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I slipped on a pretty pink camisole and decided to go with maybe that new dress I had just bought at Bergdorf’s. He was still there. “What is it?”

“Could you show me?” “Show you what?” “How to spank a girl?” I walked over to my spanking bar. “This is where Thisley spanks me.” Nigel looked at it like it wasn’t there. I said, “This, Nigel. The bar.” He nodded his head, slipped one arm under the other and curled his finger around his lip, like one of those weekend golfers eyeing a tricky green he shouldn’t have placed a bet on.

I added, “I bend over it.” He still couldn’t grasp the concept. I said, “You do know where a girl gets spanked, Nigel?” It was a stupid question, but then he was stupid. He said, “I understand where you get spanked, but couldn’t the same thing be done over one’s lap, on your bed, anywhere for that matter?”

Suddenly I had a connoisseur on my hands. “Yes, Nigel, you’re certainly right. You could also hang her ass out the window and spank her in the breeze. What the spanking bar does to a girl is to make her aware of her….”

I left that hanging and went somewhere else, “…her bottom is elevated and in proper spanking position. She cannot easily move. She is positioned for the spank. She’s locked in. Her feet just touch the floor. Her hands grip the sides or just dangle. She can’t run.”

He then surprised me and said, “Get over the spanking bar.” The order was implicit. The tone was almost right. But almost doesn’t count. I picked up the phone, called the agency, and told them about the little mix up.

I expected Thisley to be a little more forgiving when he returned from my country house. I said, “He was a gardener, not a butler.” We were on our way out of the executive offices of the museum. I had volunteered Thisley’s employment for the next gala. He’s just wonderful at supervising these hot-to-trot caterers who may know how to cook haute cuisine but know nothing about service.

I said, “Nigel was wrong to do what he did and you know that.” Thisley was walking behind me as required by etiquette, but no so far behind that I couldn’t feel my behind in danger. I said, “You may have thought what I did was sneaky, but it wasn’t. Someone had to tell the agency.” I turned the corner past the men in armor exhibit and dashed up the stairway.

Thisley said, “Nigel was an old friend of mine, madam.” I said, “I suppose you put him up to that little trickery?” I got to the top of the stairs, but it was cordoned off because of construction so back down we went.

End of Diary of A Rich Girl – Chapter 149, by Carrie

Diary of a Rich Girl to be continued…
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