“Miss, please miss, oh, oh…” the irritating freckle-faced Steven Jones was beginning to annoy Ella Castle.

“Tommy, didn’t you bring something in?” She said ignoring the Jones boy. She hated people who misspelled names. What was wrong with good old Stephen with a PH?

Tommy was going to let her down. He even looked like he was going to cry.

Ella had only been the village’s infant teacher for half a term and she was already missing London. At 23, Ella considered herself a lively girl with a keen mind. The small Hamlet of Hogsley End had to be the most boring place in the world. Well the most boring in South-East England anyway.

Still with the job market what it was needs must, she thought as she flicked her thick auburn hair out of her chestnut brown eyes. “Anyone else bring anything in for the other children to see? Anyone?”

“Miss,” Steven Jones wailed out in wheedling elongated tones and thrust his arm up again.

Ella hated children, she decided, what was she doing here? “Steven,” she said finally in a bored voice.

“I bought some strawberry jam, my mum made it,” he said grinning and running up to the front with a large jar without being asked.

“How… interesting,” Ella said with a grimace. “But when I said bring something in, well I meant, something like… an owl pellet or…” she had no idea. She didn’t even care. It was just that Mrs Jones was Michael Dean, the young curate’s housekeeper and consequently could not help lording-it over the village. Especially newcomers like her. She called herself Mrs Jones, but there was no Mr Jones and Ella had heard whispers that there never had been.

“It’s really good Miss, try some,” Steven eagerly opened the jar and shoved it at her.

Twenty-seven eager little eyes fell on her.

Ella returned a tight smile and reached into her desk draw for her yoghurt spoon from lunch. “Fine,” she said curtly. Extracting the smallest possible amount she put it to her mouth gingerly licked the jam-damp spoon.

“Told you miss.” Steven beamed.

Ella was taken aback. The flavour was unexpected; astonishing even. She took a little more and let the sweet but firm flavour dally on her tongue.

“Does your mother do anything special with the…” Ella took another spoonful and mumbled with her mouthful, “jam.”

“Strawberries,” Steven said as if that explained everything.

“I see, yes,” Ella said, not seeing at all but largely ignoring the boy as she took yet another spoonful.

*

In the days and weeks that followed, Ella could get no meaningful information from the boy and her approaches to Mrs Jones had been met with a curt, “I bet you would,” when she had asked “I would like to know just how you… make your strawberry preserve.”

In desperation she had called on the handsome Michael Dean. He was not impressed by the pretty but shallow city girl, especially when she seemed to think that an easy smile and a flash of eyelash could get her what she wanted.

“It’s quite surprising that a… single mother like Mrs Jones can… find the time to make such wonderful jam.” It had been her opening gambit on the subject.

Michael narrowed his eyes and studied the girl hard. She reminded him of a girl he had a crush on at school, all wheedles and wiles, as his mother might have said.

“Yes, she makes it in my kitchen, but that’s all I know really. You must ask her about it,” Michael said folding his arms. At six feet one he towered over the five feet four Ella and for a curate he had broad shoulders and the kind of slightly battered manly visage that suggested he was no stranger to amateur boxing or rugby.

“You should invite me to tea sometime,” Ella said smoothly, “or a… drink.” The last word was said slowly with seduction as if she might be offering something else.

“I’ll put you on the Rector’s list,” Michael said politely.

Ella frowned, tea with the vicar and half a dozen other village big-wigs was not quite what she was angling for, or at least that was what she hoped he would think. Wasn’t it?

“Good day Ms Castle,” Michael brought Ella’s visit to an abrupt end.

Ella was furious. It wasn’t just the jam now. The only eligible man in the village had snubbed her, over what… strawberry preserve. Well she was a city girl and she would show these bumpkins, she resolved angrily. Not that she had the slightest idea how. Not yet anyway.

*

The graveyard adjacent to the parsonage was cold and dark. Somewhere an owl hooted. Ella was supposed to know what kind just from its cry so she could tell the little darlings in her class. Well newsflash, I bunked off owlology at teacher training, she thought angrily. If she had stopped to consider why she was angry, she would have known it was guilt; a guilt born of going through life feeling like a fraud. She was a council estate kid after all and it had taken her years to shake off the chav in her accent. Teaching had been the only profession that suited her pretentious self-image. And teaching little kids was the only way she could be sure that she wasn’t found out.

The owl hooted again. I can’t see a bloody thing, she thought, still angry.

The downstairs light in the vicarage went out and moments later a smaller window lit-up in the attic room somewhere.

“We’re on,” Ella said aloud and tentatively emerged from the undergrowth.

Getting into Michael’s kitchen was going to be a doddle, she grinned wolfishly. She had sussed it out while she was there. Then it would be a simple matter to swipe a jar or two and Ella was betting that neatly filed somewhere would be a recipe.

As she crept up the garden path, she entertained fantasies of making millions selling ‘her idea’ to city people. Maybe she could get a place on Dragon’s Den or the Apprentice, no scratch that, Sir Alan would see through her in a moment.

As she reached the kitchen door she noticed that someone had left the window open. Better and better, she thought. I can get in and they will never know I was there.

It was easy enough to kick up her right black legging-clad limb and hook her heel on the ledge. Then as sleekly as a cat she pulled herself onto the ledge and got onto all fours. Conscious that her bottom was sticking-up in a ludicrous manner she quipped silently, ‘does my bum look big in this?’

Something went clunk as she squeezed through the open window and she froze. The house was still.

This was fun, she thought. The Mission Impossible tune began to play in her head and she giggled. She lowered herself gently onto the inside ledge and then with small dainty steps she skipped along the work surface by the sink and leapt silently onto the floor. Light or no light, she thought. Torch I think, she decided turning it on.

The pantry was straight ahead and she crossed the room in an elaborate crouch, although it was entirely for affect. If anyone had seen her, she would have seemed like some sexy ninja in spray-on black against the dark.

Her charmed entrance was foiled by the pantry door, which would not open.

“You’re kidding,” she said aloud. “Who locks pantry doors?”

The door rattled a bit as she shook it, and then she saw it had an old-fashioned latch. At first that wouldn’t budge either. She hauled on it with her thumb and then palm of her hand. Examining it with her torch, she saw that it had been painted over at some point but a hint of grey between white proved that it had been opened since and was merely stiff.

“Why is it so stiff?” she whispered, her voice sounding harsh in the dark.

Then something went clack and the latch crunched open. The loud squeak as it swung ajar was loud enough to rouse complaints from the neighbours and they were all dead, she thought ruefully glancing out the window at the graveyard.

“Now jam and recipes, jam and recipes,” she chanted quietly as she ran the torch beam along the shelves inside the pantry.

The shelves seemed to hold everything from pickles to breakfast cereals, but no preserves or… Ella turned and looked at the facing shelf over the pantry door. “Got you.”

There were several cookery books next to some binders, which had pieces of paper with handwritten notes sticking out of them. Next to the books were jars and jars of jam.

“I’ll need…” Ella blinked as the light came on.

“What the… Ella Castle, what are you…?”

Ella stood stock-still with a sickened grin on her face as she confronted Michael in his shirtsleeves and bare feet. She noticed that his shirt was half tucked-in and half out of a pair of faded denims as if he had dressed hastily.

“I was…” Ella couldn’t think of a thing.

“You’re burgling my house.” Michael was incredulous.

“No… don’t be ridiculous, I was just…” Ella felt sick. He was right. It was exactly what she was doing. Why hadn’t she seen that until now? “Michael… Mr Dean… Reverend… is it Reverend? I am never quite sure…”

“Michael will suffice for now,” Michael said archly. “I think you had better explain from the beginning.”

*

“All of this is about Mrs Jones strawberry jam?” Michael just gaped as Ella finished her story.

“Well I was…” Now that Michael put it like that, it sounded entirely lame. She pouted and looked at her feet.

They had both been sitting at the kitchen table for some minutes while Ella had tried to explain and now she felt an utter fool.

“You were mean,” she continued.

Michael mouthed her words back at her. His eyes narrowing in utter incomprehension. “What? How?”

“Usually when I make an effort with a guy he… well you wouldn’t…” Ella blushed. She was beyond lame.

“Is this what it is all about?” Michael growled. “You brat. I have a good mind… I ought to put you across my knee and spank you until you can’t sit down for a week. You… I can’t believe this… I am…”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Ella gasped, but if she had intended to sound outraged, she failed. Her eyes went wide and she blushed to her ears.

“I think this is where I am supposed to say something about you taking what’s coming to you or I’ll call the police; but since if I do that you’ll lose your job and well… oh to hell with it.” Michael threw up his hands and stood up. Then he seized Ella’s arm and pulled her up so that she could almost meet his eyes. “You have so got this coming.”

Michael sat down again, pulling Ella across his lap as he did so.

“Look okay, I get it, but you can’t just…” Ella couldn’t even believe what was happening so how could she begin to protest it out loud.

Michael held her firmly so that she felt his thighs pressing into her. She couldn’t see much as a cascade of auburn hair had escaped its hairband and fallen over her face.

Looking down he could see her full round bottom, the black leggings stretched so tight that a hint of pink showed through, he could even see that she wore very brief high-cut underwear. Well if you can be so immodest, he thought. He hooked his thumb into her waistband and dragged her leggings and knickers down to mid-thigh.

“My God,” Ella squealed, “please don’t.”

“Shut up,” Michael snapped slapping her bare bottom hard.

She yelped and desperately tried to cover her bottom with her right hand even as she steadied herself against the floor with her left.

“I don’t think so,” Michael said darkly and took her right wrist in his left hand.

With his right he set-up a hard volley of spanks that rendered her white bottom red in a few moments. Ella yelled angrily at each spank but was far too embarrassed to even contemplate any futile threats.

“Alright, okay, I get it, I’m sorry, please,” she said half reasonably, half meekly.

Michael was in no mood to indulge the brat and gave her the spanking that had long been neglected.

Just then the door opened and Mrs Jones came in. “What on Earth? Miss Castle… what are you…? Mr Dean? Reverend…?”

“Oh God, oh God, please… go away,” Ella wailed.

“Shall we say a prank deserving correction, I’ll put it no more strongly than that Mrs Jones,” Michael said with a determined smile.

Mrs Jones smirked and folded her arms to watch the show.

“Now since you wanted my attention, you are going to get it,” Michael laughed, “on Saturday I’ll call on you with flowers, a more traditional approach I believe and then we will contemplate dinner; if you are a good girl that is.”

“I’ll never talk to you again, you bastard,” Ella wailed.

“Such a foul mouth,” Michael said sternly and renewed the vigour of his spanking.

“Please, I’ll be good,” Ella sobbed.

“Oh I am quite certain of that,” Michael growled as he continued to spank her.

“Since everyone is up I’ll make some cocoa,” Mrs Jones chuckled.

“Good idea, now Ella you can go and stand in the corner while we wait for some hot chocolate,” Michael said finally setting Ella on her feet.

She gaped, “I won’t… I…”

Michael pointed at the corner and scowled.

“Oh,” Ella made to stamp her foot, but thought better of it and turned to face the wall as she had been told.

“Mum, mummy what’s all the noise… oh it’s Miss Castle…” a wide-eyed little Steven said as he entered the kitchen. “Has she been naughty?”

“She just wanted some… jam,” Michael said quickly moving to stand between Ella and the boy.

“Is that why her bottom is all strawberry red?” Steven said, still a little puzzled.

“Yes… you’ve got it. Exactly why,” Michael said.

“Ooh, this is too much,” Ella wailed.

“Oh I can make it much more, if you don’t stay there like a good girl,” Michael chuckled, “wouldn’t that give Steven something to tell the kids at school about.”

Not that Ella knew, but Steven was already asleep again in his mother’s arms on his way to bed. He probably wouldn’t even remember the strange dream he had.

Ends