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Casey gulped. She knew she was in big trouble, but still she made one last attempt to redeem herself. “There was nothing in the diary.”
“I left a note for you.”
“He still shouted at me,” said Casey indignantly, and the hole grew larger about her feet.
“Come with me,” ordered Rob. He took her back to the neighbouring small room and began to rummage about on her desk. “If you kept this tidier… here, my note.”
Casey did then recollect a post-it on her desk first thing in the morning. Without reading the note, she had put a shoe catalogue on top of it.
“And as for the shouting,” said Rob as he thumbed through her Rolodex and then pointed to the details of Professor Clayton imprinted on one card. “Read that!”
Casey peered at the small letters below the name. “Hard of hearing. Speak clearly and be patient.”
She straightened up and examined the mess on her desk. It never used to be so disorganised, but she had become lax and complacent since she moved in with Rob, as if being his girlfriend had overwritten her status as his personal assistant. She heard a mental ‘whoops’ rush through her mind.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I take it he rang your mobile.”
“Yes, and I apologised for your behaviour. Now I will teach you a lesson in manners and being courteous.”
She knew where she had to go, and she stumbled into his study.
“Assume the position,” said Rob from behind her back.
The position. The wording was specific. It did not mean his lap, this was not to be a spanking. Nor did he mean the desk; the support it gave would be removed. She had to bend over in the middle of the room and grasp her ankles. Her heart thumped loudly, and she swallowed down a wave of nausea.
“Sir,” came her tiny voice.
Her legs had to move apart to enable her to hold her legs firmly. Between them, she watched as Rob went to the bureau—a piece of furniture she many times had come to dread as it held his harshest of implements. A beautiful cabinet, inlaid with marquetry and ivory, it creaked as he opened the doors at the front. Hanging up inside were a range of spanking implements. There were wooden paddles of different shapes and sizes. Next to them, the leather straps, tawse, and finally the canes. Made from various materials both natural and synthetic, they formed a formidable collection.
Rob selected a cane.
Casey had never been caned before. Paddled ha
rd, whipped with his strap or tawse, but not the thin rod made famous by the public school system in bygone days.
“You’re going to find out why six of the best is all that is needed. Six whacks of this cane will equate to minutes of being spanked with my thickest paddle. It will leave neat welts across you bottom. Marks to remember your bad behaviour. After I have administered your punishment, you will stand in the corner, just like a naughty schoolgirl. Except, Casey, this is not fun. This is not playing. I am very disappointed in you. I thought you had improved your petulant attitude. Now I know why you failed in your previous job.”
His last words were a huge blow. Bigger in magnitude than the cane he was about to wield. Rob had prised apart her weakness and found that it was her mouth, which detached itself from her brain as she spoke without care and attention to those she was addressing.
Her parents never smacked her when she cursed them. Even her granny had only ever glared at her when she became sassy. Nobody had managed to find a way to curtail her blabbering tongue and its tendency to speak before engaging her rational mind. But Rob would not show her leniency; her wayward behaviour would be tamed by him regardless.
While Casey’s legs trembled, her skirt was lifted up and folded away from her waist, exposing her bottom. The tiny thong was left in place. The cane would land on her naked buttocks, and regrettably he would not show interest with what lay between her cheeks.
Casey expected a whoosh as she heard his practise swings. She felt the tapping as he measured the distance and location of his target. What she did not anticipate was the pain.
Whack!
The pain was sharp, like a blade, and it went from numb to burning hot in an instant. She cried out and jerked up, letting go of her legs.
“Say it!” said Rob, pushing her back down.
“One, sir, thank you,” she bleated out.
Six of these! In Casey’s head, she wondered how she would cope with the remaining five.
The air moved behind and then next landed. With pinpoint accuracy, Rob lay the second stroke in a horizontal parallel line next to the first.
There was a howl and then a number uttered. The welt rose up, and he rubbed his hand over the mark, checking that her skin was unbroken.
