Fuck I am tired. I'm going to be so exhausted tomorrow, you don't even know. Well, at least I managed to produce this. To SANDVICHHOUR: I'M SORRY I DIDN'T ASK YOUR PERMISSION BEFOREHAND, I JUST WANTED TO GET THIS POSTED AND IT WORKED. IF YOU DON'T APPROVE, I'LL DELETE THE THREAD AND USE A DIFFERENT PIC
/capslock

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Miss Pauling didn't like this. It was very...unusual, being called in at this hour. The Announcer was always punctual, always calling at the same times, always for the same things. 9 o’ clock meant cigarettes, 12 o’ clock meant status reports, 10 o’ clock meant Punishment Weekly, and so on. But this was 7 o’ clock at night, and her shift had ended an hour ago. The announcement reminded her of a high school teacher calling a naughty student down to the office, and like a naughty student, her heart was thumping and full of fear, wondering what kind of thing might make the Announcer break her tenacious schedule.

The door opened with a load and ominous creak, much to Miss Pauling’s dismay. She’d wanted to enter covertly, without being noticed, but now, that didn’t seem likely. The Announcer was sitting in her chair, faced away and unmoving. Not a good sign, Miss Pauling thought. She wasn’t even being rude. She wasn’t saying anything. “Um, you wanted to see me, Miss Announcer?” she asked, a nervous stutter escaping her.

“Miss Pauling,” The Announcer said in a voice that sent a shiver down Miss Pauling’s slender body. It wasn’t cold, or callous, or even acerbic…she sounded /sweet/. Well, not exactly sweet. The Announcer was a woman who had been cold so long, any attempts at being kind came off as creepy. No, she was like the clever headmistress, luring a student in with fake saccharine tones before catching them in a trap. “How nice of you to see me.”

“You called me,” Miss Pauling said, shuffling her feet. She wasn’t going to be pulled in. She had to be on her guard.

“Yes. I did. And do you know /why/ I called you hear, dear?” That was too much. Hearing the Announcer call her ‘dear’ was like hearing a snake try to purr.

“I-I suppose not…” Miss Pauling said, suddenly noticing what was in the Announcer’s well manicured hand. A manila folder, with a label that said “Miss Pauling” and had a heart drawn on it. She felt her blood run cold. That was her /manila/ folder.

“You left this here in your rush to leave for the day,” the Announcer said in a soft, unctuous voice. Miss Pauling felt a drip of sweat come down her face. “And of course, like anyone left alone with a manila folder, I became curious. And it’s interesting I did. Do you know what I found, Miss Pauling?”

“N-no…” Miss Pauling stuttered, knowing her goose was cooked. With a malicious grin, the Announcer flicked her hand and sent the contents of the folder onto her table for all to see. They were photographs, security camera photographs, the lenses slightly fogged with steam. On picture showed the Sniper, shirtless and removing his pants. Another showed Demoman from behind, naked in front of a water nozzle and scrubbing himself. Others showed the various members of the team, RED and BLU, all in various stages of undressing and washing themselves. Miss Pauling felt her heartbeat leap a kilometer.

“You’ve been using the shower cameras for…/personal/ purpose, haven’t you, Miss Pauling?” the announcer asked, picking up one of the photos and examining them.

“N-no…it’s not like…I swear, I-” oh no. Oh no oh no oh no. This was it, this was totally it. She’d just been so lonely and unsatisfied, she’d done it in haste, and now, it was going to ruin her career, her future, everything-

“Shhh,” the Announcer said, standing up and walking over. Miss Pauling almost jumped as the Announcer’s cold hand descended onto her shoulder. “I already know. And I have sympathy for you.“

“Y-you do?” Miss Pauling asked in a wavering voice, barely wanting to believing it.

“Oh yes,” the Announcer said, smiling a smile that sent shivers through Miss Pauling. “But that doesn’t excuse the fact of the matter. You’ve been a naughty girl, Miss Pauling. And naughty girls…need discipline.”

Miss Pauling gave the Announcer a look of bafflement. Naughty girl? Discipline? This all sounded like a bad porno. And when she saw the predatory gleam in the Announcer’s eye… “Do you mean…a suspension from work?” Miss Pauling asked nervously, taking a few steps back. Somehow, a dent in her future didn’t sound too bad.

“A suspension?” the Announcer chuckled lightly. “Oh no. That would be letting you off the hook far too easily. And besides, suspensions are for work mistakes, which, as far as I see, you haven’t made. No, what you are is a naughty girl, with naughty pictures and naughty little fantasies. That’s what you must be punished for.” with the press of a button, the door of the Announcer’s room shut and locked, sealing Miss Pauling inside like a mouse in a trap.

“Oh god, Miss Announcer, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I-” being locked in a room at the mercy of the announcer was more than enough to make timid Miss Pauling beg for clemency. Bowing her head and talking rapidly, she pleaded for the Announcer to forgive her, to spare her. “Please, Miss Announcer, I won’t do it again-”

“Quiet!” The Announcer said, silencing Miss Pauling with her sharp reprimand. “I don’t want your groveling. It won’t spare you your punishment. Now, strip.”

“St-strip?” Miss Pauling asked with a quivering voice. Oh god, this /was/ turning into a bad porno. Except the sexy male teacher was replaced with a gaunt, sociopathic, Cruella DeVille esque old windbag.

“Yes, strip,” the Announcer said impatiently, sitting down. “Do it now, before I have to undress you myself.”

Stunned, but quietly complying, Miss Pauling took off her green t-shirt, shivering as the cold hit her pale skin in full. She felt her stomach churn, detesting what the Announcer was making her do but knowing she had no other choice. Better without clothes than without a career ahead of her, she thought.

“Mmm…” the Announcer licked her dry lips and stared lustfully at Miss Pauling as the woman stripped before her. “Why, you are a pretty thing.”

Miss Pauling suppressed a shudder as she pulled down her leggings. Tossing her shirt aside, she stood awkwardly before The Announcer in her undergarments. The Announcer took her all in, the glasses, the high breasts, the pale skin, before lighting a cigarette and bringing it to her mouth. “But even pretty girls have some bad in them, don’t they?” The Announcer said as she reached into a drawer. Miss Pauling almost jumped as she saw the announcer pull out a long, thin riding crop from the drawer, which she whapped lightly on her hand with several times. “And it’s that bad that needs to be expunged.”

“Miss Announcer, you’re not seriously…” Miss Pauling asked nervously as she brought her hands to her chest in an attempt at modesty.

“But of course I’m serious,” the Announcer said, raising the crop. “It’s quite a common punishment in Europe. Teaches children a lesson, gives them something they won’t forget…even makes the student and teacher a bit /closer/, in a strange way. Now, get over here.”

Silently cursing the Announcer, Miss Pauling walked to her rigidly, stopping when she came to her side. “Bend over,” The Announcer said, signaling to her with a “come hither” finger motion. When Miss Pauling didn’t immediately comply, the Announcer whipped her with a swift flick of the crop, hitting her on the cheek and making her cry out in surprise. “Bend over!” with a sniffle, Miss Pauling bent down over the Announcer’s lap, laying like a child waiting to be spanked. The Announcer brought a cold hand and laid it on Miss Pauling’s soft behind, running it up and down gently and savoring the shape and feel. “Lovely,” The Announcer murmured as she withdrew her hand. Miss Pauling felt a shadow of relief, but this feeling soon disappeared as she saw The Announcer’s arm raise, crop in hand.

“Ah!“ Even as she braced herself, Miss Pauling couldn’t help but cry out as the crop came down with a resounding thwack! It was like a little bite, snatching at her skin before withdrawing, leaving the place it had been red and raw. It had sent a strange, little thrill through her, something she only partially acknowledged through the sudden pain.

“Oh, settle down now,” the Announcer cooed as Miss Pauling cringed. With a smile, she brought the crop down again, eliciting another cry from Miss Pauling. Ah, yes, it was a delicious cry, a mixed exclamation of pain and surprise…and pleasure, perhaps?

Again and again, the crop came down, and each time, Miss Pauling couldn’t help but cry out. It was the strangest feeling, rising in her as she was being disciplined, as The Announcer spanked her…an waxing and ebbing thrill, coming through her each time the crop made contact. It was a strange, jubilant feeling, one that rose through the stinging of each thwack and becoming the dominant sensation. Far from fearing each hit, she started to enjoy them, almost relishing the crop each time it came down upon her. “Ahh…yes…” she couldn’t help but groan, much to The Announcer’s delight.

“Have you been a naughty girl?” The Announcer asked in a coo, smacking Miss Pauling as she said so.

“Yes…” Miss Pauling groaned, stretching upward to catch the crop as it came down. Dear god, she was enjoying this.

“And do naughty girls deserve what they get?” the Announcer asked.

Y-yes…oh!” she let out a high cry as the crop hit her mid speech. Yes, she was a bad girl. And she was getting what she deserved.

“Good,” with one last, resounding /thwack!/, the Announcer set the crop down, and stood up, pushing Miss Pauling off her. “I hope you’ve learned a valuable lesson, Miss Pauling.”

Miss Pauling didn’t know how she felt as she gathered her clothes out and hurried out the door. On one hand, the Announcer had totally used her, molested her, even! It was sexual harassment of the utmost degree! But…the thrill of each hit, the strange and ecstatic sensation that ran through her, was not something she could forget. Did she actually /enjoy/ what had happened to her? Would it happen again? As she turned around before leaving and saw the Announcer at her desk, humming something and reading her magazine, the answer came to her. Yes, this wasn’t a one-time thing at all.

The photographs remained forgotten on The Announcer’s desk.