Victoria Jenkins stood nervously in the hallway outside the door of The Study, unconsciously tracing arabesques on the carpet with the tip of her right shoe. Above her head a large, white-faced clock relentlessly ticked away the few minutes remaining before the appointed time for her latest uncomfortable appointment.
It was a sadly familiar position for her to be in. Pacing up and down the hallway as silently as she could, painful memories flashed through her mind; of her previous encounters in the same room; of all that had happened within its walls; of how very uncomfortable she had felt as she had departed half an hour later.
After one particularly vivid and painful memory, she carefully checked her appearance in the full length mirror on the wall opposite for the umpteenth time, glancing guiltily at the camera in the corner of the corridor. He was a stickler for all rules, she knew that too well - especially those involving uniform - and expected her to pay particular attention whenever she was summoned to the Study.
On a day like today, Vicky knew he would be particularly strict and if she had in any way transgressed the Uniform Code, there would be immediate and painful consequences. Starting from her feet, she quickly compared every item of her clothing with the list of alternatives he would find acceptable.
Shiny black court shoes - less than one inch of heel. Check.
White knee socks - clean, pulled up straight and to the same height. Hmm some adjustment needed. Check.
Regulation kilt - pleats ironed smooth, no more than six inches above the knee. Check.
White cotton shirt or blouse - neatly pressed, tucked all round into the kilt. Check.
Tie - red and black stripes, without food stains, tied neatly. Check.
Make-up - none allowed. Check.
Long dark hair - pulled back into pony tail and secured with bobble. Check.
Oops! She had nearly forgotten to check underneath...
Bra – regulation white. Unattractive and uncomfortable. Check.
Panties – regulation white and big! Check.
Satisfied that she would pass at least the first, most obvious test, Vicky fidgeted, hopping from one foot to the other as the clock's big hand moved closer and closer to her appointed time of two-thirty.
Tick. Tick.
With each passing second her tummy bubbled with butterflies as she tried to picture what was to come. She had stood outside The Study so many times and for so many offences she couldn't count them all, but the common, unmistakeable theme was clear; when she left the study later that afternoon, she would be humiliated and in pain.
Tick. Tick.
So why did she keep on transgressing? Why did she repeatedly commit offences that she knew would result in a summons to The Study and the inevitable painful physical consequences? Did she secretly desire humiliation at his hands? What was it about him that made her come back time and again?
Tick. Tick.
One minute to go. She checked her reflection one last time. Oh God! Her nipples were hard and clearly visible through the thin material of her cheap bra and shirt. Please God, may he not notice!
Tick. Tick.
Only seconds now before it would all begin. Would he be angry? Would it really hurt this time? How would she explain herself to everyone afterwards? She glanced across at the camera; had he been watching her on the video all this time, enjoying her nervousness?
Bing-bong-bing-bong. Bing-bong-bing-bong.
The clock chimed the half hour. Must be prompt! Mustn't be even a minute late!
Vicky took a deep breath, pulled her shirt away from her erect nipples to try and conceal their arousal and knocked twice, firmly on the hardwood door.
There was a familiar pause. He always paused, she knew, just to make her even more nervous.
"Come!"
His voice was deep and commanding. Vicky took the brass door knob in her hand, turned it shakily and entered The Study.
For a room in which punishments routinely took place, The Study was at first glance surprisingly unintimidating. The walls were a bright friendly yellow-white with colourful modern prints hung symmetrically around. The woodwork was painted white, the ceiling was high and sunlight streamed through the large, clean windows and onto the polished wooden floor.
The furniture was modern too, with a large pale oak desk facing the doorway and various sizes of cupboards and cabinets around the walls. Three dark, state-of-the-art video cameras stood on tripods as if their probing lenses were surveying the room and its contents but apart from them it could have been the office of a modern, busy business executive rather than a place of chastisement.
And yet that was exactly what Vicky expected as she tentatively crossed the floor to stand in front of the desk on the large rectangular piece of dark-coloured carpet that lay there. Vicky knew this carpet well; it was known as the 'Spanking Rug'; dark in reputation and in colour, brought out of storage when punishments were required and used in case any messy 'accidents' should occur during their administration.
'Accidents' were not unknown during a punishment and as she nervously took her place, Vicky remembered one such occasion when her punishment had proved too much for her self-control and she had disgraced herself in front of him, to her severe humiliation.
Her knees trembling, she stood silently in front of the desk behind which he sat, his head bent over a pile of documents, his computer screen glowing blue alongside. Her shoulders slumped and her toes pointed awkwardly inwards, waiting for the man responsible for her future discomfort to finish writing
He wrote neatly with his left hand, the paper skewed sideways before him. There was a dark birthmark on the base of his thumb, about the size of a fifty-pence piece. Vicky had seen this mark many times in many circumstances but none more ominously than today. As he wrote, she tried to read the paper upside down on his desk but without her glasses, she failed.
"Miss Jenkins. On time for once, I'm pleased to see." He finally addressed her without looking up. "A welcome improvement on your usual tardiness!"
"Sir!" She responded, is if unsure whether to say yes or no and not wanting to make a mistake.
He looked up at her, his eyes surprisingly warm, his dark hair still thick on top of his head. Despite her predicament Vicky couldn't help feeling strongly attracted to this man, despite the surprisingly small difference in their ages. For a second, he gazed at her, his eyes sparking and with a mischievous expression on his face, then he shrugged, bent over and pulled open the bottom left hand drawer of his desk, removing a heavy ledger-style book which Vicky recognised only too well. He laid it on the desk in front of him.
"Miss Jenkins, after our last appointment I had hoped that you and I would be seeing rather less of each other in circumstances such as these. I have never believed that any person is beyond hope, but sadly it appears that in your case the leopard cannot change its spots and we are destined to continue our somewhat painful relationship."
Vicky looked down at the carpet in what she hoped was a convincing gesture of remorse.
"Yes Sir. Sorry Sir." She mumbled apologetically.
"These are the Rules with which everyone living under this roof must comply," he said, tapping the book with his index finger, "you agreed specifically to comply when you arrived but you do not appear to understand what compliance means, young Lady."
"Yes Sir. I mean no Sir!" Vicky's nerves were getting the better of her.
"So once again I must ask you to bring me the punishment book." He ordered, nodding to the corner cupboard behind her.
The routine was familiar, but made the anticipation all the more nerve-wracking. She turned and crossed to the largest cupboard door, bent over and turned the key in the lock, her bottom directed towards him, her kilt riding up slightly giving him and the cameras a glimpse of her regulation panties. The well-oiled cupboard door swung open and she took out the large hard-covered book that lay on the top shelf, noticing with concern the rack of implements that hung from hooks in the space below. Standing up shakily, she turned and returned to the desk with the ledger, placing it nervously before him.
He barely looked at her.
"Thank you Miss Jenkins. Now stand up straight on the carpet while we go through the formalities."
Vicky stood almost to attention as he flicked through the pages of the book, some almost blank, others covered in dense writing until he came to a double spread on which there was a rather large amount of neat, hand printed black ink.
"Your record, Miss Jenkins."
"Yes Sir."
"Not an enviable record, girl, and one to which I must now add yet more entries."
"Yes Sir." Vicky's mind flicked back over all the previous times she had stood in that office and how each encounter had started in a similar way.
"But this time the offences are rather more serious than on previous occasions, are they not?"
"Yes Sir." She replied, a little puzzled but knowing better than argue or do anything which might enrage him at this critical stage of the procedure.
Instead she watched as he wrote the date and time in the columns of the book in his neat, left-handed print, then raised his head and looked her straight in the eye before picking up several familiar slips of paper from his in-tray.
"I have no less than four separate Complaint Slips on my desk for four separate offences on four separate occasions. Congratulations Miss Jenkins. You have established a new record."
Vicky squirmed in her shoes and wriggled her hips anxiously as she contemplated what the consequences of a full four offences might be. She had expected to be confronted with two Complaint Slips but had no idea what her third and fourth offences might be.
"Let's take them in turn, shall we?" he said sternly, bringing her back from her reverie and placing the first slip face up before her, "Would you care to read the contents aloud?"
Vicky made a show of bending over to read but she already knew the contents of the first slip.
"Slovenly behaviour Sir." She said quietly. "Failing to make the beds properly or tidy the rooms for which I am responsible." He raised an eyebrow. "Three days in a row," she quickly added.
"And..." He prompted.
