A woman is reprimanded for at work, and her mind drifts back

By a new writer to us,

Dick Templemeads

I earned the nickname ‘Punctual Pat’, as I have always insisted on arriving everywhere on time. This quality was a factor which contributed not only to my becoming both Head Girl at St Josephine’s academy, but also to my recent promotion at Gilbert House publishers. However as with the headmaster played by John Cleese in the film Clockwork, there are times when even the most pedantic of timekeepers can be late, and disastrous consequences can result.

Today is Friday, and until Wednesday I had never been late in my five years at Gilbert House, yet now I’ve been three days late in succession. It therefore came as no surprise when Mr Gilbert rang down and asked me to see him.

I knocked on his office door and entered.

“Sit down, Patricia.”

I sat, and he came straight to the point. “I appreciate it’s out of character for you to be late, but three consecutive days is not what I expect of my new office manager, particularly when she only lives five minutes walk away.”

Before I could mount a defence his phone rang and as he engaged in conversation my mind wandered. What could I tell him? Surely not the truth, that I’d spent the last three mornings enjoying a tryst with my new boyfriend Matthew? Then my mind drifted further back, to ten years ago when I was Head Girl at St Josephine’s, and I’d done exactly the same thing, being late three mornings running because I’d been snogging in a street adjacent to the academy with my then boyfriend, Mark. Seems I always fall for guys with Biblical names. Soon I was in deep and painful recollection.

I’d been summoned to the study of Mrs Walton, who took much the same approach as Mr Gilbert appeared to be taking before the interruption, that tardiness was out of character and not acceptable for her Head Girl. Moreover she had spotted us on her way into school and noticed that Mark’s hand was up my skirt. Indeed it had been, albeit for the very first time.

I recalled that I was in a panic; what punishment would I receive? I’d never even had a single detention, now I feared expulsion, suspension, being stripped of my coveted Head Girl’s status, all or any of which would damage my certain place at university.

But Mrs Walton was aware to all this, as I stammered some rather weak apology, and added that Mark and I had got over amorous and that it hadn’t happened with such intensity before, which was true.

She merely responded: “Patricia, I propose to punish you with a severe caning after which, other than to record this in the punishment book as a caning for lateness, nothing else need ever be mentioned on the subject. Do you accept this form of punishment?                     

I’d never even been spanked before and certainly did not relish the cane, which my friend Vanessa, who’d felt it twice, told me was extremely painful. However it was deserved and preferable to those other  punishments I had feared, so I mumbled: “I accept, Madam.”

The Head rose from behind the desk. “Very well, Patricia, remove your blazer and hang it on the back of the spare chair. Then walk to the end of the room, remain facing the wall, lift your skirt up above your waist, bend over and touch your toes, and don’t look behind at me.”

Shaking like a leaf, I did as instructed, though once I had bent I could not resist looking through my parted legs and watched transfixed as she selected a long thin crook handled cane from one of half a dozen or so hanging from a rail in a corner cupboard. I averted my eyes as she walked towards me. Soon I would experience the cane for the very first time.

But first she said in a chilling tone: “I think, Patricia, that as you were eager for your boyfriend to take your knickers down, you should also do so now.”

‘Oh, no!’ I thought, but did no more than stand and push my pale blue knicks down to my knees, consoling myself with the thought that as they were rather skimpy they would not have provided much protection anyway, though anything was better than nothing, and I felt even more vulnerable. With pants at half mast, I once again touched my toes and pledged to myself that I’d be brave.

A swish announced the cane’s descent. It landed, and for a second I felt nothing; where was this much feared pain? Then it kicked in and I gasped, my bum felt on fire after just one stroke.

The second stroke followed, but again I did no more than gasp though the pain was building up all the time. As I prepared for the third I gritted my teeth, it landed even harder than the first two.

As the cane was drawn back for number four I gritted my teeth tighter and closed my eyes. Every stroke was harder and the fourth drew a moan from my lips.

As the cane was drawn back for the fifth and penultimate time, tears started to flow and I screeched as it landed. Then the final stroke reduced me to sobs and it took me several minutes before I composed myself, and painfully pulled my knickers back up over my bottom in which the pain was intensifying rather than subsiding. Indeed pulling my knicks back up was further punishment in itself.

The punishment was never mentioned at school again and, thanks to a free period, I had regained my composure before lessons commenced.

That night in bed the pain had subsided to a warm glow, not just in my bottom but between my thighs, and that same feeling was there the next day when with my parents out for the evening I again lowered my knickers, that day they were lacy black ones, this time to show Mark the damage. As he rubbed cold cream into my scarred rear he told me that after the canings he had received he’d also felt aroused.

Needless to say that with both of us turned on by what had happened the day before when I’d lost my caning virginity, my physical deflowering occurred. So engrossed was I in my thoughts that I’d not realised Mr Gilbert had finished on the phone and had been addressing me once more.

“So you agree Patricia that if this continues I will regretfully have to take that action?”

I’d not taken in a word he’d said. “Yes, Mr Gilbert, I do agree. If I’m late again you will need to cane my bottom.”

He gasped and blushed vividly. “I beg your pardon, Patricia, but I said no such thing! I actually said I would need to reconsider your promotion.”

It was now my turn to blush. “Sorry, Mr Gilbert, I was thinking of something that happened in my past.”

“Well think about the present and get your act together,” he snapped. Then he added: “But perhaps there is some merit in your suggestion.”

Time will tell what happens, but in the meantime I intend to revert to being Punctual Patricia.

The End

© Dick Templemeads 2013