It might have been Jenny's first experience of Detention, but surely everyone knew that if you were put into 'Det', you were just a whisker away from the swish of the cane. You turned up on time, properly dressed, and looking penitent. What you didn't do was stroll in fifteen minutes late, still wearing your tennis kit. At least, you didn't do that sort of thing if you wanted to avoid a striped bottom.
"Oh, sorry sir, it was such an exciting game I lost track of time," Jenny burbled at the Duty Master. "Never mind, I'll stay on a quarter of an hour later at the end."
Mr Humphreys glowered at her. He resented taking Detention at the best of times because it kept him away from the glass of whisky he so longed for at the end of a hard day. To have this upstart pip-squeak then suggest that he should spend an extra quarter of hour supervising her, just because she couldn't act responsibly, was simply too much. It reinforced his determination to give her an exemplary thrashing, but her impudence had only made things worse: instead of six, he'd give her twelve. And the last half dozen would be with her shorts down. Yes, that would make him feel a lot better.
"Alas, I shall decline your kind offer to retain my services for a further fifteen minutes. I hope, however, that you'll accept counter-offer."
"Er, what's that, sir?" A note of nervousness crept into Jenny's voice.
"Perhaps you would be kind enough to bend yourself over that desk, where I'll let you and this splendid Senior cane do the talking for me. The rattan will sigh and crack, while you will count the strokes out loud. When our little ensemble has reached six strokes, I'd be grateful if you would lower your shorts before we continue with another six. Do you have any questions?"
Jenny, now almost as white a her tennis kit, had no questons. She licked her lips as she lowered herself gingerly over the desktop.
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