Harriet's Arrangement

A moment of insanity

After work on Thursday, Malcolm was waiting in his car outside the office – something he had never done before. She stood motionless in the doorway when she saw that black Bentley, unsure quite what to do. He met her frozen gaze and simply raised his eyebrows, leant over and opened the car door a fraction, and she knew she didn't have a choice. Remaining as dignified as she could she walked calmly to the car and slipped into the passenger seat.

"Good evening, Harriet," he said pleasantly.

"Good evening, Sir." Her response was tight: she couldn't work out what she was feeling, and his sudden appearance had taken her off guard.

"Relax, Harriet," he said, the car creeping silently away from the office, "I just thought that you might be feeling some apprehension following last week's session, and wanted to make the decision nice and easy for you."

She didn't say anything, not sure what response he was expecting, and focussing more on controlling her nerves than anything else. She stared sightlessly straight ahead of her, taking surreptitious deep breaths. He too fell silent for the remainder of the journey, for which she was grateful – and felt grimly satisfied by that, as she was certain he was intending for his silence to be ominous. When they pulled into his drive, she remained in her seat, knowing better than to do anything without permission.

When he opened her door and ordered her out, it was in a voice that was erring more towards being threatening than mild and disapproving. She quietly obeyed, and followed him into the house and along the uncomfortably familiar corridor to the study, and obediently waited while he poured himself a glass of whisky. He sat, without inviting her to do so and sipped his drink quietly.

After a minute he looked up at her. "What shall we try today?" he said, as if he was suggesting they might take a stroll in the park, "I thought it might be fun to try the cane bent over the desk. It's quite a different experience. What do you think?"

She didn't respond. Her heart pounded in her chest. More of the cane? What had happened to that being for serious infractions only? He cleared his throat and she realised he was waiting for her to say something. She chose her words carefully.

"Sir... have I... have I done something wrong?"

He chuckled softly. "Darling Harriet," he crooned, and she cringed, "Not especially. I rather enjoyed watching you take on the cane last week, though, and I'd quite like to watch you handling more strokes."

She swallowed. This wasn't a question: she didn't feel compelled to respond.

"Well," he mused, contemplating his drink, "Maybe we'll see how we get on... shall we start with our warm up spanking?"

The spanking was short, and compared to the previous week, relatively gentle. He was clearly in a much better mood, she noticed, as he allowed her off his knee and sent her to the corner, her skirt tucked up and her rosy cheeks on display.

He hadn't mentioned what might follow and she silently pleaded for him to change his mind about the cane. She wasn't ready to take that on again just yet.

"Harriet," he said, in an almost sing-song voice, "Could you come over here please?"

Moving to stand in front of him she waited nervously for further instructions.

"I think it's about time you admitted what you want from these sessions," he said, and she detected something that was almost ominously playful in his tone. "You will bend over the desk –"

Her heart sank.

"– and take twelve lashes from my belt."

She relaxed a tiny bit. Not the cane: that was something.