The dropped tray

Young J———, the sweet girl in my hotel club lounge who’s been so adorably friendly for the past few evenings, just disappeared into the kitchen area with a large pile of plates and glasses.

It’s 8pm, and the free buffet’s finishing: time for her and her colleagues to clear up, and no bad thing either – none of this stuff is diet friendly, and my eating regime’s going to be very strict when I get home after my less-than-low-carb subsistence in Morocco, Egypt and Malaysia in recent weeks. Really, there are places where “not getting ill” takes priority over weight loss!

Anyway… I was in the middle of describing what’s just happened. She vanished from sight, and a moment later came a loud crash, mixed with a backing chorus of shattering… The other lounge staff looked on aghast.

You see, she’s already have had a final warning for carelessness from her manager. Any moment now, she’ll reappear and – as she was warned she would have to were there any repetition of the previous incidents – she’ll place a call to him from the phone in the corner of the room. She’ll explain what had happened, in full hearing of the guests and her colleagues, and plead with him for leniency.

To no avail, of course. He’ll make her wait, not rushing to deal with her: the anticipation will be part of the punishment. She’ll busy herself cleaning tables, trying to chat in her usual friendly way to the folks sipping their wine, despite the tears welling in her eyes.

But it’ll only be when he arrives and positions a chair in the entrance lobby to the lounge that she’ll realise he’s to spank her in full view of all around. Not hard: she’s a good girl, if careless, and severity’s unnecessary. Simply being made to bed over his knee, and having her bottom bared, will be punishments enough; the dozen or so swats he’ll expertly apply will hurt, of course, but that’ll scarcely be the point…