Rachel chewed absently at her salad. As much as the sweetness of the raspberry vinaigrette usually filled her mouth, it might as well have been dust from under the couch for all the taste she could draw from it.

“Are you enjoying your dinner?”

“It’s fine, honey.” She swallowed, remembering her next line, “Have you seen my phone? I haven’t been able to find it since I got home.”

“Not in your purse, is it?” Bertie reached over to the kitchen counter, where he’d stowed his own cell while he’d been cooking dinner. He started typing. “Your ringer’s on, right?”

“I have to keep it on silent while I’m at work,” she answered, too quickly. “I must have left it behind. The maintenance crew is done by nine, if I go now I can get someone to let me in.”

“Honey, it’s fine. We’ll finish here and I can drive you.”

“You’ve been drinking,” said Rachel, indicating the near-empty glass of wine beside his plate, “I’ll be home in an hour or so.” She figured that bought her at least two.

In the elevator, she dug her phone out from the depths of her purse. The light from the screen blinked off as she uncovered it – she’d just missed a call or text. Thank God she’d been telling Bertie the truth when she said it was on silent – it had been the only true thing she’d told him all night.

But what was she supposed to tell him – that she was going back for a spanking?

***

“Mister Hardecker wants to see you.”

The page was gone before Rachel could look up. The radio station had a handful of such people, mostly student volunteers who rotated through the season. She hadn’t made a habit of memorizing their names or faces – she barely recognized the woman she’d met in the first week who was allegedly her supervisor.

She knew who Mr. Hardecker was, though. The station manager roamed in and out of the studio like a summer storm, assigning jobs and barking orders, only to disappear in a flurry of spilled coffee and unsecured note paper. But she’d never spoken to the man for him to take notice of her.

She’d been at the station for just over six months. While her job title claimed her as an assistant producer, her duties were essentially that of an engineer, just without the regular hours or union protection. And while she couldn’t complain – she’d been out of work for the entirety of the pandemic, and she’d been proud to work where her qualifications meant something – the joy she’d felt in getting this job had already worn off.

Climbing the stairs to the second floor, she found Mr. Hardecker in his office, roaming from side to side across the carpet, his old handset phone pressed against his ear. Rachel knocked on the glass door.

He beckoned her in, his attention never wavering from his call. Not a good start.

Mr. Hardecker continued to pace even once he put down the receiver. Ever since she’d met him, Rachel had only ever seen him on the move. For a man who looked to be in his late fifties, he should be in the best shape of his life if not for his eating habits. Take-out wrappers and paper bags clogged the garbage can beside his desk.

She knew very little about him, even through office gossip. His outdated flattop and bulldog leadership style suggested that he’d been in uniform at some point in his life, just as his wrinkles and dark fingertips spoke of a smoking habit he’d since broken.

At one point, Rachel thought, the big man might have even been handsome.

“Take a seat.”

Her body reacted before she realized that she’d tuned out while waiting for him to address her. She took the seat across from his desk and sat down, her posture rigid.

“Amy in the Promotions department has made a complaint. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

Rachel sighed. “I asked her to play some of my own tracks during the ‘Hidden Gems’ segment. She said no, for no reason. I got angry, but I left it—“

Mr. Hardecker raised a single finger and she lost her voice.

“Rachel, I don’t know where you’ve been for the last thirty years, but despite what you may think, broadcast radio is no longer the format for ‘discovering’ talent. The Promotions department exists for two reasons: corporate sponsorship and community outreach.”

She coughed. “Sir, the segment is called ‘Hidden Gems’…”

“Our job is to promote local venues, Rachel – not local artists. Do you have an upcoming show?”

“Not as such,” she said, shifting uncomfortably.

“So when Amy asks you the same question, and you answer, ‘none of your business’, you can see why she’d take offense.”

She hadn’t known what to expect when she’d been summoned, but this dressing-down certainly wasn’t it. Mr. Hardecker hadn’t even raised his voice.

Had she been rude to Amy? Yes, but she’d thought that the chatterbox from Promotions was just being nosy. Rachel knew she’d crossed a line, and she had even apologized to Amy afterward. Hadn’t that been enough?

Mr. Hardecker opened one of his desk drawers, then another. He found what he was looking for in the third attempt, and pushed it across the desk to Rachel.

He moved his broad hand away, and she recognized the flash drive she’d handed to Amy the day before. Hours spent poring through her old files trying to find something the station would play… she mumbled a quiet “thank you”, and pocketed the drive.

“Did you… listen to any of it?”

“You might have been able to get some play on our sister station ten years ago. But this station’s demographic is males, fifty-plus. You’re playing to the wrong crowd.”

He leaned forward. He wasn’t particularly tall, but with him standing over her, the difference was pronounced.

“Which is the seat of the problem. You were hired, Rachel, because you had open availability and knew your way around a mixing board. You’re a fine technician, but it’s clear to me that you see this job as a stepping stone to working in the music industry. I’ve been at this station since nineteen ninety-one, and if you ever managed that feat you’d be the first.”

Her eyes were unbearably hot and damp, but there was no way that Rachel was going to give this bitter old tyrant the satisfaction of her tears.

“Thank you, sir,” she snarled politely, “Is there anything else?”

“Yes. I understand that you’ve put in for the open position in Programming. Consider it denied.”

Her fingernails dug into the underside of her chair.

“I earned that spot!”

“And yet you haven’t grasped what it is we do here. Until you do, you may have the qualifications but you will not have my approval. And if this is really where you want to be, then in three more months not only will I let you have the Programming spot, but I will personally mentor you.”

For some reason she couldn’t pin down at the time, that was the point that Rachel snapped. She’d held her tongue when he talked over her, and she’d managed to endure his cruel-to-be-kind bluntness. But that last patronizing offer sent her over the edge.

“You can take your mentorship and shove it up your ass,” she hissed with venom that surprised even her. “I don’t know why I didn’t stick to being a club DJ!”

Mr. Hardecker’s eyes narrowed. “Because you made a choice, Rachel and now you need to live with the consequences. If you can’t accept that, the only thing you’re owed for your sense of entitlement is a damn good spanking.”

The word hung in the air for a moment. Rachel’s eyes widened.

“You… you can’t say that…”

“It seems that I can. I’ve had this conversation with interns and summer students both, and do you know how many of those kids had the gall to tell me to go fuck myself? A bit of discipline when you were younger would have gone a long way.”

If only he knew.

“Am I being fired, sir?”

“What’s the point? You’ll be gone in a week. I don’t see any reason to waste time on the paperwork.”

Rachel rose from her chair, holding her breath, and nodded curtly. The meeting was clearly over and…

She still had her job.

He hadn’t seen her cry.

And…

Rachel froze, her fingers wrapped around the door handle. She’d said her piece – but she’d also set six months of work and her career prospects on fire. The one job she’d ever had that had career prospects. She might as well be waiting tables again.

Telling off Mr. Hardecker suddenly didn’t feel very satisfying.

“Was there something you’d like to add, Rachel?” she heard him say. His voice, never the warmest, had cooled considerably.

She left the door closed. “I’d like to apologize for my outburst, sir. I’m sorry that I lost my temper, your offer was generous and I was… unprofessional.”

He looked up from his desk. “Not the word I would use.”

“And that is…?”

“Petulant.” A veteran of the airwaves, he enunciated the word cuttingly, “And if you want me to change my opinion of you, you’ll need a better apology than that.”

Rachel’s stomach sank.

Bertie could have said something, she was sure. She envied his ability to reason with even the most enraged or obstinate people, but it was not a gift she shared. She couldn’t lean on her boyfriend for support, not this time.

She saw only one form of penitence that mattered to Mr. Hardecker. Accepting that, it was only a matter of deciding a place and a time.

***

He buzzed her in through the double glass doors at 9:03.

“You’re late.”

“I had to transfer buses. The regular route doesn’t run all night.”

Mr. Hardecker harrumphed. Either he reluctantly accepted her excuse, or her tardiness wasn’t consequential enough for him to continue lecturing her. He strode down the hallway, gesturing for her to follow him.

Rachel stared back toward the staircase, confused. “We’re not going to your office?”

He was already out of earshot. She had to sprint in order to meet him.

She tried again, catching her breath. “We’re not going to—“

“No, and I heard you the first time. We’ll be using the recording studio.”

She froze. “Mr. Hardecker…”

“This will need to be recorded, as insurance. Once it’s done, it’ll be just another anonymous file in the library, unless I need to access it for legal reasons. And I shouldn’t need to access it, should I?”

Rachel shook her head. He unlocked the door to the studio and held it open for her.

This was the room she’d really wanted to work in. She’d met the station’s DJs in passing, but still hadn’t managed to make her way up to this place, the centre of the action. She hated that this was going to be her first time inside, but at least now she’d have the hope of a second.

The door clicked shut behind her. Mr. Hardecker reached for the boom arm holding the microphone at the jockey’s desk.

“This is Duane Hardecker, local time is-“ he checked his watch, “-nine oh-seven PM. I’m here with Rachel, one of our assistant producers, regarding a disciplinary issue. Rachel, please state in your own words why you are here.” He swung the mic toward her.

“Because I was insubordinate and refused help when it was offered.”

She figured it was what he wanted to hear, but it didn’t seem to satisfy him.

“Have you been bribed or coerced into this situation, or threatened with termination?”

“No.”

“And who proposed this course of action?”

“I did.”

“And finally, for the record – what is about to happen here, Rachel?”

“You’re going to spank me, sir.”

Every ounce of energy was going toward keeping her cool. She hated, hated this man. It was humiliating enough that she’d all but begged him for the spanking, but this ‘interview’ was only rubbing it in.

“Have you ever been spanked before?”

“By my boyfriend sometimes.” She forced a sickening-sweet smile. “Mostly I’ve become the one doing the spanking.”

She’d hoped for a reaction, but she didn’t see it.

“For fun or punishment?”

“…Both?”

That seemed to be enough for Mr. Hardecker. Folding up the microphone extension, he exchanged it for the armless chair tucked behind the desk.

“You may keep your panties on,” he announced, settling into his seat, “but the jeans will have to go.”

Oh, may I, she thought, but kept her jaw clenched. Her jeans were high-waisted and tight-fitting – flattering to her wide hips, but a chore to put on and take off. She turned away as she fumbled with the button, but even still she could feel Mr. Hardecker’s eyes on her, burning with impatience.

The forced intimacy of taking off her clothes in front of her boss wasn’t lost on her, either. She was reminded that she’d kept her cheeky briefs that she’d worn earlier in the day, and that if she’d been thinking she’d have switched to something with more coverage.

She’d gotten her pants just over halfway down by the time Mr. Hardecker grew tired of waiting. One second she was standing, then an iron grip fastened to her elbow and her world lurched. She found herself facing the carpet with her ass in the air.

To think that a moment ago, she’d hoped he’d shut up and get on with it.

“Wait! Don’t I get a safeword?”

He paused. “Sure. It’s ‘I quit’. I’ve seen your résumé, I know you’ve used it before.”

Asshole.

Rachel caught the flicker of his shadow across the floor, its movement the only warning she got before his hand landed with a crash that rocked her whole body. She pitched forward, Mr. Hardecker’s strong arm the only thing that kept her from falling off his lap.

Confident that he had her secured, he followed up his opening strike with a hard and steady salvo that seared into her backside. There wasn’t going to be a warm-up for this, Rachel realized.

“Do you know what irritates me most about you Millennials? You want recognition more for the effort you put in, than what you do with it. All that time you spent working in entertainment and all you can do with it is complain that for all your work you never got to be famous. I’ve met famous people, Rachel, and some of them never worked a day in their lives – they got to where they were with inside knowledge, connections and pure… dumb… luck!”

He emphasized the last words with a trio of slaps that couldn’t have struck any harder if they’d been on the bare. She bit her lip, but she swore that he’d see her bleed before he saw tears.

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t work hard?” she snapped back, barely stringing the words together as she bucked and wriggled under his assault.

She thought he was already putting his full strength into spanking her, but somehow he found reserves. A gasp escaped her lips as his hand beat down again and again, her legs scissoring in their denim confines.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he said, his arm working tirelessly on its own accord, “Where has all that hustling gotten you? No roots, no family, no career, no savings. You’re almost forty years old and you’re at the same place you were when you were twenty. Wouldn’t you agree?”

That terrible hand hovered for a second, and she realized that he expected an answer.

“Yes, sir!” she said, and then screamed as his palm bit into her backside yet again.

“Do you realize that I’m handing you the opportunity to put your skills to use here? Skills that would otherwise go to waste?” His tempo was starting to pick up again. “Did you think of that before you told me to stick my offer up my ass?”

Her own ass was on fire, and she hoped that she could hold out until he finally got tired. All of that talking had to be wearing him out.

But something that he’d said jogged a memory. She hadn’t told Bertie about it, she’d said instead that the club scene was behind her and that she needed a change of scenery. In truth, a year ago she’d gone back to the university pub where she’d used to work, looking to pick up where she’d left off – and no one had recognized her.

Before the pandemic, she’d been a vibrant young woman, still passable as a student. But in 2022, her formerly youthful features were sallow, her hair turning grey. On top of that, her friends and fans in the student establishment were long gone, and the new management were strangers to her. Her time had passed.

And Rachel broke. The last of her composure shattered, she sobbed openly, tears running down her face and sinking into the carpet. A wail that could not be contained burst from her throat.

Bertie would have stopped when he saw her crying. Even her abusive ex would have relented at this point, taking her tears as victory.

But Mr. Hardecker wasn’t moved, and he wasn’t finished.

“It sounds like you might be starting to see reason,” he announced, “Are you ready to commit to the job you have, rather than the one you wanted?”

“Yes!” she wailed.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir!”

It wasn’t until she was finally able to catch her breath that she noticed he’d finally stopped. Her buttocks were a pair of wobbling purple bruises - but it was over.

Mr. Hardecker hauled her up into a sitting position, and she hissed in pain as her rump touched down on his slacks. So close to the man, she was overcome by the musk that seeped out from under his shirt. She’d made him work up a sweat.

Rachel saw his hand move, and braced herself for what she expected to be a slap in the face. Instead, he gently brushed her hair aside and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“You’re not a young woman anymore, Rachel,” he said, his harsh voice softened, “It’s time you grew up. There’s more you can do with your life, and more you can learn.”

She’d learned that she never wanted to go over Mr. Hardecker’s knee again, that was for sure.

He continued, “To that end, you’ll start in Promotions on Monday.”

“Promotions?” She hadn’t expected that.

“And you’ll report to Amy.”

Rachel drew back, nearly tumbling off his knee. “She’s half my age!”

“She’s twenty-six, and she’s worked here almost four years, so she knows her way around the station. And my offer stands – three months there, and I will personally mentor you in whatever department you choose. There are two conditions. One, if I hear about any conflict between yourselves and your new cohorts—“

“I’ll get spanked again?” she sniffled, with a hint of her earlier defiance.

“No, you’ll be dismissed with cause and this will have all been for nothing. Two, I recall you saying that you periodically spank your boyfriend?”

Rachel didn’t like where this was going.

“Not anymore,” he added, taking her silence as understanding, “During your training period, you will be bottoming only. If that isn’t possible, I expect you to abstain entirely.”

“Why?”

“A continuing lesson in humility. Or because I said so – pick one.”

He helped her to her feet, but there was nothing that could save her from the agony of pulling her jeans back over her sore and swollen butt. Her eyes welled again up as the denim scratched across her skin, but she could still hear Mr. Hardecker behind her.

“The time is nine thirteen PM. This is Duane Hardecker signing off.”

Six minutes. In that time he’d fit his questions and his lecture, and had still been able to give her the spanking of a lifetime. She knew Bertie liked to fantasize about this kind of punishment, and as far as she was concerned, he could have it.

Except… no, he couldn’t. Not for some time.

“Rachel? The last bus arrives at nine fifteen. You might want to hurry.”

She ran, wincing with every move. The next three months were going to be hell.