The one that got away?

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...