Part I

Annabelle Guthrie stood with her forehead pressed to the one-way mirror and watched Janice’s birching. So far it had just got to the part where a woman approaches the boundary between the sting in her tail she can cope with and the real under burn that grows and grows until it feels as if her bottom is being scourged with a flaming bundle of brambles.

Janice Benton was no exception and her hissy little grunts were quickly becoming angry groans tending towards wet wailing. Then she screamed.

And we have a winner, Annabelle cheered inwardly as she bounced up and down. It had certainly taken the girl long enough, she thought as she cast an admiring eye over the very raw textured tracery that marred the hapless Janice’s tender curves.

It hadn’t been hard to break away from the other trainees, after all most of them were just here to go through the motions, but not Annabelle. She was the original bad girl who was never caught. Not that she didn’t fantasise about what might happen if she were, but at the moment she was more focussed on her other hobby; dishing it out.

But all too soon the birching ended in a puddle of sobbing and Annabelle pouted. She had to console herself with the knowledge that the girl was up for a serious dose of the cane before she would be cut loose and Annabelle, for one, couldn’t wait.

Taking a step back she leaned into one hip and licked at the shiny red gloss on her full pouting lips. Her pale face was framed by dark black-brown cut to a severe bob that came to dagger points at two horns of hair level with her cheeks. This served to emphasise her deep brown eyes that held an intensity that suggested that they missed nothing. Miss nothing they did, for just then Annabelle saw that the birching had ended and Janice was being put in the corner for a good cry.

It was about then that a rather naughty thought began to form in Annabelle’s mind and she grinned.

*

Janice couldn’t stop crying, not that she wanted to. No, the great heaving sobs were cathartic if anything and almost served to distract her from the intense burn in her bottom; almost, but not quite, for she had never felt anything like it. The tiny bites of many were many and sharp and seemed to writhe in a sea of sore. Rubbing was verboten, but she couldn’t imagine her fingers would serve her too well just then.

“I wish you would…” Drayton began, “You know…”

Not that damn appeal form again, Janice rolled her eyes and grimaced, the faux hope a small distraction from the pain. She had come so far, if she held the course she could dine out for years on this anecdote, not to mention the other fringe benefits when she was alone in bed.

But Drayton didn’t say more and merely led her to the corner, while the hot coals that used to be her bottom globes followed at their own pace.

“Wait there, I’ll be back in a while to finish this,” he said. Then he was gone.

Janice thought about the appeal form and why it was such a get out clause, or pretty damn close to it. If she was here to be punished, a fact her throbbing backside just wouldn’t let her forget just then; then why the mitigation? No, there was much more to this she just knew it. Maybe it was a test of her integrity, an initiation of some kind perhaps?

Don’t over think it girl, she scolded herself, you screwed up and now you’re being punished. She was believer and her submission was an end in itself, it didn’t need another purpose. Still she winced and realised that she had been clenching on the pain and tried to relax. Big mistake; the blood rush to her tail made her eyes water as the pain renewed. Fresh tears leaked at her eyes and she made little fast puffing noises like a child blowing on hot food.

Janice had barely got herself under control when the door opened behind her. This seemed too soon for Drayton, but so be it, if he was ready then so was she. She straightened up as she faced the wall and pushed her hot bottom out behind in defiance.

“Janice Benton,” said an officious female voice behind her.

Janice startled and almost broke discipline as she stole a hasty glance backwards. The young woman with the ill-fitting spectacles and the clipboard was more than just pretty, but she had a severe Cruella Deville look about her with a dome of dark hair reminiscent of a very chic storm trooper.

“Eyes front,” Annabelle scolded and adjusted the borrowed glasses and affected a glare.

She hoped she didn’t look too much like a trainee and she was gambling that Janice was too far into her submission to dare question Annabelle’s non-existent authority.

“I am here to give you a test caning,” Annabelle said sharply.

“A what?” Janice blurted.

“What did you say?” Annabelle barked.

“Nothing Ma’am I just… isn’t Mr Drayton… eh… punishing me?” the girl facing the wall asked meekly.

“Absolutely, but I have to do a quick precursory application, just to test the… eh… equipment,” Annabelle lied. “We can’t have our staff using sub-standard equipment can we?”

Janice thought better of saying anything and tried to make herself look small.

“Come and bend over the bench,” Annabelle said licking her lips, “I want to give you six… um… no I mean… 12 strokes.”

“For a test?” Janice squeaked nervously.

“Quite so, quite so,” Annabelle said gruffly, adopting a brusque manner.

*

Drayton was surprised to find Janice still sobbing hard when he entered. She had been doing so well and it had been almost 40 minutes since he had left her to settle down. Well, enough was enough, she was damn well going to… then he saw her bottom. There were perhaps 15 or more fresh cane welts scoring it from cleft tip to the under curve of her rounds. He had seen more expertly caned bottoms, but someone had decent enough go.

“Wh-what hap… I mean,” Drayton said in a flustered voice, “I see you have been ah… caned already?”

Janice sniffed and nodded. “That woman,” she said, “She said, she said…” A fresh sob escaped her miserable visage.

“Yes, yes, quite right,” Drayton said sharply, “Sorry I was called away; glad my… my colleague could finish you off.” There was no sense in distressing the girl by telling her she had been duped, probably by one of the students.

“Finished?” Janice said hopefully.

“Yes that’s right, I’ll sign off now,” Drayton said with a tight smile, “You did it.”

Janice exploded with a sigh and immediately brightened.

“Mr Drayton Sir,” she said with a wet smile, “Thank you ever so much and I am so, so sorry.” She extended a hand.

“My… my pleasure,” Drayton said shaking it.

“You don’t happen to know my colleagues name do you?” he asked casually as Janice painfully got dressed.

She gaped and made a silent motion with her mouth as if fearing she was failing a test.

Seeing her confusion Drayton waved the words away and shook his head. “No matter, I’ll get it from the tape,” he said with an evil smile that failed to extend to his eyes.

Janice shuddered.

*

Janice paced the railway platform using slow careful steps. Each footfall on the hard concrete flared in her bottom, but walking was still better than standing, which only made her bum ache. For a moment she eyed the hard passenger benches wistfully, perching there would have been a joy about then, but her sitting privileges had just been revoked by Drayton. As it was, it was going to be a long ride home and it was one she was going to undertake standing up.

She looked forlornly up the track for the train that would take her home. It wasn’t due for another two minutes, but still she hoped for some sign of it. Every garbled croak on the speakers made her heart sink and she expected an announcement of a delay.

There were only about a dozen passengers waiting with her, but Janice could meet anyone’s eyes. There were even two teenage girls sat in a huddle giggling and she imagined that they knew she had just been punished. Of course they didn’t, no one did and she allowed herself a sly smile.

It was oddly exciting to be in public while her bottom continued to cook under her skirt. She hadn’t even been able to put her knickers back on and the intimate breeze was thrilling. Although the tighter garment chaffed, she thanked God she wasn’t wearing a loose, wind-vulnerable dress; she blushed at the potential hazard.

Janice grabbed at her behind and winced. She could feel both rounds of her bottom like two hot heavy spheres jutting out conspicuously behind. It was going to be heaven to soak it later, but at the moment rubbing just didn’t help and was way too embarrassing with an audience.

She thought about Drayton and how in a strange way she liked him. He was certainly a master at his craft and her bottom felt on fire with a gravel graze that just wouldn’t quit. She didn’t like the cane strokes though, not because they continued to describe hard lines of ache across her bottom, but because they felt out of place as if they had been an afterthought. Somehow she knew that if Drayton had caned her, then her punishment would have fit together more and it would have been complete. What was that woman all about?

The more she thought about she realised that there had been something about Drayton’s reaction to her caning that spoke of a mystery and she had a sudden insight that he hadn’t meant it to happen. Janice blushed as it occurred to her that she had been duped.

*

Annabelle Guthrie was sitting on her bed reading when the call came. She frowned. People almost never called her at the institute and an internal call to her room was unheard of. Butterflies stirred tentatively in her tummy.

The voice on the other end was terse and feminine, she was told to report to reception.

“Sure, what…?” she said with a shrug, but the woman was gone. “Oh well,” she sighed and put the magazine down and stood up.

It took her moment to check her lippy and smooth her skirt and hair, but then she sauntered out the door into the world like she owned it.

Reception was through the rose garden in the main building and Annabelle had never been here in the evening, not after all the day visitors had left. Day visitors, she chuckled at the euphemism. True from the outside the institute looked like a college campus. They even ran business seminars, but not the usual kind.

Annabelle wondered if in-house discipline was the way to go with her career, maybe this was where she should be. She was still pondering when she reached the reception desk.

“Annabelle Guthrie,” Annabelle announced arrogantly, “Someone wants me?” She looked bored and examined her nails.

“An adjudicator wants to see you,” the woman replied disapprovingly. She was grey in dress, hair and demeanour, one of the faceless officious ones Annabelle would never be, and they both knew it.  “Mr Drayton,” The woman added, allowing her words to ascend in tone at the end as if she was asking a question or wasn’t certain.

Before Annabelle could ask, the woman handed her a slip with the room number and pointed up the hall.

“This looks like a…” Annabelle began and her tummy did a waggle dance.

“Yes?” the dour woman said sharply as if she were too busy.

Annabelle shook her head and sneered. “Thank you,” she dismissed the woman.

The slip was just an internal note form; the punishment ones looked the same but were pink. This paper was white. Also adjudicators didn’t work at night, a fact Annabelle used to crush any creeping concerns about her summons. Maybe this was a careers chat, she thought, it would be about time she was noticed.

*

Annabelle knocked twice and then swept in to Drayton’s office.

“You Drayton?” she asked the man inside.

He looked at her curiously as if looking at a rare species of creature.

“I am Mr Drayton, yes,” he said lightly, but with emphasis on the mister. “You must be Annabelle Guthrie.”

“Must I?” Annabelle said haughtily. “Yeah, I am.” She made a so what face and sagged onto one hip indolently. “What do you want?”

“I want you to go out and knock again. This time wait until I answer ‘come in.’” he said with a casual firmness of one accustomed top being obeyed.

Annabelle sucked in her cheeks and considered her options. Then she rolled her eyes and in an exasperated tone said “fine.”

She sauntered through the door again like a visiting princess and closed it behind her before inspecting her nails. She counted to five in her head and then indolently wrapped on the door thrice and then she silently counted, knowing he would be.

She got to four before he said, “Come.”

“Are you Mr Drayton?” she said breezily and made a courtesy.

“I am,” he said pleasantly.

“And how can I help you?” she asked with an exaggerated pleasantness.

“I am so glad you asked,” Drayton said matching her tone, “I wondered if you might watch a short movie with me. I think you will find it interesting. “Your supervisor over at Alpha Corp certainly found it so.”

Annabelle exercised her lips with her tongue and rolled the attitude back a notch or two. Although she continued to smile her eyes now darted nervously in her head.

“Sit down Ms Guthrie,” Drayton invited, but his words were definitely not a request.

Continued.