Anthea sat quietly at her desk, frowning at her nails which have grown too long for her liking. She reached into one of the drawers and picked out a nail file, rolled back her chair, lifted her legs onto the polished ebony desk, and began to shape her nails to her preferred length. When she finished, she blew across her fingertips gently and the dust and scraped-off black nail polish flew off. She took a moment to lean back and examine her work before she nearly jumped off her seat from the sudden, loud outburst from her boss' office.

"ANTHEA!" he bellowed from behind closed doors. Anthea quickly tossed her file back into the drawer and stood up. She quickly made her way to the door before straightening her knee-length skirt and black button-down blouse, and pulled the grand door open. Sitting at his desk facing the wall was Mycroft, and even though she could not see his face, the tension was palpable and she felt she could cut the air with a knife. He was too quiet- even when he was cross with her, he would constantly mumble under his breath. Normally, when he was disgruntled with her, she would go out for her coffee break and buy him a whole cake, usually triple chocolate with strawberries and whipped cream, just for himself; but she wasn't going to appease him that easily this time. Anthea slowly grew nervous and began to forage through her memory, trying to remember what she could have possibly done wrong. She stood patiently at the foot of his desk, fidgeting with her hands behind her back. After what seemed like half an eternity of irate silence, Mycroft finally spoke.

"Anthea," he hissed, "Yesterday, I gave you a file on the Geneva issue. I instructed you to take it and put it in the bottom right drawer of my desk." Knowing what was coming, Anthea's heart started to beat a little faster. He uncrossed his legs and leaned over to open the mentioned drawer. "Is the file in the drawer?" he asked sternly. She carefully made her way to his side and peered down at the open drawer.

"No, sir," she squeaked.

"Why?"

"Sir, you told me to put the file in the bottom left drawer."

"Don't begin to tell me what I said," he bellowed. Anthea took a step back as he got up from his chair and leaned over his desk. "Do you know why I wanted you to put it in the right drawer? Because in the left one, I keep food- some health bars for the day." Anthea almost smiled at this lie, but knew it was best not to. She knew he kept two or three chocolate cupcakes in there, in case he got cravings and decided he was going to have another cheat day.

"Do you think it's wise to speak to your employer like that? To debate him and tell him he's wrong? Anthea, dear, you must be taught a lesson," he uttered as he quickly reached for his assistant's arms and dragged her over to him. Startled by his actions, she nearly tripped as she staggered over to him. Mycroft sat back on his chair and pulled her over his lap, bracing her wrists with one hand and sprawling his other hand over her clothed back. Anthea wriggled in her position, startled and shocked. Was her boss really going to do what she thought he was going to do?

Mycroft ran his hands slowly down her back, over her curved bottom, and down her thighs while staring at the back of her head which was turned slightly towards him.

"Face front," he ordered and Anthea obeyed. He repeated this pattern of caressing a few times before finally laying his hand over her ass. He reached down once more and hiked her skirt up so that he could see her bare, cream-colored skin and black-laced thong. Anthea's face stung with embarrassment, yet she didn't want to move or fight back anymore. She was curious...she wanted to see how far he would take her punishment. He rubbed her tender cheeks once, reached a finger under her underwear strap and pulled back harshly, causing Anthea to stiffen up as it stung her hip. She no longer felt Mycroft's warm hand on her naked skin. He reached his hand back and came down on her ass with an open palm as Anthea yelped from under his arm. He did this again, this time harder, and left a red stinging mark on her left cheek.

"Count," he demanded as he slapped her again, "out loud."

"One...two...three...four," she counted as her yelps of pain turned to moans. "Six," she breathed, biting her lip to conceal a groan. She began to feel a heat growing between her legs and she squeezed them together tighter, hoping Mycroft wouldn't notice. "Eight...nine...ten,"she moaned, pushing back to meet his hand.

"I take it you have learned your lesson, Anthea," he said firmly. Anthea nodded, "Yes sir." Mycroft went to pull her skirt back down but noticed her soaked panties, now translucent and letting the impressions and outlines of her sex become visible. He was, to say the least, surprised by her response to her punishment; he was careful not to hit her too hard, yet he expected her to be disciplined now, not enjoying herself. Still, she had taken pleasure in his spanking and there was nothing he could do now...except, perhaps...he let his thoughts wander. Anthea knew something was wrong- he has grasped her skirt and paused. She was tempted to turn her head and look at him, even if it meant that she would get another ten spanks...especially if it meant that she would get another ten spanks. He let go of her skirt and slowly dragged his fingers across her thong and to her wetness, which he rubbed and caressed with the sides of his long index and middle finger. Anthea groaned in pleasure, not caring if Mycroft heard. She rolled her head back, her eyes fluttered shut, while she reached for his fingers wrapped around her hands.

She loved this. He loved this. She was wonderfully embarrassed, bent over her boss' knees while he slapped her ass and rubbed her slit through her panties. He felt her heat as he ran his fingers over her covered clit and heard her inhale sharply. She would never admit this to him (he had too much of an ego already) but he had given her more pleasure and a wider range of emotions- humiliation, shock, anger, pleasure and satisfaction- over a shorter period of time than any of her former lovers. Perhaps the latter wasn't true; she was nowhere nearsatisfied. She arched her bag and leaned into Mycroft's touch, aching for more friction against her sensitive area.

He suddenly stopped his motions, much to Anthea's dismay, and ran his moistened fingers through his hair. He started to get up, helping her stand in the process. "Anthea, come with me," he said. She opened her mouth to talk but was silenced by a leer from Mycroft. He guided her to a door, which she always presumed to be his closet, at the far corner of the room, almost invisible. He took out a key from inside his jacket and unlocked it - so much for Anthea's closet theory-and helped her into a pitch-black room. What she saw when he flicked the light switch on made her release a small gasp.