It was not an unfamiliar situation for her. Pacing up and down the hallway as silently as she could, painful memories flashed through her mind; of her previous encounters in the same room; of all that had happened within its walls; of how very uncomfortable she had felt as she had departed less than an hour later.
After one particularly vivid and painful memory, she carefully checked her appearance in the full length mirror on the wall opposite for the umpteenth time, glancing guiltily at the camera in the corner of the corridor. He was a stickler for all rules, she knew that too well; especially those involving uniform, and expected her to pay particular attention whenever she was summoned to the study.
Vicky knew he would be particularly strict today and if she had in any way transgressed the Uniform Code, there would be immediate and painful consequences for her. Starting from her feet, she quickly compared every item of her clothing with the list of alternatives he would find acceptable.
Shiny black court shoes - less than one inch of heel. Check.
White knee socks - clean, pulled up straight and to the same height. Hmm some adjustment needed. Check.
Regulation kilt - pleats ironed smooth, no more than six inches above the knee. Check.
White cotton shirt or blouse - neatly pressed, tucked all round into the kilt. Check.
Tie - red and black stripes, without food stains, tied neatly. Check.
Make-up - none allowed. Check.
Her long dark hair - pulled back into pony tail and secured with bobble. Check.
Oops! She had nearly forgotten to check underneath.
Bra – regulation white. Unattractive and uncomfortable. Check.
Panties – regulation white and big! Check.
Satisfied that she would pass at least the first, most obvious test, Vicky fidgeted, hopping from one foot to the other as the clock’s big hand moved closer and closer to her appointed time of two-thirty.
Tick. Tick.
With each passing second her tummy bubbled with butterflies as she tried to picture what was to come. She had stood outside the study so many times and for so many offences she couldn’t count them all, but the common, unmistakeable theme was clear; when she left the room later that afternoon, she would be humiliated and in pain.
Tick. Tick.
So why did she keep on transgressing? Why did she repeatedly commit offences that she knew would result in a summons to the study and its invariably painful consequences? Did she secretly desire humiliation at his hands? What was it about him that made her come back time and again?
Tick. Tick.
One minute to go. She checked her reflection one last time. Oh God! Her nipples were hard and clearly visible through the thin material of her cheap bra and shirt. Please God, may he not notice!
Tick. Tick.
There were only seconds now before it would all begin. Would he be angry? Would it really hurt this time? How would she explain herself to everyone afterwards? She glanced again at the camera; had he been watching her on the video all this time, enjoying her nervousness?
Bing-bong-bing-bong. Bing-bong-bing-bong .
The clock chimed the half hour. Must be prompt! Mustn’t be even a minute late!
Vicky took a deep breath, pulled her shirt away from her erect nipples to try and conceal their arousal and knocked twice, firmly on the hardwood door. There was a familiar pause; he always made her wait, was that just to make her even more nervous.
“Come!”
The voice was deep and commanding. Vicky took the brass door knob in her hand, turned it shakily and entered the study.
For a room in which punishments routinely took place, the study was at first glance surprisingly unintimidating. The walls were a bright friendly yellow-white with colourful modern prints hung symmetrically around them. The woodwork was painted white, the ceiling was high and sunlight streamed through the large, clean windows and onto the polished wooden floor.
The furniture was modern too, with a large pale oak desk facing the doorway and various sizes of cupboards and cabinets around the walls. Three dark, state-of-the-art video cameras stood on tripods as if their probing lenses were surveying the room and its contents but apart from that it could have been the office of a modern, busy business executive rather than a place of chastisement.
And yet that was exactly what Vicky expected as she tentatively crossed the floor to stand before the desk on the large rectangular piece of dark-coloured carpet that lay there. Vicky knew this carpet well; it was known as the 'spanking rug’; dark in reputation and in colour, brought out of storage when punishments were required and used in case any messy accidents should occur during their administration.
Accidents were not unknown during a punishment and as she nervously took her place, Vicky remembered one such occasion when her punishment had proved too much for her self-control and she had disgraced herself in front of him, to her severe humiliation.
Her knees trembling, she stood silently in front of the desk behind which he sat, his head bent over a pile of documents, his computer screen glowing blue alongside. Her shoulders slumped and her toes pointed awkwardly inwards, waiting for the man responsible for her future discomfort to address her.
He wrote neatly with his left hand, the paper skewed sideways before him. There was a dark birthmark on the base of his thumb, about the size of a fifty-pence coin; Vicky had seen this mark many times in many circumstances but none more ominously than today. She tried anxiously to read the paper upside down on his desk but failed.
“Miss Jenkins. On time for once, I’m pleased to see,” he finally addressed her without looking up. “A welcome improvement on your usual tardiness!”
“Sir!” She responded as if unsure whether to say yes or no and not wanting to make a mistake.
He looked up at her, his eyes surprisingly warm, his dark hair still thick on top of his head. Despite her predicament Vicky couldn’t help feeling strongly attracted to this man, the difference in their ages smaller than might have been expected. For a second, he gazed at her, his eyes sparking and with a mischievous expression on his face, then he shrugged, leaned over and opened the bottom left hand drawer of his desk, removing a heavy ledger-style book which Vicky recognised only too well. He laid it on the desk in front of him.
“Miss Jenkins, after our last appointment I had hoped that you and I would be seeing rather less of each other in circumstances such as these. I have never believed that any person is beyond hope, but sadly it appears that in your case the leopard cannot change its spots and we are destined to continue our somewhat painful relationship.”
Vicky looked down at the carpet in what she hoped was a convincing gesture of remorse.
“Yes, Sir. Sorry Sir,” she mumbled apologetically.
“These are the rules with which everyone living under this roof must comply,” he said, tapping the book with his index finger. “You agreed specifically to comply with these when you arrived but you do not appear to understand what compliance means, young lady.”
“Yes, Sir. I mean no, Sir!” Vicky’s nerves were getting the better of her.
“So once again I must ask you to bring me the punishment book,” he ordered, nodding to the corner cupboard behind her.
The routine was familiar, but made the anticipation all the more nerve-wracking. She turned and crossed to the largest cupboard, bent over and turned the key in the lock. Her bottom was directed towards him, her kilt riding up slightly giving him and the cameras a glimpse of her regulation white panties. The well-oiled door swung open and she took out the large hard-covered book that lay on the top shelf, noticing with concern the rack of canes, slippers and straps that hung from hooks in the space below. Standing up shakily, she turned and returned to the desk with the ledger, placing it nervously before him. He barely looked at her.
“Thank you, Miss Jenkins. Now stand up straight on the carpet while we go through the formalities.”
Vicky stood almost to attention as he flicked through the pages of the book, some almost blank, others covered in dense writing until he came to a double spread on which there was a rather large amount of neat, hand printed black ink.
“Your record for this year, Miss Jenkins.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Not an enviable record, girl, and one to which I must now add yet more entries.”
“Yes Sir.” Vicky’s mind flicked back over all the previous times she had stood in that office and how each encounter had started in a similar way.
“But this time the offences are rather more serious than on previous occasions, are they not?”
“Yes Sir,” she replied, a little puzzled but knowing better than argue or do anything which might enrage him at this critical stage of the interview. Instead she watched as he wrote the date and time in the columns of the book in his neat, left-handed print, then raised his head and looked her straight in the eye before picking up several familiar slips of paper from his in-tray.
“I have no less than four separate complaint slips on my desk for four separate offences on four separate occasions. Congratulations Miss Jenkins. You have established a new record.”
Vicky squirmed in her shoes and wriggled her hips anxiously as she contemplated what the consequences of a full four offences might be. She had expected to be confronted with two complaints but had no idea what her third and fourth offences might be.
“Let’s take them in turn, shall we?” he said sternly, bringing her back from her reverie and placing the first slip face up before her. “Would you care to read the contents aloud?”
Vicky made a show of bending over to read but she already knew the contents of the first slip.
“Slovenly behaviour Sir,” she read quietly. “Failing to make the beds properly or tidy the rooms for which I am responsible,” she saw him raise an eyebrow, “three days in a row,” she quickly added.
“And…” he prompted.
“And this is the third occasion this year I have been before you for this offence.”
“That’s right, girl,” he said coolly before placing a second slip in front of her. “Now read this please.”
Vicky bent over again and read the clear, neat handwriting.
“Dressing immodestly, Sir. For the second time this term,” she said quickly, hoping to avoid further wrath.
“This was the New Year party was it not?” he asked. Vicky nodded. “Speak up, girl!” he raised his voice angrily.
“Yes, Sir!” she replied quickly.
“And the specific attire?” he prompted. Vicky bent over and read the slip carefully.
“Wearing an inappropriately short dress which clearly showed her... my… panties....”
“Go on, girl!”
“The... the panties themselves being of a thong style specifically prohibited in public. Also attending a public function unsupported... Sir.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning without a bra, Sir.”
“Hmm,” he muttered.
Vicky began to feel nervous. Although she had faced punishment many times before, her offences had never sounded as grave as they did now, and there had never been so many of them at one time.
A third slip of paper was passed over towards her. This time she read it carefully, unsure what it might contain.
“Rude and impolite behaviour,” she read aloud.
“A complaint made by me personally after the extraordinary gesture you made towards my back as I left the kitchen on Friday evening,” Vicky’s mouth fell open in amazement. Did the man have eyes in the back of his head? As if reading her mind, he continued, “You forget that the side of the refrigerator is highly polished and makes a very effective mirror, girl!”
“But Sir…” Vicky began then checked herself. There would be no flexibility here. Best keep silent.
“And finally…” he slid the fourth slip over to her. Vicky bent over again to see the complaint. Her eyebrows flew upwards in surprise.
“Read it, girl!” he ordered.
“But Sir, you asked …”
“Read it!” he cut across her protests.
“Flagrant and brazenly inappropriate behaviour during a public event,” she read slowly, her voice trembling. “Please Sir. When was this, Sir?” she asked anxiously.
“The New Year party once again, girl. Read the details!”
“Flirting excessively with at least two male guests including inappropriate physical contact with at least one such guest in the cloakroom following the Midnight Chimes.”
She fell silent.
“You didn’t think you had been observed, did you?” Vicky was dumbstruck. “DID YOU?” He thundered.
“No, Sir!” she stammered, “I’m so sorry Sir! I’m so sorry…”
“It’s too late for that, Miss Jenkins. Now stand quietly while I enter these offences in the ledger.”
Vicky’s tummy rumbled and groaned as she watched him painstakingly write each of the four offences on a separate line in the Punishment Book. Her knees trembled, bravado weakening fast as she contemplated the extent of her offences and the punishment that must inevitably follow.
When he had finished writing, he turned the book towards her.
“I must now formally ask you whether you accept that you did commit these offences and whether you accept the standard punishment as prescribed in the rules.”
Vicky’s voice nearly failed her.
“The alternative is that you must leave this house immediately,” he added. “I assume you wouldn’t want that, Miss Jenkins.”
“No Sir,” Vicky said quickly, “I… I accept the punishment!”
There! She’d said it. Now at least it would soon all be over, but please make it soon!
“That’s a sensible girl,” he said slightly less sternly. “Now sign against the four entries please, to indicate you have chosen to be punished here rather than excluded.”
Vicky bent over the desk and, with a shaky hand, wrote her name untidily against each line in the book. Then she stood back, her knees trembling, her bladder suddenly painfully full, and waited while he flicked through the large book of rules. Every so often he would pause and write something down on a slip of paper, occasionally cross something out, then make changes to others before finally doing something that looked like adding up a column of figures.
“I’m afraid, Miss Jenkins that this is by some distance the harshest punishment I have ever been required to deliver to a young lady. The gravity of your offences and your multiple appearances in my office in the past have all multiplied the prescribed punishment to a level which I fear might cause significant and permanent damage to your body if it were to be administered in full.”
Now Vicky was really scared. Her belly fluttered wildly, her knees knocked together and she thought she felt a tiny trickle of pee run down the inside of her thigh.
“Sir! Please…” she began to beg but he spoke over her attempted protest.
“So for my own peace of mind I will see whether there is any flexibility in the rules – which by the way I am obliged to follow and which you have just agreed to submit to.”
He returned to the book and, over the course of a couple of minutes, made a few amendments to his hand-written list.
“The grand total for your offences is the equivalent of forty strokes of the cane.” Vicky felt faint. The most she had endured so far had been six and that had left her unable to sit down for three days. Her cheeks had been striped for nearly two weeks afterwards. She whimpered.
“However, I can offer you a choice,” he held the paper in his hand as if reading from a book. “If you were to choose to be caned on your bare bottom instead of panty-clad then this could be reduced by half to twenty strokes.”
Vicky’s head span. She had only been spanked on her bare bottom twice before and knew how much it hurt. But then surely another twenty strokes would hurt much more, even with her panties still on?
“Sir, I’ll accept whatever you think is best for me. Thank you Sir,” she stammered, hoping he wouldn’t find her words too sycophantic.
He looked at her suspiciously as if suspecting her of insubordination, then resumed his professional air.
“Very well Miss Jenkins. Please bring me the longer cane and we will begin.”
As Vicky went back to the cupboard, he crossed to the corner of the room and fiddled with the buttons on the nearest video camera. She returned with a long, slender pale brown cane with a traditional hook at the end.
She handed it to him silently, her eyes lowered.
“Thank you. Now would you please remove your skirt?”
Vicky’s fingers trembled as she fumbled with the two leather straps and buckles that held her kilt tightly around her slender waist. Eventually the first, then the second clasp was released and the end of the material was freed. She carefully unwound the skirt from around her waist and folded it neatly.
“You can put it on the bench, Miss Jenkins.” He said surprisingly softly. Vicky placed the folded cloth on a low wooden bench which stood against the wall. She recognised the bench; in previous years it had featured in more than one of her ‘encounters’ in the study, lying face down with her bottom exposed.
As he spoke, he removed his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. Vicky noticed the brown leather patches on its elbows and dimly registered the fact that over the years he had worn the same jacket every time he had punished her. She would never forget its appearance and characteristic smell.
“I suggest you remove your tie and unfasten your top button too. You are likely to need to breathe freely in a short while.”
She gulped at this ominous advice but complied, folding her tie and placing it on top of her skirt before returning to the spanking rug and standing self-consciously before the desk in her white shirt, white socks, shiny black shoes and big white panties.
“Thank you, Miss Jenkins. Now, let us get this distasteful task over with. Assume the position please!”
After her many previous visits, Vicky knew too well what was required. She crossed the room, took an old, high-backed wooden chair from against the wall and placed it in the middle of the rug. Standing facing the chair, she bent over at the waist and grasped the hard seat tightly in her hands; her legs still straight; her panty-covered bottom facing the corner of the room; her head resting uncomfortably against the chair’s upright back. She felt very exposed and vulnerable.
“If you are sure of your choice, you must lower your panties now Miss Jenkins.”
Vicky gulped, uneasily reached back and slipped her thumbs into the side elastic of her panties then nervously eased them slowly over her smooth buttocks, down her long thighs to her knees where they bunched ludicrously only inches away from her inverted face.
To her horror, she could see that the crotch was already damp with a mixture of arousal and the tiny trickle of pee that had escaped her. She bent lower over the chair, her naked buttocks presented fully to him, her vulva clearly visible between the tight flesh of her cheeks.
Suddenly, the quiet in the room was broken by a loud ‘swoosh, swoosh’ sound and she realised he was swinging the cane through the air behind her. Oh God, Vicky thought, he’s warming up! She raised her eyes slightly but could only see the jacket hanging over the chair, its leather patches towards her face.
“I am required to let you know how the punishment will take place, although given your history you will already be far more familiar than a nice girl should. With the cane,” he continued, “I administer the strokes in batches of four, firstly to the top of each buttock, then to the rump and finally to the underside. The latter is likely to be by far the most painful but it will be over quickly. Do you understand, Miss Jenkins?”
“Yes, Sir!” Vicky felt very nervous now. This was indeed a much more serious punishment than she had ever received before. Her head, hanging upside down over the seat, nodded as her knees shook. She thought they might even buckle as her thighs trembled and she held on to the chair for support.
“I will tap you lightly on the bottom three times before each stroke to allow you to brace yourself but otherwise once I have started the punishment will continue until it is complete.”
Vicky, too frightened to speak, couldn’t respond.
