Anything to avoid being late

If you took even a moment to think about it, you would say the very idea you would agree to leave your clothes here and go back to work bottomless, only to return the same way, is ridiculous, but a moment to think is just what you don't have. Your supervisor was bent on punctuality even in the normal universe (which was one of the reasons he rather liked you, you could always get yourself organised). In this one, he probably takes the skin off anyone being late and you'll need to leave at once to have any chance of making it.

"I'll come back after work," you blurt out without really considering the consequences. Well done, girl, you've just sentenced yourself to three hours of showing off what you've got.

"Of course, Jenna" Mia nods politely, as if she did not just strap you so hard that it is a miracle tears did not start to fall. You put your bag with its precious cargo of the Rulebook over your shoulder again and start backing towards the door, even as you and Mia both assure one another you look forward to meeting again once you are out of the office. As soon as you can without seeming brusque, you turn and rush out onto the street, awareness of how exposed you are taking second place to the need for speed.

You turn sideways to thread your way through the crowds towards your office. Being sore and half-naked, you would prefer to give passers-by more room, but it would slow you down too much, so you just have to hope a smile and an "excuse me" will avoid offence as you weave between shoppers and other workers returning after lunch. Your speed and the need to change direction frequently make it unfeasible to hide your privates either with the edge of your blouse or your hands, even if you thought that were a good idea in this situation.

You certainly attract your share of looks and you overhear parts of phrases that can only be commenting on your well-deserved ordeal, but nobody tries to give you more trouble. Nonetheless your heart threatens to jump out of your chest and when a policeman standing by his parked car asks you to stop, you feel it is doing just that.

"What's the hurry, young lady?"

You explain that you don't want to be late for work and he replies that perhaps you ought to leave earlier. Biting back the urge to say that you would have done if you could, you just agree and promise to do so in future. Unfortunately, that's not going to be the end of it. Reaching into his car through the open window, he takes out a large rectangular paddle made of shiny black plastic, perforated with a chevron pattern of slots.

"Grab your ankles, please, Miss. I'm giving you a fixed penalty of two swats for inconsiderately inconveniencing other pedestrians."

You didn't think you were causing an inconvenience, but he was no doubt in a better position to judge and in any case, you don't have much choice, so you put down your bag once more and adopt the position. At least you don't have to waste time baring your bottom.

The first swat comes without delay, sending a shock wave through both buttocks. The edges of the slots burn like a swarm of hornets and on top of the strapping you struggle to hold still, rising briefly onto tiptoes before settling again.

The second crack hits the same place, just on the crown of your cheeks and your moan turns into a whimper as the tears you didn't shed earlier threaten to fall. You fight the urge to rub your burning nates and instead concentrate on bringing your breathing under control.

"Alright," the policeman says, "you can get up now." You do so with a wince, blinking away the teardrops in the corners of your eyes. "I just need a few details and then you can be on your way—at a more sedate pace."

Well, that's torn it. By the time he's finished filling out his forms and given you your ticket, you'll be late for sure. You only have one slim hope.

"Please may I call my office and let them know I'm going to be late, sir?"