Harriet's Arrangement

The Cane and the Punishment Desk

"Notes."

He held out his hand, expectantly. There hadn't been quite the same level of pleasantries this evening when she had arrived, and as soon as she had entered the study he had made his demand. She pulled the notes he had commented on earlier out of her bag and handed them to him.

"Corner," he said, his voice clipped, and as she obeyed, she saw him saunter to his desk, flicking through the notes. She assumed the expected position and tried to tell herself to breathe. Clearly the close call with Kieran had irritated or angered him – or perhaps upset him... and she knew she was going to pay for that this evening.

She heard him behind her, scribbling. She imagined red pen circling all of her scruffy mistakes and felt a stab of loathing. How dare he pick up something that was supposed to be for her own personal use prior to writing up a full report.

She stood quietly until he called her back, and obediently crossed the room to stand before him where he was pointing. She kept her eyes down, slightly afraid to meet his gaze, but as always, he instructed her to lift her eyes to his.

"These are full of mistakes," he said, tapping her notes with the end of his pen – red, she noticed –, "I have no idea how you expect to write a coherent report from them."

She opened her mouth to protest angrily, but thought better of it when she caught his expression. She wasn't winning anything this evening.

"The desk over there," he nodded behind her and she turned a little to see an old school-style wooden desk and chair had been placed against the far wall, "is our punishment desk. You'll sit there and write these notes out correctly. But first..."

She turned back to him as he paused to consider her. "First... I think we'll see how you fare with the cane."

She stared at him uncomprehendingly. The cane was the one implement he hadn't yet used in these sessions – it was the one he continually held as a threat for what he called "real misbehaviour."

"Don't worry, Harriet," he said, bracingly, "I know this will be your first caning, so it will just be six strokes. And we'll have a good warm-up spanking before we get to that. But you will take your caning in the traditional manner: bent over and touching your toes. It's a hard position to hold, Harriet, as you know, and I'm fully expecting to have to add a stroke when you can't hold it."

She swallowed, still not daring to say anything, but dying to ask... why?

He smiled at her. "Oh Harriet, darling," he crooned, using the endearment for the first time that day, and reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, "You will learn to respect the cane. One day you may even crave its bite. But understand that today I am choosing the cane because you so nearly broke my most important rule. And you need to have some very powerful incentives to not slip up. Dear Kieran is just so understanding, I can imagine it would be so easy to... confide in him..."

He paused to watch her eyes widen as he spoke and chuckled again. "It would be very easy, Harriet, to convince those in the right places that Kieran was more than just a colleague to you... and I'm sure you wouldn't want rumours like that being spread, now would you?"

"Sir..." she couldn't stop her outburst this time, so outrageous was his statement, "Sir, you can't –"

"Oh, I can, Harriet," he interrupted, still almost absently caressing her cheek, "And I would. Now strip."

He stood abruptly, leaving her standing by his desk. Her head was spinning. She wasn't sure he'd been genuinely angry like this before, and she trembled as she thought of the caning that was to come. He cleared his throat expectantly as he headed back towards her with the spanking chair in his hands, and she jumped. Her fingers moved automatically to undo the buttons of her blouse and the fastening on her skirt, folding the clothes neatly on the edge of the desk as she felt her mind shut down, preparing for the punishment to come.