The later train

Two trains, fifteen minutes apart, wend their way from central Stuttgart to the suburb in which I’ve been working this week. The first – always packed – arrives at 07:44, allowing the commuters to enjoy the five minute stroll up to their office at a relaxed pace.

Yesterday morning, I took the second – still well before I needed to be at work. It pulled in at a minute before eight; the smartly-dressed young lady in front of me set off up the hill in haste.

I pictured the conversation a few minutes later, in her senior manager’s office, the door firmly shut behind the new graduate and her mentor. “Remind me of your contractual start time, young lady?”

“Eight o’clock, sir.”

“And your arrival time this morning?”

“Almost at eight…”

“Almost. But not at. And not for the first time this week. Your colleagues can make the earlier train: why can’t you?”

She’d have no good answer, of course. It’d be a simple choice: a report to HR with a formal warning noted on her employment record – or he’d deal with the matter there and then. She’d have seen the cane hanging on the wall on her very first visit to his office; it had silently dominated every conversation since, and now her fears and curiosity would be satisfied.

“Eight strokes would seem an appropriate number,” he’d explain calmly, patting the top of his desk. “Bend over…” And they’d be administered slowly, thoughtfully, across her tightly-stretched black suit skirt.

Afterwards, as he made her dry her tears before venturing back to her desk, he’d offer words of support: how well she was doing, how much they liked her. And then she’d be gone… until the next time, which would naturally be on the bare.

—

Now, of course, my mind’s wandering deliciously. He’s her ‘mentor’ as well as her senior manager, offering her encouragement as well as discipline. She’s been curious about the cane. There’ll be a next time. Oh dear, my nice non-consensual fantasy may just, you know, have deeply consensual undertones… And that wouldn’t possibly do. Oh no…!