Buttered Buns

I do not belong in the restaurant business. Well let me take that back, since I now own half a dozen restaurants. I do not belong in the restaurant business as a waitress. I learned that while working my way through school. I was working full time at a clothing store in the mall while studying business administration at the local university when a friend of mine recommended I apply at the restaurant where she worked. Every waitress there was making more than I was so I figured why not. On Cathy’s recommendation I got the job.

I started just after the spring term ended so that I’d have 3 full weeks to focus on work before the summer term started. The first few days I went through training during the mid-morning and afternoon lulls then would work as a hostess during lunch time to get a flow of things when it was busy. On the third day I got 3 tables of my own and I did OK. I messed up one order and broke two glasses. The fourth day didn’t go much better, as I messed up 3 orders and spilled a tray of food all over the kitchen. Diane, the owner, chewed me out in that motherly, ‘I’m disappointed in your actions’ type way. She also made it clear I needed to improve fast, or I couldn’t continue. I felt so horrible when I went home that night and pledged to myself I’d do better then next day.

The next day one of the waitresses called in sick which short staffed us. Then around 10:30 another waitress got sick and Diane sent her straight home. It’s not good for a restaurant to have someone throwing up in the bathroom. It turnout she was pregnant and that was the first of many episodes of morning sickness. Her little girl is so adorable, but that’s a different story. In summary, I had six tables during the Friday lunch rush.

It turned out that six tables were five too many. During the 2 hour lunch period, I dropped three glasses, two of which where half-full, messed up 4 orders and tripped over a gentleman’s attache case, spilling a try of food across that floor. As soon as the crowd died down, Diane had the other waitresses cover my tables and sent for me upstairs in her office. I knew she was going to sack me, but I really needed the job and started crying before I even made it to her office.

“Brittney, yes come in,” Diane said as she opened the door. I was ushered in front of her desk as she closed the door behind me and returned to her chair.

“Please don’t fire me,” I blurted out before she had a chance to say anything.

“Why shouldn’t I? You clearly know you’ve been doing a bad job and I rightfully should fire you,” Diane said as she leaned back in her chair.

“I’m really trying and I swear I’ll do better. I just haven’t grasped everything yet.” A tear ran down my cheek.

“You’ve gotten worst as the days have went by. I’m worried you’ll hurt a customer next if I don’t fire you. Why should I keep you?”

“I’ll try really hard to be better and.. and… I really need the money, and my mom will kill me if I get fired.”

“I don’t she’ll actually kill you for being fired.”

“But I’ll feel like dying once she gets done with me.”

“Being yelled at and feeling guilty at doing a poor job is part of growing up.”

“If only it was guilt,” I said under my breath. This got Diane to raise an eyebrow.

“What do you mean, ‘if it was only guilt’?” Diane asked.

I began to deeply blush that Diane had heard my slip. Should I tell her? “Hmm…oh nothing.”

“Come on, your blushing profusely. What did you mean?” Could I trust her with my secret? I only knew complete professionalism out of her and maybe it’d get me a second chance. Ok, I’d go for it. “Well… I’ll get… hmmm… punished for being fired.” Diane just cocked her head to the side, knowing there was more to it. “with a hairbrush.”

“You mean spanked?” Diane asked for clarification.

“Yes.” I said meekly. I didn’t realize I could blush even more than I had been.

“At your age? Wow.” Diane looked down at her desk to think while I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me. “If you got fired, what would your punishment be?”

“Hmmm…. mom would spank me with her hairbrush and ground me until I got a new job? Please don’t fire me. I’ll take what ever punishment you feel is appropriate. Dock my pay, whatever, just don’t fire me,”

I pleaded. Diane held up her index finger getting me to stop blabbering.

“Why do you allow your mom to still spank you at your age? Your legally an adult.”

“Hmmm… I don’t know. It’s just how it’s always been, and I guess it’s effective. It’s better than being grounded or being yelled at a feeling sad for days afterwards. I may be sore for a day or two, but there’s no tension afterwards. I don’t know really.”

Diane thought for a few moments before speaking again. “Do you feel a spanking is an appropriate consequence for your poor performance as a waitress?”

“Hmm…I guess so?” I answered, unsure where Diane was going with the question.

“I can’t dock your pay for the damages you’ve made already, since you already owe me a week’s salary. You can either quit or you can take a spanking from me for your poor performance.” Diane paused for a moment to see if I’d answer then continued, “You don’t have to tell me your choice now, if you choose to be spanked, come find me when your shift ends, otherwise just go home and I’ll send you any credit-card tips you have beyond your debt. But be forewarned, if I spank you, you will be giving me consent to spank you as I see needed in the future. Now get back to work.”

I took a gulp of air as I left he office. The options ran through my mind as I returned to work.  It didn’t take me long to realize my only option was to take the spanking from Diane. The problem that annoyed me the rest of my shift was what to expect in a spanking from her. I found Diane running through some inventory issues behind the bar when my shift ended.

“Diane, hmmm… can we talk?” I asked as quietly as possible.

Diane looked up at me and smiled before answering, “Come on, lets go up to my office.” Diane lead the way back through the kitchen towards her office. On the way, she nonchalantly picked up one of the wooden cutting boards we use to serve fresh bread and butter to customers. I later learned they were called butter paddles, but when she picked it up, I knew she was serious about my spanking. Diane closed and locked the door behind us, making sure we weren’t disturbed.

“So you have decided on a course of action?” Diane asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And what would it be?”

“Hmm… to… hmmm… be… hmm… spanked by you, ma’am” I stuttered.

“And you realized that if you are spanked, you maybe fired in the future for poor performance AFTER today?”

I hadn’t really though about what would happened if I didn’t improve, but being fired sometime in the future seemed a lot better than today. At least I’d have more time to improve. “Yes ma’am?”

“And if it is effective, I may spank you in the future as I see fit?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. How does your mom spank you?”

“Hmm, bending over my bed.”

“Well we don’t have a bed, so lets use my desk instead. Get into position as if your mom was spanking you,” Diane said waving the paddle at the desk.

I stepped forward so that I my hips pressed against the edge of the desk then out of habit, I reached up under my skirt and pulled down my panties to my knees then bent forward over the desk. Finally I reached back and pulled up the back of my skirt, until my bare bottom was fully exposed. Diane let a little sigh when I exposed my bottom and I realized she may not have intended on spanking my bare bottom. She’d asked what mom would expect, so I was just doing as mom would expect.

“Today I’m going to spank you with this butter paddle until I feel you are contrite and learned your lesson from your poor performance this week. After today, we will work out a point system and you will be expected to bring me a paddle when you’ve earned a set number of points. Do you understand and still want to go through with it?” Diane asked.

“Yes ma’am.”

Diane held the small paddle up to my bottom for a moment then pulled back and brought it crashing home.

Thud! “Ouch!” The first swat caught me a little by surprise. It knew it was coming, but I thought it’d sting more than just hurt, kind of like mom’s hairbrush.

Diane didn’t give me much time to contemplate the differences between the hairbrush and paddle before delivering another swat, and then another and another. The paddle seemed to cover about half my butt with each swat, so they all basically overlapped each other, causing every swat to build upon the burn of all the previous ones.

Diane picked up a steady pace and kept it up through my “Ouch” period, and my kicking and pleading period and didn’t stop until I was way into my sobbing period. Mom normally stopped shortly after I started sobbing, but Diane didn’t realize the change in my demur and just kept going. I had become some focused on the never ending pain in my bottom that Diane had to actually shake me a little bit to tell me it was over.

I eased myself up, off the desk. Diane wrapped her arms around me in a tight hugged and held me until I stopped crying. It felt good. Well being wrapped in Diane’s arms felt good; my bottom surely didn’t feel good. All the stress associated with the job seemed to wash away in those 5 minutes.

Diane let me go once I stopped crying and composed myself some. We stood there talking for quite a while about many things, most of which were related to me. Diane told me how I seemed to have huge potential but she couldn’t figure out why I was performing so poorly.

We eventually got back around to future problems and discipline. We made a list of all of the mistakes I’d made during the week, only half of which Diane had known, then allocated points to each mistake. I was then to keep track of my mistakes and bring the paddle to Diane at the end of any day when I had 6 or more points.

It was after 7:00 when we realized the time. Diane was annoyed she hadn’t gotten a bunch of the paperwork and accounting done for the day yet so I volunteered to help her do it. She tried to send me home, but I refused and insisted on helping her since it was my fault she would have to stay late. The accounting stuff was kind of fun. It was like my accounting courses, but more interesting. I even caught an error, which Diane thanked me for.

If you’d have told me that my bottom could take as many spankings as it did during that summer, I’d have told you were crazy. After the initial spanking, I swear I spent the following two weeks over the back of that chair in Diane’s office. I slowly got better at my job. I ended up becoming Diane’s assistant by the end of the summer, which aggravated many of the other waitresses, especially Cathy. A year later Diane and I opened our first restaurant with me a minority owner.