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“Steady on,” Ronald says. “I never told her to drive high.”
“I’m sure you never told her many things. I’m sure you simply provided the set and setting and let her get herself into trouble.” Jane’s gaze is hard and stern. She is not impressed with this young man, and she has absolutely no intention of letting him leave either with Kiera, or the ability to sit comfortably.
One element is working in her favor. Men like Ronald have grown up accustomed to stern women laying down the law. In their nurseries and in the care of their nannies, they learned it is best to behave when such a figure tells them to. It is a lesson Ronald has not retained terribly well, but it is snaking its way up through his conscience and memory now.
The carefree rake who intended to use his familial wealth to yet again bed an addled younger woman begins to shrink before Jane, invisible layers of his persona steadily stripped away in the force of her glare until he no longer holds himself like he owns the place, and instead stands before her with the unmistakeable flush and uncertain gaze of a naughty schoolboy.
“I didn’t think she’d drive high,” he says, sounding very guilty.
It hasn’t occurred to him that he does not answer to Jane, that he is a grown adult man free to do as he pleases. He has forgotten all of that as he finds himself caught in the force of Jane’s natural dominance.
“I am going to give you what Kiera took today as a result of your influence,” Jane says. “Twelve strokes of the cane.”
“Twelve!?”
With that question, he has already accepted his fate. In questioning the number, rather than the event itself, he has submitted. That makes Jane smile inwardly, though on the surface she remains unyielding and unimpressed.
“Yes. She took twelve. She would have taken more, thanks to her sorry state, had I not realized it. She will face further punishment when she is better, and perhaps so will you. Now. Lower your trousers and your underwear and bend over the desk.”
“But…”
There is a brief moment in which Jane thinks he might rebel and remember that he can do as he pleases, but it passes before he seems to be aware of it. He is already worried about the predicament he finds himself in.
“Now, please, young man,” Jane says, speaking with natural authority.
He obeys with something of an astonished, yet ashamed expression on his face. His hands go to his waist, unbuttoning his pants.
Just before he pushes them down along with his boxers, another moment of hesitation where the realities of the outside world threaten to intrude rises… and then is passed over.
He is naked for a moment, the member that men are so very proud of and display so often with great pride hanging shamefully before he takes a step forward and bends over the desk, his muscular bottom making a very different view given the softer, more shapely curves Jane has been punishing of late. He is much larger than any school girl, but he still fits comfortably on Jane’s desk, and her cane, drawn from the soaking stand, will teach him just as good a lesson.
“You are significantly older than Kiera,” Jane says. “And you should know better than to take advantage of a younger woman.”
Before he can respond, Jane brings the cane down hard, droplets trailing the passage of the rattan before it connects with his bottom with a harsh snap, another fresh spray of water briefly visible before she draws the cane back and views the resulting red welt across Ronald’s bottom with deep satisfaction.
“But I love her!” He cries the words out as the pain flashes through his deserving body. From the waist up, he is still every inch the gentleman. From the waist down, he is nothing but a bad boy receiving a very well deserved punishment.
“If you loved her, you would ensure that she is safe, and not contribute to her worst tendencies,” Jane notes as she lifts the cane high and brings it down once more with a harsh stroke that lands with near surgical precision.
“We just like to party!”
Jane responds to that declaration with two strokes in very quick succession, so quick that one very nearly lays directly atop the other. A howl emerges from Ronald, a guttural cry of such deserved shock and pain Jane cannot help but smile with satisfaction. It feels so very good to be able to intervene meaningfully in the wayward life of a young man who clearly needs direction as much as any of her other charges.
He then makes a rookie mistake and jolts up from the desk, only to receive a sharp snap of the cane across the top of his legs.
“Down. Now.” Jane orders.
Ronald drops with a sob, more obedient than he wants to be.
“Kiera needs a responsible partner looking out for her best interests. If you loved her, you would take care of her.”
Jane knows that she cannot forbid Ronald and Kiera from seeing one another. To do so would be to drive them into one another’s arms. Perhaps she can provide some guidance to one half of the relationship now, in the hope both halves are improved.
“I do want to take care of her. That’s why I buy her things.” His voice is cracking slightly as he fights back tears.
“She does not needthings, young man. She needs someone who makes responsible decisions and encourages her to do the same. Now. Stay in position. Stop wriggling about. I have schoolgirls who take a caning better than you.”
Ronald settles into position with a soft groan, his arms extended, his fingers gripping the far edge of the desk to steady himself. He is trying his best to do as he is told, and so Jane takes what passes for pity on him and finishes the caning relatively swiftly, ensuring that every single one of the twelve strokes he has coming lands good and true on his increasingly marked and reddened bottom.
