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A pack of cigarettes falls out of her back pocket, along with a half-eaten bar of Swiss chocolate. She crouches and sweeps them both up quickly before standing up again.
“Smoking?” Jane forms the word tartly.
“There’s vending machines on every corner. It’s legal. Just like mushrooms, if you bothered to look it up.” Storm speaks with casual arrogance that comes from having run circles around every authority figure in her life.
“Mushrooms are not legal, young lady. You can be fined if you are caught with them in your possession.”
“They were never in my possession. They were in my stomach, which is actually technically not even inside my body, because humans are tubes.”
She’s cocky, self-assured, and reckless. Even now, under clear threat of discipline, she still believes she is above it all and immune from consequences.
Jane picks up a paddle. Storm hadn’t noticed that before, though now she doesn’t know how she missed it. If anything, she thought it was a cheese board. The country is full of them. But the way Jane is holding it makes that context unlikely. It is long and wooden, thick and unyielding.It does not look like something one would ever wish to be struck by.
“Pants down, young lady. Bend all the way over the desk. Now.” Jane issues a series of staccato quick instructions in the manner of someone who is accustomed to being obeyed.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am absolutely serious. Pants down. Bend over. Present that bottom.”
A bright red flush appears on Storm’s face. “There’s no fucking way.”
For the first time, she’s not actually being rude on purpose. Her refusal now is one of shock and horror as she finally realizes this is actually real and actually happening. Her eyes widen. She straightens and takes a step back, glancing over her shoulder at the door she came through. She can probably make it…
Jane steps smoothly between her and the door, paddle in hand. A brief shake of her head indicates that is not an option.
Storm glances down, sees the high heels Jane is wearing, and smirks briefly to herself. Jane seems very athletic, but there’s no way to move fast in those things without risking breaking an ankle, and Storm is a cross-country runner who never wears anything but skate shoes. All she has to do is…
Fingers take hold of her ear. She lets out an outraged yowl, but Jane has her now and is marching her to the desk, putting her physically over it.
“Behave yourself. It will be good practice. From now on, you will do as you are told, you will attend classes, and you will refrain from both drugs and cigarettes.”
Storm feels the hard wood of the desk beneath her arms and palms. This is actually happening. Now a different kind of curiosity is beginning to assert itself. Who is this woman? And what is she capable of?
Her pants are pulled down. Her jeans aren’t tight, and the boxers she wears aren’t tight either. In an instant, she is bare. Before she can complain about that, a hard paddle-swat lands on her rear, a sharp and heavy reminder that what is happening is real. The pain shocks Storm out of her curiosity. It is much harder and much more intense than she’d thought it would be.
She’d get up, if not for a hand pressing her immediately back down again, not hard, but firmly enough to remind her where she is supposed to be.
“Fucking Christ, what is wrong with you?”
Jane responds quite calmly, seeming to become more confident now she has Storm where she wants her. “There’s nothing wrong with me. What’s wrong withyou, traveling around the countryside, wandering the city like an alley cat, missing your lessons, putting yourself in danger?”
“Who fucking cares!?” There’s confusion in that cry.
“I care.”
Those two calm and composed words hit harder than the paddle.
Is it possible that someone she just met cares more about what she does than anybody else she’s ever encountered in her life so far? The question keeps her still.
The paddle lands again and again. Once, twice… and thentwenty something more times. Storm has lost count by the time Jane lays it down on the desk beside her. She is shocked into inaction. There is heat and there is ache and there is the incredible fact that she just stayed in place for all of that to happen, and she doesn’t know why.
“You’re not going to be getting away with anything anymore,” Jane lectures. “I will be watching you. I will know where you are, and what you are doing, and if you miss classes… if you misbehave at all, you will find yourself here again. I can promise you that. Do you understand?”
“Yeah.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jane corrects her. “That is how you will address me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Storm mumbles into the desk, cringing at having to say the words.
