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The following story is fiction; just a fantasy.  It contains scenes of females being spanked, including teen and public spankings.  If this subject is offensive or uninteresting to you or if you are a minor (i.e., child)please stop reading now.  Click to go back to Parts 1 & 2

This story is the one that inspired me to write Career Day – RevisitedMr. Kent Stoneking has kindly given his permission for this to be posted here.

This work is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission.  The author has given explicit permission for his story to be posted on my site.  Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice.

The author would appreciate your comments – pro and con, including constructive criticism, and suggestions.  Please take a moment to email.  Sorry, I no longer have a valid email address for him.

Career Day – Parts 3, 4, and 5


Kent Stoneking

Part 3

Jack cleared his throat.  "Thank you, Miss Cox."  He faced the class.  "I agree that discipline is very important in my field, as well.  I'm a surgeon, on staff at Mercy General Hospital, and we've been breaking in a new group of nurse trainees …"

… Jack walked steadily through the silent halls of Mercy General, making his evening rounds.  Next up was his favorite patient.

Not that Mrs. Murphy was such a joy to be around; indeed, he usually found her quite a cantankerous old battle-ax.  When he'd first told her that her gall bladder had to come out, she'd informed him, in no uncertain terms, that she'd had her gall bladder for each of her 67 years and she had no intention of parting with it now, thank you very much.  Despite himself, he couldn't help but admire her tenacity, her independence, and her strong spirit.  He'd eventually talked her into the operation, but it had taken all his persuasive powers.

He entered her room, saying brightly, "Good evening, Mrs. Murphy!  How are you tonight?"© YLeeCoyote

She laid still in her bed, a Harlequin romance neglected before her.  At his voice, she slowly opened her eyes and rolled her head toward him.  "Oh, Dr. Smoltz," she moaned, her voice strained.  "The pain's so bad tonight.  Isn't there anything you can do?"

Trying to mask his concern, Jack picked up her chart.  Mrs. Murphy had never, ever, complained about pain before.  She must really be hurting.  "Let's just take a look, shall we?" he responded, keeping his voice cheerful.

Well, no wonder.  According to her chart, Mrs. Murphy was long overdue for her medication.  He'd have to roust out the nurse.  No need to let her know that, though.  He smiled and took her hand."Someone will be with you in just a minute."

"Thank you, doctor," he heard her whisper as he left the room.

Jack walked swiftly down the corridor to the nurses' station.  Its sole occupant sat behind an issue of Glamour magazine, so engrossed that she didn't notice him until he spoke.

"Nurse Tucker!"  She gasped and slammed the magazine down, her blue eyes widening in surprise.  "Mrs. Murphy in 403 should have had her painkiller forty-five minutes ago."

"Oh, Doctor," she sputtered, "I'm sorry – I don't know what happened –"

"Never mind that," he interrupted.  "take her her medicine. Now."

He stood back out of the way as she measured out the pills, filled a paper cup with water, and hustled off down the hallway.  Despite himself, Jack felt his annoyance softening as he watched her retreating figure.  Lisa Marie Tucker had only worked at Mercy General for a few weeks, but she'd already been the topic of several conversations in the doctor's lounge.  She certainly filled her uniform in all the right places!

In her absence, Jack took a closer look at Mrs. Murphy's chart; his resolve stiffened.  Mrs. Murphy's last three medications had been late.  He'd have to discuss Nurse Tucker's responsibilities with her.

In a few minutes, she came back down the hall carrying her now-empty tray.  He took a deep breath and launched in.  "Nurse Tucker, according to this chart, Mrs. Murphy should have her medication every hour on the hour –"

"Oh, so that's what those codes mean!" she interrupted. He stopped cold.  "You don't know how to read these charts?"  Then how did she get through training?

"Well, it's so … so complicated.  There's so much to remember.  "And she flashed her pearly whites at him, meanwhile tossing her head so her blonde, almost-white hair formed a beatific halo around her face.

And there, in that single gesture, Jack saw a microcosm of Lisa Marie's entire life.  Whenever faced with a difficult situation, she'd smile and toss her hair in just that fashion – and, more than likely, she'd get off.  He'd been on the point of saying, "Oh, that's all right," himself, but it wasn't.  Not by a long shot.  She'd already caused one of his patients considerable pain; if she didn't pay attention, she could make somebody really sick – or possibly even kill them.  No, her lackadaisical attitude had to end, and end now.  And Dr. Smoltz figured he had just the right prescription.

"Well, Nurse Tucker," he said determinedly, "if you need a refresher course on reading charts, I think I can help you out."  He took her by the elbow and guided her back around behind the nurses' station.  He set the chair in the center of the open area as she watched with a quizzical expression, then sat and quickly pulled her across his lap.

"Dr. Smoltz, what are you doing?  Let me go!" she protested.

"Oh, no," he answered.  "We're going to have a little teaching session.  First  of all, I want to make sure I've got your undivided attention."  Pinning the squirming, wriggling woman in place, he hiked up the skirt of her nurse's uniform, then dragged her white tights and panties down to her knees.  Nurse Tucker's squeals quieted as she felt the cool air on her bare cheeks.

"Now," Jack continued, "to get you into a receptive frame of mind."  He raised the clipboard holding Mrs. Murphy's chart and brought it down across Lisa Marie's unprotected rump.

"OWWW!" she yelped.  "That hurt!"

"Really?" he inquired and repeated the blow.  "Did that one hurt?"


Another swat.  "How about that?"


"I'll take that for a yes."  The clipboard was a bit too cumbersome to swing properly.  He discarded it and continued with his hand.  Proceeding with his lecture, Jack punctuated his comments with a sharp spank to each rapidly reddening cheek.

"So, Nurse Tucker," SMACK! SMACK! "this spanking" SMACK! SMACK! "hurts, does it?" SMACK! SMACK!

No answer.

"I asked you" SMACK! SMACK! "a question," SMACK! SMACK! "Nurse Tucker."

"YESSS!  It hurts, okay?  It hurts!"

"Do you suppose" SMACK! SMACK! "it hurts" SMACK! SMACK! "any more" SMACK! SMACK! "than the pain" SMACK! SMACK! "Mrs. Murphy" SMACK! SMACK! "has been feeling" SMACK! SMACK! "all evening?"

Again, no answer.  SMACK! SMACK! "Nurse Tucker?"

"No."  She sounded sullen.

"And why" SMACK! SMACK! "has Mrs. Murphy" SMACK! SMACK! "been feeling" SMACK! SMACK! "this pain?"

"Because she didn't get her pain medication on time?"

Stubborn, eh?  Well, if she persisted in prolonging the lesson, he was more than willing.

"And why" SMACK! SMACK! "didn't she get" SMACK! SMACK! "her pain medication" SMACK! SMACK! "on time?"

She laid silently until he raised his hand again, then muttered something under her breath.

"What was that?"  SMACK! SMACK!  "Speak up!"  SMACK! SMACK!  "I couldn't quite" SMACK! SMACK! "hear you."

"Because I didn't give it to her when I was supposed to."

Now they were making progress!  Jack decided to move on to the crux of the matter.

"Now, then."  SMACK! SMACK!  "Do you" SMACK! SMACK! "or do you not" SMACK! SMACK! "know how" SMACK! SMACK! "to read a chart?"

"I do, Doctor, I do!"

"Let's just make sure of that, shall we?"  He handed her the clipboard holding Mrs. Murphy's chart.  "What is the name of the patient?" he asked, then resumed warming her bottom as she answered.

"Gail – OW! – Gail M-Murphy, Doctor."

"Good.  Why was she admitted?"

"Recovering – OW!  OWW! – recovering from gall bladder surgery."

"Who is her attending physician?"

"You – OWWOWWOWW! – you are, Dr. Smoltz."

"What is her prescribed medication?  What dosage?  And how often should it be administered?"  Between yips and yelps, she told him.

"Excellent.  You do know how to read a chart."  Jack rested his hand momentarily on her backside, feeling the heat radiating from the scarlet flesh.  "Nurse Tucker, we doctors prescribe medications for a reason:  to help sick or injured patients get better.  When you don't properly administer the medication, they don't get better.  In this case, you've caused Mrs. Murphy a great deal of pain – pain which, I imagine, feels very much like this."  With that, he raised his hand again and delivered two dozen swats, as hard and as fast as he could, to her already well-spanked posterior.  She howled, kicking furiously, but he held her in place.  When he finished and released his grip, she laid across his lap for several minutes, making no effort to get up.

Eventually, her sobs subsided and she regained her feet.  Jack regarded her as she stood above him, both hands rubbing and kneading her aching rump.  "I only checked one patient," he informed her.  "I'll be back in an hour to check on the rest.  If I find you've neglected anyone else, you're going right back over my knee.  Understand?"

"Yes, Dr. Smoltz," she answered, wiping at her eyes.

He picked the magazine up off her desk.  "I better never catch you reading this at your station again, either," rolling it up and tapping it against his palm for emphasis.

"No, Dr. Smoltz."

"Very well.  You may return to your duties."  Jack stuffed the magazine in his coat pocket and set off down the hall.  He turned once to see the nurse busily arranging medicines on a tray.  Smiling, he headed for the next ward and his next patient …

… "When I returned that night, all of Nurse Tucker's patients were well cared for," Jack informed the class.  "We've had no further trouble with her.  In fact, her turnaround was so remarkable, I recommended to the Board of Regents we adopt similar discipline measures with all nurse trainees.  Last I heard, they were giving the request favorable consideration."

"Thank you, Dr. Smoltz," said Miss Cox as her students again applauded.  "Ms. Maddux, you have the floor."

Part 4

Marsha stepped forward.  "Discipline in the workplace is very important, I agree," she said confidently, "but it's equally important to have discipline in all facets of your life.  I recently was promoted to vice president of marketing at the company I work for.  It requires me to put in long hours, so I engaged a cleaning service to take care of my home.  Well, lately I'd noticed a few small items missing …"

…  Marsha carefully unlocked the front door to her penthouse suite and slipped inside.  She'd had to reschedule half a dozen meetings and listen to her boss whine all morning, but, if she solved the problem of the disappearing glassware, it'd be worth it.

She noted a cheaply made cloth coat, the elbows patched, and a well-battered black purse lying on the table in the entryway.  So far, so good; the housekeeper was still here.  Now to see if her plan worked.

Marsha crept quietly into the living room and checked the display case next to  the entertainment center.  As she'd hoped, the little glass fawn she'd placed there this morning was gone.  Steeling her resolve, she set off for the sound of vacuuming coming from her bedroom.

Standing quietly, unnoticed, in the bedroom doorway, Marsha took a few minutes to observe the young woman running the vacuum.  She'd met Cleo Wohlers only a few weeks before, when the cleaning service sent her over for an interview; she impressed Marsha as rather shy, but eager.  Cleo did do an impeccable job of cleaning the apartment; if it weren't for the missing glassware, Marsha would have no complaints whatsoever.

For the life of her, Marsha could not understand the reason behind the thefts.  She owned several pieces of crystal, fine china, and silverware that were immensely more valuable.  Her tiny, blown-glass animal figurines – her "glass menagerie," as she liked to call them – had only sentimental value; yet, these were the items Cleo chose to steal.

Eventually, the younger woman looked up and noticed her employer in the doorway.  "Ms. Maddux!"  Her eyes widened; for a moment, she looked like a deer herself.  She shut off the vacuum, then looked at her watch.  "I didn't expect – you're early – I mean –" she sputtered, obviously completely flustered.

Inhaling deeply, Marsha decided on the direct approach.  "Cleo," she said quietly, "I need to speak with you.  Follow me, please."  The two walked quickly back to the living room, where Marsha indicated the display case.  "I put a glass fawn in that case this morning," she said, "and now it's gone.  Do you have any idea what happened to it?"  She watched, keeping her face neutral as Cleo wrestled with herself before caving in.

"Please, Ms. Maddux!" she pleaded.  "Don't turn me in!  They'll fire me!  I'll bring it all back, I promise!  Please, don't turn me in!"

"Why did you take the figurines?" Marsha asked, feeling more curiosity than pity.

"They're for my little girl!  She's only four, and she wants nice things like you have, and she doesn't understand why I can't afford them.  Please, Ms. Maddux!  If I lose this job, my parents will take her away from me again.  She's all I've got!  Please, Ms. Maddux …please …" Cleo whimpered, her eyes filling with tears.

Marsha took a fresh look at the young woman, noting for the first time her complete lack of makeup or jewelry (including a wedding ring), her hair held back by a plain barrette, her graying t-shirt and faded, torn jeans.  She knew the cleaning job paid only minimum wage.  "How old are you, Cleo?"

"N-nineteen, Ma'am."

Marsha almost gasped.  Nineteen – and with a four-year-old daughter.  There was no need to ask about the child's father.  For the first time, she felt some compassion.  She herself had narrowly avoided the pitfall Cleo fell into – but then, she'd had several advantages in her life Cleo obviously hadn't.

After a brief mental debate, Marsha reached a decision.  "All right," she said slowly, "I can't condone stealing, and you're going to be punished for what you did.  But, if you do everything I tell you without any hesitation or backtalk, I won't turn you in or call the police – this time.  Do you understand?"

"Yes, Ms. Maddux.  Thank you, Ms. Maddux," Cleo replied, greatly relieved.

"Very well.  Get a chair from the dining room and place it there," Marsha ordered, indicating a spot in the center of the living room.  Cleo looked askance, but complied immediately.

"Now," Marsha continued, "you'll find a wooden hairbrush on the dresser in my bedroom.  Bring it here."  Comprehension began to show on Cleo's face; nevertheless, she fetched the requested item, handing it over on Marsha's command.

Seating herself in the chair, Marsha instructed, "Take off your shoes and jeans."  Cleo hesitated.  "Take them off, or I call the police."

Slowly, the young woman kicked off her tattered tennis shoes, then undid her jeans and pushed them down, revealing plain white cotton  panties.  It seemed she didn't splurge on any wardrobe item.  She stepped out of the jeans, folded them neatly, and set them on the couch, standing before Marsha, her bare legs trembling.

"Bend down over my knee."  Again, Cleo hesitated.  "DO IT!"  Slowly, she moved to Marsha's right side and draped herself across the waiting lap.  Her round bottom cheeks plumped outwards, straining the skimpy panties to their limit.  Marsha reached into the waistband and started drawing the panties downward.  "Please, Ms. Maddux …" Cleo moaned.

"SILENCE!"  Marsha snapped.  She yanked Cleo's panties to her knees.  "Hold still, and keep your hands in front of you.  You deserve this, and you know it.  Do you understand?"

"Yes, Ms. Maddux," came the weak reply.

Marsha took a moment to inspect the bare nates below her.  Cleo did have a full, well-shaped backside.  But Marsha wasn't there to admire the view.  She had a mission to perform, a lesson to teach.  She raised the hairbrush and brought it down, full force, on the middle of Cleo's left buttock.

CRACK!  "AAAAAH!"  The flesh flattened momentarily before springing back, a pink-tinged oval appearing.  Marsha spanked the same cheek twice more in quick succession, once slightly above and once slightly below the first impact, then administered three swats in the same pattern to the right side.  Cleo bucked and squealed with each, her legs flailing in the air.

After the initial flurry, Marsha settled into a slow, steady rhythm, alternating swats between the twin globes, and moving the hairbrush from the crown of each buttock down to the thigh, and back up again .Again and again, the hairbrush descended.  The sounds of wood on skin and agonized outcries filled the room.

Before long, Marsha felt Cleo's hands tightly gripping her ankle.  Well, that was fine, so long as she kept her hands in front of her.  Overall, Cleo was taking the punishment quite well – although she had kicked her panties completely off, Marsha noted.

Eventually, Marsha, her forehead beaded with sweat from the exertion, called a halt.  Cleo's rump was splotched red-and-purple from hips to thighs.  She laid still over Marsha's knees, moaning softly, her legs still twitching.  Marsha cautiously laid her hand on the battered flesh, feeling the heat radiating from within.  Cleo inhaled sharply,but relaxed as Marsha softly rubbed her tenderized mounds.

Marsha continued massaging for several minutes.  Slowly, Cleo's moans turned deeper, more sensual.  Marsha found her hand drawn to the young woman's thighs, going lower and lower between them …

Abruptly, Marsha pulled her hand away, gave Cleo two light pats on the posterior, and said, "All right.  Get up."  Cleo slowly pushed herself to her feet and stood above Marsha, tears streaming down her face, both hands rubbing and kneading her fanny.  Her barrette had come undone during the struggle; as her hair cascaded around her shoulders, Marsha realized just how breathtakingly beautiful she was.

Struggling to keep her voice under control, Marsha handed the hairbrush to Cleo, saying "Take this back to the bedroom.  Then you'd better finish straightening up. "  Cleo nodded, reaching to retrieve her jeans and panties.

"Leave those."

Momentarily startled, Cleo looked wide-eyed again at Marsha; then, her lips curled up in a half-smile, she, naked between t-shirt and socks, left the room and headed down the hallway for the bedroom.  Marsha sat quietly for a few moments, breathing deeply, then rose to her feet and followed …

… Marsha suddenly realized half the class was watching her with stunned expressions, the other half (and Miss Cox) with knowing looks.  "Anyway," she concluded rapidly, "I hired Cleo away from the cleaning service.  She and her daughter moved in with me.  She's going to night school now to get her GED.  Of course, she still has to keep the apartment clean; if she doesn't, I keep the hairbrush around to punish her when she's bad."  And, sometimes, to reward her when she's good, she added mentally.

"Thank you, Ms. Maddux," said Miss Cox as her class applauded once more.  "That was very enlightening.  Ms. Neagle, I believe it's your turn."

Part 5

"I agree that discipline is a key aspect of anyone's life," said Wendy, "and recently I've noticed signs that many others share that belief.  I run a catering service.  Most of my business depends on customer referrals.  It's important to make a good impression, so my people know what'll happen to them if they mess up!  Anyway, I was catering this party a while back when …"

Wendy looked around the opulently furnished living room and smiled.  The party was proceeding nicely; the guests mingled, broken into groups of three or four, while her servers circulated unobtrusively, offering trays laden with cocktails and hors d'oeurves.  She noted a few admiring glances cast after the servers, but as long as the guests looked and didn't touch, that was fine with her.

Knowing full well what her predominantly-male clientele liked to look at, Wendy employed only attractive, leggy young women as servers.  She outfitted them in the stereotypical "French maid" outfit:  a short black dress with a frilly white apron, fishnet stockings and garter belt, high heels, and black satin panties.  Equal opportunity be damned; when Hooters hired some pot-bellied bald men to wear those short shorts and tight t-shirts, so would she.

Suddenly, a loud CRASH! sounded from one corner of the room.  Wendy turned, her heart sinking as she noted one of her servers standing horrorstricken above an upturned tray.  Glasses and ice littered the carpet.  There goes tonight's profits, she thought.

She quickly identified the guilty party.  Janet Jones.  Somehow, Wendy wasn't surprised.  Janet was a bright, almost astonishingly attractive young woman, working to put herself through college.  Unfortunately, she was also quite inattentive.  She'd made numerous careless errors in arranging drinks and such at earlier affairs, errors which Wendy quickly corrected.  Dropping a tray, however, was a major faux pas.

Wendy quickly crossed the room to confront the young woman.  Janet looked quite forlorn as her employer approached.  "I'm sorry, Ms. Neagle," she said mournfully.  "I – it – I don't know what happened."

"Never mind that now," Wendy replied.  "Pick up your tray and those glasses, and get Carlos to mop up these spills.  Then I'll see you in the kitchen."

"Yes, Ms. Neagle," Janet answered, kneeling to perform her task. Wendy left her to it and headed for the kitchen.  Janet joined her a few minutes later, placing her tray on a counter, then standing nervously, her eyes downcast.

"Well?"  Wendy asked.  "What happened out there?"

"I – I don't know.  I'm sorry, Ms. Neagle."

"Did any of the guests bump you or pinch you?"  That did sometimes happen, and she wanted to give Janet the benefit of the doubt.

"No.  The tray just – it just slipped out of my hands."

"Very well."  Wendy stepped over to her portable cooking kit and took out a wooden spoon.  No matter what was on the menu, she always brought a wooden spoon along.  She addressed Janet again.  "Bend down over that counter."

Janet paled, her eyes growing wide.  She hadn't felt the spoon before herself, but she'd witnessed others getting it; she knew what lay ahead.  "Ms. Neagle –"

"You heard me!" Wendy interrupted.  "If you want to keep your job, bend over, now."

"Yes, Ms. Neagle," Janet murmured, draping herself over the requisite counter.  Her dress rode up in back, revealing vast expanses of thigh and panty.  Wendy flipped up the short skirt, then smoothly lowered the panties to just below the stocking tops.  The other attendants busied themselves about their duties. Janet clenched and unclenched her buttock muscles repeatedly, nervously anticipating the coming firestorm.

Wendy didn't keep her waiting long.  She raised the wooden spoon and landed a stinging blow on the crest of Janet's left cheek.  SPLAT!  "AAAAAAH!"  Janet arched her back, bringing her head upwards, and raised her left leg.  "Quiet!" Wendy instructed.  "If you disturb the guests any further with your racket, you'll get extra."

Janet lowered her head and her leg, giving Wendy an open shot at her right side.  SPLAT!  "AAAIIIIIIEEEEEE!"  Wendy aimed the third and fourth swats at the delicate undercheeks, drawing more squeals and leg-kicks from her employee.  Janet managed to keep her grip on the countertop, though, her knuckles already deathly white.

As Wendy raised the spoon for the fifth stroke, she heard a loud "Ahem!" behind her.  She lowered her arm and turned; there stood FrankAaron, the party's host.  Janet buried her head in her arms, thoroughly embarrassed by this additional witness to her punishment.

"I apologize for the disturbance, Mr. Aaron," Wendy said.  "Of course, there'll be no charge for the liquor that was spilled, and I'll pay to have your carpet cleaned."

"Oh, never mind all that," he answered in his laconic drawl.  "I just came in here because my guests should have the opportunity to witness, and take part in, this young lady's chastisement."

He had to be kidding.  "Mr. Aaron, with all due respect, I don't think that'd be appropriate –"

"Ms. Neagle, I'm on the board of directors of several corporations in this area.  Many of my colleagues have birthdays, anniversaries, coming-out parties, and such in the next few months.  I could mention your name quite favorably …"

Frank Aaron's patronage could be the break her business needed, Wendy realized.  And, a little public humiliation might just keep Janet focused.  "Very well, Mr. Aaron.  I accept."

"Excellent!"  He stepped over to Janet and gave her rump a sharp smack.  "Pull your undies up, darlin', and let's all go to the living room.  Bring your spoon," he remarked to Wendy as he left the kitchen.  Wendy started to follow, only to be brought up short by Janet.

"Please, Ms. Neagle," the young woman begged.  "Don't make me do this!"

"Look, you," Wendy hissed, "if you don't, I'll fire you and take the carpet cleaning out of your wages."  Faced with a zero paycheck and unemployment, Janet reluctantly followed her employer into the livingroom.

Mr. Aaron convened his guests and made a general announcement.  "I'm sure you all noticed the mess this young lady" indicating Janet, who stood nearby, eyes fixed on her shoes, blushing firmly, "made earlier.  Well, her boss here" (Wendy) "thinks she needs a good lesson to remind her in the future.  And we're all going to help her learn it."  He turned to Janet.  "Bend over that couch."

After a final pleading look at Wendy, Janet complied.  Mr. Aaron raised her skirt, then slowly took her panties not just down, but all the way off.  He handed them to Wendy, who stuffed them into her apron pocket.  Janet's bare bottom, showing some pink indentations from her earlier spanks, laid revealed to the entire room.

"Now, then," the host continued, "how many has she had already?"

"Four," Wendy replied.

"And, there's, let's see, ten guests plus myself.  So, if each of us gave her four swats, plus the four you gave her, that'd make an even four dozen.  Do you think that'll do?"

"That will be fine," said Wendy.  Janet groaned.

"All right, then," concluded Mr. Aaron, taking the wooden spoon from Wendy and handing it to his first guest.  "Four each, and make 'em count!"

The guests proved eager to comply.  Each, in turn, took the wooden spoon, put his or her free hand on Janet's back to hold her in place, and administered four sharp swats to her upturned nates.  Janet yipped and yowled, kicking and wriggling on the sofa, but kept her hands covering her face.  Mr. Aaron went last; he laid on the spoon with a vengeance, delivering four crushing blows to the intersection between fundament and thigh.

When he'd done, Janet laid still over the couch, sobbing and moaning.  Mr. Aaron gave her a few minutes to recover, then tapped the spoon lightly against her backside.  "Get up, darlin'."  She slowly pushed herself up, tears and mascara rolling down her face.  "Do you think you can behave yourself from now on?" the host asked.

"Y-yes, Mr. A-aaron," Janet managed to reply.

"Well, let's just see what you've learned."  He handed the wooden spoon to Wendy, then took a tray of hors d'oeuvre from another server and gave it to Janet.  The young woman's embarrassment broke out anew as she realized she'd have to walk around for the rest of the party with four red cheeks …

… "Mr. Aaron proved as good as his word," Wendy told the class.  "He gave me several referrals, and I've got all the business I handle.  Now, if one of my troops makes a mistake, I bend 'em over and smack 'em right then and there, and invite the guests to take a turn.  They're usually eager to join in."

Miss Cox beamed at her former students as the class applauded for the final time.  She'd trained them well.

Go To: Career Day – Revisited

© Copyright Kent Stoneking, February 13, 1998

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