Two weeks after her last appearance in the Detention Room, Anna Dobson finds herself back in there again in front of the Colonel dressed in pyjamas just as before.
“Back here again so soon, Anna? It seems our last little session together didn’t make much of an impression judging by your exam results.”
“Oh, yes it did Sir, really it did. I’ve tried my hardest, I promise.” By God, I have too, reflected Anna. More than anything she desperately wanted to avoid another painful and humiliating lesson like the last one at the hands of this awful man.
“Let’s have a look at you,” said the Colonel. “Turn around… hands on your head.”
The Colonel’s gaze fixed on the young woman’s buttocks inside the childish pyjamas, plumped out ripely across her bum cheeks, stress lines in the thin blue striped fabric pulling up and out from the tops of her thighs at the back, leaving the soft lateral folds under each bum cheek to delineate the plumpness where it met her upper thighs.
Anna’s pyjama bottoms were a little faded, he noticed, the material worn more or less smooth by much washing, and on each bottom cheek, at the high point which might be called the crown, there was an area which was slightly more faded still than the remainder of the originally dark material, the lightness in tone at these two places serving to highlight them and seemingly add fullness to the rotundity of each firm cheek. These highlighted summits appeared to be the result of a slight thinning of the cloth, the thinness spreading tantalisingly across those twin high points and covering such an area as might well be the favourite aiming point of a cane or a slipper, so that it might be imagined that the supposed thinness itself was due to the frequent application of some such punishment to those very places.
To his knowledgeable eye, and notwithstanding the schoolgirl impression created by a sulky pout and platted pigtails, this was a young woman whose hips had softened in their outline and whose bottom had filled out a little beyond the capacity of the faded navy blue striped pyjamas. And it was just such a knowledgeable eye which loitered with a certain proprietary interest upon this young lady's pyjama clad bottom.
The Colonel’s blue-grey eyes turned his glance down to the exercise-book upon his desk, following the neat lines of handwriting and noting irregularities by underscoring in red.
‘English grammar.’ He says, and Anna stiffens her legs and seems at once all attention, though she dares not turn her face away from the wall. She seems to be strung-out and nervy, as if those two simple words herald some fearful happening. They do. She is hopeless at English grammar.
Anna shivered involuntarily as she saw the slim, hook-handled school cane lying on the polished surface of the Colonel’s desk, knowing just how much it would hurt through her thin cotton pyjamas.
“Sit down, Anna.”
Obediently, Anna eased her long legs under the desk.
‘Infinitives.’ says the Colonel. 'What exactly is an infinitive Anna?'
'Um - mm - I think they're verbs sir.'
'And I think you're half right Anna, which probably means you've been half listening. However, in this class work of yours - tell me, do you have anything specific against infinitives?'
'Is there lurking within you such a loathing of infinitives that you feel compelled to ill-treat them?'
'Er - I -I'm not sure what you mean sir.'
The Colonel resists a smile and teases the young woman a little more.
'Let me put it another way Anna. Can you think of anything which you should not do to infinitives, ~ and I have in mind our last Detention lesson?'
Anna winced mentally. She too has in mind her last Detention.
'Sir - I - I think they shouldn't be - um - split?'
'Bravo! . . So will you kindly explain why, in this class work, you have split two perfectly inoffensive infinitives?'
'For example: ‘When I've been naughty in class I sometimes have to be punished. I have to usually take my knickers down for this. And, when I've had my bottom smacked, I have to always stand in the corner’. Now then, Anna, how do you explain these lapses?'
Anna fidgeted awkwardly, quite at a loss. Horribly conscious of her bottom's vulnerability, she is well aware that it is about to suffer retribution. Even if she knew what the Colonel was talking about she doubted that it would save her. Her bottom cheeks clenched involuntarily at the prospect of further punishment, but even more dreadful was the utterly humiliating nature of the work she was expected to do. She felt her face flush with embarrassment, hearing the humiliating things she was expected to write about read out in the Colonel's mocking voice. And even worse, she didn’t know where she had gone wrong. She knew only that infinitives oughtn't to be split; what they looked like was another matter.
The Colonel watched her fidget again.
'So you have no explanation?'
'N - no sir. I - I'm sorry…'
'Very well then.' His voice carries the promise of a fate sealed. He adds insult to the threat of injury.
'Subjects and objects.' he says.
Anna cringes inwardly.
'In the sentence; 'I have not done my class work very well, and will have to take my pyjamas down for being a naughty girl: what is the subject?'
'Er - I think it's p-p-pyjamas sir'
'And what is the object?'
'Um. . . me, sir? I mean I. . ?'
'No. The object is to teach a silly little girl a lesson, and also to encourage a more diligent attitude towards class work.'
Anna realises that she has been 'taken down' another peg by the little joke. Her bottom trembles as she shifts her weight nervously again and her thighs press defensively together. She doesn't need to be told what's next on the agenda for 'taking down'.
'Do you agree, Anna?'
'I - I don't know sir.'
The Colonel gets up from his chair and clears some books from his desk.
Anna knows better than to argue. She follows his gesturing hand obediently and stands with the front of her thighs just touching the chill wood of the edge of the desk-top, her eyes cast demurely down to the floor.
'Bend over.' He says it calmly, matter-of-factly.
Nervously Anna bends forward at the waist then sinks her tummy down onto the hard desk-top, her panicky eyes following him as he picks up the slim crook-handled cane. He walks round behind her as she lies unhappily over the desk.
'Legs out. Straight now. . you know the drill girl!'
Dutifully she straightens her legs, her bottom plumping up as she does so, and an experienced eye casting a glance over the young woman's obediently offered bottom would be able to confirm that this is indeed not the first time that a cane will have caressed her buttocks.
The Colonel’s hand strokes intimately across the warm cheeks and Anna's legs sag a little as she presses her soft thighs together and nips in her buttocks. He then touches the cane once across the backs of her thighs. It quivers as it hovers for a second and then it flicks waspishly across the very tops of the Anna's legs.
'Ooh!' She sags even more and her knees bump against the front of the desk.
'Legs straight now Anna! . . . I won't tell you again!'
Anna shoves her legs out straight and her bottom fattens again. The cane swinging nonchalantly from his fingers, he walks round the desk to pick up the exercise book with the red ink corrections in it. She clamps her bottom lip between her teeth and winces still from the sting. Her hand sneaks back and kneads tentatively at the top of one thigh, her indrawn breath hissing past her teeth as she screws her pretty eyes half-closed. The Colonel turns back towards her and she snatches her hand away out of sight.
The book in his hand, the man counts mistakes. The pyjama-clad young woman keeps her legs stretched straight out behind her, her bottom meekly positioned across the uncomfortable edge of the desk.
'Twelve mistakes Anna. . . Twelve, in one piece of work. What have you to say for yourself?'
Anna can't think of a thing. She tries, but there's no excuse. She's just useless at grammar, just as she's useless at almost everything academic.
'S-sir - I - did my best Sir. I tried, honestly, but. . . ' The cane swooshes' quietly as he swings it to and fro beside his leg and Anna tails off, unable to speak.
The cane stops swishing and stretches itself lightly across both bum cheeks, nuzzling up under the plump outward swell. It titillates the twitching cheeks with little condescending taps. Anna squirms and squeezes her bottom cheeks together in nervous anticipation.
The Colonel savours the moment, making her wait, as he watches the involuntary flinching of her bottom. His voice is as calm and unhurried as ever.
'Now then Anna, we have a little rhyme for occasions such as this, haven't we?'
Anna nods with quiet desperation.
It is a piece of doggerel she knows by heart. Its stupid verses having been caned into her at least once a week ever since she was first sent to the reformatory for ‘correction’. She feels the cool touch of the cane trembling against her tender bottom and wishes fervently that she'd been more attentive at school. The cane flicks stingingly up under her defencelessly elevated bottom and she gasps through moistly parted lips.
'Haven't we, Anna?'
'Oh. . .Oooh. . y-yes sir. I-I'm sorry.' Her eyelids begin to prick and she feels the very first tear squeeze out between her eyelashes. The smart in her bottom, and above all the utter humiliation of being treated like a naughty schoolgirl is too much for her to bear without crying. Struggling against the dragging weight of her misery she forces the first idiotic words out.
'B-bottoms up is the. . Oh. . th- the. . .' The sprightly cane swooshes' stingily across the plumply rounded underside of her bottom, reaching around both cheeks with its admonitory finger.
'Ooooh - ooogh!' Anna shoves out convulsively with her legs and the desk scrapes a fraction of an inch forward. Her bottom snatches its blushing cheeks together and her hips wriggle tentatively from one side to the other.
'Bottoms up is the what, Anna?'
'Aaah - the - the golden rule!'
'Oooooow! Oh - n-no - I. . '
'Go on Anna.'
'Oooo. . .f-f-for girls who will not... learn. .'
'Oouqh! Owwooo - !'
'Will not learn - ?'
'At school! Ooh s-sir... s-sir, please..'
'That's right Anna. And - ?'
'S-sir … And kn- knickers down - nmmgh - is what's required…'
'Oooooow - oooh - hooo - !'
Anna squirms helplessly against the desk, her thighs drifting apart unheeded and then back together again as she tries in vain to wriggle the sting out of her smarting bottom. She weeps wretchedly, her tears splashing onto the polished desk-top. The cane is placed quite deliberately across the two quivering bum cheeks and she flinches even as it touches her burning skin.
'Go on please'
Whaaaaack!! 'Owwwwhhhhaaa!!. . S-s-sir b b. . '
'Go on please Anna!'
Anna worms her hips frantically and gasps out the next few words.
'Ooh - Oooo - of - of naughty girls who haven't tried…!'
Anna's bottom still trembles as she lies weeping across the desk. Breaking the rules she reaches back with both hands and rubs gingerly at the tender, reddened places low down on each buttock, her knees sagging lower and lower as she attempts to alleviate the burning sensation.
Anna snatches her hands away from her bottom and pushes her legs straight in a panic. She isn't allowed to rub her bottom, and the punishment might be an extra couple of strokes across her legs. She clamps her hands together under her chin and prays that she hasn't been observed.
The cane descends unannounced around the tops of her thighs, and then again as she pulls her knees up and they bang against the desk. She can't help herself. She clutches desperately at her legs with both hands and squeals wretchedly.
'Naughty little Anna - we mustn't rub our bottom, must we eh?' mocks the Colonel.
'Now then - ' The cane taps insistently on her pyjama-clad buttocks. 'Legs straight Anna!'
It takes another sharp little flick across the lower part of her thighs before Anna will do as she's told.
'Now carry on. . . !'
Anna heaves in a deep breath, trying to steady her voice.
'An - and bottoms b-bare. .
'Oooow - owwwwooh - n-no, pleeeassse!'
'And bottoms bare - ' coaxes the Colonel.
'Ooooo - b-bottoms s-s-sir. . b-bottoms bare are just the th-thing - '
Anna dissolves into a fit of sobbing, her whipped bottom writhing frantically. The Colonel waits, knowing that she is near the end of her tether. Several minutes pass before she can force herself to push her bottom back up into position. She weeps dismally, the sting in her poor bottom vying with the utter humiliation of being caned at all. The dreadful, belittling words of the stupid poem by far the worst, making her seem a complete fool even in her own eyes.
The cane touching against her sore buttocks makes her shiver, even though it merely rests there for a moment. It taps impatiently, exciting the sting in her buttocks again.
'Now where were we -? Ah yes - bottoms bare are just the thing -'
Unprompted, Anna gabbles out the rest of the line. 'F-For swishy canes to smack and sting - '
'Oooooo - Owwwwoow! S-sir - Please Sir - p-please - !'
'So naughty girls?. . '
'Unngh - so n-naughty girls like. . '
Anna rears up then thumps back heavily onto the desk as she blubbers, and then, desperate to complete the stupid lines, she blabbers on.
'So naughty g-girls - oooh - oww - like m-me must try, or get - '
'Owwwww - oohaa - plee - please!'
'Or get what, eh? . . Or get what?'
'Unn - nngh - g-get the c-cane that m-makes them - c-c..'
'. . CRY!!. . . OOOOGH! OOW!! - OOO!. . CRY Sir. . .OWWWWW!!. . '
The last stroke cracks hard across her tossing buttock-cheeks. She gasps and pants and her bottom bounces in anguish. The Colonel leaves her to it, her weeping going on unabated for three or four minutes, as he calmly seats himself at his desk again.
Anna gets her sobs under control at last. Exhausted with her crying she lies slumped across the desk, her tear-streaked face hardly more than a foot or so from where her tutor thumbs idly through another exercise-book, sparing her barely a glance.
The Colonel ignores her for several minutes, and then his matter-of-fact voice mocks her patronisingly.
'So - you'll make a better job of your homework next time Anna. Won't you my dear?'
'Mmmngh - y - yes . :'
'Yes, of course you will. Now then kindly go back to your desk.'
Anna levers herself up from the chill desk. A tear still rolls down her pink cheeks as she looks wretchedly at the Colonel, seeing his eyes on her but too miserable to care. She turns away and shuffles to her desk.
The Colonel raises his eyes from the books upon his desk every now and then, less to check that Anna is still properly installed at her desk than to gloat over the extremely rewarding view of a grown-up woman who has been well punished, and with all the humiliation attendant upon such a childish chastisement. Therein, more than anything lies the satisfaction.
'Right then, it's early to bed for you today my girl!'
Obediently Anna stands up. She can think only of her poor, punished bottom, and the punishment still to come. Early to bed is a euphemism which holds no mystery for her.
'Oh, and the weekend's homework is trigonometry . . . book three, page ten. . Yes. . .??'
'Y-yes, sir.' She turns to face her tutor, her pretty face clouded by a look of hopelessness. If there's one subject she's worse at than English Grammar its trigonometry.
'. . . Right young lady. We'll see you here again on Monday. . . two o'clock sharp!?'
Anna nods despairingly, and knows that she'll be very lucky indeed if by half-past two her bottom isn’t getting another dose of that beastly cane