by John Chard
Margaret J. Kemp, attorney at law, drummed her well manicured finger nails on the desktop as she listened with increasing consternation to the voice on the other end of the phone.
"Well," she said, "it sounds like my dear ex has done some pretty serious backsliding since his last visit." She listened a bit more and let out a throaty chuckle. "Yes, boys will be boys," she agreed. "That's the problem isn't it? They never really stop being boys completely." She nodded and tapped her keyboard to bring up some newly arrived emails. "Oh, he's going to the woodshed all right. I promise you, when you see him again on Tuesday, his attitude will have been thoroughly adjusted." She let out another chuckle. "Yes, I'll just bet you would. Who knows, maybe someday."
A frown creased her brow as she realized that she was looking at several emails she'd already seen. "Thank you so much for the report, Evelyn," she said into the handset cradled between her ear and shoulder. "I promise you, you won't have to put up with that kind of behavior for a long time after I get done with him. I trust you still like Channel?" She leaned back in the big leather swivel chair and put her feet up on the desk. "Oh, it's my pleasure, dear. Good spies are worth their weight in perfume."
She said goodbye to her ex-husband's executive assistant, returned the handset to its cradle and pushed the intercom button. "Jack, I need the file and surveillance photos for the Tarantino case."
"Yes, ma'am," came through the speaker.
A few minutes later, her young paralegal and protégé, Jack Dawson walked through the door holding the requested materials. He handed her the case file, but fumbled the folder with the photos, spilling them all over the floor.
"Sorry, ma'am," he said as he quickly sank to his knees and began scooping up the photos.
"Today please, Jack."
He winced at her tone, as he hurried to put the photos back in order. "Here you go," he said, finally setting the restored folder on her desk. He turned and attempted a hasty retreat from his beautiful, but demanding boss's office.
"Not so fast, mister," she said, just as he was reaching for the doorknob.
He winced again. Her voice was like a whip-crack. He turned back to face her. "Was there something else, ma'am?"
She crooked a finger at him, summoning him back to the desk. It was a gesture he'd learned to fear. He forced his feet to move until he was once again standing directly in front of the desk. He swallowed hard.
Maggie let him squirm for a few seconds as she looked him up and down. She took special notice of the slightly rumpled clothes and the tell-tale redness of his eyes. Jack was usually neat as a pin. He was usually a damn sight more efficient at carrying out his duties too.
"You seem a little off your game today, sport," she said. "What's up with that?"
"I'm just feeling a little under the weather today, ma'am."
"I believe that," she said, leaning back in her chair. "Did you know you forwarded the same batch of e-mails to me twice in the last hour?"
"I did?"
"Yes, Jack, you did. Now what's ailing you? Bad headache? Stomach a little queasy? Eyes a little sensitive to the light?"
"All of it, actually," he admitted. "I guess I got a touch of something."
She let him squirm some more while she gave him another withering look. "Jack," she said, finally, "do you think it's at all likely that I've lived forty-two years without learning to recognize the symptoms of a bad hangover?"
Defeated, his eyes turned towards his feet. "No, ma'am," he mumbled.
"Well, that must have been some party if you're still feeling this discombobulated at two in the afternoon. And didn't you have class this morning?"
"Yes, ma'am," he admitted, "Constitutional Law."
She folded her arms over her ample breasts. "Did you go?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"And what was the topic of today's lecture?"
"I don't remember exactly, ma'am; something about Miranda."
"Well, that would go over well in court, wouldn't it?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Mr. Dawson, can you site precedence for your appeal? 'I don't know, your honor; something about Miranda.'" He just shifted back and forth on his feet, clearly wishing he could disappear. "Your parents scrimped and saved for years to send you to college, didn't they?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Do you think they'd appreciate you wasting their money like that?"
"No, ma'am," he said, reeling under the verbal pummeling.
"Do you think I appreciate you wasting my time and money, showing up for work in this sorry condition?"
"No, ma'am."
"Damn right, I don't. I have to think there must be a pretty interesting story behind your surprisingly derelict behavior."
"Not really that interesting, ma'am."
"Sit," she commanded, pointing to one of the chairs that faced her desk. "Interesting or not, I want to hear it, and believe me when I say it had better be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."
He seated himself as ordered and launched into his tale of woe. Maggie listened intently. Ultimately it was a familiar story, all the more so for the fact that it had happened to her a few times when she was a student. Some friends had come over to watch a game on TV. Some of them showed up with beer. A good time was had. Someone had gone out for more beer when the first batch ran out. More still after that.
She wasn't entirely unsympathetic. She knew all too well how easily it could happen, especially when you were young and relatively inexperienced at life. Jack was, for the most part, a decent, hardworking guy who rarely needed correcting. It was why she'd agreed to mentor him. But, she'd also made it clear, on that occasion, that she would be keeping a very firm hand with him.
She considered that all the more important owing to the fact that Jack had admitted to a life long fascination with the idea of being spanked by an assertive woman. She'd given him his first actual experience of such discipline, across her lap three months earlier and she made sure to make it an experience he wouldn't be in a hurry to repeat. She needed for him to understand that actual discipline from her was not going to be something to look forward to.
"It was a pretty silly mistake to make, wasn't it, Jack?" she asked when he'd completed in narrative. He could only nod, still finding it hard to look her in the eye. "Especially since you're a little older than most of your peers."
"I'm older, ma'am," he admitted, ruefully, "but I think some of them have had a lot more experience with drinking."
"Well, don't worry," she said, pushing herself up from the chair. "I'm going to help you out here. Do we have any appointments in the next twenty minutes or so?"
"No, ma'am," he said. "None for the rest of the day."
"Good. Go lock the outer door and report back to me." She took some pleasure in watching the color drain from his face.
"You mean, now? You're going to..."
"I think you know very well what I'm going to do, young man. I mean to clear those cobwebs out of your head so we can get some work done today. Now, lock that door like I said and report back to me and don't you dare dawdle."
He turned and hurried to carry out her bidding. Once he'd left the room she came around the desk, picked up the chair he'd been sitting in and placed it in the center of the floor. Satisfied that they'd have plenty of room, she started to roll her right shirt sleeve up above her elbow.
Looks like I'll be tanning two naughty bottoms today, she thought with some relish.
Damn! Jack thought, cursing his luck. Why today? Because today is the day you were a big enough dumb-ass to earn a real ass blistering from her, he answered himself.
He'd actually been fantasizing about another spanking all week. He'd even imagined screwing something up on purpose, just so he could go back over that beautiful, full, firm lap of hers. Of course that was only a fantasy. He knew he'd never have the nerve to do it.
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