Management Mentoring

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I was in London for the Board Meeting. Every six months we hired a room in an hotel and had a day discussing everything from finance to manufacturing. I was head of R pretty much anything that had wheels but was not a road vehicle, a car or a van or a truck.We had a good lunch before the afternoon session and a few drinks after it finished at five. Mike Lambert, CEO took me aside.“Manufacturing’s a mess, Sonia. Larry,” who was the director of manufacturing, “Is going to have to go. I want you to take it on.”We talked about that. My job was full-on and to take on the ailing manufacturing side was a lot more work but he was offering a huge pay rise and, to be frank, I relished the opportunity. I asked if I could think it over.“Of course. But I don’t want to hang about. Larry is going to be fired tomorrow and I want succession. Let me know in the morning.”I promised I would. The cab I finally managed to get took me to the small mews in Paddington and dropped me outside the house, called Groom’s Cottage, where I had been due ten minutes earlier. I clattered up the slate steps in my heels and rang the doorbell. There Kolej Escort was a slight delay and when the door opened, there she was.Christina was about ten years older than I, about fifty. She wore, as she habitually did, a grey dress, knee-length, black tights, flat black ballet pumps and a warm smile. Her greying hair was drawn back in a tight ponytail.“Hi, Sonia. A tough day?”“Not especially. Every day seems tough at the moment.”“Let me take your coat.” I put my small overnight bag on the floor of the hallway then I slipped off the beige suit jacket and she took it and hung it on a hook rack on the hallway wall before leading me through to her sitting room where she sat me down and handed me a ready-prepared gin and tonic. We sat and talked in the very feminine room, chintz and brocade, flowers, pictures of bucolic scenes on the walls.“It sounds like a big job,” she said. “Do you need the extra stress?”“It’s pressure, not stress.” She raised an eyebrow, she never liked to be contradicted but she smiled. “Pressure I can cope with. If it gets stressful, I know Rus Escort what to do.”She smiled. “That’s why you’re here isn’t it?” I nodded. “Well, we both know what you need.” Her demeanour changed and she became very brisk and professional. She stood, took my empty glass and told me to follow her. I got out of the comfortable chair and followed her through to a bedroom. A single bed occupied centre place in the room. “Take off your blouse and skirt. Is everything else as I instructed?”It was. Stockings with suspenders, no bra, silk shorts with lace edges. I knew what to do. I bent forward, my feet shoulder-width apart and my hands on my knees. She stood behind me and ran her long fingers down my bare spine until she could feel the base of the heavy steel plug in my arse under the silk. “The medium size?”“Yes, Christina.”“When did you put it in?”“During the afternoon break.”“You were late.”“I’m sorry, I couldn’t get a cab.”“Ten minutes late.” As she spoke, she was walking around me and to a chest of drawers. Opening the top drawer, she took something out then Yenimahalle Escort turned to face me. It was the tawse. “Two strokes for each minute. You know what to do.” Her voice was flat, no emotion, no anger, no warmth.I lay on my back on the bed with my legs spread and my knees bent. She stroked my face and put a finger in my mouth. I sucked it. Christina took a strip of leather from the bedside table and placed it gently between my teeth.The first strike was vicious. God, how that tawse stung. It was a bitch of a thing. And there was no gentle start, no crescendo, just an immediate, sob inducing, welt creating slash on my left inner thigh. Taking her time, she walked around the bed, stroked my face again then delivered the second strike; it was, if anything, harder than the first, and on my right thigh. I tried not to cry but despite biting hard on the leather I couldn’t hold back a whimper. No reaction from Christina.She walked around the bed and delivered the third strike and I gasped and felt a tear in my eye. The seventeen remaining strokes were delivered in the same clinical manner, each delayed by her slow movement around the bed; the waiting between the fire of the strikes as painful as the strikes themselves. My thighs were on fire, the pain all-consuming. I felt myself drifting mentally. I felt her hand run over my brow, over my cheek, caressing and comforting, then down to my breasts and to my achingly hard nipples.

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Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32