Another time and place

14Dec13

caning hardcaning hard She had all the answers. She would turn up and then give him a piece of her mind. What did he know anyway? He was so old, he must be 60 at least, well 50 anyway.

She made it all the way down the hall with that attitude and knocked. Anyway, she was way too angry to wait this time, especially when she knew he would take his own sweet time answering, so she breezed in and threw his office door open wide.

“Come…” he began.

He had that hard look as if he was permanently angry and now his expression darkened as he scowled at her. For the first time she felt a hint of uncertainty.

“Miss Anwar…” he said sharply, but somehow he didn’t look surprised.

“Mr Cohen I have to say…”

“Miss Anwar,” he barked, cutting across her. “Turn around and go outside. Then you will knock and wait.”

His steel grey eyes regarded her carefully, almost disdainfully. What was she wearing, he thought? And her hair, it was more mutilation than style; grunge maybe, or had that fad passed? And what did she mean by coming into his office with ripped attire, what was she spending her clothing allowance on?

For her part she had become flustered by his stern manner and for a moment she forgot what she was going to say.

“Miss Anwar,” he snapped, “Get out.”

She jerked and with a heavy roll of her eyes turned around and stormed out. This time she knocked heavily, letting her annoyance show. A minute passed while she tick-tocked her head back and forth indolently waiting for his moment of petty power to pass.

“Come… in,” Cohen said at last.

She sighed belligerently and again swept into the room.

“Listen Ben,” she began.

“Ben,” he gasped, “Miss Anwar, this is not an art school, I am the director of apprentices and you will address me as Mr Cohen or Sir. Even if we were on first name terms, which we are most definitely not, then my name is Benjamin…”

“Whatever,” she sighed impatiently and rolled her eyes again. “What I want to know is, how come you took me off…”

Cohen slowly stood up and bellowed at her with his eyes.

“Wh-what?” she asked, a further hint of uncertainty creeping into her voice.

“What you want to know is of no particular concern to me at this moment,” Cohen said icily, “What I want to know is why you are wearing that… deviation from the college dress code and who the hell you think you are, bursting into my office like this?”

“This…?” she said puzzled, her hands indicating the strategically spliced drainpipes and overlarge wasp patterned mohair slop-top.

“Is this your way of telling me you are leaving us?” Cohen pressed her.

She frowned and became startled. She was here to tell him what was what, but things were getting away from her.

“No I…” she said hesitantly and then more snootily, “What you on about?

“What am I…? Miss Anwar, take those, those… clothes out of my office, in fact take them off college property altogether and come back tomorrow suitably attired to make an appointment to see me,” Cohen snapped out commandingly. “Then once we have discussed your behaviour and the disciplinary consequences of this outrage, then and only then might we discuss your concerns.”

“This is bullshit,” she snapped angrily, “Anyway, tomorrow will be too late, the course starts tomorrow morning and you have to…”

Cohen heavily sucked in air and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t have to do anything. One more word, just one and I will take a cane to your bottom,” he said softly.

“Do what?” she said incredulously and sniggered. “What you on about?”

“I said, and here you are skating on the thinnest of ice, that if you do not shut up and leave this office at once to return at an appropriate time in a more respectable mode of dress then I will resort to corporal punishment,” he hissed, “To whit, the cane. I am sure you have heard of it.”

She laughed nervously.

“But… but that’s…”

“You know that it is still an option at this establishment, it was even in the newspapers; I assume you can read. You even signed the agreements and no doubt sniggered during the induction speech by the head of college,” he said wearily.

“Yeah but… it’s not real is it? Not really real I mean,” she spluttered, “It is like one of those weird shit things from the olden days, like the Queen owning all the swans, Texas still having slavery on their statute books or… or Berwick-Upon-Tweed still being at war with Germany… Ain’t it?”

Cohen considered this for a moment and then nodded sharply. Then with slow deliberate movements he walked across the room and opened the far cupboard. From inside he pulled at something that clanked and rattled before coming away in his hand.

Anwar could see that it was a rather knotty sand-coloured stick that was about a meter long. At one end there was a curve which formed a handle like a classic cane from an old movie or St Trinian’s.

He sliced it once through the air and made her jump.

“This was once in regular use here. Being… and here I use the word loosely, an adult college, CP was never formally abolished when the law changed. I used to use it on a weekly basis up until the millennium, but since then it has rather fallen out of fashion. Most apprentices opt for alternative sanctions and the college insists that I give them every opportunity to do so.” Cohen’s fulsome monologue was greeted in stunned silence.

Anwar visibly gulped and she suddenly felt rather light-headed.

“You mean that instead of all the fines I paid and that three-day exclusion last year…” she said in a strained voice.

“I mean that now you have been warned I will cane your bare bottom if you say another ill-considered word and do not leave my office at once.” Cohen held the cane to his chin and flexed it with both hands.

She nodded gently and stared at him with a horrified fascination. Then after a moment she held up one tentative finger.

“Yes Miss Anwar,” he said wearily.

“When you say disciplinary what’s its and having me come back…? Am I going to get suspended again?”

Cohen appeared to consider this for a second and then muttered, “Very likely.”

“And the fine…? Last time I had to pay 50 quid and they said next time… and anyway, if you don’t listen now then… then… well that training I want starts tomorrow, if I am suspended I’ll miss it,” she sounded almost contrite now and added, “Eh… Sir.”

“Yes well, the old days did have their advantages didn’t they? Perhaps next time you will…” Cohen sighed.

“Okay,” Anwar said suddenly, “I’ll do it, I mean… I’ll do it the old way Sir, if I don’t get suspended or a fine.”

Cohen frowned.

“Are you bargaining with me Miss Anwar? I warn you I don’t do bargains,” he said.

“No…” she said slowly, “But if… I mean… you’ll be fair and… and…”

He sighed. It hadn’t been so long he supposed. He shrugged and went back to the cupboard. He put the cane back and took out two more things and returned to his desk. One was another cane, a slightly less intimidating one. The other was a triple form in white, green and pink.

“I fill out the details afterwards. For now sign the consent form and then take those ridiculous clothes off. All of them,” he told.

“You want me to…” she tugged at the mohair and gaped.

“I am going to go down the hall for a short while. Before I go you will sign the form and then I will leave you. When I get back I will find you naked and bending across the desk with your hands folded behind your back,” he explained. “If not, I will tear up the form and you will go home and return tomorrow as is usual.”

She blushed and then looked at her feet. Then after a moment she purposefully crossed the room and signed the form. He was almost impressed and then he left.

*

She had shed her clothes easily enough. After all it was no big deal and she was intrigued. But she had to admit that she felt completely silly knelling against Mr Cohen’s desk and bending over. It was awkward for one thing and her knees hurt where they press into the wood at the back. Also with her hands in the small of her back she felt unsteady as if she might fall.

Added to this was the cane just inches from her nose. She hadn’t really considered it before and hadn’t thought to move it. But now that she could see it up close she began to wonder how I would feel. Something did a flip in her tummy and licked at her lips apprehensively.

What if someone else came in? Heat touched her cheeks, surprising her, she had streaked for a dare once, but this was different. A footstep in the hall made her start and for a second she almost bottled it.

Even though the sound was a false alarm she realised that someone was going to come in: Mr Cohen and he would see her… she blushed, an alien sensation… see her naked.

The knock at the door threw her and she felt a surge of panic. Was it Cohen? Why was he knocking? The door wrapped again. Go away, she urged the visitor silently.

The door opened and someone came in. They made it halfway across the floor before stopping.

“Oh… I… sorry, I was just…” it was a woman’s voice, mercifully not a student she guessed. Then the woman muttered, “I’ll just leave this note… eh here… yes… sorry, I didn’t know.”

The blood flooded Anwar’s face and scorched her to her ears. This was crazy.

By the time Cohen did get back she felt was actually grateful.

“Is this right?” she said apprehensively. It was hard to talk with the desk pressing under her jaw.

“Miss Anwar, I am surprised you went through with it,” he said hesitantly.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t had a girl in this position before, but the total nudity was unusual and a consequence of her outrageous behaviour and attire. Also it had been a while and most women, especially those like Miss Anwar who were overfilled with entitlement and resentment of authority, did not submit so readily anymore.

“Me too,” she answered ruefully, adding as an appropriate afterthought, “Sir,” adding, “Oh Sir… someone came in…”

No doubt it was one of the office staff. Then he saw the note and recognised his secretary’s handwriting. She had been here years and had in times past had seen it all before.

“Never mind about that,” Cohen growled.

But suddenly he was unsure. The girl was more womanish in figure than he had counted on and her narrow waist and the full curves of her bottom affected him somewhat. He even felt something tighten in his trousers.

Cohen took a deep breath and crossed the room to take up the cane. He was committed now and his bluff had been called. The question remained how many to give?

Her dress code violation had earned her a standard six and her insubordination another six. But 12 was rather harsh for a novice and he doubted that she had ever felt so much as a slap before. For two pence of sense he would spank her instead, but that might not look good if there was any come back. If she took it badly his arse was covered, technically anyway, but if it came to that then he had a hunch that this would be the last caning ever given.

On reflection he decided he could honourably reduce six to four in both cases. That seemed fair.

“Very well Miss Anwar,” he said brusquely as he took up the cane, “You will receive eight; four for each offence.”

“Yes Sir,” she said nervously. It sounded too few, she thought.

“You know what that offence was, don’t you?” he asked.

“I… I guess…” she muttered. She actually wasn’t.

“Think,” he barked.

“I didn’t wait for you to answer and… and… I guess I should have… you know… sorry,” she couldn’t quite find a form of words. But to head off any embarrassing admissions she said perkily, “I guess I need an attitude adjustment.”

“Your attitude, yes,” Cohen agreed.

“Sorry,” she said again.

He took a breath and tapped her across the bottom with the cane. She gasped.

“So eight it is,” he said firmly, “You may put your hands ahead of you to hold on.”

“Yes Sir,” she sighed.

The stroke was impossible and she slammed the flat of her hand on the table in surprise. Both her eyes and mouth shot open and hung there.

Cohen saw the hard white line stand out across her pale flesh and he waited. After a moment the edges of the impact streak became darker pink and the skin began to rise a little.

The next stroke bit harder than the first and Anwar gasped. Two lines of pain continued to sing across her bottom for an infinite moment and she clenched her jaw.

Cohen watched the two dark lines develop as she fluttered on the desk top like a broken bird. She also made a hissing sound and became laboured in her breathing. He knew that the pain was still growing because she dipped at the knees and pushed her bottom out, describing small circles with it as if to shake of the sting.

He laid the third stroke across her bottom just below the first strokes and she grunted.

“Feeling it Miss Anwar?” he asked.

“Yes Sir,” she said in a tight voice and only after a long moment.

The fourth stroke caught lower still and drew another line on the lower curve of her bottom about three inches above the top of her thighs.

“Fffff,” she hissed and made a whining sound.

By now the four strokes stood up in ridges and had gone from pale to dark pink. Nor had the colour stopped there, but had ‘bled’ out into the surrounding skin so that the whole underside of her bottom had become a bright poppy-red.

The girl was breathing heavily now as if she had been running and her hands fumbled for the edge of the desk.

“I trust you will amend your attitude with me in future,” Cohen said darkly.

“Oh yes Sir,” she said almost eagerly.

He struck the fifth stroke so that it crossed the fold where her bottom met her thighs and she yelled. From then on her breaths came as pained groans.

Cohen waited for a moment longer so that her resolved faltered and then caned her just above the first stroke.

“Ahh,” she shouted.

She looked back at him, awe written on her face and he could see that water had pooled heavily in her eyes. Cohen struck her again, this time across the upper strokes at an angle. She greeted the penultimate stroke with silence as she drew a breath and then a croak turned into an angry growl. He counted three or four beats and then sliced in the final stroke and she shrieked.

For a long moment nothing more happened, and then he saw her shoulders were shaking and he imagined she was laughing. He wouldn’t have been surprised. And then she made a throating noise and he realised she was crying.

“We are done now Miss Anwar,” he said quietly.

She nodded.

“You may get up,” he told her.

Painfully she levered herself upright and tentatively massaged her rear.

“My… my clothes Sir?” she sobbed, “May I… may I put them on… or…”

She didn’t know if they were banned to her, remembering what he had said and with eight lines of sawing pain deep into her bottom she would have gone naked at a word from him.

“Get dressed Miss Anwar and then go home,” he said gently. “Come and see me at the end of the day in a more suitable condition and we will discuss this burning issue of yours.”

She nodded miserably, but there was only one burning issue that concerned her at that moment.

“Thank you Sir,” she sniffed, and then careless of her nudity stooped to gather clothes from the chair where she had left them.

Cohen turned his back and waited.

Finally she said, “Thank you Sir,” and he turned to see that she was now smiling through the tears and holding out her hand.

She remembered once how she had mocked the handshake tradition in the refectory as she and her friends had read from the college handbook. Now it seemed like closure.

“Very good,” Cohen said, shaking her hand, “I trust that was a lesson for you.”

“Yes Sir,” she gushed.

“I’ll see you later then,” he said, pursing his lips.

She blushed shyly and nodded. Then holding her bottom gingerly she made careful steps towards the door. But once there she stopped and turned and then gave him a small pout.

“Sir?” she asked tentatively.

“Yes Miss Anwar.”

“Does this mean that… well next time… I, eh mean, instead of suspension or… eh the fines and stuff… will I have to see you?” she was still blushing.

He frowned.

“Well, um, unless you withdraw the permission slip then… well yes,” he pulled a face, “So I suggest you behave yourself.”

She snorted derisively.

“Fat chance of that Sir,” she said ruefully and then she was gone.

Ends.



16 Responses to “Another time and place”

  1. 1 darwinian

    Another masterpiece, how do you keep up such a high standard and convey the situation so well, I hope Miss (fat chance) Anwar has need of further sessions, and even better we read about them.

  2. 3 paul1510

    Damian,
    oh the energy we expand to teach our brats manners. 😛
    I enjoyed this. 😉
    Paul.

  3. Fat chance of that happening!

    I love a gal that has the guts to say that after such a good sound attitude adjustment!

    She’s my new hero! Very, as you Brits would say, cheeky… Hehe

    Keri

    • 6 DJ

      very cheeky and there are girls and situations like it not so very long ago. Thanks Keri 🙂

  4. 7 saram

    Second time I read a subtle political message in one of your stories. I tell my students that writers do nothing by accident…

    • 8 DJ

      I litter my stuff with double meanings and hints – but which subtle political meaning did you detect and what out of interest was the other story?

      😉

  5. 9 saram

    The first involved the names of some characters in Magic…I detected what seemed to be a jab at lesbianism. This time a nod toward Israel-Palestinian relations.

    • 10 DJ

      Was it you who asked about Demdike?

      Someone thought that the name of the witch (which I borrowed from a real life 17th century English witch) was a reference to lesbianism (ie the dike part). Not really being a British word (not in suburbia anyway) it never crossed my mind then as I think I explained at the time. As for any other lesbian reference – other than that overtly involving some characters – none has been intended.

      In this story the main character is clearly Jewish (albeit in a very trad English way) and is based loosely upon someone I once knew.

      The Anwar character (although probably of non-European origin) was consciously secular and is certainly like no girl I know here in London of any religious persuasion I have encountered. The juxtaposition of the two is purely coincidental.

      I am political in many ways – but (and here I make presumptions) I suspect you are based Stateside (?) where religion and sexuality seem to be highly political. In the Britain this ship has sailed rather – religion isn’t on anybody’s political radar here in the same way and extent that US folks are used to. Politicians, for instance, cannot talk about it without committing political suicide.

      Here homosexuality is legal from 16 (as is heterosexuality) and is included in the national curriculum sex education. Barely anyone cares – no one with a brain (even Christians).

      In the past I have touched upon gender politics and how one squares equality and a fair and just society with This Thing That We Do.

      I have also touched upon religion, toleration and the nature of existence in stories such as These Land’s Beyond. But in this case I was hardly subtle.

      For me politics and political discussion is about power and power exchanges and in that context I deliberately steer away from certain areas of debate on what is essentially an entertainment blog.

      But I love that you are reading into or drawing upon ideas in my writing (even if they are not necessarily there) because that suggests that my words have created a believable world and have some depth.

      Thank you.

      I hope that answers your question 🙂

      DJ

  6. I absolutely loved this one! I like when there’s a hint that the girl did enjoy it, even when she didn’t (don’t know if that makes sense, but it’s a feeling I know all too well.)

  7. 13 Hardwood

    A hearkening to days gone by, and with more than a hint of nostalgia?

    Excellent, entertaining, and ultimately elegant.

  8. 15 John

    A well written and interesting story,very entertaining.

  9. 16 George

    If brats look for, why not make them happy?


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