Page 31 of Bronson

His training is thorough. I learn quickly. The customers seem to like me. I make quite a few big sales, the commission going straight to Handyman Hank. It has only been a few months since I took the job at Bachman’s, and the heat at home is now working.

The rest has gone to repairs. First, the HVAC. Then, the leaky toilet on the third floor. I am saving up for my next project: one of those glass-enclosed showers. The kind you can just shuffle right into. No stepping over the edge of a cold porcelain tub. You could break a hip doing that.

The other girls in the store have gotten used to Bronson’s partial treatment of me. I couldn’t care less if they didn’t.

They have people in their lives to take care of them.

Sure, there are whispered words behind my back. But I have made one real friend.

Alice.

She gets quiet whenever Bronson comes around, but otherwise, she loves to chat. We talk about everything.

Everything except Bronson.

Once, when he was upset with me over my dealings with a grumpy customer, he whispered a harsh threat in my ear. Alice overheard, her eyes growing wide. I shrugged it off. When he walked away, she whispered, “Be careful.” When I asked what she meant, she made a cryptic comment: You can get in over your head, getting tied up with a Bachman man. She’d been quiet the rest of the day, a faraway look in her eyes. I gave her some space. The following weekend she was back to her bubbly self.

He only spanked me once more since I stole the necklace.

I had shown up twenty minutes late. Without an excuse. And in a bad temper.

He confronted me on my tardiness. I snapped at him.

He grabbed my upper arm, guiding me to his office.

He sat down on his desk chair and pulled me right over his lap.

I will spank you, first for being late. Then, again for your sassy mouth.

I had groaned, complained, tried to fight it. But I was in such a mood, I knew I needed it.

I laid there over his lap, pouting like a little girl.

For the first spanking, he gave me several light spanks over my skirt.

Then, he lifted my skirt, folding it neatly over my back. His hand brushed over my panties.

My pussy begged for his touch.

His hand came down, softly in swats that left a light sting dancing across my skin. His words made my knees feel weak. Softened my hard attitude.

Little girls who sass get put over knees and corrected.

The spanking hadn’t hurt. At all.

But somehow, having his hand spank my bottom over my panties, mixed with his gentle correction, completely melted my attitude away, leaving me feeling feminine, vulnerable, and… sweet.

He had held me in his lap afterwards. His hand smoothing my hair.

See, now? All better. Just a little spanking to clear away your bad mood and sweeten you up for the day.

I had leaned my head on his chest, my finger picking at the buttons on his shirt as he spoke.

I had never felt safer, more cared for, than I did in that moment.

I wanted him to kiss me. He didn’t. With a final pat of my bottom, he sent me right back to work.

Since then, he hasn’t laid a finger on me.