Chapter 43

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1995-2009 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

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Erin's Adventures
Chapter 43
More Education in Business

(***, F/F, Intense, Paddling)

Erin is forced to find new employement. (Approximately 1,456 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

One day Mrs. Dunst called me into her office. Her face was somber and grim, and I panicked, frantically wondering what mistake I'd made now.

"I've enjoyed having you as an employee," she began, and my heart nearly fell out onto the floor.

"But Mrs. Dun -- "

"Shhhhh," she said, holding up a hand. "Please, Erin. Let me finish. This is nothing to do with you. I'm closing the salon. My brother has been diagnosed with terminal cancer. He's a bachelor, with no family, so I'm leaving in a few days to stay with him. It could be months, or even years, depending on how the disease progresses. He's a successful businessman, so I've got no financial worries. It seemed the simplest to close the shop.

"I'm sorry I couldn't give you more notice, but here's your full pay for the month. That should help until you can find something new."

Just like that, my brief career in haircare was over. The mysterious Mrs. Dunst, who had a secret room in the back of her shop for irate clients to discipline clumsy employees, would leave my life forever. I felt lonely and confused, and with Rob away on business, I turned to Heidi for comfort.

She scolded me soundly for my self-pity and ordered me to find new employment immediately. So the next morning I began browsing the employment advertisements, searching for a job with flexible hours and interesting work. What I found was nothing. The scarcity of employment worried me. The various hair salons I tried had nothing part-time, and in the end I settled on a retail environment, a classy reseller of women's footwear.

The owner was an elderly woman, tall and thin with dark glasses with tiny, thick lenses. Her name was Miss Swain and though somewhat severe and stern in appearance, she seemed kind and pleasant, and eager to replace her former employee, a French girl who'd returned home suddenly due to illness in the family.

My primary task was to catalog and store the stock that arrived each day or so, but I was also to return unsold merchandise to the manufacturers, to clean the place after closing, and to learn how to handle customers. This last part intrigued me the most, as, if I desired, I could augment my salary with commission of sales. I figured after my experience with clients at the salon this wouldn't be a problem, but I had not counted on the fickle nature of women buying shoes.

My first day began dismally enough, with a little mistake in labeling. Who knew that a 17-O was completely different than a 17-Zero? Miss Swain didn't seem to mind, however, merely correcting my error and remarking that I'd soon learn.

Throughout the day my tally of mistakes grew. I packaged shoes incorrectly. I referred to a long-time customer as a Mrs., when she really was a Miss. Attempting to vacuum the carpets after closing, I managed to knock over and crack an expensive vase. Fortunately it didn't break, and Miss Swain moved it to the far corner where the lighting was poor and no one would notice. It was with deep relief that my duties were finished, and I knocked on Miss Swain's door to bid her good-night.

She looked up from her book-keeping and motioned for me to enter. Her office, like the rest of the store, was immaculate and very posh. An original painting, a seascape, hung on one wall, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with heavy volumes of philosophy to business management covered another.

"So, did you enjoy your first day?" she asked me.

"It was challenging," I murmured tactfully. "I obviously have a great deal to learn. Thank you for being so gracious regarding my mistakes."

"Don't mention it," she said with a wave. "We shall take care of it now. Would you please open that cabinet over there?"

Miss Swain was pointing at an elaborate dresser made of fine cherry wood, with numerous drawers and cabinet doors. She directed me to the final door, which I opened with great curiousity. Inside was a flat oval-shaped wooden board about two feet long with a six inch leather handle. It reminded me strongly of Heidi's American paddle.

She bade me to bring it to her.

It was heavy and sturdily crafted. The edges had been sanded and polished into rounded curves, and the varnish was so thick I could almost see myself in the reflection.

"My nephew bought this for me in America," said the woman, carefully taking the board from my hands. "It was not long after I hired my first employee, a girl in school like yourself, who had the attention span of a gnat. She was careless and foolish and nothing I said brought any change in behavior. I was too tender-hearted to dismiss her, and until my nephew gave me this solution, she was ruining my business."

I smiled politely at the woman, wondering where she was going with her babble. My thoughts were on my plans for the evening, as Rob was taking me dancing. But the next words of the woman brought me fully to attention.

"So, Erin, I shall give you one stroke per error. According to my calculations, you have made 16 errors today, a new record, by-the-way. So please place yourself across my desk and I shall soundly administer appropriate punishment."

Suddenly the purpose of the wooden board was clear. Glumly I bent across the desk, wondering if I had any choice. I suppose I could have simply left, but I needed the job and in truth, I had earned the discipline.

Miss Swain beamed at me. "Excellent, dear Erin. I thought you were the obedient type." She walked around her desk and carefully lifted my dress. "You have a fine body, young lady. I assume you have a boyfriend?"

"Uh, yes Ma'am."

"Does he provide you with appropriate discipline when the need arises? I should think with you, it would arrive quite often." The woman's hand caressed the seat of my knickers, pinching my bum in a rather invasive action.

I licked my lips. "Yes, Ma'am."

"He spanks you soundly?"

"If needed, Ma'am."

"Glad to hear it, young lady. Too many young people today are completely without discipline and control. Consequences, even s minor one like a sore backside, are important to developing moral character."

I grunted in neutral agreement as I felt my underwear sliding down my thighs. Cold air drifted across my bottom and I reflected that no matter how familiar I was to this position, it continually surprised me. There was always something new, some fresh sensation I had missed previously. So much was familiar -- the coldness in my belly; the tension in my arms and legs as I waited for the inevitable; the deep thumping within my chest -- and yet so much was new: the strange Miss Swain, her hand-carved wooden paddle, and the posh, private confines of her elegant office. The sheer absurdity of my situation dazed me. I could not resist her instructions.

The paddling was a good one. The board was heavy and solid and each weighty whack jarred my entire body. It was nothing like the searing pain of a cane, but it burned healthily. In just a few moments my arse was on fire and I fidgeted impatiently, eager to conclude the punishment before it became really painful. I did not get my wish. My wiggling earned me two extra, and after eighteen full-blooded strokes my bottom was stinging so badly over such a large area I thought I'd never be able to sit down properly again.

"You may rise," said Miss Swain, allowing me to get up. I pulled my knickers up over my sore backside and smoothed down my skirt, wincing at every movement. It hadn't been a caning, but my eyes still stung with tears. I held the paddle with newfound respect and silently returned it to the case, shutting the door firmly.

"Thank you, Ma'am," I whispered, knowing it was what she wanted to hear. Strangely, a part of myself felt content. My nervousness was gone. I knew where I stood now. She understood me well, and I understood her better.

"Very well, Erin. You may go home. But remember -- every night we shall evaluate your work performance and deal with any 'consequences' that need to be dealt with. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am," I nodded. My heart was pumping vigorously as I left, the beating matching the tempo of the throb of my burning rear. My new job was going to be more interesting than I had expected.

More to come next week!

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