by Lucy Appleby
The Dean of Studies sat back in his chair, eyes narrowed, fingers steepled as he thought about the intolerable situation his wayward niece had placed him in. As though on cue, she came bursting into his study without even a courtesy knock.
"Hello, Uncle Rupert, I-"
"Shut up, Abigail, and sit down."
"But I-"
"SIT DOWN."
Abigail sat, noting her uncle's angry face. She fervently hoped he wouldn't cut off her allowance - how awful that would be! She took a seat in the big leather armchair in front of his desk, folded her hands demurely in her lap, and gave him a coy look through her long lashes. Her uncle regarded her solemnly, his mouth set in an unforgiving frown.
"You are a disgrace, girl... a disgrace to the university and a disgrace to me. Have you any idea of the trouble you're in? Had I not used my influence, you would have been arrested and detained in a prison cell, and charged with possession of drugs."
"It was only a tiny amount of cocaine, Uncle. And so many of the students snort the stuff. I just wanted to see what it was like for myself." Abigail looked up and smiled a smile designed to melt the hardest of hearts. It didn't work. Uncle Rupert glared fiercely at her. "Sorry, she said. I won't do it again. I promise."
"You are a member of the Faculty staff. How dare you act in such an irresponsible manner! And we both know that this is not the first time you have been in disgrace. There are calls for your dismissal. If the Board's decision is unanimous, there's no way I can prevent you from getting kicked out."
"Oh!" Abigail's face fell. She hadn't considered actually getting the sack. "Well perhaps you could, you know... persuade them?" she said, hopefully. The sweeping brush eyelashes batted again.
"I'll do no such thing," barked Rupert. "You're a thirty-six-year-old woman. It's time you started to act like one. You need to learn self-restraint and responsibility, and show some genuine remorse for your reprehensible behaviour." Adjusting his spectacles, his pebble-grey eyes gleamed ominously as he regarded her. "You're out gallivanting every night, no doubt forming improper relationships with young male students; you spend your salary on ridiculously expensive clothes and unnecessary fripperies, host raucous parties going on well into the early hours, with absolutely no regard for other people living on campus trying to get some sleep - yet you still expect me to continue subbing you a further £500 a month. Well, let me tell you something young lady - that stops right now."
"No!" Abigail paled visibly. "You can't do that," she wailed. "However will I manage without it?!"
"You'll manage perfectly well if you put your mind to it and pay heed to your finances. The fault is partly mine. I have indulged you to excess since your mother died. It has done you no favours. None whatsoever."
Abigail scowled. She had never known her father, and her mother had brought her up single handed until her sudden and unfortunate demise when Abigail was only fifteen. Since then, Abigail had lived with Uncle Rupert and enjoyed a fine standard of living. When she turned 24, he had even bought her a quaint little mews cottage close to the university campus, so she could enjoy being independent. Abigail greatly enjoyed her independence, particularly as Uncle Rupert paid most of her household bills and gave her £500 spending money every month on top of that. She pouted at the thought of her monthly allowance being withdrawn. And all because the police raided the university campus and found a small quantity of cocaine in her locker. It was a good thing they didn't search her cottage; she had a far larger stash in the bedroom.
There was no further discussion as there was a brisk knock on the door.
"Enter," intoned Rupert.
"Ah, Dean... your presence is required in the boardroom if you please," said a bespectacled young woman.
"Thank you, Penelope." Rupert rose, and headed for the door. "Stay here," he informed Abigail. "I doubt I'll be more than 20 minutes." He strode out into the corridor leaving Abigail sulking at the news she was to be worse off by £500 a month.
After 15 minutes waiting for her uncle to return, Abigail was bored, and resorted to crossing and uncrossing her long legs as she impatiently tapped a manicured finger nail rhythmically on the surface of Uncle Rupert's desk. As approaching footsteps sounded in the corridor, she instinctively turned her head as the door handle rattled... and blinked in surprise at the figure who entered the room. It certainly wasn't Uncle Rupert.
Tossing her head so that her strawberry blonde tresses beckoned invitingly, she looked with undisguised admiration and lust at the man striding towards her. He was tall, around 6ft 4, broad-shouldered, his dark hair slightly flecked with grey at the temples. Vibrant blue eyes appraised her coolly from beneath dark brows. His mouth was set in a firm, unforgiving line. Nevertheless, he was sex on legs, if somewhat older than her preference. Still, it would be a pleasant change to go for an attractive older guy instead of her usual toy boys. Abigail smiled seductively. There was no answering smile.
"Hi," she purred undeterred, extending her hand as she got seductively to her feet. "I'm Abigail. I-"
"I know who you are," he said brusquely. "Sit."
Abigail blinked and pouted. "Sit? What a dictatorial tone! You're telling me to sit, like I'm a pet dog?" she said in a mock-aggrieved tone. She smiled again. "Still, I could be your pet if you play your cards right."
Ignoring her proffered hand, the handsome stranger strode past her and deposited himself into her uncle's chair. "I'm Professor Frank Reynolds, recently appointed Vice-Chancellor," he informed her curtly, "and you and I, Miss Wallace, need to have a little discussion about your future. Now, stop acting like an idiotic diva and sit down."
Abigail gasped at the insult, her pretty face flushing as she digested his words. Momentarily lost for words herself (a rare occurrence), she sat back down and stared at him, then blurted, "How dare you speak to me in that manner! I'll-"
"Shut up." The professor's eyes narrowed, darting blue glints of ice. "The vote for your dismissal was unanimous..."
"Oh! Oh no!" Abigail paled, distraught, tears already prickling the back of her eyes at the thought of losing her job.
"There is just one thing that may save you, though I doubt you'll like it."
"What? What? Tell me," she demanded, eagerly.
"It seems you have acquired a certain reputation on campus. Certain facts concerning your lax behaviour and general attitude have reached the attention of the board. This current misdemeanour will seal your fate... unless you agree to accept corporal punishment." As Abigail looked blank, Professor Reynolds smiled grimly. "Let me elaborate," he continued, "you are to be caned on your bare bottom. Twelve strokes. They will be full, forceful strokes which will cause you extreme pain."
"Preposterous!" spluttered Abigail, unable to believe what she was hearing. Caned? Bare bottom? Outrageous!
"Should you decide to accept the board's suggestion, you will receive your first caning at the end of today, and-"
"FIRST caning?!" interrupted Abigail. You mean... you mean, there's more to come?!"
"You will receive your first caning today; a further twelve strokes in a month's time; and a final 12 strokes a month later. Only then, and providing your conduct has been deemed acceptable, will your contract be renewed. There will be a proviso that your employment will terminate if either your conduct deteriorates or your work falls below the required standard. Those are the terms. Do you understand?"
"B-but... how can this be happening," wailed Abigail.
"You were caught in possession of drugs. By rights, you should be in jail. Do you not realise how serious this is, Miss Wallace? Your career is on the line. Not to mention the reputation of this university and also that of your uncle who has devoted the last 21 years of his life in doing his best for you. And this is how you repay him."
There was such disgust in the professor's tone that Abigail, probably for the first time in her life, was quite taken aback. She swallowed, and took a few moments to reflect on her position, and the way she had lived her life. The professor's words hit home, and she fell silent, shame prickling her cheeks.
Sensing her reaction, the professor's tone eased a fraction. "Look," he said, "the board want their pound of flesh. They would be glad to know you had been punished in the manner I've just described - but I don't believe one of them thinks you'll go ahead with it. They think you'll take the easy option and tender your resignation. The choice is yours, Abigail." She looked at him imploringly as he reverted to use of her Christian name. "It is a difficult choice, so why don't I leave you to think about it, and I'll return in 30 minutes for your decision."
Abigail nodded dumbly, her eyes on his back as he strode out of the room, closing the door behind him. Her bottom began to tingle, as though sensing danger. She burst into tears.
Abigail made her decision: she would take the caning. When the professor returned, she was so embarrassed she could barely look him in the eye. In a subdued voice she informed him of her decision. He nodded.
"Very well. To save you from prying eyes, I'll carry out your punishment in my office at 7pm this evening. By that time, the academic staff and cleaning staff will have left the building, so there'll be no chance you will be observed... or heard."
"Wait... you will be the one to do it?" Abigail gaped, feeling the heat rise to her face. She had assumed it would be carried out by a female member of the board, not this devilishly handsome man.
"Yes."
"B-but... but I... I mean - can't it be a woman?"
The professor shook his head. "Let me assure you, I am more than familiar with administering corporal punishment. My father was headmaster of a private school where CP was used rigorously. During my earlier career I worked for a time in a penal institution run by the armed forces. I know how to use a cane. Let's be clear, it's going to hurt like hell - that is the whole point - but it won't kill you. And once we start, any embarrassment you feel at being unclothed will quickly disappear as you focus on dealing with the pain."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Her face felt frozen in a terrified rictus.
"It is." His expression softened. He almost smiled. "I'd suggest changing out of those tight jeans or you won't be able to get them back on. You'll be more comfortable afterwards if you wear a loose-fitting skirt. Personally, for what it's worth, I think you've made the right choice. I'll see you in room 39 at 7pm."
"Okay." Abigail gulped. Okay? She wasn't okay at all. This was worse than her worst nightmare. She didn't know how she was going to get through it.
She was a bag of nerves when she tapped timidly on the door of room 39. This was quite out of character for her; usually an extrovert, over-confident woman who could bluster, bully or charm her way out of a tricky situation, this sensation of impending doom was quite alien to her. Abigail Wallace always got her own way in everything, but not this time. In the run up to 7pm she had chewed her nails and considered running away, and getting a job in a city miles away.
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