1. Bad Habits Need Hard Measures


    Date: 6/8/2017, Categories: Spanking, Author: ChrissieLecker, Source: LushStories

    For the first few weeks working at Joelle’s, my feet never really touched the floor. This was everything I had dreamed of, and more. In case you don’t know about her - though I’d be curious if you didn’t - Joelle’s the woman who turned makeup into a true art. Where others only “applied” lipstick, rouge and eye shadow, she painted with an artist’s skill and turned the plainest women into goddesses, into true artwork. Nobody knew her surname, and nobody needed to. All the big stars flocked to her and grovelled to get appointments. In just a few years, Joelle had made her way from a small town makeup artist to the number one in the country. For her staff, she only picked the best. I had been picked by her. I had been wide-eyed and full of adoration when she met me in person on my first day. And my eyes had grown even wider after she asked about my living arrangements. I told her about commuting one and a half hours in each direction and she just clucked her tongue, told me that she’d have none of that and offered me a room at one of the houses she owned in the best part of town. That’s how I got to live with Becca, a friend of her and just a few years older than me. Becca was a freelance writer and worked from home, which was a nice, modern three-bedroom cottage complete with garden and pool. I immediately fell in love with its chalked, white walls and its high windows with folding shutters. Entering the light-suffused living room with my suitcase trailing behind me, I felt like ... a princess. When tall Becca greeted me with a soft, “You must be Miranda. Welcome home!” I immediately liked her, and the hug she gave me was warm and affectionate. She didn’t wear makeup, but she was beautiful without it, with her tight, red-blond curls, high cheekbones, huge green eyes and millions of freckles. She was easy-going and intelligent, and it was fun to be around her. We quickly settled into a comfortable rhythm of who was doing the cooking and cleaning, and I just loved her lasagna. We spent a few nights in the wooden gazebo in the back garden, playing cards, drinking Chardonnay until we went cross-eyed and getting to know each other. Life was perfect. Until, that is, one Friday afternoon when I was called into Joelle’s office. I wasn’t aware of anything I had done wrong, but I wasn’t told what it was about, and my heart beat hard when I entered the modern, expensive room with the shiny chrome and almost black wood. “Miranda!” Joelle greeted me from her comfy chair behind the writing desk. “Good that you could come that quickly. I have heard a lot of good things about you so far.” A weight fell from my shoulders. “How are you settling in?” “It’s brilliant, really!” I gushed. “Becca’s great, and the house and garden are a dream!” She suddenly looked less relaxed, and the knot in my tummy was back. “I’m happy to hear that. But,” she said with emphasis while she stood up and went around the desk to stand close to me, “there is a little problem that we need to take ...
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