Chapter 7

After spending what was left of Sunday evening worrying about the next morning and cuddling into a bottle of Auchentoshen fourteen year old malt, I tried to get some sleep... but Morpheus, despite my not having slept the previous night, refused to visit me. I recall hearing the local church bells striking four... and then I awoke with a start and the sun streaming in through a crack in the curtains. I glanced at my bedside alarm and discovered that I must have either slept through the damned thing or, more likely, have switched it off in my sleep before rolling over. Whatever the cause, the result was the same - it was now eight-thirty and not only wasn't I going to be early getting in to work, I wasn't even going to be on time!

Barely pausing to shave and visit the bathroom, I hastily donned a white shirt pairing this with one of my very conservative suits and matching tie. Breakfast was skipped totally and my normal cup of tea was downgraded to a snatched glass of water and, within a few minutes of getting out of bed, I was screaming down the street on the Bonneville which, thank god, had started at the first attempt. Luckily, the roads weren't too congested and it had only just gone ten past nine when I turned the engine off in the company car park that, decades before, had been used as the stable yard behind the inn long since converted into the offices of Blackwall, Roger and Smith, solicitors of this parish over several generations. The building itself was one of those black and white Tudor piles that date back over four hundred years, just the sort of place to broadcast respectably all in this very middle-class, conservative and prosperous market town. Dragging off my bone-dome, I sprinted up to the front door where I paused, tried to collect myself... and then entered.

Oddly, nothing happened. Well, that's not strictly true for a few people glanced up and said 'good morning' while one or two of my fellow wage-slave solicitors tut-tutted in a jokey manner as they pointedly looked at their watches... but there wasn't the reaction that I'd expected - no sniggers, no gasps, no whispers or pointed fingers - nothing. Looking around, I headed to the small office that I shared with a colleague, who, as soon as I entered, informed me that the Boss (with a capital 'B') wanted to see me as soon as I arrived. "You really ought to try to get here on time, you know... this constant tardiness was bound to get you into trouble one day."

I nodded my head and agreed... and then asked, as casually as I could manage, if there had been anything of interest in the e-mail. "Not really - a few bits about that conveyancing on that house in Station Road you're handling but nothing of real interest." I smiled, thanked him and headed out of the door towards the boss' large office at the back of the building. As I walked along the corridor, I tried to figure out just what could have happened... could the e-mail have gone to the wrong address? Maybe my Mistress had simply transposed two letters in the address line and the damned thing had gone nowhere and had already returned to Her with one of those annoying messages from A.O.L. saying that they couldn't deliver the stupid thing? Whatever had happened, it looked like I was off the hook - thank god! With a sigh of relief and a bounce in my step that hadn't been there went I entered the building, I arrived at the door that was my destination with its gold leaf inscription 'Senior Partner'.

I tired to calm myself down, to get my emotions back under control - after all, I was here to be chastised and I would have to look and sound suitably apologetic... but at least I wasn't going to be fired. I knocked... waited... and then, on cue, entered.

Miss Blackwall sat behind her desk, the same one that her father, her grandfather as well as her great-grandfather had used before her, and sternly looked over the top of her half-moon spectacles at me. She was dressed much as she always was - brown tweed two piece suit with the skirt falling below her knees, flat heeled brown brogues, a silk blouse with a frilly ruffle down the front and a large broach pinned to the lapel of her jacket. This attire, when combined with her spectacles and shortish white curly hair, all added up to give the impression of a reliable, middle fifties-something matron - which was exactly the effect she wanted - whereas, as I knew for a fact, having done a little private research into the matter, that she was, in reality, only forty-two although she still carried the altitudes, morals and work ethics of a fifty year old. The office was, of course, decorated to enhance this impression of reliability with all the furniture being of heavy, dark mahogany with ornate carvings on the legs and all of it at least a hundred years old. Piles of dusty leather backed books filled every shelf and, with the blinds half closed as they were now, there was a certain gloom about the place broken only by the light from the reading lamp placed on her desk.

I knew I was in trouble from the moment I walked in - the two straight backed chairs that were normally positioned before the desk for the use of visitors had been pushed back against the rear wall so that I was forced to stand before her, my hands clasped behind my back, like a pupil before the headmistress. "Close the door, would you, Mister Jenkins?" she asked of me in neutral tones. Not wanting the world to hear my chastisement, I was only to glad to do as I was told before returning to my place before the desk. "I hear that you've been a naughty boy, Mister Jenkins, " she started without preamble before pausing and awaiting a reply.

I cleared my throat. "I... er... I'm sorry about being late, madam. It... erm... my motorcycle wouldn't start..."

"This has nothing to do with your perpetual lateness, Mister Jenkins, " Miss Blackwall cut in, opening a drawer and lifting out a pile of papers which she tossed onto the highly polished surface of her desk so that they spread out before me, the correct way up for me to see them. Not that I had to look very closely to know what they were - laser printed photographs of me dressed only in woman's panties and stockings, photographs of me doing housework in a maid's dress, photographs of my having my cock sucked by a young boy of barely legal age... and copies of my letters describing in graphic detail of how I liked to piss in my own pants.

My heart sank as I looked up. "I... I don't know what to say..."

"You might start by thanking your lucky stars that I was the first one in this morning, having arrived early to check over some details before a meeting later. You might also like to thank me for knowing more about computers than I'm generally given credit for and for making sure that all this stuff has already been deleted from the system and that no-one else in this office has, or will, see it."

"Thank you, madam, " I said, meaning every word.

"However, that is not to say there will be no reparations on your part. I will give you two choices - you can resign, here and now, collect your belongings and leave..." (Which was exactly what my Mistress had said they would do.) "Or you can take your punishment like a man and get it over with."

"Punishment? What... what do you mean by that?" I asked, nervously.

Miss Blackwell got to her feet and started to cross the room. "As I'm sure you are aware, my great-grandfather before me used to be Senior Partner in this firm; what you might not know is that, in his later years, he used to be a Justice of the Peace when that position held real authority in a district. But even then, many of the cases that came before him in court were a waste of time and money with some youth accused of a minor crime that he would plead guilty too before being handed down a short custodial sentence - all of which cost more money. Anyway, my grandfather, along with several right thinking local police officers, came up with a solution that saved the tax payer money and still taught wayward youths a lesson..." She reached a small cupboard at the end of the room and opened it - and hanging from a rack mounted behind the door was a selection of canes, just like the sort so beloved by teachers in children's comics. She paused and looked them over before carefully making a selection which she withdrew with reverence and swished experimentally through the air a few times. "Ah, yes, " she mused lovingly, "a Wilkinson and Ridge 'Chastisement'... manufactured by craftsmen in the 1860's and never surpassed..."

"And, as a matter of interest, what if I accept neither of those options?" I asked dubiously.

She turned and headed back towards me. "In that case, Mister Jenkins, " she replied in a calm and considered tone, "I will be forced to forward your file to the Bar Association... you are, I believe, still studying to become a barrister?"

"Yes, I am, Madam."

"And you therefore accept the punishment?"

I swallowed and nodded my head.

"Very well. Take off your jacket, drop your trousers and your pants..."

"What?" I broke in. "Surely I can keep my underwear on... ?"

"No. You will receive six of the best on your bare flesh and be thankful for it. Now, do as I say, then bend over and grasp your ankles."

Hardly daring to take my eyes from her, I slowly pulled off my jacket and hung it over one of the chairs. Next came my fly and a slow lowering of my trousers and all the while Miss Blackwall stood there, flexing her cane and watching my every move, her breathing quickening and becoming shallower. 'My god!' I realised, 'She's getting turned on over this!' Bowing to the inevitable, I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my Y-Fronts and pulled them down. My boss ran her eyes over my crotch and licked her lips; "Bend!" she ordered... and, grasping my ankles, I did so, my unprotected bum being thrust out behind me. Miss Blackwall took up a position to the rear, drew back her arm... and then brought the cane swishing quickly back so that the wood struck the fleshy part of my buttocks with a firm 'thwack!'. The pain was immediate and much more acute that I had imagined possible. "Jesus!" I heard myself gasp as I took an involuntary step forward.

"Now, now Mister Jenkins, " Miss Blackwall corrected severally, "I will stand for no blaspheming. Nor should you move forward like that. Instead, you should stand your ground like a man and thank me for showing you the error of your ways."