Nora's Punishment

I thought of seizing the money she had upstairs, but I decided against it. I was still upset that she had gotten it by using her hands, her mouth, or maybe even her anus to get many guys to ejaculate. She asked for my help in opening checking and savings accounts, but I refused and she had to figure it for herself.

She was brazen enough to put down payments on two used cars. The first was a cute little Fiat X 1/9 convertible. She could barely operate the stick shift, but she got one of her male acquaintances to teach her.

Of course, the Fiat was extremely unreliable and couldn't stand up to New York's horrible pavements. Within a couple of weeks, she traded it in for a 1970 Mustang, also a convertible. This seemed to suit her much better. She would often drive it to school despite the tight parking situation up there. She hated the subway and tried to avoid it if possible.

The biggest change during the summer was that she got a regular job. When I insisted that she do that, she said, "And where am I going to go for that?"

"Well, there's a Burger King within walking distance." I was half-joking, but she went there anyway. Maybe she did it to spite me, or maybe she didn't have the ambition to go elsewhere.

******

One day I dropped in on her at her Burger King job. She was working the counter and I waited until I was sure I'd be served by her. She winced when I came up but she remained deadpan as she said, "May I help the following guest?" or whatever the standard line was.

I remained deadpan too as I ordered, "I'll have a fish sandwich."

"It's called a Whaler." Even if she was my niece I couldn't help but think, what a cheeky little cunt.

I replied, "A Whaler, huh? Did Captain Ahab catch it?"

"No, actually it was Ishmael who caught it."

I was surprised that she got my reference. "All right, a Whaler, small fries, and a small Diet Coke." As she took my money I noted her ugly brown and yellow uniform, "These outfits they put you in are very attractive."

I already knew that was a sore point with her, "Gawd, I hate them; they're just the worst."

"I especially like that hat." It was some kind of cap with a brim but it was basically a shapeless blob. I knew she especially disliked those. She went on to another gripe.

"When I work in the back, I come home with the stink of Whopper on my hands. I can't wash it off."

I had heard that one too. "There are worse things." I thought of one of the characters in Upton Sinclair's The Jungle. He came out of the stockyards every day stinking so badly that the other streetcar passengers would blanch.

As she gave me my change, she had another further refrain, "When the fall semester starts, I'm out of here."

"Oh no, you're not. We went over this. You'll work out a schedule around your times in class, or you'll get another job." I was not going to have her at loose ends up on campus getting into trouble.

"But I was thinking of joining one of the campus papers."

"So join; extracurricular activities are fine." I had heard how the newspapers sort of functioned as combination fraternities/sororities at a commuter school that had almost none. Some students spent all of their time hanging around in the offices in the student center building, sometimes getting into escapades with drugs and sex. But I had to be realistic about what was feasible.

I said, "Go to meetings, write the stories, then come home or go to work. In fact, you have a typewriter at home; you don't have to use the ones they have up there."

When she brought me my food I noticed how different her appearance was with those clothes. She looked more modest, more chaste. Frankly, however, those fast-food uniforms would have had the same effect on Raquel Welch.

As I took my tray, I said, "Oh, one other thing I want to bring up." I could see she was getting impatient spending so much time on one customer. I was sure the management timed such things. "Young lady, I'm going to give you some maintenance spankings."

"What the hell are those?"

"Well, even if you haven't done anything specifically wrong, I'll spank you just as a reminder to stay in line. Don't worry; I'll only use my hand on you."

I could see she wanted to argue with me, but she just gave up. As I picked up my tray, I just had to push things even more. "I think we'll do one tonight. First I'll beat you on the seat of your lovely brown trousers. Then those are coming down, and you'll get more on your bare backside."

She moved her mouth but no sound came out. However, I could read her lips well enough to see that she had said, Fuck you.

I laughed at her. "Call me Ishmael, but I really like these Whaler sandwiches."

*******

When I spanked her that evening, I found out that she had a black thong on under her uniform. Afterwards, she did explain it to me. "I do it on every shift. Maybe it's kind of -- regressive or something -- but that way I still feel like myself, a woman with some juice, not merely a drab, fast food-serving schlub."

I pondered whether to take down her thong; it left her butt cheeks mostly exposed. Both had been reddened during the over-the-pants part of the session. I decided to lower then anyway. She bitched, "Hey, don't do that. What is it, do you want to see my cunt again? You really are a dirty old man."

"No, my dear, I'm just following traditional spanking protocol." Of course, I had just made that up, but she didn't seem to realize that.

Now she was over my lap in her awful fast-food uniform, hat and all. Except, her pants were down around her knees and her tight buttocks were pushed up.

As I raised my hand to strike her I said, "What is that new slogan of your company? Have it your way? Well, today we're going to have it my way."

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