Hi, gang! This story contains an account of a spanking. If you're here on this newsgroup, you probably knew that already, didn't you? However, that obviously means you guys under 18 should run for cover. Hope you over-18s like this one. Love, Lily
HEAVENS TO BETSY! by MissLilyO
Recognition dawned slowly on the horizon of his fuddled mind. He was sure he knew her, although he was thrown by her strange uniform of a white so dazzling it hurt his eyes.
"I...I know you, don't I?" he said, his voice sounding a little raspy as if from a throat parched from the heat.
The young woman flipped quickly through the stack of forms before her on the counter officiously, not even glancing up. "No, I'm sure that's quite impossible. Please be patient while I finish processing these papers, sir."
"You're Betsy, aren't you? Betsy Wilkes?" he asked with growing assurance. He never forgot a pretty face. Or a spankable bottom. And Ms. Wilkes possessed both.
She looked up then and her eyes widened in surprise. "Oh! M-Mr. Benson!" she said, flustered to have her efficient routine so thoroughly side-tracked. He had the same effect on her now that he'd had five years ago when she had been, ever so briefly, in his employ. She began to stammer, the sheaf of papers before her rippled to the floor, and as she knelt to gather them up, her sleeve caught on the stapler and sent it clattering.
Standing, she read the same look on his face he'd worn the day he'd fired her. "Klutz," it said. "Screw-up. Airhead. Brainless Bimbo." And something more--a growing awareness of yet another memory from that day--yes, she saw the expression flit across his handsome features and she knew he recalled spanking her soundly on her bare bottom.
She had been called into his office for the umpteenth time, just two weeks after being hired at Benson Amalgamated. Even after he had expressly told her to send a *blind* copy of his letter to the Board to Mr. Welch at CZA Entertprises, she blanked out and openly indicated that her boss had sent a copy to the competition. It nearly cost him three important stockholders. Benson had been furious.
One thing had led to another, and before she knew it, the intimidated girl had been pulled over to the leather couch in Benson's mammoth office, her short tweed skirt had been raised above her curvacious hips, the silk panties pulled down to her dimpled knees, and her flawless bottom turned up handily for an old-fashioned spanking. Benson was a man brilliant in business, appreciative of a pretty girl with a shapely figure, and notoriously short on patience when it came to mistakes among his staff. As she kicked her trim legs and begged for him to stop, his hand rose and fell steadily, painting a rosy hue on the pale canvas of her upturned fanny. Whenever he paused in the humiliating onslaught, his fingers managed to gently explore the other charms his inept but lovely secretary kept hidden by her skirts and trim white blouses. Moments after she'd gotten shakily to her feet and arranged her clothing over her smarting backside, he'd fired her.
She had been so rattled afterward she couldn't think straight and walked around like a robot through the crowded city streets. She could still remember the screech of brakes as an angry cab driver skidded to a stop while she crossed against a red light, hear his furious curses.
Yes, he remembered all right, she could see. And she observed he was in his normal state, impatient and demanding. Moreover, as she managed to gather her frazzled wits, she saw with growing horror that a terrible mistake had been made. Oh NO! Her mind rebelled at her awful foul-up. She was in BIG trouble now! Benson was a panty-waist next to her new Boss!
"Uh, Mr. Benson," she managed, her throat constricting painfully, "it seems we...that is, I've made a little error. You see, I'm somewhat new here, and...and I got the file name mixed up. This file belongs to Albert BenTon with a 't.' You see?" She pushed the file toward him.
Angrily the executive grabbed the file and read, his face suffusing with a crimson color not unlike that which he brought to her bottom that fateful day. "See here! I want this corrected immediately, Ms. Wilkes. IMMEDIATELY!"
"Oh, dear!" she said, miserably. "It...it's not that easy, Mr. Benson. As you can see from this photograph, your other location has been destroyed. It's impossible for you to return."
"Well, we'll just see about that! I demand to be sent back this instant. Get me a ticket or something. NOW, young lady!"
"I'm sooooo, sorry," she said sincerely. "I just CAN'T!"
"You mean I'm stuck here?" he shouted.
With that, he strode purposefully around the counter and grabbed the lovely girl, pushing her forward over a nearby desk and lifting the voluminous white material up and over her still-perfect behind. He was surprised to see she was wearing no panties at all. Though she squirmed and pleaded, and there was an audience of others who too had been standing in line waiting for their paperwork to be processed, Benson pushed on with his mission. Over and over his big hand stung the white globes of the sobbing girl, ignoring her desperate pleas to stop, until he was satisfied that once more her inept fumbling of an important matter had been properly dealt with. At last he let her up.
"Now, young lady, answer the question! Am I stuck here or not."
Betsy glanced nervously around, praying that Peter hadn't seen this whole shameful affair. He was SUCH a snitch. She *did* have an idea!
Wiping the tears from her eyes, she said in a soft voice, "I know I've messed up big time, Mr. Benson, and I'm ever so sorry. According to your file, you should have had another 20 years and were destined to join us after falling peacefully into eternal sleep in your bed. Unfortunately, the car wreck that was meant for Mr. Benton has completely burned your body beyond repair. You can't return to it. So, I'm making arrangements to give you that 20 years, plus a bonus of 60 more."
Her fingers flew over a keyboard while she ignored his sputtering protests and demands. As his image began to twinkle and fade out of focus, he caught her last words to him, spoken so quietly only he could hear. "Bye, bye, Benson. Paybacks are hell." She allowed herself a small saucy grin.
Betsy's smile faded quickly as she heard her named called over the loud speaker. "Heavens to Betsy. Heavens to Betsy. Please report upstairs immediately." With a sigh she guessed the new wings would have to wait another six months. She gathered up her white robe and scurried off, knowing the little bottom-warming Benson had delivered was nothing compared to the spanking that awaited her.
"Ja, Ewald," replied the strapping girl. "We'll call him Hans, after your papa. Oh, little Hans," she crooned to the baby. "You'll be such a good boy, you will! And if you aren't, mama will pull down your little liederhosen and paddle your bare popo till you learn your lessons. Yes, yes, your mama believes a naughty boy needs a very hard bare-bottom paddling out in the woodshed to keep him on the right strasse. Ja, ja. That's right, my little knoedel."
As the sun set over the town of Dusseldorf, baby Hans Gerlitz, formerly the tycoon Albert Benson of New York City, began to wail.