It was by now a fairly common occurrence but it still didn't make it any easier for her. She was a naturally shy girl and so therefore humiliating her like that was almost unbearable.

Her legs were beginning to get that familiar aching sensation and her lungs were starting to burn. She passed a couple of older men on the stairs that both grinned in amusement as her plump breasts bounced and wobbled as she hurried by.

"She could do with the exercise, the fat little bitch."

Said one to the other, oblivious of the fact that Belinda could hear every shameful word. Both laughed and continued on their way. Belinda didn't even have a wristwatch to refer to and there wasn't a clock on the stairwell. Her only option was just to run as fast as she could and hope that she was going to be quick enough to escape Mr Cathcart's wrath.