Played. Punished.

In the evening, we played. Oh, how we played. For if a girl has crossed international borders for a play date, it would be very, very wrong not to leave her sorely marked by the time she went to bed. And if said young lady happened to being along bring the very plimsoll she used to wear to PE lessons as school, then how could a gentleman resist putting it to good use in a hard, tear-inducing slippering?

And in the morning, she was punished.

See, my alarm was set for 07:30 – earlier than I needed it to be to get to an event starting two hours later a short stroll across the city, but in good time for us to play a little before we had to part company.

Only, at 07:00, I was woken abruptly by Olivia’s alarm.

Thirty minutes of sleep lost.

Thirty strokes.

Ten on outstretched hands, with a vicious heavy plastic paddle purchased the afternoon before. Ten, very hard, with the cruel carpet beater. And ten, at full strength, with the slipper.

Punished.

But that wouldn’t have been a good way to end. After a pause – and hugs, more playful (yet still hard) spankings were called for. She had to know, as we went on her way, that she is a good girl. A very good girl. And she had to sit uncomfortably on the train back home.

“Did you have a nice evening?” my colleagues asked when I reached the office. If only they had known!