by LSF Publications
by Anthony Alba
"It's not changed a bit," James remarked with some surprise as he gazed around the old classroom.
"It has only been five years," his guide for the day, Julia Styles, remarked.
James nodded slowly. He was not sure what he had expected coming back to his old school. It might only have been five years since he was a student here but in those years he had gone on to college, got his degree. He'd even done a stint as a trainee teacher at Kings Landing Secondary. And then fate had brought him back full circle to start here as the new geography teacher.
He had been nervous about coming back. Last night he had tossed and turned well into the small hours before finally managing some sleep. He was not sure what he had expected but Willow Wood School was just how he remembered it. It was still looking for the extension that had been first requested long before he had been a first year. The games pitch was still too soggy when it rained. Even old Hughes the caretaker was still pottering around.
For the moment the halls and corridors were quiet. Term began tomorrow and come nine o'clock the place would be full of the hustle and bustle of children coming and going: first years, lost and confused and trying to make sense of their new timetables and find this room or that; friends meeting up after the summer break; and the upper sixth form would be lording over everyone, or at least trying to now that they had finally reached the top of the student food chain.
Suddenly he began to frown. The layout of the school had not changed. He had taken Maths in this very room. Looking around he could see the desk where he had liked to sit near the front. He turned to Julia, puzzled now.
"I thought this was your room?"
Julia smiled and it lit up her face just the way he recalled. "You remembered. I was wondering if you would."
James felt a flush of colour creep into his cheeks. As if anyone would forget Miss Julia Styles. He could still recall the first day she had appeared in class. It had been her first assignment not that anyone would have known it by the sure way she took charge of the class. She had an air about her, a steely confidence in her stance. She had surveyed her class with a quiet authority and they had all fallen into a respectful silence without having to be told to be quiet.
Back then he had been a tad shocked that someone who looked so young could be a teacher. There had been girls in the class who had looked older than Miss Styles. With shoulder length ash blond hair and pale blue eyes she looked drop dead gorgeous, like a model or film star, or so his younger self had thought.
Looking back he was confident that of all his teachers and lecturers both here and at college she had been the best. She could explain things in a way that other teachers struggled to. Somehow she had even made the mysteries of quadratic equations and theorems appear almost understandable.
There had been a few students who had tried to challenge her authority. That went hand in hand with being new. Her youthful looks had only egged them on but anyone who stepped out of line in Miss Styles' class soon learned that for all her easy affable manner she was not afraid to use the rod.
"When I got promoted, they moved me next door," she went on to explain. "I'm afraid I'm still in the process of moving some of my stuff. Amazing the amount of junk you build up over the years." She gave him another of those radiant smiles. "I hope you don't mind me popping in to get things from time to time."
"Not at all," James replied as he struggled to control his emotions. There had not been a boy in the class who had not fallen instantly in love with Miss Styles when she had started as their teacher. Five years later she was just as beautiful and enchanting. Having her drop in would be no hardship at all.
Then his eye fell on her old desk and, despite the years that had passed since he had been a student here, James felt his mouth go dry. She had cleared away most of her books and papers but the rod remained sitting, waiting, in its stand. You could have heard a pin drop in the class the day she put that stand there, right in front of her desk where everyone could see. A silent warning on the costs of misbehaviour.
"You remember the rod, I see," Julia murmured as she noted the direction of his stare.
A few quick steps carried her from his side over to the desk to pick up the rod. It did not have the same thickness of the senior cane found in the Headmaster's office but James could testify to the power of that crook-handled length of wood. Even with the padding of trousers or skirt it could stripe any naughty bottom that crossed its path.
Julia held up the rod and ran her left hand up and down the length of the shaft, slowly caressing it. Her smile never altered but there was a definite gleam in her eyes as she stroked it.
James let out a nervous laugh. "I was a bit of a handful back then," he admitted.
"Yes you were," she agreed. "Which was strange. I checked with your other teachers."
Still stroking the rod she turned to look directly at him. "They all described you as a quiet studious boy, a bit shy perhaps but hard working and very well mannered."
Those blue eyes fixed on him and James shuffled his feet nervously but was unable to look away.
"And yet in my class you were constantly giving me reason to cane you."
She shook her head as if it was a mystery. "Most of the others would put up such a fuss when it came time to atone for their behaviour but not you. No, you would come forward and bend over without a word of protest and you never tried to stand up or cover your bottom either."
James opened his mouth then closed it again. What could he say? He could feel how red his cheeks were and the way she was looking straight at him made him feel she would detect any attempt at prevarication on his part.
"Instead you bent over and never reacted when the girls in the class sniggered. You never asked me to stop, never even rubbed until I gave you permission. And afterwards, the way you shuffled your bum back and forth on the seat, anyone might have thought you were trying to savour every stripe I'd given you no matter how painful."
James swallowed hard as he struggled to keep his composure. He had always been so very careful to keep his interest in corporal punishment a secret. As painful as Miss Styles could make it, he had loved every minute of being punished by her: the slow walk of shame from his desk to the front of the class; the inevitable lecture while his classmates looked on. From the boys there was usually sympathy and encouragement but the girls just loved to see a boy get the rod. It was fair enough he supposed. The sight of one of the girls bent over, her school skirt moulded around her bum as the rod landed was something the boys always enjoyed watching.
And then as he gripped the side of her desk, he would present his bottom just so and then he would feel the rod bite into his behind. It had hurt, oh how it had hurt. Miss Styles made sure of that but there had been a sense of serenity that came with being so utterly under her power. She would be standing close enough that he would breathe in the sweet scent of her perfume. And then when it was over she would pat him on the shoulder and tell him to go back to his desk. Once after a particularly severe trashing she had even stroked his face ever so lightly. That was a treasured memory indeed.
"Well I... that is ... I suppose I knew I had done wrong and ..." he tried to explain and winced as the words tumbled out in a disorganised mess. The thin knowing smile she gave him spoke volumes of what she thought of his explanation.
"I'm glad to see that you still blush so nicely," she went on, oblivious to the way she was embarrassing him. Or perhaps not. "You were always one of my favourite students."
Still holding his gaze, Julia swished the rod through the air and her lips twitched from the way his bottom clenched at the sound. "Why do you think I volunteered to show you around before term starts tomorrow?"
"That's very nice of you," James managed. "I really appreciate it."
"And the Headmaster likes more experienced teachers to mentor the newer ones," she told him. From the way she was looking at him, James felt almost like he was a student in her class again rather that a colleague. "So I will be keeping a very close eye on you, young man."
Julia held his gaze a moment longer then she turned to look at the rod still resting in her hand. "You've not been properly introduced have you? I had to replace my old rod after it was stolen. On the last day of term about... five years ago I believe it was."
"It was?" James croaked.
"Oh I think you know all about it. Some daring boy or girl slipped into my room when it was empty and made off with my old rod. Who would do such a thing?"
James swallowed hard but seemed unable to work any moisture into his mouth. She knew. Looking at those pale blue eyes there was no trace of doubt over who the culprit might have been.
"Well ... I... that is... I may have had a hand..."
"And did my rod go to a good home, boy?" she asked sternly as she cut him off.
"Yes miss," the reply came almost naturally. "It's safe and sound."
How many nights had he stared at the rod he had stolen that day and remembered the excitement he had felt when she used it. There had only ever been one Miss Styles and even now she still had the power to captivate and beguile him.
"Good," she nodded. "I will be wanting that back but in the meantime I really think it's time you were properly introduced to its replacement. It stings just as beautifully."
His mouth dropped open before he could catch himself. Did she... was she? Seeing the confusion on his face Miss Styles nodded slowly, implacably. Oh yes she was.
"You remember what happens to naughty boys in this class room, don't you?"
"Yes miss," he replied.
"What happens to them?"
"They get thrashed, miss," James answered meekly.
Staring at the thin flexible length of wood in her hand he could hardly think clearly. Surely it was impossible; he was a grown man now, a teacher. And yet could still remember the joy of surrendering to her authority and feeling the cane against his bottom.
"And what could be naughtier that stealing my rod?" She did not wait for an answer and instead Julia used the rod to point towards her desk. Hardly daring to blink or breathe less he wake from this dream, James shuffled forward and dutifully bent over what would be his desk tomorrow.
"What ... what are you doing?" James gasped.
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