For a couple of months, I was working up to twelve hours a day, seven days a
week, being involved in a development phase, not only for the business, but for
myself. I can remember that horrible tiredness that set in after the first
month which blurred the rest of the time in a “let survive day by day”
philosophy. With all that was going on,
my two weekly bottom warming visits to HH effectively came to a screeching halt.
At first, it seemed to be all fine. I could flop down in chairs without
going through the “oh holy cow, my bottom hurts” moments, my constant
fidgeting in meetings ceased and I was
no longer getting up every ten minutes make a cup of coffee to alleviate the
uncomfortable sensations experienced in my rear region.
However, in the absence of my regular mood stabilising therapy sessions, as
performed on a certain part of my anatomy, my temper was flaring more than
normal and I have to add, rather spectacularly at times. Coupled with the
temper was the steady increase in my refusals to willingly co-operate with
anyone in general, and I do think, it reached a point where any self respecting
mule would have gladly handed me the stubbornness crown to wear.
This unhealthy state finally reached a point where a disagreement about
paying for lunches ended it all. I had become totally fed up with the team
leader of the project, more specifically, with his insistence to buy me lunch
every day without wanting to take my money for my share. I am a firm believer
in paying my own way, and my irritation levels knew no bounds when trying to
leave money on the table or paying for the food directly, I would invariably
find the cash lying on my desk later in the afternoon.
I kept the money in an envelope, and every time I had to add some more, my
temper and impatience soared. I also knew that if I handed the cash over, stating
that it is for the lunches, I would have not been successful. So, I put on my
most innocent face, took the envelope out of the drawer and set of on my
mission. As he came down the passage, I stuffed the envelope in his hand as I
passed him, dismissively stating that I was told to give it to him.
When I was sure there was enough space between me and him, I stopped and
then told him, gleefully and quite mockingly, I have to admit, that it is the
damn lunch money. Oh, and he that can forget it – I have locked my office, it
will remain locked, and even though it is against the law, if the money is
returned to me, I will burn it! Feeling quite smug and satisfied, there was nothing
in the world that could have prepared me for his next words. “Young lady, I feel
like putting you over my knee, because you are in need of a good spanking”.
It felt as if the whole building was caving in on me – I knew my face was
burning, as I could feel the air cooling it down while I was whipping my head
in all directions to see if any of my colleagues heard this little, unexpected
and devastating statement. At the same time, as I was leaning back against the
wall due to a sudden but serious weakness being experienced in my legs, and trying
to get a bottom under control that was clenching and unclenching involuntarily,
I was frantically trying to think of a response, apart from the “Yes, oh my
goodness, yes, yes, yes, please!” that was racing through my mind.
In the end, I did manage a weak laugh, and a mumbled some inane response
that to this day, I cannot quite remember. However, a message was sent that
very afternoon to HH, quite clearly stating that I am in dire need of not only
a great cup of warm coffee, but also a bottom warming session with him and his
cane. I have to confess though, that for the rest of project duration, and in
the many meetings following, I did rather have a fascination with the hands of
said team leader, not being able to look away, and constantly found myself
daydreaming, wondering whether he was a hard spanker...
