[The following story is based rather loosely on a true story, at least, one which was reported in the press a few years ago as actually having happened. The bank manager in question was an American, but I have Anglicised and elaborated on the actual incident.]
Sarah sat outside the office nervously, more nervous than she’d ever been in her life. She’d been stupid ever to consider borrowing the money in the first place; what had been wrong with her old job? It hadn’t been that poorly paid, and she’d been paid every week without fail, that was one of the benefits of working for a large company. At first the idea of working for herself had sounded so attractive: just the thought of being her own boss, not having some stuffed shirt or silly little fart telling her what to do had been enough to lure her into it. But of course, it wasn’t that simple. Being your own boss did mean more freedom; it also meant more responsibility. No coming in late or you’d lose customers, and if you took a day off, you didn’t get paid at all.
There had been worse to come though: the refinery had closed; many of her customers had worked there. Then there had been that Welsh girl who’d had her hand in the till. Sarah had known that, even though she’d never been able to prove it. Eventually she’d paid her off; the girl had protested and made a lot of noise about taking her to an industrial tribunal, but Sarah would have none of it. She was damned if she’d give her a reference either. The last straw though had been that American fast food restaurant opening opposite. Now she was £12,000 in debt, her business about to be declared insolvent, her life in ruins, and she was only twenty-eight.
“He’ll see you now, Miss Parks.”
Sarah nearly jumped out of her chair; she hadn’t seen the woman come out of the office, hadn’t even heard the door open. The woman, who was probably a PA, beckoned her into the office. Sarah rose, so did her blood pressure.
“Miss Parks,” the woman announced, as though she were uttering a death sentence rather than a name. Mr Haughtry sat behind his massive oak desk, his hands held up just below his chin, his fingers making a cat’s cradle.
“Thank you, Mrs Gulliver,” he said.
The woman curtsied, as if to a king, closed the door behind her, and Sarah was alone with her creditor. She smiled weakly and sat down in the chair opposite. He waited a full five seconds then intoned pompously, “Do sit down, Miss Parks.”
Sarah groaned, she nearly stood up but thought better of it. Haughtry was an ugly, wiry, little man; he was about fifty but looked older, probably on account of his sternness. Sarah had never seen him smile. In spite of that, the first time she’d met him, he’d been quite friendly. She doubted very much he would be now.
He flipped open the file on the desk in front of him, studied it with a look of intense disapproval and, without looking up, said: “Twelve thousand and forty-two pounds and twenty-eight pence.”
Looking up at her, he leered rather than smiled for a second. Sarah smiled back, but his face became stony and hard once again. “You owe us a lot of money, Miss Parks.”
“Yes,” she said.
“What do you intend to do about it?”
“I, I, you see, with the factory closing down and the staff problems I’ve had.....then the conversion cost more than....”
“I didn’t ask you about your problems, Miss Parks,” he interrupted rudely, “I asked you about your repayments.”
Sarah felt her pulse race, she was frightened, scare to death. For one moment she thought he was going to jump out of his chair and tear her throat out. That was silly; she tried to get a grip on herself, but as she struggled to exercise self-control, the bank manager stood up, pushed back his jacket and, putting his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, walked round to her side of the desk. Sarah felt like a naughty schoolgirl.
“You can’t pay us back, can you, Miss Parks?”
He stood over her and she trembled visibly. When she didn’t answer, Mr Haughtry bent over and whispered in her ear, “Can you?”
Regaining her composure, or as much of it as she could muster, she turned and stared at his ugly, moustachioed face, “Not yet, but I will.”
“Not yet?” he stared back at her.. “Miss Parks, I have been chasing you for the past three months. I have sent you letters, I have telephoned, I have even sent my staff to your premises, and every time I have heard the same thing: mañana. Do you know what that word means, Miss Parks?”
“Yes,” said Sarah, “tomorrow.”
“It does not mean tomorrow, Miss Parks, it means the indefinite tomorrow. It’s the way a Spaniard tells you to get stuffed.”
“Oh, does it?” she gulped.
Mr Haughtry straightened up, “Yes, Miss Parks, but while you promise to pay me mañana, I have something to give you today. Right now, in fact.”
“You do?” she looked up at him fearfully. “Oh God, no,” she prayed, “please don’t let him issue a summons.”
Sarah’s bank loan had been secured on her flat. There had been no problem with that because she owned the property outright. Her father had left it to his wife, Sarah’s mother in her will, and she had in turn made it over to her only daughter. But her mother shared the flat with Sarah, and if the bank instigated proceedings to recover the money, she would have to sell the it. The flat was worth a fair whack, even with the current depressed state of the property market, but if she did have to sell, she and her mother would be homeless. Even worse, her mother would be heartbroken; she and Sarah’s father had lived in that flat for nearly thirty years.
Sarah was still praying inaudibly when Mr Haughtry took her arm and, telling her to stand up, led her round to the other side of the desk. She was so consumed with fear, expecting him at any moment to threaten her with destitution, that she didn’t pay attention to what he was doing. Standing behind her, Haughtry placed his hands on her shoulders and said: “Over the desk, Miss Parks.”
Sarah bent over obediently; next thing he had placed his hand in the small of her back and thrust her down onto the hard wooden surface. Suddenly she felt her skirt pulled up, and tried to turn around, but he grasped her by the hair and forced her down onto the desk again.
“What.....” that was all she could manage; next thing he had pulled down her knickers and begun spanking her bare backside. Under any other circumstances Sarah would have cried out, screamed her head off and wriggled like an eel, but there was something so unreal about the whole situation that she just lay there, gritting her teeth while he spanked her for a full minute.
When he stopped, he let go of her head, straightened up and walked round to the other side of his desk.
“That will be all for now, Miss Parks. Tidy yourself up.”
Sarah stood up and pulled up her knickers, straightened up her skirt and walked round the desk. Haughtry thrust out his hand for her to shake; open mouthed, she shook it. He passed her her handbag which she had left on the chair.
“I’ll be in touch,” he continued, and, wagging a forefinger at her in a stern rebuke, said, “and next time I write, make sure you contact me at once. Or else!”
Leading her to the door, he opened it and let her out with a pleasant business-like smile, the first time she’d ever seen him smile properly.
Sarah walked out into the street like a zombie. She couldn’t believe it, she must have been dreaming. She stopped on the kerb at the zebra crossing and ran her hand up and down her bruised buttock. She certainly hadn’t imagined that; the pain was real. What should she do? Go to the police! She dismissed the idea as soon as it entered her head; they’d never believe her, and even if they did, could she imagine standing up in court and telling the world what had happened? She’d be a laughing stock, and too embarrassed or ashamed ever to show her face in public again. Even worse, what if the case came to court and he was acquitted? People would think she was a loony, either that or some sort of pervert. Women could be perverts too. She could hear the whispers and lewd remarks now.
“Cor, right little belter, aren’t ya?”
“Hello Sarah, would you like to service my overdraft?”
“Hey darlin’, fancy a bank loan?”
She realised she was daydreaming when she was awakened by a loud hoot; she’d been standing on the kerb at the zebra crossing while a line of cars had been queuing patiently waiting for her to cross. Now, the driver of the leading car had run out of patience; winding down his nearside window, he stuck his head out and yelled at her: “Come on, you stupid slag; I’ve gotta get to the bank this morning.”
It was an unfortunate choice of word; something inside Sarah snapped. Dashing up to the van, she glared down at the irate motorist, “You’re going where?”
The man should have driven on but instead he wound down the window and leaned further out.
“The friggin’ bank!” he shouted.
“You fucking pervert!” she screamed, then before he could move, Sarah’s handbag came down on his head with a vicious thud.
“Yow!”
Blow after blow from the bag and from her clenched fist rained down on the poor man’s head until a stream of blood began pouring from his nose. Passers-by stopped and stared in horrified fascination at the extraordinary spectacle. Finally the drivers in rear lost patience and began tooting and honking. At this Sarah stood upright, turned to them and screamed, “You can fuckin’ shut up as well!”
Seizing his chance, the besieged motorist pulled himself back into his car, thrust his foot down and drove off at breakneck speed. Sarah turned back to the car as it sped away, growled angrily under her breath, then stepped back up onto the kerb. Trying to ignore the shudder which swept over her body, she looped her handbag onto her shoulder, walked on to the bus stop and rode the short distance home.
Sarah was on her third whisky before she had calmed down sufficiently to think like a rational human being. She felt sorry now for that motorist; the poor man hadn’t known what had hit him. She had been right out of order; the person she should have handbagged was Haughtry. How dare he? How could he? A bank manager! It was too late now to go to the police, besides, they would never believe her anyway. Even if she were to drop her knickers and stick her bare arse on the station counter they’d only say somebody else had been responsible, an irate boyfriend perhaps. That was a laugh, ever since she’d started the business she’d had no time for boyfriends, no time to socialise at all. Now she had no money either; she’d already had to sell the car, and the HP company would be coming any day to repossess the van. When that happened she’d be well and truly sunk. She’d better phone the restaurant, they were expecting her to come in this afternoon. She poured herself a fourth, lurched over to the phone, then thought: “What the hell!”
Knocking back her drink in a single gulp, she flopped back in the chair. “Ouch!”
Her arse still smarted, but now it had a pleasant tingling sensation rather than a sharp, stinging hurt. She threw back her head and laughed aloud; it wasn’t just her account that was in the red.
The following evening when she arrived home from work, there was a letter waiting for her on the kitchen table. Her mother had gone off to bingo and wouldn’t be back until late. Sarah didn’t get much mail nowadays, except final demands, but this had been sent recorded delivery, and it was from the bank. Tearing it open she pulled out the note and read it feverishly.
Dear Miss Parks,
Re your loan repayment, today on consulting your file I
discovered a mistake in the scheduling. As you will remember, you
applied for the loan on 25th January inst., but for technical
reasons we were unable to make the full advance until 11th March.
It appears that we have erroneously debited you with two weeks'
additional interest. I am therefore amending your account accord-
ingly and trust that you will now be able to service the loan as
scheduled. Please contact me IMMEDIATELY if you have any further
trouble.
Sincerely G Haughtry
Manager
The letter bore yesterday’s date. Sarah put it down and exclaimed: “The cheeky sod!” No mention of the spanking session, of course. All he’d done was defer the interest for a fortnight. What if she couldn’t pay? Did she go back to see him and get chastised again? That seemed to be what he intended, reading between the lines. Well, she was damned if she’d play his sick, perverted game. Tearing the letter up in disgust, she threw it in the bin, but two weeks later business still hadn’t improved. True, she had managed to sweet talk the van hire company, and to repay £150 of the outstanding bank loan, but she was still in it up to her neck. So when she came home from work on the Thursday, she was not too surprised to find another recorded delivery waiting for her on the table. Again it was from Haughtry personally, but this time it was direct and explicit.
Dear Miss Parks,
Re your loan, I acknowledge your payment of £150 received Monday, but
this is not enough to cover the arrears.
Please call on me on Friday morning at 10am so this matter can be rectified.
Sincerely G Haughtry,
Manager
Sarah’s face flushed, what was she to do? Again she thought about going to the police, but reluctantly she had to admit that that would only make matters worse. Even if Haughtry were sacked, convicted of assault and gaoled, and if she could live down the scandal, the loan would still have to be repaid. In fact they’d probably make her pay an extra two weeks’ interest. That meant she didn’t have any choice, she’d have to go and see him.
So, at five to ten the following morning, she reported to the enquiries desk at the bank. The same woman showed her into the manager’s office where Mr Haughtry greeted her with an outstretched hand and the suggestion of a smile. “Miss Parks, so nice to see you again.”
Sarah swallowed angrily but held her tongue. As the PA left the office, Haughtry said to her, “Mrs Gulliver, Miss Parks and I will be busy for some time; I don’t want to be disturbed.”
The woman curtsied, smiled and closed the door behind her. Haughtry sat down behind his desk, flipped open a file and said, “Now Miss Parks, about your loan, you’ve repaid some interest this week, I see. Let’s see if we can’t arrange for you to repay some more.”
“I can’t afford anymore,” said Sarah, “not this week.”
“Then I’m afraid I shall have to do something which will cause me great regret.” He paused then added, “And which will cause you great pain.” As he finished talking, he stood up and, pushing back his jacket, inserted his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets in what for him was a familiar mannerism. He began moving round the desk, but as he did so, Sarah stood up herself and snapped: “Don’t you come near me, you fucking pervert!”
“Tch, tch,” said Haughtry, “you young girls do use some disgusting language nowadays.”
Sarah backed off, “You touch me and I’ll scream,” she said. Her voice trembled with fear, but strangely she felt a tingle of excitement run down her spine. Why had she come back here? Surely she didn’t want this loathsome old man to spank her again? She found the very thought of it disgusting; everything about this whole sordid affair was disgusting. The bank pressurising her into taking out a loan she couldn’t afford to repay, her business collapsing, now this foul, doubly disgusting old creep wanting to spank her arse.
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