It was my first full-time job after leaving school and it was boring. If it was a colour it would be dung brown because the work was just crap. Quite honestly, I didn’t put too much effort into it. It was a case of why bother? Go to work and collect your pay while looking for a better job elsewhere.
After I’d been there for a couple of weeks I was invited to go and see the manager. Not my personal supervisor, but the Manager, with a capital M, my boss’s boss. I went along to the interview, trying to think of what I might have done wrong. Unfortunately, I quickly came to the conclusion that it was a rather long list.
“You see unhappy working here, Marion,” was the first thing the Manager said to me. “Do you want to resign?”
Oh my god, I was going to be fired. This was a disaster. There just wasn’t any work available right now and I liked getting a pay check.
“No, sir,” I said quickly. “I’m quite happy here.” (For a very low definition of happy, anyway.)
“Hmm. Your supervisor has pointed out that you seem to be having a few problems settling into a routine.”
I sighed and admitted that I found most of the work boring in the extreme. I wanted to do more of the interesting work.
The Manager nodded sympathetically, saying he quite understood.
“Still,” he said, “someone has to do the boring work. Some of these things aren’t really tasks that you would assign to senior staff members, now are they? What would you suggest we do?”
It was a classic case of disengage brain, open mouth, insert foot.
“Um, you could always hire someone to do the boring work,” I said brightly.
The Manager nodded thoughtfully while he looked at me.
“We did,” was all he said.
Oh. That was me.
“Are you going to fire me?” I asked in a very small voice.
“No. If I was going to fire you we wouldn’t be having this chat. You’d just be told not to come back. Your supervisor considers you to have potential, but I’m afraid where you’re concerned it includes doing the boring jobs.”
That was essentially it for the interview. Basically I was being warned to pull my finger out or get out. I was polite and contrite and promised to try harder.
I did try harder, but most of the work was still boring and I guess I was dragging my feet a little. I was a few minutes late to work several times, not that it really mattered in my books. Then came the night of the party. I don’t normally party during the week but we were having a baby shower for a friend and we all got a bit carried away. It’s possible that I might have had just a wee bit too much where alcoholic beverages were concerned.
I slept through the alarm and woke up hungover. I was a total shambles getting ready for work and I was decidedly on the late side when I did turn up, full of apologies for my supervisor.
“The Manager wants to see you,” he told me, his voice showing his annoyance with me. “Not now. After work.”
Hell and damnation. I was going to be fired, I just knew it. That fear, combined with the remains of the hangover, and having to rush around to catch up on my work, made for one very miserable day for me. Man, I just couldn’t afford to get fired. I needed my salary.
After work I went and saw the Manager. I got straight into grovelling. Sorry I was so late. I wasn’t feeling well. It won’t happen again. Sorry, sorry, sorry.
“If you were genuinely ill we wouldn’t expect you to come to work,” pointed out the Manager. “Exactly what was wrong with you?”
“I attended a baby shower for a friend last night. I guess I had a drink too many and I woke up late with a hangover,” I confessed. Might as well be honest. Lying would probably just get me in deeper.
“Uh-huh,” grunted the Manager. “Do you really want to work here? You’re free to leave at any time, you know. This is the second time we’ve had a little chat. That sort of inclines me towards accepting your resignation.”
Talk about instant panic. I need this job. Besides, I’m learning things here and I’ll get a chance to move up. I can’t get fired. I can just see me having an interview for another job. “Why did you leave your last employment?” “I got fired for coming in hungover.” “I see. Don’t call us. We’ll call you.”
“Give me another chance, please,” I grovelled. “I’ll try harder. I have been learning. The party last night was an unusual event. I don’t normally go to parties when the next day is a work day. Please.”
“I have to admit I’m somewhat disappointed in you. Like I said, we think you have potential, but you seem determined to waste it.”
“I do try,” I protested. “It’s just that I feel Mr Angra is never satisfied, no matter what I do.”
“Mr Angra would be happier as a slavedriver with a whip,” I added soto voce.
Unfortunately not soto voce enough. The Manager must have had ears like a bat and he heard me.
“Actually,” the Manager said dryly, “Mr Angra agrees with both of us. He feels that you have potential if you’d only apply yourself properly. He also suggested it would be a good idea to make you a slave so he’d be authorised to beat some common sense into you.”
“He wouldn’t dare touch me,” I stated, glaring at the Manager.
He was laughing at me, damn him. His face was straight but I could see the laughter in his eyes.
“What you say is quite true. He’s a bit too mousey to beat an employee,” agreed the Manager. “But I would. What would you say if I made your continued employment subject to you being spanked? You do seem to have earned one.”
“You wouldn’t fire me just because I object to getting a spanking, would you?” I asked him, appalled.
“Probably not,” he said thoughtfully. “But are you willing to take the chance?”
Holy crap. He was serious. I was horrified. Would he really fire me if I didn’t let him spank me? I couldn’t decide. I was almost gnawing on my knuckles in my agitation. I finally came down on the side of common sense.
“No. You wouldn’t fire me for not submitting to a spanking,” I stated firmly.
“Quite right, I wouldn’t, but you did seem a little uncertain for a while. All right, I’ll give you another chance. However, I don’t want to have to speak to you again about your work performance unless it’s to tell you that you’re doing a good job.”
I hastily grovelled my way out of the office before I opened my big mouth and got myself fired anyway. Or spanked. I almost laughed aloud, thinking about that. Fancy wondering if the Manager would spank me and what it would be like. Geez, he was an old man. Probably of my father’s generation. Actually, now that I came to think of it, he wasn’t all that old. Mr Angra was of my father’s generation. The Manager would only be about ten years older than me. I wondered if I could get to be a manager in ten years. Did he start by doing the same scut jobs that I had to do?
For a while everything went smoothly at work. I did apply myself and Mr Angra slowly stopped bitching at me. I was also getting some more interesting work to do. I’d been stupid I realised. I’d taken so much time doing the boring jobs that I hadn’t had any spare time. Now that I was doing them smartly and getting them out of the way I had free time and Mr Angra was quite happy to move me to more challenging work to fill in my time.
Then there came the night of the big storm. Not much rain but a lot of thunder and lightning. Too much lightning. It knocked out the power in my area. No power meant no alarm which meant I slept in and was late for work. Mr Angra gave me a nasty look as I checked in and I very hastily explained about the blackout and loss of my alarm clock, with a whole host of apologies. Turns out that it was too late to apologise. There was an email waiting for me, setting up a meeting with the Manager after work. I had time to think, “I’m dead,” and then I was frantically running around to catch up on everything that should already have been done.
After work I went to see Mr Tomkins in fear and trepidation. (Yes, the Manager does have a name, but I usually think of him as The Manager.) Once again I didn’t hesitate. I got right into my apology and explained about the storm and the blackout and the alarm. I mean, he could see that it wasn’t my fault.
“Whose responsibility is it to make sure you have a decent alarm?” Mr Tomkins asked.
“Mine,” I admitted.
“You have a smart phone, I believe, with built in alarm clock and not subject to the power going out?”
I agreed that I did. It had just never occurred to me to use my phone alarm. I’d always used the old clock-radio.
“I am a little disappointed. You seemed to be doing a lot better.”
“But it wasn’t deliberate,” I said desperately. “I have been trying. Honest.”
I so did not need that muttered, “Very trying.”
“We have spoken about your performance before,” came the gentle reminder.
“I’m sorry,” I wailed. “Look, I’ll even take the spanking if that will help.”
“Ah, we’re not really in the habit of spanking our employees,” Mr Tomkins pointed out. “Reward and reprimand, yes, as in promote, demote and, regrettably, fire.”
“But I couldn’t help it, honest. It’s not as though it was deliberate or carelessness. It was just bad luck. I’m quite willing to work back to make up for lost time.”
“Even that costs the firm money,” Mr Tomkins pointed out. “Mr Angra would have to stay back to supervise and he hates that. Plus the extra power bills by having everything running for an extra hour or so. You have to realise that your lateness can disrupt the entire day for the rest of the staff.”
That I knew. It had been pointed out to me rather volubly by some guy who didn’t have his reports available first thing.
“I’m sorry. Truly I am. I’ll try even harder, I swear. You can punish me for being stupid but it wasn’t deliberate.”
(I can grovel with the best of them. I was quite enjoying the job now and didn’t want to lose it.)
“So you’re saying I should just spank you and that will be the end of the matter? It doesn’t really work like that, you know.”
“It can if you say so,” I said obstinately. I can be as stubborn as the best of them when I want to be.
“Your probation is officially up this week,” Mt Tomkins pointed out. “We can just say you didn’t work out and we agreed to part company.”
I bit my lip and looked totally miserable.
“I’ve half a mind to spank you just for making things difficult for me.”
“That’s OK if it means I keep my job,” I said earnestly.
“OK. I’ll extend your probation for another month. If we have any problems with your performance in that period you are out with no further discussion. Are we clear on this point?”
I nodded quickly. Yes, yes, yes. Win to me. I still have a job. Ah, wait a minute.
“Ah, are you going to spank me?” I asked, suddenly feeling a little nervous.
The miserable swine laughed at me.
“Would it make you feel better if I did?” he asked.
Oddly enough, I thought it probably would. It would show me that I wasn’t getting away with anything and that I could take the consequences if I stuffed up.
“Um, yes, I think it would,” I admitted to him. “It’s a way of acknowledging that I screwed up and have to face the consequences. The extended probation doesn’t feel real. It’s not something you can actually see.”
“It is if you read your personnel file,” he observed. “You have no idea what you’re asking for, have you? Your personnel folder says you’re eighteen. Are you sure that’s right?”
“Yes,” I said, indignant. “And I do know what I’m asking for.”
“If you say so.” He nodded towards my slacks. “Get rid of those and your panties and I’ll get you to bend over my knee.”
“What?” Take of my pants? He had to be joking.
“The pants. Take them off. If I’m going to spank you it will have to be on a bare bottom.”
He was kidding. He could NOT be serious. Take of my slacks and panties? I’d die of embarrassment.
“Well? I’m waiting. I don’t have all night, you know.”
“Ah, I’m not sure about this,” I hedged, edging towards the door. One word out of place and I’d be screaming and running.
Wrong word, hell. He had this damned smirk on his face.
“Changed your mind, have you? Why am I not surprised?”
That rotten swine, sounding so superior. I’ll show him. I was furious.
“No, I haven’t,” I snapped.
I did it. I actually took off my pants and panties and I was standing in front of him, half naked. It took a determined effort not to hide behind my hands.
“I think you’d better take off the rest of your things,” he suggested. “You don’t really want your clothes getting snagged on anything when I spank you.”
I gave him a furious look. He was deliberately pushing this, trying to scare me off. Fuming I took off my top. I’ll show him I can’t be bluffed.
I was now standing naked in front of him. I was feeling furious and he was looking amused.
“Tell me, are you a virgin as well as an idiot?” he asked me.
I blushed. I was. A virgin, that is. Not an idiot.
“Hmm. It seems you are. Let me tell you how this will proceed. I’m going to sit on the visitors chair and have you bend over my knee, bottom up, shining in the light. I will smack it, quite firmly. Ah, as your pussy is very close to your bottom, and will also be exposed to my view, I’ll probably drop a few spanks on that, just to get you aroused a little.
To stop you wriggling around while you’re being beaten, I’ll have to hold you still. I’ll do this by cupping one of your breasts. It will be up to you to make sure it stays comfortably in my hand.
Now I mentioned that I’d probably drop a few spanks to your pussy. This will not be intentional. However, if it does happen don’t worry. I’ll pause in the spanking and rub your mound to soothe it.
There may also be a little problem when the spanking is over. Some women get very aroused when they’re spanked. I’ll check to see if this problem has arisen with you at the end of the spanking and, if it has, I’ll take care of your arousal for you. Any questions?”
Was he kidding? Any questions? He was just saying that as well as spanking me he’d be groping me.
“You’re saying you’re going to, ah, to, um, touch me personally while you’re spanking me?”
“Well, yes, sort of, but only if I accidently lay my hand across your mound instead of your bottom.”
He held up his hand, holding it slightly cupped. I squirmed mentally, imagining that hand closed over my mound. That was something I hadn’t counted on.
“Um, just what did you mean when you said you’ll take care of any arousal? Not that I expect to be aroused by the spanking. It’s just punishment, after all.”
“True, but the sort of punishment that some people regard as foreplay. As to what do I mean by taking care of your arousal I just meant that if the matter arises I’ll drop my trousers and service you. I’m confident that I’ll be able to bring you to a climax.”
I stared at him stunned. He was going to fuck me afterwards, if I was aroused? Ha! He, a male, would be judging if I was aroused. No way he’d say I wasn’t. He simply meant that after he’d spanked me he was going to fuck me. Oh, god. I could feel my vagina paying attention. Just talking about it was arousing me. Not going to happen. I was out of here.
He’d let me go, I knew. I didn’t have to stay to be spanked. (And ravished, afterwards, remember.) I could take my clothes and run out the door and he wouldn’t even try to stop me. (A lowering thought.) He’d just laugh as I ran. Oh my god, he would. He’d be laughing at me. The little girl who couldn’t face getting spanked after daring him to do it. The little girl who grabbed her clothes and bolted before he laid as much as a single finger on her, scared of a spanking. (And the ravishment. Don’t forget the ravishment. Yes I would. I’d pretend it hadn’t been mentioned.)
He got up out of his chair and ambled around to one of the visitor’s chairs and sat. He patted his knee, looking expectant. What he was expecting was for me to turn and run, damn it. In high dudgeon I marched over and bent forward over his knee. I could feel his surprise and a thrill of pleasure shot through me. Then he was properly settling me onto his knee.
I nearly screamed when his hand closed over my breast. That sent a shock wave right through me. I was about to scream at him to take his hand off me when I realised that he’d already told me he was going to do this. I gulped and didn’t say a thing, waiting for that first spank.
It didn’t come, did it? Instead, his hand landed as lightly as a butterfly, neatly covering my mound. This time I did give a little squeak.
“Wh-what are you doing?” I demanded. “That’s not spanking.”
“I’m just making sure you understood exactly what I said was going to happen,” he said. “Your bending over my knee means that you accept everything that I said is going to happen.”
“Just the spanking,” I said hastily. “That’s all I’m agreeing to.”
“No. I said what was going to happen. You can’t pick and choose.”
To emphasize his point he started rubbing his hand back and forth along my mound. After a moment he changed it to a sideways rubbing, and I could feel my lips being dragged open and slapping shut as he went. He was dead serious. I either got off his knee or I got fucked.
What would you do? I decided that the risk wasn’t worth it and I was getting out of there. That was my considered intellectual opinion. My body said, hold on a moment. I’m interested in what might happen. As a result I just lay there frozen, feeling a hand rubbing my pussy and another hand rubbing my breasts.
A hand came down sharply on my bottom and I yelped. I could also have screamed with fury because I was now aroused. By staying where I was I’d agreed to be fucked. How could I do such a thing? But knowing what I’d agreed to, if only tacitly, my body was already reacting in anticipation. I was going to get fucked. As soon as this spanking was over I was going to get fucked.
I yelped again when my other cheek was abruptly warmed up. And then I gave a little scream when the next spank landed neatly on my pussy. Not stingingly hard but sharply enough. There was an insincere, “sorry,” and his hand massaged my pussy again.
“You are not sorry,” I snapped. “That was deliberate and you know it.”
My defiance ended with a yelp as another spank landed on my bottom. My poor bum was going to be in a very sorry state by the time this finished.
My breast was being squeezed in time to the spanks and I found myself squirming slightly, trying to move my breast away from his clutches. How’d that work out? Real well. My breast popped free and his hand was holding and massaging the other one. And the spanking went on.
The only thing systematic about the beating was the regularity of the slaps. It would be one cheek and then the other, or several on the same cheek, even, in one instance, three quick slaps against my pussy, followed by the ‘soothing rubbing’ of the pussy.
It’s a bit hard to measure how long a spanking takes. You can probably do it with a stopwatch but when you’re the one being spanked time has two dimensions. Slow time, which is the time you’re waiting for the next spank, and fast time, when you’ve just received a sharp smack on the bottom and boy, don’t you know it. It’s easier if the person doing the spanking is doing it with a nice regular beat, but when he’s stuffing around between spanks you don’t know if you’re coming or going. (Mind you – the way he was ‘soothing’ my pussy at times it wouldn’t have surprised me if I was coming.)
As the spanking went on I was becoming acutely aware of my bottom and the fact that it was smarting. I was also acutely aware of certain other parts of my body, but they weren’t smarting, just letting me know in a most interesting manner that they were alive and well and waiting. Being a virgin I wasn’t sure exactly what they were waiting for but I was damned well going to find out.
After what was to be the last spank landed, on my pussy, of course, Mr Tomkins gave my pussy one last consolation rub and then swung me to my feet.
“All right, Marion,” he said, and there was rather a malicious smile on his face. “You’ve had your spanking and can feel you’ve been chastised. Now I suggest you get dressed and think yourself lucky.”
“What?” I said, incredulous. He couldn’t do this to me.
“I said you can get dressed. Hurry it up now.”
“You were going to ravish me after the spanking,” I said, enunciating each word slowly and distinctly.
I’ll be damned if he didn’t blush slightly.
“Now, really, Marion. You must know that I can’t go around ravishing my employees.”
“No, I don’t know that. You said you were going to. I’ve a right to expect you to follow through. You didn’t just say it once. When I questioned it you repeated it and when the spanking started you promised it again. You have no right to back out now.”
“Marion, you’re a virgin. It would be irresponsible for me to take you when I’m in a position of authority over you.”
“Then you should have thought of that before you promised to take me. I had the spanking. I’m entitled to be ravished to help settle down the feelings you’ve aroused in me.”
I reached down and put my hand against his groin. There was something big and hard and interesting there.
“You’re ready,” I insisted. “I can feel it. You have to take me now. You promised.”
Considering myself greatly daring I ran down his zip, reached in and, oh god, his erection was there. I could feel it. I gave it a little tug and it popped out of his trousers. Oh my. Boys had flashed them at me before but this was up close and personal and I had touched it.
“Wh-what are you going to do with that?” I asked him.
He gave me a look that put me all defensive.
“Well,” I protested. “It’s not as though I’m the experienced one here. I only know by theory, not practice. You said you were going to take me. I just want to know how.”
He stood up, undoing his belt. Not taking his eyes off me as he pushed his trousers down, along with his underpants. I felt my stomach squirming. His erection suddenly seemed a lot larger when the whole thing was sticking out instead of just some of it poking through his trousers.
He reached for me and pulled me firmly against his body. I gasped. I could feel his erection pressing against me and it certainly felt impressive.
“What I’m going to do,” he said, “is lean you back against my desk, spread your legs nice and wide, then slide my erection all the way into you while you squeal and wriggle and beg me to stop. Because you’re a virgin I’m going to have to break you in and it will be painful. For you, not me. That’s the point at which you’ll scream and ask me to stop.”
He pressed against me and I found myself backing away, right up until I could feel his desk behind me. Then I was leaning back against the desk, my arms instinctively going back behind me to prop me up. Looking down my body I was all pink and smooth. (I’d actually shaved down there the previous night. Coincidence. I wasn’t expecting anyone to see.)
And hovering down there, right next to that slash between my legs, was his cock, just pointing at this stage. To my surprise what, as far as I knew, was normally a smooth curve, was now interrupted by swollen labia, even my inner lips being puffed up and pushing out.
Was he really just going to push into me? Is that what men do? I sort of knew, but I was appalling aware of the gap between knowing in theory and knowing in practice.
He moved even closer, and he was touching me. I was breathing hard, expectant and nervous. I watched, he pressed harder, my lips seemed to be wrapping themselves around his erection and suddenly I could feel him moving into me.
He pushed slowly, and he was moving deeper. Then he was pressing against my hymen. I was almost at screaming point. This was the bit that hurt, I knew that much. I’d heard some terrible stories and he’d just told me that it would hurt. I was going to scream, I really was, my tension increasing as I found the pressure increasing.
Then I felt something give and he was moving into my passage, a passage that felt happy to receive him. I let my breath out with a whoosh of disgust. Hurt? I’ve broken fingernails that hurt more than that.
Oh my. It suddenly dawned on me. I was no longer a virgin and he was still pushing into me. How much further was he going? Oh, yes, all the way he said. Did that mean all that had to be pushed into me? It already felt as though there was a lot of it.
“Ah, just how much of that are you pushing into me?” I asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice.
“All of it,” he said, with a very superior look. “Are you changing you mind?”
Was I? I considered the way his erection felt inside me. It was interesting. It didn’t hurt. If fact it was exciting, making me very much aware of it and of my own body.
“Not at all,” I replied, trying for my own air of superiority. “It was just that you’re moving so slowly I thought you might have been running out of steam.”
Score one for me, I thought as he gave a started double-take. Then he gave me a very evil looking smile and, oh my god, my eyes popped wide open as he pressed in a lot faster than he had been doing. If my vagina had had a voice it would have given a startled yelp. It had to be content with my startled gasp. And I handled him. The faster speed made no difference to the way I was adapting to him, it was like I was just sucking him into me. His groin slapped against mine and I had on a smug grin.
Just as a matter of curiosity, can anyone tell me why I felt like a winner when the manager from my work stripped off my clothes, pushed me up against a desk, and took my virginity? If anyone had suggested the possibility I’d have taken a week off work in self-defence.
“What now?” I asked, hoping I sounded a lot more confident than I felt. I mean, I’d never even imagined anything like this first part, and I had no idea what the rest would be like.
“Well, since I failed to turn you into a quivering wreck begging me to stop I’ll have to do my best to turn you into a quivering wreck who’ll be begging me not to stop.”
I was already quivering inside, but from expectation. I knew what I was supposed to do for the rest of it. Push against him. I just wasn’t sure what that entailed. I found out pretty fast.
I felt his erection pulling out and I could see it emerging from my body. Just before it popped right out, which I did not want to happen, it stopped and pushed back into me. Without me even telling them to my hips lifted, helping to push me firmly back onto that cock.
It felt wild. I had to do that again. No worries. It was already starting again, his cock already pulling back.
Looking back on it, it dawned on me that, for all his threats, Mr Tomkins had actually been quite careful and considerate when he initiated me. His initial entry had been slow and smooth, giving me time to adjust. (I’d just lucked in where popping my cherry was concerned.) Then when he started really fucking me he started slowly, giving me time to get the hang of what we were doing before he turned up the pace. A very considerate employer was Mr Tomkins.
It didn’t take long for his latest threat to be fulfilled. After a few full-blooded strokes I was a quivering wreck inside, desperate for this not to finish. I was softly gasping and pleading while urgently pushing my body up to receive him. The whole thing was awesome and just kept on getting better.
After a while I found he was going too slowly. (Probably because he was an older man.) I urged him on and his speed picked up and soon he was taking me at a very nice rate. He had amazing stamina, seeming to be able to go on and on. I’d always thought I was quite fit, but I could see where this sort of exercise could wear you out pretty quickly. Not withstanding that, I was quite sure I could outlast him. Women have better stamina than men, you know.
The excitement just kept building up in me. Every time out bodies came together I captured some heat from the clash, storing it inside me. I was hot and getting hotter. The heat was obviously affecting my mental processes. I no longer seemed to have any. There was just me and him and what we were doing and the wonderful feelings being generated.
I’m not sure how it came to an end. We were just coming together, me enjoying it, all hot and bothered and loving it, and then my body seemed to go berserk, all that stored heat just flooding through me in wave after wave. I was vaguely aware of Mr Tomkins jerking hard against me, giving what sound like a groan of relief, but that was really irrelevant to the way I was feeling.
I just stayed slumped against the desk, feeling replete. I didn’t want to move ever again. Mr Tomkins was pulling up his trousers and buckling up his belt when I heard a phone ring. Not mine, Mr Tomkins’s. He dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled it out, glanced at the number and answered it.
“Sorry,” he was saying. “I didn’t deliberately stand you up. Something came up that I had to attend to.”
Came up was right. All the way up me. Was he deliberately pulling a pun. He saw me looking suspiciously at him and he grinned and winked.
He hung up and stood there for a moment, regarding me. Then he put his phone away and moved to stand beside me.
“Did you know that the cleaners come into the building around six o’clock?” he asked me.
I looked blankly at him and then my eyes flicked to the clock on the wall that was showing six o’clock. Six o’clock and the cleaners were due. And I was standing stark staring naked in the middle of his office. I gave a horrified squeal and dived for my clothes. Before I could get dressed he stopped me.
“Ah, you might want to consider a quick shower first,” he said.
I looked down at myself. There were several odd looking liquids on my legs, perspiration being the least of them. Still naked I ran to the ladies bathroom, praying that I’d beat the cleaners.
Cleaned and dressed I came back out to find Mr Tomkins waiting for me. We left the building together, neither speaking. At the front door he turned to me.
“Feel better now that you’ve been spanked for misbehaving?” he asked me calmly, his face perfectly bland.
“Yes, sir,” I assured him. “It’s taught me to watch my step and not be late.”
He went his way and I went mine. I don’t know what he was thinking but me, I was wondering how to get seconds without getting fired. I was also wondering something else. Like, did he take a picture of me while he had his phone in his hand?