Punishment Games

"Ah Roberts isn't it?" Inquired Miss Stewart looking up from the small pile of
papers on her desk. The slim fair haired boy standing nervously before her
nodded his head briefly as if he didn't quite trust himself to speak. All his
bravado had disappeared the moment he had entered the new headmistresses office.
Miss Stewart, her long dark brown hair tied in a pony tail, glanced sternly at
the boy and pursed her soft red lips in disapproval. Really how did one deal
with a boy like Roberts. She was understandably reluctant to expel the boy but
felt some sort of example should be made. Twenty years ago when she was herself
a schoolgirl any boy behaving as Roberts had done would have been caned, it
was as simple as that. Of course she was a modern minded young woman and she
knew such methods belonged in the educational dark ages, still she felt the
smallest pang of regret that such an option was not available to her. The
thought of applying six juicy cuts of a cane to Roberts well rounded bottom
appealed to her in some unexplainable way. It was really just what the boy
needed. It was this agreeable train of thought that made her say in a cold hard
voice.

"You are extremely lucky that the cane is no longer used in this school Roberts.
Otherwise you would certainly find yourself bending over for six of the best!"

A fat tear tricked down Roberts pink cheek. Miss Stewart was not at all
displeased to see her harsh words were having some effect on the boy. Her tone
softened perceptibly as she went on.

"As it is I am somewhat at a loss to decide how you should be punished. I may
even have to consider expelling you from the school. In any case your parents
will certainly be informed of your disgraceful conduct!"

By now the boys skinny shoulders were heaving as he was overcome with emotion
and he began to sob as if his heart was in danger of breaking. Miss Stewart tone
softened yet more. Despite her reputation as a strict disciplinarian she was at
times almost kind hearted. It was something she did her best to conceal. She had
overheard one of the junior members of staff refer to her as She Who Must Be
Obeyed. It had brought a smile to her face and she didn't disagree with the
sentiment.

"I know it is upsetting but surely you can see David that you cannot be allowed
to go unpunished. I am going to send you away for an hour to allow you to
reflect. You may take some paper and a pen and compose a note of apology to Mr
Harris. I want you to think very carefully about your future conduct and you
can, if you wish, make a suggestion yourself on how you feel you should be
punished. Bearing in mind, of course, the seriousness of your misbehaviour. Now
off you go and make sure you return to my study in exactly one hours time!"

The boy was astonished, Miss Stewart had never called him by his first name
before. In a funny sort of way it made him all the more tearful. She handed him
one of her own clean white linen handkerchiefs, along with two sheets of foolscap
paper, as he left the study. After he had gone she decided to occupy herself by
tidying one of the large cupboards which was crammed full of odds and ends,
mainly books, left by the previous head. It was her very first term as
headmistress and she liked to think that already no one remembered how new to
the job she was. She had not expected to succeed when she had applied for the
post of head, especially as she was by some way the youngest candidate but
obviously those that had interviewed her had detected something in her character
that could not be ignored. Perhaps it was the natural authority she exuded. In
any case she was not yet thirty and here she was running a prestigious boys
preparatory school with effortless ease, as if she had been doing it for years
rather than weeks.

Several dusty volumes of books, mainly in long dead languages, emerged from the
cupboard which she stacked neatly in two large cardboard boxes. The books were
of no use anymore so she would probably send them along to the local church
jumble sale where quite possibly no one would buy them. Then right at the very
back of the cupboard, behind two large jars of purple ink, she felt rather than
saw an unfamiliar shape. It was a cane. Thin and dark with a traditional crook
handle. She was secretly rather delighted to find it hidden amongst the dusty
books. She tested its springiness by smacking it vigorously across the plump arm
of the dark comfortable armchair which stood in the corner raising a small dust
cloud as she did so. She felt the smooth patina of the wood, probably it wasn't
made of bamboo which she remembered tended to splinter. When she was a child she
had experimented by repeatedly hitting the boy next door across his bottom with
a bamboo cane taken from her fathers vegetable garden which had eventually split
in half. The memory brought a smile to her face as she pictured the look of
absolute agony on the boys face after each terrible cut of the cane. She was
quite a strange little girl in some ways although she recalled being extremely
fond of the boy she could never resist the chance of inflicting dreadful acts
of cruelty on his person. He of course accepted these painful interludes as the
price he must pay for playing the "parfit knight" to her "la belle dame sans
merci."

Once she had made him bend over a chair and she had hit him so hard on his bare
bottom with her mothers large black ebony hairbrush, it had quickly turned both
cheeks of his backside the colour of ripe cherries. However she got so carried
away that she failed to hear the door open and her father had caught her in mid
swing. She could never forget the surprised look on his face. It was a bitter
humiliation for her although her father had been amused rather than angry. She
of course had blamed it entirely on the boy and had exacted an even more painful
revenge a few days later.

This was her nature then and now, even in adulthood she recognised she had
changed hardly at all from that terrible, smiling little girl. As well as being
capable of surprising cruelty she was on occasions tender hearted and she was
not without a conscience. At times she despised herself for the way she treated
a boy who so obviously adored her. It was such fun being loved by someone
although he knew he could never hope to have his love reciprocated he always
continued to love her. She wondered why all this should come flooding back to
her now. Perhaps the boy, Roberts, with his girlishly pretty face reminded her
in some way of her old playmate.

Miss Stewart hesitated, for one moment she even considered putting the cane in
one of the cardboard boxes, let the church jumble sale make of it what they
will, but no, it was much too nice an object to give away. She placed it
carefully back in the cupboard and locked the door. Not that it would ever be
used but it held a certain fascination for her. If only she had possessed such
a thing twenty years ago she thought to herself. The next fifty minutes she
spent adding her dry and perceptive comments to a seemingly inexhaustible pile
of end of term reports until a light knock at the door interrupted her. An hour
had passed already, it was Roberts returning with a sheet of paper full of his
neat and tidy writing. He had dried his tears and was looking a little more
cheerful although understandably somewhat apprehensive.

"Place it on the desk will you please. Now David have you had a chance to
reflect on your misdeeds?" She asked. Her eyes never left his as she spoke. Her
skin looked unnaturally pale against her sleek dark hair. She held herself so
impossibly still as she gazed at him.

"Yes Miss," he replied. "I th-thought Miss."

She nodded her head. Just the faintest coaxing, a gentle encouragement to
continue.

"That I-I deserve to be c-caned please Miss."

"You do indeed deserve to be caned but I am not permitted to cane you, as caning
has been abolished in this school as well as in nearly every other school in the
country. We must find another option I am afraid."

"Oh please Miss!" He pleaded. Was he really that keen to be caned? Didn't he
realise how much it would hurt. Still she was tempted, sorely tempted.

Already Roberts looked on the verge of tears again. She stared dispassionately
at his pale, handsome face. His blue beautiful eyes full of tears. Yes he did
look disturbingly like that boy who adored her long ago. It was uncanny. He had
the same almond shaped blue eyes and something about the fullness of his lips
was very similar too. The likeness she found slightly unnerving. Obviously the
boy didn't want his parents to be told, a caning would of course be painful but
afterwards the matter could be forgotten. Perhaps she could, just this once!
Before she knew quite what she was doing she had stood up from her chair and was
walking towards the cupboard. The small silver key was already in her hand. She
unlocked it and retrieved the thin dark cane. She closed the cupboard door and
turned towards Roberts. His mouth had fallen open in surprise. It was as if
unknowingly he was taking part in some tense psychological film with subtitles
and rather than a thin cane in her small elegant hand she held a blood stained
axe.

"Please stand by the armchair in the corner, David."

Still he did not move. He stood there staring at her, his face a mask of horror.
It was beginning to occur to him that perhaps he didn't want to be caned after
all but it was too late to have regrets. Much too late. Her eyes seemed to
hypnotise him and he found himself walking unsteadily over to the armchair. As
he waited there, he glanced over his shoulder. Miss Stewart was stood there
motionless, the cane resting lightly in her hands.

"David," she said. "You are getting what you asked for. I hope this will always
be our secret."

"Yes Miss," he replied. It would of course always be their secret.

"I am afraid this might be rather painful for you. You will of course take your
punishment in dignified silence and you will not move until you are told to
move, otherwise I shall take down your trousers and your underpants and we will
continue the rest of the punishment on your bare bottom. Is that quite clear to
you David?"

It could hardly have been clearer. He nodded his head in mute acceptance. The
idea of being punished on his bare bottom by Miss Stewart was a deeply
disturbing one. His whole being seemed to tremble and all his senses seemed to
possess a peculiar sensitivity, he could hear the rustle of her skirt as she
passed behind him. He could smell the faintest hint of the perfumed soap she had
used that morning. When he looked at her he was struck by how dark her hair was,
how very red her lips were against the paleness of her skin.

"Bend over the chair." She said. He rested his elbows on the padded arm of the
armchair. His head fell forward, his blonde hair, which was longer than school
rules allowed, almost brushing the seat. The twin cheeks of his behind stood at
a perfect angle for chastisement. He tensed himself waiting, waiting for the
cane to fall. It tapped pleasantly against the taut surface of his bottom. His
trousers were really a little too tight, once, twice, the cane bounced then
nothing and just when he thought it was never coming.

Crack

A searing pain exploded across his behind. He gulped for air frantically like
someone drowning, desperately he filled his lungs. He screamed his whole body
rigid. Again,

Crack

the cane sounded like a gunshot as it landed, he fell in slow motion, off the
armchair onto the carpet crying. He felt a strong hand grip hold of his arm and
lift him as if he was a bag of feathers. Once more he found himself perfectly
positioned over the armchair.

Crack

The cane fell again. It was relentless. He screamed lunging forward so the heavy
armchair thudded against the wall.

Crack

Before he could regain his balance he felt himself pushed into the chair and
again.

Crack

Then before he even had time to scream

Crack

It was six of the best. Six of the very best. A punishment that whilst not in
any way cruel or sadistic will never be forgotten. It will be remembered, every
last detail, until his dying day. As he lays there sobbing, still draped over
the armchair, he has no idea that the events of this day will never leave him.
How much they will occupy his dreams. Miss Stewart places the cane gently on 
the table. She leans over the young boy still bending over the armchair. His thin
shoulders rise and fall as he sobs. Softly she strokes his hair. Nothing is said
as she holds him tightly.

The next morning he wakes up. She has kindly brought him up a mug of hot
sweet tea. His bottom is still very sore although he is now no longer a
schoolboy. During the night, disturbingly, he has aged at least twenty years.
Miss Stewart, no longer asleep, no longer quite so stern, is naked beside him,
the faintest suggestion of a smile, hovers somewhere between her lips and her
eyes.