Our story continues.

The summer was halfway through and not only had Mary had two front page stories, but she had a good handle on the secret history of the Lanark Island Herald.

Of course she realised that she could be tested on any of it at any time and the purpose of Mrs Bonham’s questions would be to catch her out. Since there was not the slightest chance Mary could learn everything before her editor and mentor decided to test her then in probability she would fail. That was an idea that Mary found both scary and exciting. Although now that she had free access to the club room, it took only one glance at the furniture or the rack of canes and paddles for her fear to take precedence over that little battle.

The other thing that gave Mary her sense of impending doom was the fact that the records she had been given were so incomplete. All records of Rachel Lockhart or Rachel Bonham-Smyth had been omitted from her notes and it seemed any references that were connected with her editor.

Damned if I do and damned if I don’t, Mary mused. Who said, publish and be damned? Well whoever it was would have also have said find out and be damned. It was then that she came to a decision and began to formulate a plan.

A few days later with the issue safely put to bed, Mrs Bonham went home early and Lisa had decided to go down to the dock to meet the latest paper shipment. Mary announced her decision to work late and catch-up on ‘their absent friends’ as she said to her editor.

“Alright, I’ll leave you the spare keys. Don’t work too late,” Mrs Bonham said as she dropped them on the desk with a chink and headed out the door. “Don’t forget to lock-up.”

“I won’t.” Mary smiled as she snatched up the keys. This was better than she had planned.

As she had guessed the keys included one for Mrs Bonham’s desk draw and on a hunch Mary had decided that was her best starting point for the missing diaries and records.

In the draw she found a cash box, a half-eaten tube of peppermints, a revolver of all things, personal files on Lisa and herself and… a lot of nothing. She checked out the files briefly, but suddenly felt bad at reading about Lisa and quickly put it back. Her own file told her nothing she didn’t already know, except that was for a passing reference to ‘corrective measures’ recorded in the year book.

The year books were in effect, the diaries for every internship. Of course she didn’t have hers and one or two others, kept back no doubt for some reason of discretion. But where were they? Mary pursed her lips and tapped the desktop impatiently with her knuckles.

Mary crossed the room to the picture that hid the safe. It was easy to get at, but had a combination lock. After a moment’s thought, she idly tried the date of the foundation of the Herald. No luck. Trying again she entered various dates around 1894 when the internship programme began. Oh well it had been worth a try. She was about to give up when she thought of something. Rachel Lockhart had started her internship on the 30th June 1986.

Mary entered: 06301986

There was a firm click and the door came loose. She opened it.

There inside was a pile of cash and several bundles of important looking papers. For a moment, Mary felt sick. Like she was betraying a friend or had fallen to thievery. Then she saw the books: this year’s, 1985, 1987 and 1986. Bingo. All doubts evaporated as she grabbed the books and took them downstairs to her desk.

I could check these out for a couple of hours a night and Mrs Bonham would never know, Mary thought as she set the documents out on her desk.

*

Rachel Lockhart is a very spirited girl, although rather proud and spoilt. She did not take the explanation of the set-up here very well and attempted to leave. I say attempted, because on hearing that she had made an impromptu departure I found her sitting on the dock having missed the ferry.

I told her that since the next departure wouldn’t be for two days that another boat could be arranged if she was that determined to leave us, whereupon she promptly burst into tears.

Mr Wheeler said that she could have caught it but chose just to sit on her case and not get aboard.

I told her she was a silly girl and after a little scolding persuaded her to accompany me back to the office. I rather think she complied more out of embarrassment at being chastened in front of Mr Wheeler, than out of any new resolve to pursue her obligations.

I must say, that although she expressed no further desire to leave, her attitude did not improve one jot and after a while I resolved the matter by taking her across my knee for a very sound spanking. She reacted to this with much weeping and wailing, although she made no further arguments and went to the corner meekly enough.

I have resolved to give a sound spanking every Friday after office hours until she is reconciled to her new way of life.

Mary stopped her reading at this point to laugh. The idea of the great Rachel Lockhart being spanked and sent to the corner was a classic.

There were other entries like this, although some of them very brief.

Today I had Rachel bend over the end of the ottoman for a sustained does of the medium paddle. At first she refused to comply, but after a suggestion that her punishment could be augmented with a caning after, she reluctantly and with very poor grace lowered her underwear and bent across the scroll end of the couch as she had been told. I must say I was quite angry with her and laid on the paddle strokes with quite some effort and for quite some time. Goodness, that girl can take on so, what a fuss. I do believe she has what my Aunt Mimi would call a ‘glass ass.’

Then Mary found an entry that was frightening in its familiarity and explained much about the relationship between Mrs Bonham, Rachel, and Mrs Granger.

Yesterday Rachel and Sally were spanked by Sally’s mother, Petunia Gable, with whom Rachel has been lodging. I gather they were caught skinny dipping with Tom Henson and his brother.

Sally Gable had been Mrs Granger’s maiden name. She was Kelly’s mother, Mary gasped. So Mrs Bonham and Mrs Granger had been much the same as Kelly and her back in the day. Tom Henson, Mr Henson. This was priceless. No wonder they both knew so much, they were in collusion.

Then Mary found another reference. Mary was suddenly scared. This was dynamite. Before marrying Bonham-Smyth, Rachel Lockhart had been married to another man. Curt Benson, the football star.

Mary could not believe the next bit and Googled it against what she remembered. My God, she thought totally aghast. He found out about the Lanark Herald society and was going to use it in the divorce proceedings.

Urgent steps have been taken. Mr Benson’s cocaine habit will not find its way into the newspapers and the sum of $100,000 will be made available to him if Rachel Lockhart’s involvement in our organisation is supressed. Happily he has agreed, but that leaves us with a small matter of what do about Ms Lockhart. Evidently it was her pillow talk that revealed our organization to her husband. She always was foolhardy, strong headed and if memory serves, soft bottomed. Well that is one area we will exploit. I rather suspect that our young Rachel will be reading the news standing up next month.

Suddenly Mary was aware that she was not alone. Mrs Bonham took the book from her and read the last passage.

“I was…” Mary gulped.

“Using your initiative? Prying? It is such a fine line for a journalist isn’t it?”

Mary wished herself back to Iowa. There was not the least hint of amusement in Mrs Bonham’s demeanour.

“I took sick leave,” Mrs Bonham said after putting the book on the desk.

“Ma’am?”

“They kept me on the island for two weeks and it was another week after that before I could sit down. I hated it at the time, but I deserved every swat, cut and birch-graze.” Mrs Bonham looked sharply at Mary, “just as you do.”

“Oh.” Mary’s mouth formed an O as she looked aghast at her editor.

“Oh indeed.” Mrs Bonham folded her arms and returned a long hard stare.

*

Mary had given up speculating on why Mrs Bonham had come back to the office; on journalistic instinct probably. In any event she was cursing herself that she had got caught, but was she sorry? She certainly ought to be now that she was standing bare-bottomed in the corner of the downstairs office.

Shades of Kate, she thought ruefully. The Herald didn’t have a fraction of the visitors that the store got, but every other day or so someone called to place an advertisement or suggest a story. So far Mary had been lucky. Her only salvation was that it was now after hours, but the light was on and it was not yet sunset. Anyone passing would have a view into the main office and besides, no one on Lanark worried about regular hours. If you closed early, there was always another day. Open late, it was an opportunity.

“Please Mrs Bonham may I wait upstairs?” It sounded more like a wail than a humble request.

“You were amused enough to read about my humiliation,” Mrs Bonham shot back. She sounded angry.

“I…” Mary began to protest, but she couldn’t argue; it was true.

After that neither of them spoke for a while until finally she heard Mrs Bonham locking the front door. The office was finally closed.

“There used to be a pillory out there somewhere. It was still in use in Amelia’s time. It’s gone now mores the pity. Lucky for you eh?”

Mary shuddered.

“You were hoping someone would come,” Mary accused.

“I suppose. Actually I’m waiting to calm down, you have… embarrassed me and you were prying into my affairs. Worst of all, you got caught. You’ll benefit from a good lesson. It won’t do you any harm.” Mrs Bonham sounded more like her old self. “Anyway don’t answer back.”

Mary was about to point out that technically she wasn’t since Mrs Bonham hadn’t spoken, but that might come across as insolent, she thought.

“Alright, remove the rest of your clothes and go upstairs. You can choose a corner and wait for me there.”

It was odd walking through her place of work naked below the waist and stranger still to be completely naked. Mrs Bonham certainly knew how to make a girl feel vulnerable. As she climbed the stairs her trepidation competed with a strange excitement for domination of her state of mind. She wondered if all interns felt like this or was she the only… pervert? She hated the word. Then she thought of Kelly and the twinkle she had seen in the eye of some of the girls in the photographs. She was in good company.

When Mary reached the room upstairs she picked the corner at the far end on the right. Although it seemed foolish, she knew that she would be the least visible from there if any outsiders did happen by.

I wonder if any of the islanders knows what goes on here, Mary thought as her nose touched the cool wood where the two walls met in the corner.

If Mary thought that her punishment was imminent, then she was soon to be disabused of the assumption. If anything she was kept waiting longer in the corner upstairs than she had been down.

Eventually Mary heard Mrs Bonham on the stairs.

“I telephoned Mrs Granger to tell her not to expect you for supper,” Mrs Bonham said from somewhere behind Mary. “Now come here.”

Mary turned to see her editor examining the contents of the ‘tool rack,’ so with one hand over her breasts and the other cupping her sex, she walked slowly over.

“The strap really used to make the flesh on my bottom sing, but after a while one reaches a kind of equilibrium.”

Mary eyed the heavy tawes in Mrs Bonham’s hand and gulped.

“What really gets a girl to sit-up and take notice is the dragon cane. Obviously I mean sit-up in a figurative sense. After 30 strokes with a senior cane one doesn’t do much sitting.” Mrs Bonham spoke as if she was talking to herself.

“You know I was spanked every week over the knee in front of Mr Sturbridge, who used to do Lisa’s job. Downstairs in the front office on the bare bottom and sometimes in front of others too.”

Mary nearly said ‘I know’ but she hadn’t. Not the part of it being in public.

“Every single week for months on end, it was so humiliating.”

“Please, I…”

“You will accept whatever I decide,” Mrs Bonham said sharply.

“Yes Ma’am.” Mary shuddered.

“Do you wish the same regime or… the battledore every two weeks in the privacy of my home?”

Mary wondered if she had heard right.

“If you choose the latter there will be… other things. Don’t agree if you are not game.”

“Mrs Bonham, I…”

“Shush… don’t speak. I am going to give you such a strapping now and then I will cane you. Later you can decide.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“I always hated the ‘dentist chair’ as you call it. Hated, hated, hated it.” There was vehemence in Mrs Bonham’s words. “I think I will reserve that for when you are really naughty. So… please go over to the other punishment horse.”

Mary was actually relieved. But before she took another step, she just had to speak. “Mrs Bonham I am real sorry about… well going behind your back. I guess I deserve what you are going to do… but please I…”

“I’m not angry with you. It’s alright.” Mrs Bonham offered Mary a small encouraging smile.

Mary blushed and nodded. She felt the strange tickle of something like friendship. As a child she could bare anything but mother being cross with her. Nevertheless, she thought ruefully, this was going to hurt.

*

Mary had never looked too closely at the ‘horse’ before. It looked like it would have been more at home in a Victorian gymnasium. Although at a glance it was like a vaulting horse, it wasn’t half so high and had a slightly concave leather-padded top. This she noticed was well-worn from decades of young women’s bellies rubbing on it. There was a handle on the side to raise and lower it, which once she was directed to stand in front of it, Mrs Bonham demonstrated by cranking it so that it lowered itself to the correct height.

“Alright now bend forward right across it and reach as far over as you can.” Mrs Bonham stooped down for one last check of the line.

Stepping forward Mary felt utterly exposed as she did as she was told, her bottom was suddenly elevated towards the ceiling.

“Slip your wrists through the these straps,” Mrs Bonham said handing her two padded straps that extended up from the floor by Mary’s head. “You can slip them anytime, you will not be bound, but they will prevent momentary inclinations to reach back and putting your hands into harm’s way.”

Mary understood. Even on the horse she was to fully cooperate with her punishment. Consent and added humiliation in one easy lesson, she thought ruefully.

Then she felt a similar arrangement being made for her feet.

“This can be cranked back up to pull the straps tight to hold you, but generally that is not done. Although I believe that is how Amelia Law arranged things.”

Mary felt totally helpless, but realised that this arrangement was slightly more preferable than Mrs Granger’s porch. She decided at that moment that she would take the fortnightly paddle option and all that it entailed.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of something cold and wet on her bottom.

“Just some oil,” Mrs Bonham explained. “It will ease and protect your skin. Although it will actually hurt more at first, but I don’t mind that so much.”

Mary wondered if this was an attempt at humour but Mrs Bonham’s fingers were taking such liberties she didn’t want to complain.

“I will strap you long and hard. You won’t like it so much,” Mrs Bonham whispered. “Then I will give you… 12-18 with the cane, depending on how you take it. Ever afterwards you get 24-30 strokes if it should become necessary.”

Mary didn’t want to say that it didn’t sound like much next to one of Mrs Granger’s switchings, but thought better of it.

There was another long pause and Mary sensed that Mrs Bonham was sizing her up. Then something slammed against her bottom. It was dull and heavy at first, but after a moment a band of flame followed quickly.

This was nothing like the crisp sting of the paddle or the bite of a hairbrush this was… the next strike robbed Mary of all thought and she yelled.

“Oh… oh… my… jeez… oh my…” Mary panted.

The third blast of the tawes extracted another yell and Mary felt the burn in throbbing waves across the whole of her bottom and a little on her right side.

“Jeezu,” May grunted.

There were many more that followed and Mrs Bonham did not stint. The only let up was when twice the editor added some more oil to Mary’s bottom. By then Mary was crying.

“I used to beg,” Mrs Bonham whispered.

Mary nodded, although Mrs Bonham couldn’t see. That was something she understood. Didn’t work though did it? Mary thought bitterly.

There was another volley of strikes and Mary yelled out healthily at each.

“Are you sorry you came?” Mrs Bonham was suddenly curious.

“Never,” Mary sobbed.

“Neither was I.” Mrs Bonham sounded incredulous. “And you are taking it much better than I ever did, even counting the last time.”

“Will you stop now please?” Mary was hiccoughing with sobs.

“I am going to cane you first.”

Mary had forgotten and started to cry more loudly.

“Is this too cruel?” Mrs Bonham was suddenly concerned.

Mary shook her head. It wasn’t, she realised it was just… she didn’t know.

The first stroke of the cane was a son-of-a-bitch. Nothing had ever been as bad. If she could have drawn a breath she might have laughed at her earlier comparison with Mrs Granger’s switch.

Mary hissed her breath back and forth between clenched teeth as she waited for the next stroke. It came. Mary growled angrily only to be rewarded with a third.

“I usually have girls count, but we will forego that this time.”

Even so, Mary counted in her head. Please God only 12, she prayed.

At six Mrs Bonham waited. Is it over? Mary wondered in hope.

The seventh was a shock; worse than the first.

Mary made a long mewling sound at each of the next six strokes.

“Now I think we’ll stop at 15 if you ask me nicely for them.”

Mary shook her head in denial. “Please Mrs Bonham,” she sobbed.

“Please Mrs Bonham, what?”

Mary’s mind raced. Maybe she could delay, anything to put it off.

“If you don’t ask for three more I will give you six,” Mrs Bonham said almost cheerfully.

“Please…” Mary was about to beg and then she nodded. Alright I get it, she thought. “Please Mrs Bonham give me…” Mary inhaled. “Three more.”

The first of the three came almost at once extracting a shout. Mary felt it saw in where she sat, like a team of lumberjacks were going at it. The next two were worse. Especially the last.

“Oh jeez, oh God oh shit, oh…” Mary spluttered incoherently.

“Now half an hour in the corner and we can both go home,” Mrs Bonham said gently as she squeezed Mary’s shoulder.

*

The half hour in the corner was less of an ordeal than it might have been. At least it didn’t make it any worse since sitting down was not even on the radar anyway. Instead she leaned into the wall trying to control her breathing as the cane continued to saw into her bottom.

“You really feel it don’t you,” Mrs Bonham said sympathetically.

Mary nodded and continued to concentrate on not crying again. “Did you…?” Mary didn’t know how to ask.

Mrs Bonham waited.

“I mean did you sometimes… kind of like it?”

“Afterwards you mean?” Mrs Bonham said in hushed tones.

Mary nodded. “And the idea of it?”

“I think both are essential on one level or another. Or else you would have to be mad,” Mrs Bonham said in a tiny voice. “I think that is what Amelia Law realised.”

Mary nodded.

“Are you enjoying it then?”

“Not quite yet,” Mary said stiffly

Mrs Bonham laughed. “I know just what you mean. Come on, come and lie on the couch.”

Mary minced across the room and eased herself belly down. Then Mrs Bonham appeared with a tube of something and began to ease it into Mary’s bottom.

“I don’t do this for all the girls. Too many of them need a real attitude adjuster. It takes some spoilt self-serving little brats all year just to get it. Most go along for the power and the glory that comes later. At first anyway.”

“Did you? Get it I mean?” Mary winced. “Oh that feels good.”

“No. I was a brat. Not like you.”

“No I’m just nuts.”

Both women laughed.

“Have you decided yet?”

“About suffering in silence or taking an over-the-knee spanking every week in public?”

“Yes.”

“Can I ask what else I can expect if I go to your house?”

“No.”

“I guess I’ll take the chance,” Mary groaned. “Oh God I don’t think I will sit down for days.”

“If you can I wasn’t doing it right,” Mrs Bonham snorted.

Mary looked horrified for a moment as her hand strayed to her tender bottom. Then she sighed, “It’s been a long hot summer.”

“The Summer’s not over yet and then comes September. You still have to be periodically tested on the Herald’s secret history.”

“How am I doing?” Mary looked back over her shoulder and offered her editor a lop-sided grin.

“Better than I did,” Mrs Bonham chuckled.

“Ouch.”

“Ouch indeed. Now there is just one more thing to do before you get dressed.”

Mary cocked an eyebrow and looked nervously the ‘tool rack,’ as Mrs Bonham walked towards it, but she kept going and went over to the outside office.

Mary took a deep breath. Now what? She didn’t have long to wait as Mrs Bonham returned with a camera.

“Stay where you are in the corner,” Mrs Bonham said.

“But… Mrs Bonham…?” Mary tried to shrink herself as small as possible into the corner.

“Rachel, out of office ours you can call me Rachel.” Rachel Bonham-Smyth smiled. “Stay like that, but look back at me over your shoulder. Other shoulder, it’s your best side.”

Mary blushed and did as she was told in time for a rapid burst of shutter action.

“Mrs Bonham, I…”

“Rachel. You are part of the family now.”

The end. (For now)