Oh, how we’d conspired. The “Official Notification of Corporal Punishment” despatched to Stone, Kay (Miss) by the UK Judicial Authority, bearing the royal crest. Confirming her sentence of 18 strokes of the cane and noting the date and time at which it would be administered. “Requiring her to report”. Accompanied with detailed guidance notes for her to review. For her to worry about.
The text message reminder the afternoon before, reconfirming her appointment. (The emails in parallel: so full of anticipation).
The other text message, shortly before the appointed time: “One hour to go: big hugs for you, from me. One hour to go: I hope Kay is terrified – from Mr Jenkins.”
She’d been told to arrive at 6pm sharp, and that:
Failure to attend your appointment in a timely manner on the date specified may result in the administration of additional strokes, at the sole discretion of the Punishment Officer.
She duly rang the doorbell several minutes early. I left her standing in the hallway, facing the wall. I watched, of course, from the top of the stairs: “Take your hands out of your pockets, and stand up straight.” And then, once the hour had reached six precisely, I walked downstairs and showed her into the room. She confirmed her name and that she understood the reason for her visit.
She started to plead – that the offence hadn’t been that serious, that a caning… “I have no interest in your offence. That was a matter for the courts. My only duty is to administer the punishment that the magistrates determined once they had found you guilty. Now, get undressed.”
A look of shock crossed her face. Confusion. A pause. And then, slowly, reluctantly, facing away from me: compliance. Facing away, until I ordered her to turn around and put her hands on her head.
She already knew what was next:
Prior to the commencement of the punishment, the Punishment Officer is required to confirm that you are in good health.
“Bend over.” I touched her for the first time. An innocent touch, full of threat. “You seem healthy. Is there any reason why you should not be punished today?”
“Only that it’s a ridiculous law…”
A long pause. “For that comment, I shall give you three extra strokes. Now, shall we sign the paperwork?” Each of us respectively:
I confirm that the Offender appears to be in a fit state to receive the sentence of corporal punishment pronounced by the court.
—
I confirm that I am the individual named above, and that I know of no sound reason why the Punishment Officer should not proceed to administer the sentence of corporal punishment pronounced by the court.
Hands cuffed. Marched upstairs. Taken into the punishment room: her first sight of the bare floorboards, of the desk over which she would be bent to be whipped. Of the canes, on the rack on the wall. “Unfortunately, two of the canes have been broken recently in use, so I am limited in my choice.” That didn’t appear to help her nerves.
Hands untied. Ordered to bend over. The camera: the rules required that:
A photographic record may also be kept where this is deemed appropriate.
I deemed it appropriate, before commencing her flogging. Purposefully. Unhurriedly. Observing her reaction. Watching the white lines striping her skin, then blossoming to red. Listening to her hesitant counting.
Halfway through, I decided to test her. Four strokes in rapid succession. A girl moving out of position. The four strokes re-administered. Harder. And then back to the slow, methodical beating.
The eighteenth and last. The hardest. Only not the last, as a girl moved. And the rules had been clear: “Did you accept that stroke ‘in a seemly manner’, young lady?” “No, sir.” Re-administered. Harder.
We still had three to go, of course, for her initial misconduct in the hallway. With the prison tawse, my most severe. Nearly breaking her. Nearly. Before there were more forms to sign; more photographs to be taken; before she was marched back downstairs and ordered to dress.
Or not to dress…
—
I’ll draw a veil over the rest of the proceedings. The lighter cane and its consequences. The abusive head prefect, when a girl was summoned to his room. What happens to a girl when she’s put to bed. What happens to a girl when she wakes up in the morning.
What happens when two people’s kinks coincide so beautifully, the first time they play.
Simply wonderful.
Perfect play.
“You see the girl the courts convicted of vandalism was Samantha Jennifer; my name is Jennifer Samantha. Someone at the UK Judicial Authority made an error and…”
The matron smiled tightly. “Yes, quite. Most definitely an error. You see, the name is listed in the court documents last name first, as Jennifer, Samantha, so perhaps the data entry clerk misread it. Of perhaps they THOUGHT it had been transposed, and corrected it. Or perhaps they simply cut-and-pasted it and removed the comma.”
“The point is, I didn’t vandalize anything. I was in New York at the time, actually, closing a rather important merger.”
“Of course you were,” the Matron said, barely glancing at the proof Samantha handed her. “They’re quite overwhelmed down at the Judicial Authority, and mistakes like this happen all the time.”
“Yes, indeed. When I called them they said they were too busy to handle any corrections, and said I should bring my documentation to my scheduled punishment hearing. They said you would handle it. ”
“Indeed we shall. Please remove all your clothing and straddle the whipping bench so I can get you strapped in.”
“But…”
“Not to worry. In a few weeks you’ll receive a letter acknowledging the error and documenting the expunging of your record. In the meantime I have three dozen upstanding citizens waiting on the other side of that curtain, anxious to witness a young girl getting a genuine disciplinary thrashing. Your failure to obey me has just earned you three additional strokes. Shall we go for six?”
Swallowing hard, Samantha began to unbutton her blouse, trying to ignore the twinkle in the matron’s eyes.
What a perfect scene. What a perfect writing. And what a cruel thing to do to end the post where you did!
I especially like the sound of what happened in the prefect’s room! Damn, I’ll have to imagine now!
Perfect, perfect writing. Such a fun scene, and such a pleasure to play with you