The strict tutor

Marianne looked nervous as she walked into her tutor’s room – and rightly so. For he’d given her a chance the previous week when she’d failed to complete her French homework: she’d vowed to work on this week’s assignment diligently. And, with a day to go before it was due in, she’d not even started.

Mr Jenkins was decidely unimpressed. Breaking her promise to him? Lured outside by the unusually sunny September weather? Clearly, nipping such behaviour in the bud was essential.

The poor girl looked downcast as he asked whether she’d been caned at school. Shyly confirming that she had been, she looked downright scared when her tutor picked up the heavy dragon cane and told her that he intended to deal with her soundly. Six strokes over her demure dress for her lack of commitment; six more to follow on the bare to teach her the importance of discipline in relation to her studies.

Oh, how bravely she took the hard strokes, bent over with her hands resting on the arm of the sofa. How she shivered as he lifted her dress halfway through, and lowered her knickers. How they striped her. How cruel it was of him to add an extra stroke when she stood up and rubbed her bottom after the twelfth. How she winced when made to sit at the hard wooden school desk to study straight afterwards; how diligently she worked.

And how very lovely it was for Emma Jane and I to play again, after a summer when it was the last thing on our minds; how beautiful she looked: how tightly we hugged after. It wasn’t the end of the evening’s play – before I had to head reluctantly home, she ended up over my knee, then taking eight more strokes of the cane. But it was a very special little scene, and one I’ll remember for a long while. I really rather want to meet Marianne again…