yellowrose, dear? Got a few minutes for the old man? Let's mosey a ways toward the kitchen, OK?

I understand you were on cleanup detail tonight, right? Did you have any problem with getting everything done? Mastermike was checking security and setting night alarms when he noticed a couple of problems and called me away from the Orange Bowl game tonight. The National Championship Game of college football. I missed most of the last quarter, yellowrose.

Let's look in the dish room. See that big stack of dirty dishes? They were hidden, behind a stove. Now over here in the preparation area. Where are the leftovers? Let's look in the cooler. Nope, no leftovers in here. See the trash bags? Ever wonder why they are clear? So I can see through them. And I can see at least a pan and a half of leftover lasagna. Wasted.

Help me understand exactly why you threw it away, dear. Oh? Not your job? Let's look at the schedule over here. It says, "Cleanup and Food Salvage - yellowrose" doesn't it. And you HAVE been trained; I checked you out myself. Nope, no blaming anyone else, lady. You were responsible. Or, rather, irresponsible.

What do we do now, yellowrose? The people in the morning will have extra work, and some of them may be switched or paddled because they don't get it done fast enough. Friday, we have no lunch for our people now; it's in the trash.

Come with me. We need to go to one of our paddling couches. Since you may cause the morning people problems, we'll wait and see until after breakfast. Seventeen people will have no lunch for Friday, so I think they might be upset, don't you? You'll get a chance to work 2 shifts on Friday, so you can prepare something fresh for those folks.

Now for tonight. 17 wasted lunches, we'll round to 25. 24 dirty dishes, 2 cooking pans, and 5 cooking utensils. We won't count the silverware. 31, rounded to 35. Sounds like a total of 60 to me. And so it's not too hard on you, I'll allow you to pick where your spanks will go. My only rule on that will be nothing on your feet or legs.

All right, then. Keep count. Where would you like the first 10? On the buttocks, right.

And the next 10? Also on the buttocks. OK.

Now the next ten (and don't scream in my ear, dammit, or I'll double the count and use a tawse.) have to go somewhere else. The soles of your feet? OK, honey, they're your feet.

You picked the first 30, I get to pick the rest. Ten on each breast, miss. We'll lay you on this table, and brace your arms so you can hold on to a chair beyond. Allow them to be punished on all sides.

The first five have you screaming to high heaven. The last five seem to have quieted you down; you're hoarse or in subspace.

And the last ten, yellowrose, will be right between your legs. Just ten more now!

Quickly applied, she makes little sound; truly and certainly in subspace now.

I hold her closely, drying her tears and comforting her. Some of the cream to ease the sting is close at hand, I apply it to her breasts and bottom. She puts her arms tightly around me, and kisses me deeply. A whispered, 'thank you, Sir. I will never do that again, Sir." Another kiss, and she falls asleep in my arms.

Picking her up with both arms, I carry her into my room and deposit her gently on the bed. Soon I join her, and cover us both up warmly.

A kiss on her forehead, and we fall asleep close together.