Page 6 of Healing Hazel
He gave me a long look. “Does that mean you plan on actually talking to them or just that you’ve identified them in your head?”
What was it with all these direct questions?
Maybe he’s trying to get you to quit stalling and start talking.
I sighed. “Will you believe me if I promise I’m really going to try?”
Another weighted moment passed but I knew I was finally being completely honest and knew he’d find no evidence of subterfuge in my eyes
“Yes, I’ll take you at your word,” he conceded and then pulled his hand back. “Okay then, ready to get this done?”
“Does anyone ever just say ‘sure, let’s do this thing’?”
“Not in so many words, no,” he said with another chuckle. “But that doesn’t keep it from needing to happen. Go ahead and stand, skirt to your waist and lower your panties to your knees. Place your palms flat on the desk and push your bottom out.”
How someone who was used to seeing patients doing almost the exact same things he’d requested, well, minus the push your butt out part, could be so embarrassed was a question I’d never ask. Instead, I set my backpack on the floor and stood. As I reached beneath my skirt, my fingers fumbling a bit as they blindly reached for the waistband of my panties, he moved around the desk again and then disappeared out of sight behind me. The click of a door opening didn’t have me turning to see if he’d left as I’d seen the huge armoire on my way into his office. And I didn’t have to live on the Ranch to know exactly what those armoires contained either. Not when there was one in the clinic available to any Daddy, Mommy, Dominant, or Caregiver who needed an implement to convince a Little or a submissive that they meant business.
By the time I felt his presence behind me, I was bent over the desk, my palms planted firmly on wood that I suddenly wished was fabric I could curl my fingers into. Or better yet, the denim of a pair of jeans worn by the man who was the source of all this angst.
He’s not the source and you know it!
Okay, fine, but it was hard to admit that the actual one to blame was me, myself and I.
“There will be six strokes as long as you remain in position. Move or attempt to reach back and cover yourself or block my arm will only have the count start from the beginning. Do you understand, Miss Waltman?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl.”
Being ready didn’t mean I wasn’t surprised when the paddle he’d chosen met the flesh of my bare butt. If he was surprised to hear the squeal it pulled out of me, he was polite enough not to mention it.
The man was a pro at wielding a paddle but he was also kind enough to administer the half dozen swats without a bunch of pausing to allow the pain to bloom or my mind to freak out on how many strokes were left to endure. Instead, by the time I was about to attempt to cool the fire he’d lit by reaching back to fan my poor hot ass with my hands, he was setting the paddle onto the desk beside me.
“You did well, Hazel.”
“Thank you, Sir,” I said and realized that somewhere between stroke number one and six, I actually did feel better. Granted, my ass stung like I’d sat on a cactus, but my heart felt lighter and my mind wasn’t spinning. I didn’t even feel all that embarrassed as I pulled my panties up and my skirt down. “Um, is that all?”
There was that rich chuckle again. “Though you sound quite surprised to discover you’re still not only alive but will still be able to sit even if a tad bit more gingerly for an hour or so, the answer is yes, that’s all unless you see fit to visit my office again.”
I laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. What had seemed so dreadful, hadn’t been all that horrid. Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I followed him to the door. “Thank you, Sir. Not for the paddling really, but for being, I don’t know, so nice about it I guess.”
“You’re welcome. Let’s hope that the next time we meet it will be under happier circumstances.”
“That would be great,” I said and meant it. I gave him a little wave once I was back out in the hall. I no longer held the card, but I didn’t need it as a reminder that if there was any chance of whatever this was that Nigel and I had started going any further, I needed to woman up and talk.
“Feeling better?”
Brooke’s question caught me off guard but I didn’t even hesitate to answer. “I’m working on it.”
“Still friends?”
And didn’t that make me feel like the little snot I’d most likely been in her classroom. I switched direction to come back and grab her hand to pull her across the threshold of the room where she ruled as Professor Berringer. Once she had both feet firmly planted in the hallway, I said, “If you’ll still have me.”
“Only to infinity and beyond,” Brooke said and pulled me to her to hug me hard. “I love you, you big goofball.”
“I’m sor?—”
“Over and done with all that,” she said, stepping back and waving my apology away. “I just want to remind you that as much as we might believe it, men are not the magical mind readers we often think they are, if you catch my drift?”
