Boutique Etiquette

"If I have to return this again," Mrs. Kranton said, clearly annoyed, "it'll be your ass!"

The woman stormed out of the store leaving the dress racks swaying in her wake. Sandra was used to dealing with the occasional irate customer, but this one was over the top. The lady had been in three times over the past few days complaining about the fit of her daughter's wedding dress. Why she didn't just bring her daughter in, she couldn't understand. But each time Mrs. Kranton came in, Sandra cheerfully took back the dress and made the requested alterations.

Three years ago, Sandra had opened the modest boutique to pursue hew of love of designing formalwear, especially wedding attire. After a couple of lean years, business was finally flourishing. The operation was still small enough that she could run it herself which suited her fine because it allowed her to maintain high quality, personalized service for her customers. She also did not have to worry about staffing and all the details and headaches that came with that.

Occasionally, like today, she couldn't help wondering what possessed her to take on so much responsibility. People like Mrs. Kranton were impossible to satisfy. Worse, at 36, she felt like a little kid being scolded for not doing her best. In her heart, though, Sandra knew she did good work and this time hoped Miss Kranton finally found the alterations acceptable.

Later that afternoon, Sandra was on the phone with one of her suppliers. She was standing with her back to the front door going through a list of office supplies tacked to the wall when the phone suddenly went dead. As she looked at the receiver she heard a voice in her ear, "I have HAD it!"

Sandra gasped, startled nearly out of her skin, and turned to see Mrs. Kranton standing right behind her with her finger on the phone. Instead of backing away, the woman moved closer until her ample bosom was pressing against Sandra's shoulder and her face was close enough that Sandra could smell her breath.

"I warned you what would happen if I came back," the woman snarled.

Sandra sighed with exasperation. "What is it now, Mrs. Kranton?"

"It's still too tight in the waist!" Mrs. Kranton's eyes bored into Sandra's and it was all Sandra could do to stand firm.

"Well, if you would just have Theresa come in I could..."

"She doesn't have time." interrupted the woman. "And neither do I! I'm not leaving here until I get some satisfaction for all these delays."

"All right," Sandra felt herself weakening, "I'll let it out a little more, again."

"No, that won't be necessary." Mrs. Kranton replied evenly. "I'm going to find someone else who is competent enough to do this simple task."

"Really?" Sandra's face lit up. "That's wonderful. Have a fabulous day then." She walked over and held the door open. "Good luck!"

Mrs. Kranton stood still. "I told you. I want some satisfaction for all the trouble you've caused."

"Well, I can't think of anything that I can..."

"When my Theresa makes a mistake," Mrs. Kranton interrupted, "I give her a sound thrashing. And that's what I intend to do to you!"

"What? You can't be serious." Sandra tried to move away, but she was blocked by the counter behind her and the stout Mrs. Kranton closing in ahead of her.

Mrs. Kranton's eyes darted around the room and replied in a matronly tone, "I am very serious. Do you have a back room here?"

"Now wait a minute." Sandra shot back as she slipped out sideways and started backing away. "You have no right to..."

Again Mrs. Kranton butted right in, "Right? Listen here, Miss. I'll tell you what I have the right to do. I have the right to not shop here ever again. I have the right to tell my daughter and her friends to shop at your competitors. I have the right to tell all my friends, whom, I might add, number a good many people in this community, to stay the hell away from here. And...I have the right to get at least a little compensation for all the time I have wasted with you." And then in a softer voice, but with a no less threatening tone, she added with a smirk, "Frankly, I have no need for money, so I am going to enjoy putting you in your place."

"Oh, God." Sandra let out meekly. What was she going to do? Mrs. Kranton was very well connected socially and if she made good on her threats it would be devastating to her business. She couldn't afford that. She looked at Miss Kranton squarely and with all the confidence she could muster, said, "All right. Follow me." She headed for the back room, but stopped and turned. "If you do this, you or your precious daughter will never step into my shop again. And you will never comment badly of your experience, since you will be, as you said, 'satisfied.'"

Miss Kranton smiled with cold eyes that made Sandra shiver. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Racks of dresses and boxes stacked to the ceiling filled the back room. In one corner was a small desk and antique chair. Sandra pulled the chair out into a small clearing and pointed to it. "I assume you'll need this?"

"And this..." Mrs. Kranton replied pulling a large, maple hairbrush from her bag. Sandra stared wide-eyed as the stout woman sat down. Mrs. Kranton had on a long, silk skirt that covered her lap. She also wore a simple white blouse, silk as well, with a long pearl necklace that arced across her bust. Mrs. Kranton sat glaring at Sandra, her face still red with anger, tapping the hairbrush in her other palm. "Well?" she boomed.

"Oh, all right." Sandra said and stepped over to the side of the chair. She leaned over, placing her hands on Mrs. Kranton's thick thighs as she made her way across her lap. Sandra felt completely humiliated as she felt Mrs. Kranton's left hand settle on the small of her back.

Sandra wore a lavender colored, cotton pantsuit with a low cut neckline, one of her own designs. She felt the blood rush to her head as she looked back under the chair at her feet on the other side, bracing herself for the inevitable. It wasn't a long wait.

The first spank made Sandra yelp from the sudden blow and she lunged forward. Mrs. Kranton's firm grip, however, kept her in place. "That was the hairbrush," said Mrs. Kranton. "I'm going to save that for when my hand gets sore, but I want you to think about what's in store." She then shifted the hairbrush to her other hand while maintaining a firm hold around Sandra's waist. With an unrelenting pace and intensity, Mrs. Kranton's hand slapped against Sandra's wiggling backside.

For five minutes Mrs. Kranton blistered Sandra's bottom as she ranted about the importance of competence and professional service. Sandra tried valiantly to maintain her composure, not wanting to give the woman any more gratification by her breaking down. It was getting increasingly difficult but she maintained her composure, if not her dignity. She squirmed, squeezed her buns together, and tried to mentally displace herself from the situation, but damn, it was really starting to hurt! Just when she thought she was going to lose it, the spanking stopped.

"Now then, when I punish my daughter, I give it to her on the bare." said Mrs. Kranton.

"You've got to be kidding!" exclaimed Sandra, looking back up at the woman, gritting her teeth. "This is a one piece outfit."

"Indeed. Take it off."

"Yeah, right."

"Stand up and take...it...off!"

Sandra remained motionless, determined.

"Now!" The hairbrush landed squarely across her rear with the bellowed order. Sandra leaped up grabbing her bottom in both hands, rubbing her buns furiously. She started to sob, knowing she was beat, and fumbled with the top button, her eyes blurred.

"Come on, I don't have all day." Mrs. Kranton said, clearly irritated.

Sandra undid the other buttons down to her waist and slid the garment off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She stepped out of the puddle of fabric and stood there, dressed only in a pink satin brassiere and matching tap pants. She folded her arms tightly across her chest and looked at Mrs. Kranton. She was still sobbing, the humiliation unbearable.

"Pull down your drawers." ordered Mrs. Kranton.

"I won't!" Sandra shot back with the little defiance she had left.

"Take them off or I'll do it for you," came the angry response. Sandra reluctantly slid her panties down her long legs and threw them to the floor. Now she was really crying, as she was unable to completely conceal her nakedness. Mrs. Kranton grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back over her lap, causing Sandra to burst out in a wail. "Now you're really going to get it, young lady."

Sandra tried in vain to cover her bottom with her hand, but Mrs. Kranton smacked it with the hairbrush then pushed her arm to the side, pinning it and the other against Sandra's sides. Sandra felt completely helpless, naked except for her bra. She was completely exposed to this strange woman. This was far more upsetting than the stinging across her posterior

"I hope this will teach you how to run your business." Mrs. Kranton barked, punctuating each syllable with a high swung, arcing smack of the brush.

"Yes, yes. Oh, God, yes." cried Sandra.

"And every customer, no matter how demanding, will be treated as if they you're only customer." A rapid volley followed. "Do...you...un...der...stand?"

"Yes. I understand." Sandra gasped, her voice hoarse from screaming and crying.

"Well I hope so. Now stand up." Mrs. Kranton ordered. Sandra struggled to her feet. All modesty forgotten, she stood exposed with her hands covering her face, crying uncontrollably. She bent down to pick up her clothes, but, of course, was interrupted again by Mrs. Kranton. "Wait a moment, not yet."

"What? Why?" whined Sandra between sobs.

"Dear, if you could hear yourself now." Mrs. Kranton commented. "You sound like a little girl, a very bad little girl. What a sight! Go stand in the corner and think about your behavior and how you're going to improve it. And if I hear one peep from you, we'll start all over again. Understand?"

Too broken to protest, Sandra nodded in agreement and shuffled to the corner. She leaned into the corner until her forehead touched the wall and closed her eyes. Tears trickled down her cheeks, neck, and beyond. She stood for a full fifteen minutes, rubbing her scorched buns. Her sobs eventually waned to an occasional sniffle and a brief bout of hiccups. The whole while, Mrs. Kranton remained seated in the old chair, her thick fingers deftly clicking a pair of knitting needles together as she worked on a sweater sleeve she had pulled from her seemingly bottomless bag.

"Ok, I'm going to leave now." Mrs. Kranton eventually said and stood up. She stuffed her knitting back into her bag and told Sandra, "You may get dressed."

Sandra ambled over and carefully slipped on her panties. Then she gingerly put on her pantsuit making several adjustments to avoid aggravating the sting in her tender backside. She looked, once again, pulled together. Sandra followed Mrs. Kranton silently to the front door. As the woman exited through the doorway, she turned to Sandra and said softly, but with a menacing intensity, "The customer is always right."

Mrs. Kranton left and Sandra surprised herself by sticking out her tongue. She locked the door as soon as Mrs. Kranton was out of sight and went back to the counter where, unable to sit down, she stood for the rest of the day.

THE END