Miss
Watson belonged to that class of women whose age is impossible
to guess: anything between fifty and thirty. In her imagination
she did not run an office, instead she was the girls’ strict
guardian. Her wardrobe was shapeless and colourless. Everything
was buttoned up as far as buttons went. Skirts and dresses
revealed not much more than ankles. She would run naked down the
High Street rather than wear trousers. Occasionally a sliver of
ice was apparent beneath her nose, which Malone one day
recognised was her smile. She was one of the last ascetics in
Western civilisation.
But
Malone had come to see someone beyond this; someone whose
emotional reticence and often unforgiving nature revealed a kind
of austere beauty. Their relationship had developed in an
extraordinary way and one day they discovered a profound, mutual
secret.
“What was
all that business outside about, Miss Watson?” asked
Malone.
“The
young woman has just been dismissed, Mr Malone. A catalogue of
incompetence over some months.”
“I
see.”
“Obviously the decision requires your authority. I’ll bring you
the paperwork shortly.”
“A pity.”
“Is it?
She really is completely inept.”
“What’s
her name?”
“Nicole.”
“A pity.”
Miss
Watson felt this point had already been made and did not seek to
prolong the exchange but Malone did.
“She
seemed extraordinarily upset,” he ventured.
“She says
she’s desperate for the work. Already in great debt, apparently.
Bailiffs all but round the corner. You know the sort of thing?”
Malone
nodded thoughtfully, “Very pretty, I thought.”
Miss
Watson did not reply and continued to stare at him without
conveying any thought on his observation.
“Don’t
you think so, Miss Watson?” Malone sensed some weakening in the
hardness of her face and waited for her reply.
“Personally I wouldn’t have thought she was especially pretty
but she does have large breasts, which I suppose is what you
mean.”
Malone
now adopted a lighter, more whimsical tone. “No, no, Miss
Watson, come now. I can think of women whose natural endowments
are far more modest than young Nicole’s but who are nevertheless
very attractive, indeed very desirable women.”
Malone
looked straight into her face to ensure that she had fully
grasped the import of what he meant. She fiddled with one of the
buttons of her blouse, exhaled very slightly and moved her lips
towards the promise of a smile.
“I will
bring the paperwork for you to sign later,” she said, departing
from the room.
It was much
later that day when Miss Watson returned with the paperwork.
“The folder concerning Nicole, Mr Malone. All the details of the
matter are included together with the authorisation form for her
dismissal.”
Malone
looked pensively but rather distractedly through its contents.
“Miss Watson, I have been thinking about this matter.”
“Yes, I
thought you might.”
Malone
looked up in surprise. “Why did you think that?”
She
casually shrugged her shoulders, “I have worked for you for six
months now. I like to think I know you quite well.”
Malone
liked this reply and sat back in his chair with a broad smile on
his face. “Well, you’re right, I’m sure. And it’s true we do
share certain,” he waved his hand as he searched for the most
appropriate phrase, “enthusiasms.”
“Inclinations,” she offered.
“Inclinations, yes. As ever you are more articulate than I am.
So, armed with these deep insights into my character, what made
you think I might have been thinking about this case?”
“I have a certain intuition that certain kinds of women
affect you in…certain ways.”
“Really,
curiouser and curiouser. And what kind of women are they?”
“Mr Malone, I
have much to do and would be grateful if you would sign the form
in order that I may get on.”
Malone was not
prepared to curtail this discussion so easily. “Would these kind
of women be rather like the Irish girl we have since promoted to
Accounts, whose case we dealt with some months ago?”
“Anthea. Yes,
she and Nicole are rather similar.”
“Then I think we
may offer her the same arrangement, don’t you?”
Miss Watson
searched his face without expression and then replied, quietly,
“I am sure that can be arranged.”
“Excellent. Ask
her to come in.”
“Yes, Mr
Malone.”
Miss Watson
quickly returned, with the young woman following immediately
behind. She looked very young, only about nineteen but Malone
had already checked her file and she was in fact twenty-four.
She looked distraught. Her eyes full of tears still. She was
pretty but in a very youthful way: not old enough to be called
attractive. She had naturally black curly hair, a slender figure
and large breasts that were made to look even larger by
presiding over a very slender waist.
Malone
began with his kindly father voice, “Nicole, I have here an
authorisation for your dismissal.” He looked up at her but she
did not reply. “This file,” which he lifted from his desk,
“contains a damning series of failures.”
Very
quietly she murmured, almost inaudibly, “I know.”
After a
long pause, he continued, “I would like to see if there is an
alternative solution to this problem.”
Briefly
something like life flickered across her face.
“I am
given to understand that you have serious financial
difficulties, is that the case?”
“Yes, Mr
Malone, very serious indeed. My flat is in danger of
repossession and today I received a final reminder for my gas
bill. I tried…” but at this point she was engulfed once more in
tears.
Miss
Watson walked from the back of the room and spoke rather sternly
to her, “Come on now, dry your eyes and listen carefully to what
Mr Malone has to say.”
“I’m so
sorry,” she sobbed, guiltily.
“Nicole,”
Malone began to speak with gravity and deliberation, “I want you
to listen very carefully to what I am about to say. You have
made many mistakes, some of them quite serious but to be thrown
out of your home and on to the streets is a terrible punishment,
out of all proportion to the offence.”
She
nodded, desperate to grasp at some wreckage.
“So…I am
going to suggest an…alternative. I am not in favour of long
drawn out punishments. If you home is repossessed you will be
punished for years afterwards and that you do not deserve. I am
going to offer you another job, in Accounts.”
“Oh, Mr
Malone…”
“One
moment, I have not finished.”
Malone stole a
glance at Miss Watson who until now had listened impassively.
Her eyebrows were raised for the job he was referring to had
been earmarked for someone else. “Not only will you have a job
but you will be paid more. However, I cannot overlook these
offences. There has to be a price”
Until
this last sentence Nicole had broadly speaking followed events,
although mystified why he should be so kind when they had never
even said good morning.
“When I
was a schoolboy, a long time ago, of course, when things were
very different to what they are now, misdemeanours were dealt
with swiftly. You were ordered to present yourself to the Senior
Master and in nine times out of ten you would be caned.”
Nicole
now lost the thread of Malone’s explanation. She stood without
moving or speaking.
He
continued, “Three, four, five, six strokes, sometimes more. It
was excruciatingly painful, rather like someone had just placed
a red-hot poker across your backside. For about fifteen minutes
your backside burned and you did not know where to put yourself.
But slowly the fire died down and all that was left was a
throbbing sensation. An hour later the worst was over, although
the marks lasted days, and you got on with your life. If your
home is repossessed, Nicole, the pain will last longer than an
hour, won’t it?”
“I’m not
really following this, Mr Malone.”
Malone’s
easy going, patient manner now disappeared. “I’m offering you
not just a job but a better job, with more money but first you
must be punished for what you have done.”
Suddenly
she began to have some sense, however confused or incredible,
about what he was saying. She screwed up her face in disbelief,
suddenly turning around to look at Miss Watson in the
expectation that she would see on her face the same horror and
incredulity that she was feeling but she saw something quite
different: what she saw was collusion and she felt sick. Turning
once more to face Malone she was about to pour on him all the
vitriol she could manage but recognised, before she could
conjure a single syllable, that she was trapped. The
repossession letter was on her kitchen table. She stood
perfectly still, closed her eyes and took a series of deep
breaths and refused to cry again and so add to their pleasure.
She
began, speaking with punctilious deliberation, “So, all that
stuff about…schoolboy canings… that’s what you propose to do to
me, is that it?”
“In
return a better job and more money. Or if you prefer, it is an
alternative to being homeless and on the streets.”
Quietly
she told him, “You are vile.”
At this
Malone briskly took hold of the file, “OK then, Nicole, I will
sign this dismissal authorisation and we will not trouble you
any further.”
“No!
No……I …I…”
“Well?”
Her head
dropped onto her chest, barely audibly replying, “I have no
choice.”
“I need
consent, Nicole.”
Slowly
her lips faintly parted and something emerged as though it was
some poison was being expelled from her body, “I…..con….sent.”
Malone
threw a very quick, satisfied glance at Miss Watson as she
fiddled with the button on her blouse. “Just before we finish
Nicole, let’s be quite clear what agreement we have made. I
would like you to listen very carefully because the arrangement
must be carried out to the letter. You will return to this
office this evening at six o’clock, thirty minutes after
everyone has left. You will receive, from me, six strokes of the
cane. Once this has been successfully completed, that is to say
all six strokes, you will be given this folder that contains all
the details of your recent shortcomings, including copies, so
that no-one else will have any information on you. You will of
course, be free to dispose of it as you please. Do you
understand all of this?”
She held
her head in her hands for a few seconds and then stood up
straight and spoke quite clearly, “I understand.”
Trance
like she left the room. Miss Watson walked slowly towards
Malone’s desk.
“Impressive, Mr Malone, very impressive indeed. She emerges with
a better job and more money. Those breasts must have been even
better than I realised.”
Malone
stood up and put on his coat, “I am going to get a bite to eat.
Can I safely leave the arrangements with you?”
“Of
course, Mr Malone. It will be a pleasure.”
He left.
Miss Watson’s
footsteps echoed loudly as she walked through the empty building
towards Malone’s office, turned the key and went in. To begin
with she turned on the brightest lights in the room although
they would soon have to be dimmed. The office was large but
Malone’s furnishings were confined to about one third of the
space leaving the rest almost entirely empty. Miss Watson walked
over to a corner of the empty space to an old, rather shabby
chair that was incongruous with the rest of the furnishings. She
picked up the chair and carried it over to the centre of the
large, empty space and positioned with it great care. She walked
back and looked at it from some distance, moving slightly to her
left, then to her right, eyeing it carefully as if it were a
piece of art work and she a connoisseur. It was not quite right
so she adjusted it very slightly and stood back and checked it
again until finally satisfied. She then removed a cloth from her
bag and began to dust the chair with a peculiar gentleness,
especially the seat and the very strange, very low back. Finally
it was ready. She had now only five minutes before Nicole
arrived, if she was going to.
She now
produced from her purse a key that she kept separate from her
office keys and opened a draw beneath one of the cupboards and
withdrew a long, old fashioned, crook handle, school cane.
Whenever she saw this she felt some mysterious fusion of awe and
fear and she could never resist the urge to cup her finger and
thumb around it just at the point where it straightened out from
the handle’s curve and then drew her hand all the way down to
its tip; at the end it bent slightly in the opposite direction
to the curve of the handle. It possessed all the suppleness that
produced that exhilarating swishing sound that always caught her
breath. At the same time it was hard and firm. She thought it
had a peculiar, phallic beauty.
She took
it over to the chair, one hand at either end and placed it
carefully, dead centre on the seat, parallel with the backrest.
There was a knock at the door and she jumped – it was Nicole! On
the ceiling immediately above the cane and chair was a spotlight
and she moved quickly to dim it to its lowest setting. She
opened the door. It was Nicole.
In the short
time that lapsed since Nicole’s departure something had happened
to her. She came into the room in a mood of complete
acquiescence. No doubt not returning was uppermost in her mind
when she left but she knew she was doomed if she did not; the
only way she could deal with this nightmare was abject
subordination to Malone and his adjutant. She looked like an
exhausted, lifeless animal, chased into exhaustion, now here to
accept her solitary option.
“Give me
your coat, Nicole,” Miss Watson said, “this will all be over
soon.” Without a word or expression, she slipped off her coat.
“Now,
Nicole, Mr Malone will be here very soon and there are some very
important things I must explain to you before he does.” Miss
Watson moved behind Nicole and turned on the spotlight that hung
over the chair and cane. There it stood for the young woman,
isolated from anything else, organised in a bizarre and perfect
symmetry.
Very
quietly, she murmured, “Oh God!”
“Come
over to the chair, Nicole.” She led the frightened young woman
to beneath the spotlight and pointed to precisely the spot where
she should stand, which was behind the back of the chair but as
near to it as possible.
“Now listen very carefully to what I am about to say; we
have little time. Very soon Mr. Malone will knock on the door
and we will have only seconds before he comes in.”
Nicole never
took her eyes off Miss Watson throughout this preliminary but
not a muscle in her face even flickered.
“When I give you
the command I want you to bend over the back of this chair and
clasp your hands firmly on these struts, do you see?” Nicole
nodded. “It will stop you from being propelled upwards during
the more painful moments.” Nicole closed her eyes at this. “Your
face must remain flat on the chair’s seat, do not at anytime
turn your face sideways, however powerful the urge may be. Your
legs must be tightly together throughout. Finally, you must not
get up during the punishment. I am afraid if you do you risk
additional strokes. Remember that Mr Malone’s agreement requires
you receive the full complement of six strokes. After the sixth
and final stroke you must remain in position until you are given
permission to stand up. You will not, during the punishment see
Mr Malone at all.”
At this she did
briefly look quizzically at Miss Watson. Then the knock came
followed by a sharp intake of breath from Nicole but Miss Watson
remained quite composed.
“Come now,” she
said in a vaguely reassuring manner, “we must get this done.
Bend over as I told you and make sure you clasp those struts
very tightly.” In a single movement Nicole obeyed.
Miss Watson
stood immediately behind her and absorbed the bent, prostrate
young woman. Her fingers went unconsciously to the button on her
blouse. She saw how tightly the skirt stretched across the
girl’s buttocks. Realised how flimsy was the protection for the
young skin. How much it was going to hurt. She took a step
forward until her own body was almost touching Nicole’s and laid
her hands gently on the young woman’s haunches and whispered,
“Are you ready, Nicole?” She was.
Miss
Watson walked to the door and admitted Malone. They did not
speak. He removed his jacket and hung it up. Miss Watson walked
back to the chair, collected the cane and handed it to Malone.
Nicole remained motionless and silent. Miss Watson took up a
position on the other side of the chair close enough to repress
any upward movements the girl might make. Malone waited a few
moments, the cane limp in his hand, in order that he could be
sated on the image of the abject young woman, noticing also how
tight was the skirt. Suddenly the cane was raised and placed
with great care across the middle of the target area, tapped a
few times, to indicate the imminence of the punishment.
The first stroke when it came was cruel, not because of its
severity but because of its leniency, leading the young woman to
believe this was what it would be like. Only a brief, quiet and
quickly truncated gasp followed. The second strike, however,
fell with ferocity across the middle of her rump, a shower of
dust rising from her skirt, reminding Miss Watson of the times
in her youth when her mother would beat the dust out of carpets.
Nicole let out a piercing cry but Miss Watson’s hands were
hovering just above Nicole’s head to catch her as she jerked
upwards. Suddenly Nicole emitted a high pitch whimper,
simultaneous with the kind of heavy breathing usually brought on
by vigorous exercise. The second stroke landed on exactly the
same place; the following two fell on the top of the legs; the
fifth was brought downwards to onto the very highest point of
the buttocks; the final one back to where the first two landed.
Each stroke brought the same piercing cry, deep moans, muffled
cries of “no more, no more!” and the continuous loud, heavy
breathing. On the final stroke she almost evaded Miss Watson’s
attempts to keep her on the chair, “Wait! Remember what I told
you!”
When
Malone finished, Miss Watson stood momentarily still to ensure
that Nicole had remembered the instructions to remain in
position until she was told to move: she had. She walked over to
Malone; they stared into each other’s eyes briefly before she
gently wrested the cane from his hand and placed it on his desk.
She took his coat from the peg, held it open whilst he put his
arms through it and then he left. At no point, from the moment
he entered the room until the moment he left, did they speak.
Miss
Watson walked over to the supine young woman, who was still
heaving and whimpering. She noticed when close up that that
there were creases across her skirt where the cane had landed.
“You may
get up now, Nicole,” she said almost inaudibly.
Nicole
pushed herself upwards with effort but needed to halt briefly
resting her weight heavily on the back of the chair. Her eyes
were deep red and her face soaked with tears.
“Here,
dry your eyes,” said Miss Watson offering a tissue, “time to go
now.”
She
retrieved Nicole’s coat and held it for her but the girl seemed
mesmerised and limply pushed her arms through the sleeves as
Miss Watson held the coat for her. She stood face to face with
the girl hoping for some voluntary movement but it never came,
only the same heavy breathing. Miss Watson pulled the two flaps
of the coat together to fasten the buttons and as she did so she
felt the urgent but soft press of Nicole’s breasts against her
fingers.
“Time to
go,” she repeated.
This time
Nicole turned around and made for the door at which point Miss
Watson handed her the file.
“I will
see you tomorrow morning,” she said, “and remember, you are
truly one of Mr Malone’s girls now.” She responded with the
gentlest of nods. “And you will not be a naughty girl again,
will you?”
For the
first time a sound came from her lips – just, “no.”
Miss
Watson watched her limp across the landing until she reached the
stairs and then closed the door. She returned to the room,
carefully lifted the cane from the desk and returned it to its
allocated place inside Malone’s cupboard. She walked towards the
chair and briefly took in again its solitary and frightening
aspect. When she had placed it back by the window she looked
outside and saw Nicole walking slowly towards the gates. Miss
Watson’s finger, which was gently stroking the first button on
her dress, now slipped involuntarily downwards and she was
suddenly brought back to life when she became aware of the
hardness of her nipple. At this, she dropped her hand, turned
around briskly, took her coat from the peg, turned off the
lights and left.
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