Just as Madeline expected, it didn’t take long for Dusty’s wilder side to appear. One evening, as the girl walked out of the back room in her shorts and high heels, she bumped into her boss with an unexpected jolt. The unfortunate crash jostled her purse, dumping its content across the diner floor. Most noticeable was a bottle of vodka that broke on impact. The strong smell of alcohol rose from the floor, as if it had just been mopped with disinfectant.
That was not all that met Madeline’s eye as she gazed at the mess.
“What’s this?” she asked, picking up a bag containing some white powdery substance. “You using drugs?”
Dusty tried to grab it back, but Madeline was too quick. The older women knew what she was looking for and with a quick examination discovered the truth.
“I told you, young lady, you’d better behave yourself,” Madeline admonished her, staring her down with impenetra¬ble eyes.
“That’s none of your business,” Dusty retorted.
“Sorry, Miss Short Shorts, I’ve made it my business,” Madeline seethed. She had her by the wrist. “Clean up this mess, will you?” she called to Cassie, her other waitress. As she led Dusty into the back room.
The girl struggled, but Madeline was far more powerful than Dusty and more determined. Though Dusty was not yet sure what her employer had in mind, when she spied the omi¬nous wooden spoon in Madeline’s hand, it became obvious.
“You Bitch!” the girl yelled.
Madeline slapped the girl across the face.
“You hush your mouth if you know what’s good for you.”
Shocked into yielding. Dusty watched in horror as Madeline made a place for her to sit.
“My god, not here?” the girl protested. “There are cus¬tomer’s out there.”
“‘Fraid they’ll hear you?” Madeline taunted—pulling the girl over her lap. She could sense Dusty’s mounting di¬lemma—the humiliation, the customers within earshot, her own tempestuous anger. But Dusty being Dusty opted to pro¬test, forgetting what the outside world would hear or think. She wasn’t about to let the old lady punish her without a fight.
“Don’t you dare!” she screamed. Her arms and legs kicked furiously as she tried to struggle from Madeline’s lap. But the woman had been through these things many times be¬fore, and she knew she had the advantage, and of course the wooden spoon, turned paddle, in her hand.
“Stop it!” Dusty howled, still trying to wriggle away.
Again, she wiggled her fanny in Madeline’s face, “Ouch! Goddammit!
“They’re going to hear you, is that what you want?” Madeline said.
Dusty didn’t know what she wanted. The slaps of the wooden spoon stung through her white short shorts. It was humiliating, but not the worst thing she’d ever felt. If this was as bad as it was going to be, maybe Madeline was right, she should shut up and take it.
Unfortunately, a simple spanking was not all that Madeline had in mind.
Once she’d warmed the girl’s ass, Madeline paused to pull the shorts from Dusty’s hips.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“You didn’t expect me to let these protect your fanny, did you?”
“How dare you!” Dusty tried another protest.
But Madeline was still stronger, and in just seconds, Dusty’s bottom was naked and bobbing lusciously in front of Madeline’s eyes. For the older woman it was a damned pretty sight: two beautiful pink round buns, the delicious crack, the soft fleshy place at the base, and the firm below. She watched as Dusty clenched and let go, then clenched again. There was something very arousing about her movements. She certainly wouldn’t let these fair cheeks go to waste, though first she had some work to do, a lesson to teach, and a feisty young brat to tame.
“You’ll be surprised, Miss Short Shorts, how your view of things will change after I’ve reddened your fanny.
“Ouch!” the girl cried loudly.
The wooden spoon came down again and again with vi¬cious whacks to poor Dusty’s rear, which was quickly turning from pale pink to a passionate red. Madeline made every effort to cover all of Dusty’s delicate rear. The more glowing red the better, Madeline always thought.
As the paddle finished its first journey across her fanny, it began a second, retracing the steps with a thoroughness of someone obviously skilled in good hearty paddlings.
“Oh, my god, please stop!” Dusty pleaded. There were tears in her eyes, but not ones Madeline trusted; she’d seen too many young things like Miss Short Shorts who turned quickly into actresses once the paddle was landing on their bottoms. They could muster most any emotion to get away from the sting.
“Please, please, Madeline,” she tried again.
The tears were turning to sobs.
“I run this place, and you’ll do as I say,” Madeline lectured.
“No booze, no drugs, ever!”
“No back talk, no sassing, no tardiness,” she continued. She punctuated her harangue with several powerful whacks from the paddle.
“And you’ll leave your short shorts and these heels at home,” Madeline added for good measure.
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