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Malone walked towards the comfort of his office just before nine o’clock and noticed some kind of incident just as he was about to enter: one of the typists was crying uncontrollably, whilst another tried to console her. Miss Watson stood close by in her usual military pose. Malone would not ordinarily have bothered himself with what he saw as feminine histrionics, except that the unhappy girl had distracted his attention some time ago. When Miss Watson entered his office soon after, he pursued it.
Miss Watson belonged to that class of women whose age is impossible to guess: anything between fifty and thirty. In her imagination she did not run an office, instead she was the girls’ strict guardian. Her wardrobe was shapeless and colourless. Everything was buttoned up as far as buttons went. Skirts and dresses revealed not much more than ankles. She would run naked down the High Street rather than wear trousers. Occasionally a sliver of ice was apparent beneath her nose, which Malone one day recognised was her smile. She was one of the last ascetics in Western civilisation.
But Malone had come to see someone beyond this; someone whose emotional reticence and often unforgiving nature revealed a kind of austere beauty. Their relationship had developed in an extraordinary way and one day they discovered a profound, mutual secret.
“What was all that business outside about, Miss Watson?” asked Malone.
“The young woman has just been dismissed, Mr Malone. A catalogue of incompetence over some months.”
“Obviously the decision requires your authority. I’ll bring you the paperwork shortly.”
“Is it? She really is completely inept.”
“What’s her name?”
Miss Watson felt this point had already been made and did not seek to prolong the exchange but Malone did.
“She seemed extraordinarily upset,” he ventured.
“She says she’s desperate for the work. Already in great debt, apparently. Bailiffs all but round the corner. You know the sort of thing?”
Malone nodded thoughtfully, “Very pretty, I thought.”
Miss Watson did not reply and continued to stare at him without conveying any thought on his observation.
“Don’t you think so, Miss Watson?” Malone sensed some weakening in the hardness of her face and waited for her reply.
“Personally I wouldn’t have thought she was especially pretty but she does have large breasts, which I suppose is what you mean.”
Malone now adopted a lighter, more whimsical tone. “No, no, Miss Watson, come now. I can think of women whose natural endowments are far more modest than young Nicole’s but who are nevertheless very attractive, indeed very desirable women.”
Malone looked straight into her face to ensure that she had fully grasped the import of what he meant. She fiddled with one of the buttons of her blouse, exhaled very slightly and moved her lips towards the promise of a smile.
“I will bring the paperwork for you to sign later,” she said, departing from the room.
It was much later that day when Miss Watson returned with the paperwork. “The folder concerning Nicole, Mr Malone. All the details of the matter are included together with the authorisation form for her dismissal.”
Malone looked pensively but rather distractedly through its contents. “Miss Watson, I have been thinking about this matter.”
“Yes, I thought you might.”
Malone looked up in surprise. “Why did you think that?”
She casually shrugged her shoulders, “I have worked for you for six months now. I like to think I know you quite well.”
Malone liked this reply and sat back in his chair with a broad smile on his face. “Well, you’re right, I’m sure. And it’s true we do share certain,” he waved his hand as he searched for the most appropriate phrase, “enthusiasms.”
“Inclinations,” she offered.
“Inclinations, yes. As ever you are more articulate than I am. So, armed with these deep insights into my character, what made you think I might have been thinking about this case?”
“I have a certain intuition that certain kinds of women affect you in…certain ways.”
“Really, curiouser and curiouser. And what kind of women are they?”
“Mr Malone, I have much to do and would be grateful if you would sign the form in order that I may get on.”
Malone was not prepared to curtail this discussion so easily. “Would these kind of women be rather like the Irish girl we have since promoted to Accounts, whose case we dealt with some months ago?”
“Anthea. Yes, she and Nicole are rather similar.”
“Then I think we may offer her the same arrangement, don’t you?”
Miss Watson searched his face without expression and then replied, quietly, “I am sure that can be arranged.”
“Excellent. Ask her to come in.”
“Yes, Mr Malone.”
Miss Watson quickly returned, with the young woman following immediately behind. She looked very young, only about nineteen but Malone had already checked her file and she was in fact twenty-four. She looked distraught. Her eyes full of tears still. She was pretty but in a very youthful way: not old enough to be called attractive. She had naturally black curly hair, a slender figure and large breasts that were made to look even larger by presiding over a very slender waist.
Malone began with his kindly father voice, “Nicole, I have here an authorisation for your dismissal.” He looked up at her but she did not reply. “This file,” which he lifted from his desk, “contains a damning series of failures.”
Very quietly she murmured, almost inaudibly, “I know.”
After a long pause, he continued, “I would like to see if there is an alternative solution to this problem.”
Briefly something like life flickered across her face.
“I am given to understand that you have serious financial difficulties, is that the case?”
“Yes, Mr Malone, very serious indeed. My flat is in danger of repossession and today I received a final reminder for my gas bill. I tried…” but at this point she was engulfed once more in tears.
Miss Watson walked from the back of the room and spoke rather sternly to her, “Come on now, dry your eyes and listen carefully to what Mr Malone has to say.”
“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, guiltily.
“Nicole,” Malone began to speak with gravity and deliberation, “I want you to listen very carefully to what I am about to say. You have made many mistakes, some of them quite serious but to be thrown out of your home and on to the streets is a terrible punishment, out of all proportion to the offence.”
She nodded, desperate to grasp at some wreckage.
“So…I am going to suggest an…alternative. I am not in favour of long drawn out punishments. If you home is repossessed you will be punished for years afterwards and that you do not deserve. I am going to offer you another job, in Accounts.”
“Oh, Mr Malone…”
“One moment, I have not finished.”
Malone stole a glance at Miss Watson who until now had listened impassively. Her eyebrows were raised for the job he was referring to had been earmarked for someone else. “Not only will you have a job but you will be paid more. However, I cannot overlook these offences. There has to be a price”
Until this last sentence Nicole had broadly speaking followed events, although mystified why he should be so kind when they had never even said good morning.
“When I was a schoolboy, a long time ago, of course, when things were very different to what they are now, misdemeanours were dealt with swiftly. You were ordered to present yourself to the Senior Master and in nine times out of ten you would be caned.”
Nicole now lost the thread of Malone’s explanation. She stood without moving or speaking.
He continued, “Three, four, five, six strokes, sometimes more. It was excruciatingly painful, rather like someone had just placed a red-hot poker across your backside. For about fifteen minutes your backside burned and you did not know where to put yourself. But slowly the fire died down and all that was left was a throbbing sensation. An hour later the worst was over, although the marks lasted days, and you got on with your life. If your home is repossessed, Nicole, the pain will last longer than an hour, won’t it?”
“I’m not really following this, Mr Malone.”
Malone’s easy going, patient manner now disappeared. “I’m offering you not just a job but a better job, with more money but first you must be punished for what you have done.”
Suddenly she began to have some sense, however confused or incredible, about what he was saying. She screwed up her face in disbelief, suddenly turning around to look at Miss Watson in the expectation that she would see on her face the same horror and incredulity that she was feeling but she saw something quite different: what she saw was collusion and she felt sick. Turning once more to face Malone she was about to pour on him all the vitriol she could manage but recognised, before she could conjure a single syllable, that she was trapped. The repossession letter was on her kitchen table. She stood perfectly still, closed her eyes and took a series of deep breaths and refused to cry again and so add to their pleasure.
She began, speaking with punctilious deliberation, “So, all that stuff about…schoolboy canings… that’s what you propose to do to me, is that it?”
“In return a better job and more money. Or if you prefer, it is an alternative to being homeless and on the streets.”
Quietly she told him, “You are vile.”
At this Malone briskly took hold of the file, “OK then, Nicole, I will sign this dismissal authorisation and we will not trouble you any further.”
“No! No……I …I…”
Her head dropped onto her chest, barely audibly replying, “I have no choice.”
“I need consent, Nicole.”
Slowly her lips faintly parted and something emerged as though it was some poison was being expelled from her body, “I…..con….sent.”
Malone threw a very quick, satisfied glance at Miss Watson as she fiddled with the button on her blouse. “Just before we finish Nicole, let’s be quite clear what agreement we have made. I would like you to listen very carefully because the arrangement must be carried out to the letter. You will return to this office this evening at six o’clock, thirty minutes after everyone has left. You will receive, from me, six strokes of the cane. Once this has been successfully completed, that is to say all six strokes, you will be given this folder that contains all the details of your recent shortcomings, including copies, so that no-one else will have any information on you. You will of course, be free to dispose of it as you please. Do you understand all of this?”
She held her head in her hands for a few seconds and then stood up straight and spoke quite clearly, “I understand.”
Trance like she left the room. Miss Watson walked slowly towards Malone’s desk.
“Impressive, Mr Malone, very impressive indeed. She emerges with a better job and more money. Those breasts must have been even better than I realised.”
Malone stood up and put on his coat, “I am going to get a bite to eat. Can I safely leave the arrangements with you?”
“Of course, Mr Malone. It will be a pleasure.”
Miss Watson’s footsteps echoed loudly as she walked through the empty building towards Malone’s office, turned the key and went in. To begin with she turned on the brightest lights in the room although they would soon have to be dimmed. The office was large but Malone’s furnishings were confined to about one third of the space leaving the rest almost entirely empty. Miss Watson walked over to a corner of the empty space to an old, rather shabby chair that was incongruous with the rest of the furnishings. She picked up the chair and carried it over to the centre of the large, empty space and positioned with it great care. She walked back and looked at it from some distance, moving slightly to her left, then to her right, eyeing it carefully as if it were a piece of art work and she a connoisseur. It was not quite right so she adjusted it very slightly and stood back and checked it again until finally satisfied. She then removed a cloth from her bag and began to dust the chair with a peculiar gentleness, especially the seat and the very strange, very low back. Finally it was ready. She had now only five minutes before Nicole arrived, if she was going to.
She now produced from her purse a key that she kept separate from her office keys and opened a draw beneath one of the cupboards and withdrew a long, old fashioned, crook handle, school cane. Whenever she saw this she felt some mysterious fusion of awe and fear and she could never resist the urge to cup her finger and thumb around it just at the point where it straightened out from the handle’s curve and then drew her hand all the way down to its tip; at the end it bent slightly in the opposite direction to the curve of the handle. It possessed all the suppleness that produced that exhilarating swishing sound that always caught her breath. At the same time it was hard and firm. She thought it had a peculiar, phallic beauty.
She took it over to the chair, one hand at either end and placed it carefully, dead centre on the seat, parallel with the backrest. There was a knock at the door and she jumped – it was Nicole! On the ceiling immediately above the cane and chair was a spotlight and she moved quickly to dim it to its lowest setting. She opened the door. It was Nicole.
In the short time that lapsed since Nicole’s departure something had happened to her. She came into the room in a mood of complete acquiescence. No doubt not returning was uppermost in her mind when she left but she knew she was doomed if she did not; the only way she could deal with this nightmare was abject subordination to Malone and his adjutant. She looked like an exhausted, lifeless animal, chased into exhaustion, now here to accept her solitary option.
“Give me your coat, Nicole,” Miss Watson said, “this will all be over soon.” Without a word or expression, she slipped off her coat.
“Now, Nicole, Mr Malone will be here very soon and there are some very important things I must explain to you before he does.” Miss Watson moved behind Nicole and turned on the spotlight that hung over the chair and cane. There it stood for the young woman, isolated from anything else, organised in a bizarre and perfect symmetry.
Very quietly, she murmured, “Oh God!”
“Come over to the chair, Nicole.” She led the frightened young woman to beneath the spotlight and pointed to precisely the spot where she should stand, which was behind the back of the chair but as near to it as possible.
“Now listen very carefully to what I am about to say; we have little time. Very soon Mr. Malone will knock on the door and we will have only seconds before he comes in.”
Nicole never took her eyes off Miss Watson throughout this preliminary but not a muscle in her face even flickered.
“When I give you the command I want you to bend over the back of this chair and clasp your hands firmly on these struts, do you see?” Nicole nodded. “It will stop you from being propelled upwards during the more painful moments.” Nicole closed her eyes at this. “Your face must remain flat on the chair’s seat, do not at anytime turn your face sideways, however powerful the urge may be. Your legs must be tightly together throughout. Finally, you must not get up during the punishment. I am afraid if you do you risk additional strokes. Remember that Mr Malone’s agreement requires you receive the full complement of six strokes. After the sixth and final stroke you must remain in position until you are given permission to stand up. You will not, during the punishment see Mr Malone at all.”
At this she did briefly look quizzically at Miss Watson. Then the knock came followed by a sharp intake of breath from Nicole but Miss Watson remained quite composed.
“Come now,” she said in a vaguely reassuring manner, “we must get this done. Bend over as I told you and make sure you clasp those struts very tightly.” In a single movement Nicole obeyed.
Miss Watson stood immediately behind her and absorbed the bent, prostrate young woman. Her fingers went unconsciously to the button on her blouse. She saw how tightly the skirt stretched across the girl’s buttocks. Realised how flimsy was the protection for the young skin. How much it was going to hurt. She took a step forward until her own body was almost touching Nicole’s and laid her hands gently on the young woman’s haunches and whispered, “Are you ready, Nicole?” She was.
Miss Watson walked to the door and admitted Malone. They did not speak. He removed his jacket and hung it up. Miss Watson walked back to the chair, collected the cane and handed it to Malone. Nicole remained motionless and silent. Miss Watson took up a position on the other side of the chair close enough to repress any upward movements the girl might make. Malone waited a few moments, the cane limp in his hand, in order that he could be sated on the image of the abject young woman, noticing also how tight was the skirt. Suddenly the cane was raised and placed with great care across the middle of the target area, tapped a few times, to indicate the imminence of the punishment.
The first stroke when it came was cruel, not because of its severity but because of its leniency, leading the young woman to believe this was what it would be like. Only a brief, quiet and quickly truncated gasp followed. The second strike, however, fell with ferocity across the middle of her rump, a shower of dust rising from her skirt, reminding Miss Watson of the times in her youth when her mother would beat the dust out of carpets. Nicole let out a piercing cry but Miss Watson’s hands were hovering just above Nicole’s head to catch her as she jerked upwards. Suddenly Nicole emitted a high pitch whimper, simultaneous with the kind of heavy breathing usually brought on by vigorous exercise. The second stroke landed on exactly the same place; the following two fell on the top of the legs; the fifth was brought downwards to onto the very highest point of the buttocks; the final one back to where the first two landed. Each stroke brought the same piercing cry, deep moans, muffled cries of “no more, no more!” and the continuous loud, heavy breathing. On the final stroke she almost evaded Miss Watson’s attempts to keep her on the chair, “Wait! Remember what I told you!”
When Malone finished, Miss Watson stood momentarily still to ensure that Nicole had remembered the instructions to remain in position until she was told to move: she had. She walked over to Malone; they stared into each other’s eyes briefly before she gently wrested the cane from his hand and placed it on his desk. She took his coat from the peg, held it open whilst he put his arms through it and then he left. At no point, from the moment he entered the room until the moment he left, did they speak.
Miss Watson walked over to the supine young woman, who was still heaving and whimpering. She noticed when close up that that there were creases across her skirt where the cane had landed.
“You may get up now, Nicole,” she said almost inaudibly.
Nicole pushed herself upwards with effort but needed to halt briefly resting her weight heavily on the back of the chair. Her eyes were deep red and her face soaked with tears.
“Here, dry your eyes,” said Miss Watson offering a tissue, “time to go now.”
She retrieved Nicole’s coat and held it for her but the girl seemed mesmerised and limply pushed her arms through the sleeves as Miss Watson held the coat for her. She stood face to face with the girl hoping for some voluntary movement but it never came, only the same heavy breathing. Miss Watson pulled the two flaps of the coat together to fasten the buttons and as she did so she felt the urgent but soft press of Nicole’s breasts against her fingers.
“Time to go,” she repeated.
This time Nicole turned around and made for the door at which point Miss Watson handed her the file.
“I will see you tomorrow morning,” she said, “and remember, you are truly one of Mr Malone’s girls now.” She responded with the gentlest of nods. “And you will not be a naughty girl again, will you?”
For the first time a sound came from her lips – just, “no.”
Miss Watson watched her limp across the landing until she reached the stairs and then closed the door. She returned to the room, carefully lifted the cane from the desk and returned it to its allocated place inside Malone’s cupboard. She walked towards the chair and briefly took in again its solitary and frightening aspect. When she had placed it back by the window she looked outside and saw Nicole walking slowly towards the gates. Miss Watson’s finger, which was gently stroking the first button on her dress, now slipped involuntarily downwards and she was suddenly brought back to life when she became aware of the hardness of her nipple. At this, she dropped her hand, turned around briskly, took her coat from the peg, turned off the lights and left.