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“I’m going to get up,” she says. “I’m going to put my clothes back on.”
Before Jane can respond, Storm rises from the desk and crouches for her underwear and jeans, pulling them up as fast as is humanly possible as she straightens her legs.
“Oh my fucking god!” she yelps as the material of her clothing seems to have been transformed to literal sandpaper, rasping against the now impossibly tender skin of her bottom. She jumps a little as it makes contact and burns and aches and makes her feel as though Jane is somehow punishing her all over again, though Jane remains in the chair on the other side of the room, watching these proceedings with an inscrutable expression.
“What have you done to me?” Her eyes are wide with shock as she finds herself physically, painfully transformed.
A brief smile does flit over Jane’s lips, an expression of enjoyment.
“I’ve given you some of what you deserve, and you are going about deserving more with this blatant disobedience. I should put you back over that desk and cane you again for daring to get up before you were told.”
“No!” Storm wails the word in shock. “Come on…”
“Put yourself back in position with your bottom bare, and I won’t.”
Storm looks around for a savior who is not coming. “Jane…”
“Ma’am to you,” Jane corrects her sharply. “Over the desk. Now.”
“But…” Storm is horrified and desperate for things to be over, but now she finds herself in the unenviable position of making things much, much worse for herself. Again, she looks at the door. She could probably make it, but Jane is much closer than she is.
“If you so much as move toward that door, I will cane your thighs. You will not like it. Now. Back in position.”
“This isn’t fair.” She’s whining now, and she hates hearing that tone in her own voice.
Jane does not reply to that. She sits there, expecting to be obeyed while Storm wrestles with herself in the middle of the room.
“Why are you like this?” Storm tries again.
“Because you need this. You deserve it, too, but you need it more. Put yourself back in position, young lady.”
“I can’t. I’d rather die.” Storm is being dramatic, but she might not be lying either.
“That won’t be necessary,” Jane says mildly. “But if I get up, you will feel this cane again. I will give you three seconds to get into position.”
Three seconds elapse quickly, and Storm has not moved. Jane gives a brief sigh as she rises elegantly, and approaches her errant charge, who is now looking at her with a mixture of fear and the deep need to be helped.
“You like to do things the hard way, don’t you,” she comments, taking Storm lightly by the elbow and turning her back to the desk. Storm doesn’t resist at all.
There’s barely any physical pressure on her at all as she is bent back over the desk, her underwear and jeans slipping down over her hips quite easily, abandoning her to her bare state.
Jane lines up beside her again. She promised another stroke, and now it must be delivered. Storm closes her eyes tight until she hears the swish of the cane sweeping down once more, making harsh contact across several of the preexisting lines.
The pain is more intense than any of the strokes that came before it. Storm yowls and surges forward over the desk, and would possibly slide right over if Jane didn’t catch her by the back of the shirt and arrest that motion.
“You’ll learn to listen,” Jane says, releasing her as Storm lets out a sob. “And you’ll learn to obey. It will get easier.”
The wood is getting wet against Storm’s cheek as her tears flow. She doesn’t know if it will ever get easier. She doesn’t think so. All she knows for sure is that right now it is very, very hard and feels very, very unfair and this woman has made her feel small just as she was feeling so much larger than life.
But somewhere in the midst of outrage and sorrow is another feeling. It is warm and it expands out from the core of her belly and fills her chest. It is unfamiliar, so much so it takes her time to recognize what it even means. It is a sense of security that someone else is finally properly in charge of her. She is no longer lost. On the contrary, she is very much found.
2ALL WRAPPED UP
All the trees in the park have been wrapped from leaf-tip to trunk in canvas.
This is not a prank.
This the work of Christo, an artist with a hardcore fetish for wrapping things that seem too big to wrap. This is an installation of great cultural importance, and so, being interested in all such things, Storm has taken the day off from scholastic activities to inspect it, among other things.
