Monday, March 14, 2011

Never be late for work: Part II: The master of the house leaves for work: Finally!

I again have to preface my story, dear readers, with an off-topic caveat, and this time, it is a reminder that I am a woman, and it is every woman's inherent right to take her time dressing. Five minutes was a cruel and inhumane demand. Nevertheless, the raised tramlines across my bottom and thighs along with the fire imparted by the belt, had temporarily silenced my passion for such inherent rights for the female form: I never changed clothing so fast in my life.

Shoes, sox, knickers and jeans were off in record time. No time for looking in the mirror and indulging in even a moment of well-earned self-pity, my hands were shaking as I continued to undress. Tee shirt and sweater off; all unceremoniously jammed back into my bag in record time. Then, the uniform: sox with lace trim pulled on gently, could not afford any torn sox at this point. 'Lace tennis panties', despicable, now, on. No time for reflection about those, either. The elastic on the leg bands hurt as they nipped the tender flesh where bottom meets thighs. I could feel the heat radiating through that hideous lace. I've never been a girly-girl, so sporting those frilly knickers under my uniform always annoyed me, but again, I was not about to take issue that day. Onto the maids uniform, over head and on. Pulled up zipper, hands shaking so badly I could not reach the top. Skirt with utility pockets and more frilly lace tied behind my back, last. Frantically brushed my hair, put matching frilly lace headband in place. Quick check in the mirror.. good thing: I almost forgot my shoes. Put those shoes on and tore back to sir.

I made it in under 5 minutes. Record time for any woman, dare I say, but my swiftness was not appreciated. I stood at the entrance to the livingroom, trying to catch my breath. I waited to be acknowledged, and soon enough, he called me to him. Once he stood up I saw the thick short belt in his right hand (never a good sign).

I maintained the presence of mind to curtsey upon acknowledgement, and crossed that room so fast I don't remember my feet ever hitting the floor. 'Turn' he said, and with the first hint of mercy for the day, he pulled the zipper all the way up. A few gratuitous hand smacks landed on my bottom and thighs, and I didn't move. 'Face me, girl, right now', was all he said, and so I did. He dictated a list of chores so long that to this day I don't think I could recreate it accurately.

'I expect _all_ of it to be done by the time I'm home, or else'.

'Yes, sir' I muttered, eyes averted, afraid to meet his.

Now just to be sure I've made my point clear, 'hands!

I know I must have gone pale. I was already well-punished and had a days work ahead of me. I whimpered and desperately made eye contact, begging him with my silent stare to spare my poor hands.

'Hands! and I won't say it again'. It was going to be 6, now its 8, care to make it 12?'

'No, sir' I said softly, tears starting to flow again as the belt already was recoiled over his shoulder for its first strike. 'Look at me, now. I have no time to waste thanks to you'. I felt so awash with shame I could hardly face him no less meet eye to eye, but I obeyed. Few things are more painful or shameful to me than having to maintain eye contact while proffering my hands for the belt, and he knew it: THWACK came the first stroke searing the length of my right hand.

'Don't ever cause me to be late with my work colleagues again', he remarked as the tawse bit harder and harder into my palms. Tears streamed down my face from the belting as well as the shame I felt in that moment.

Finally, finally, finally, the last stroke fell, and I was allowed to put my hands at my sides. The wicked old belt was placed carefully back in the drawer.

'We will discuss this matter fully this evening. Do not EVER cause me to be late for work again,' he said with his gaze piercing my soul.

I was crying freely as I reassured him: 'I won't sir, I promise, never again' I stammered through my state of distress and tears. I was so relieved to see that hint of tenderness return to his beautiful blue eyes. My breathing slowed slightly. He gently raised my chin, smiled ever so slightly and said, 'Oh, I know you won't. I'll see to that later. Now, pull yourself together and get to work. Maybe we can even enjoy a few minutes together this evening, after your full punishment if you actually finish all your chores today'.

He finally ran down the stairs and out the door. I was short on time, remained, every fiber of my being either stinging from the strap, or aching from the cane, and admonishments,so I recovered by working, rather than by attempting to sit down and allow self pity to take over.
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I immediately grabbed pen and pad and wrote as many of the chores as I could remember. What a start to a day of 'work'. 

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