The Disciplinarienne

The Disciplinarienne

“Julie, I’ve had just about enough of your cheek!”

Mary Whentworth was beside herself and was up in arms about what to do about her errant, eighteen-year-old daughter.

“I know this is a tough age, but I shall not be spoken to like this — not in my own home!”

It had been a tough day around the Whentworth residence indeed. First, Julie had just recently moved back in under her mum and dad’s roof, after having lived with her boyfriend the past six months in what her mother termed, “a state of rebellion.”

This hadn’t worked out and now she found herself home again and having to abide by her parents’ rules. Now she was faced with either going back to school full time or finding employment.

Julie didn’t like either of her choices and her attitude truly reflected this. It had sharpened considerably – spewing forth a bitterness and a hostile resentment toward her mother for her own failings.

“I’m afraid, Julie, that the time has come.”

“For what?!” the miscreant teen shot back, her voice dripping with seething disrespect.

“For the cane, young lady. Time for ‘six-of the-best’ to be laid squarely across your backside, you sassy little recalcitrant brat!”

“And you’re gonna do it? I don’t think so,” Julie shot back sarcastically, her face turning scornful as she snickered under her breath.

This was a little girl headed for big trouble.

Mary Whentworth picked up a copy of the London Times, turning to the advertisements. An ad had caught her eye earlier that morning:

DISCIPLINARY PROBLEMS IN THE HOME?

HESITANT TO PUNISH? CALL BRENTWOOD COLLEGE.

The advertisement seemed simple enough. But would they understand the delicacy of her situation; that she, already in her mid-forties, had never learned to properly wield the cane? Much less having never administered a “proper” caning with anything heavier than a junior cane – which was, by American standards, nothing more than a switch. Certainly she felt as if things were so far beyond her control that a caning by her hand was simply out of the question.

She picked up the telephone and dialed the number to the college.

The voice on the other end seemed pleasant enough.

“Hello?”

“Yes, hello … my name is … Mrs. Mary Whentworth and I. …”

“You’re calling about the ad in the Sunday Times,” the voice said matter-offactly.

“Yes, Ma’am, I am. Actually, I’m calling for my daughter.

“I understand,” came the calm, yet self-assured voice on the other end again.

“You do?”

“Indeed. You have a misbehaving child in need of discipline, correct?”

“Well, yes.”

“I’m the headmistress of this establishment, Ms. Von Stern. Would you like for your daughter to be caned, or is that too severe a punishment for her? How old is she?”

“She’s eighteen and fairly well-built. That is to say that her bottom could definitely withstand the cane. And Lord knows she needs it.”

“I understand completely,” Miss Von Stern said as she looked down at her roster of trainee schoolmistresses and governesses.

“I have someone in mind who would be perfect for the task at hand. She’s just finishing up her training here and is familiarizing herself in the disciplinary arts. She’s given quite a lot of canings as of late, some — actually quite a lot – to private homes where discipline is sorely lacking. Would you like for her come to your home and administer some discipline to your daughter?”

“I would indeed. Thank you,” Mary Whentworth said, breathing a huge sigh of relief. “What would the charge be, if I may ask?”

“Oh, no charge, we do this completely gratis; as a service, and we’re happy to provide it, as it benefits both parties we feel. My mistresses and governesses receive the live disciplinary practice they so need to fulfill their prerequisites. And the parents, they don’t have to fuss with the punishments themselves.”

Mary Whentworth gave the headmistress her address and they made the appointment for precisely three o’clock that afternoon. Julie had only half believed any of this was going to come about when she saw a very good looking young redhead approaching the door with a case tucked neatly under her arm. The diminutive woman rang the doorbell, applying a thick coat of lipstick.

Julie started to answer the door, but was cut off by her mother.

“Hello,” came the very formal voice of the lady, dressed in a white blouse and pleated black skirt and heels. “I’m Ms. Donnelly, I believe I have an appointment with you this afternoon.”

“Yes, please come in,” Mary Whentworth somehow managed to stammer out, shaking Ms. Donnelly’s hand as the gentle looking young lady entered – catching eyes with Julie, whom she knew instinctively she’d be disciplining in a few short moments.

“I’ve been updated on your condition here in the home, so I’d like to get right down to business, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Whentworth?”

“No, not at all,” the lady of the house replied, gazing at her daughter, who now wore a confused expression.

Julie sized up Ms. Donnelly: At barely five feet, with long elegant red locks pulled up into a tight bun and deep-set green eyes, she was hardly an imposing figurine at that thought the smug teenager. How much of a caning could she give?

Ms. Donnelly took off her coat, then placed her long black case on the table as she made eye contact with Julie once again – this time a seriousness enveloping her face; a businesslike proficiency that Julie somehow likened to that of her mother, but, still, with an element her mother was somehow missing. But this woman was different. There was an air of seriousness that was a bit unsettling. It also excited young Julie in a manner she did not understand. Mary Whentworth sat down, sipping her tea, watching what was unfolding before her very eyes. Her daughter caned. Properly. And for no charge. What could be better for a Sunday afternoon?

What she had dreamt of and wished now for so long was finally about to come to fruition: For her daughter to finally get her just desserts. To finally feel the dreaded sting of the cane she’d been promising for so many years, but had somehow been unable to deliver due to her lack of skill and coordination because of a nervous system affliction the doctors were unable to get under control.

“Julie, I’m sure you know why I’m here,” Ms. Donnelly continued.

“Yeah, you’re supposed to … punish me.” The teen’s voice was again filled with a combination of wild disbelief coupled with rebellious, albeit nervous, laughter.

“I’d like for you to clear the area here in the living room, move the furniture to the sides and bring me that old-fashioned chair in the corner. Place it in the center of the room. Just the chair. That’s all I want to see there. Do you understand?”

Julie rolled her eyes, deciding to play out this charade to its fullest. After all, how bad could a “caning” from this tiny woman be? She’d go through the motions, then tell her mother it was much ado about nothing after Ms. Donnelly left.

Julie did as she was instructed and the chair was in place.

Ms. Donnelly turned to Julie’s mother: “Would you happen to have a spare house shoe I might use? Perhaps one with a flat heel, or a sandal? One with some pliancy to it, but not too flimsy?”

Mrs. Whentworth bolted up out of her seat and went to the closet in her bedroom where she found the perfect scourge her daughter’s disciplinarienne had requested: A fifteen-year old, sturdy, elegant sandal with a half-inch heel and a metal tip attached to the flat of the heel. She quickly returned and handed it to Ms. Donnelly, who smiled with delight at her counterpart’s proficiency in finding exactly what she had wanted.

Julie’s eyes widened to full aperture now, watching the transference of the shoe from her mum to Ms. Donnelly.

The disciplinarienne sat down, calmly, on the seat of the chair, and with shoe in hand, called for Julie to come stand before her.

Julie balked. How could she back down now – after boasting so much pride in front of her mother and this strange woman? She lowered her head and went to Ms. Donnelly, who took her in one graceful motion by the hand and draped her across her lap, positioning her for punishment. It took a few moments before Julie was sprawled across her punisher’s knee just right. Then Ms. Donnelly placed the shoe on the flat of Julie’s back as she very deliberately folded up her skirt, exposing crisp new knickers. This brought a wave of shame across Julie’s flushed facial features.

Ms. Donnelly turned to Julie’s’ mum, who sat spellbound.

“Would you like for this to be bare bottom, Mrs. Whentworth?”

Mrs. Whentworth did not hesitate and answered immediately with an emphatic nod.

Ms. Donnelly then slowly peeled down Julie’s knickers, showing for the first time in a long time a well rounded, unblemished, virgin-white bottom.

She picked up the shoe, and, in a very soft yet commanding voice, disciplined Julie verbally: “I want your head turned away whilst I spank you, do you understand? I do not wish to see your face!”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, ma’am,” came the cheeky tone again, through clenched teeth this time.

“I don’t think I like your tone, young lady! But not to worry, we’ll be making some headway in just a few moments. I want your toes pointed inward. I do not want you clenching your bottom cheeks whatsoever during this punishment – do you understand, Julie?!”

“Yes, ma’am,” came Julie’s reply, this time a bit more feeble – but definitely resonating with more respect.

Ms. Donnelly picked up the shoe again and without a moment’s hesitation, began whacking away at Julie’s poor behind. Six crisp, stinging whacks to one cheek, then another six to the other. Then twelve strokes on one side and twelve to the other. Finally, after five solid minutes of this, Julie could keep her toes pointed no longer and the tears began rolling down her cheeks. But she was determined not to utter a sound. Ms. Donnelly stopped, a frown appearing on her delicate, fawnlike features.

“What did I tell you about those toes, young lady?!”

“I’m … I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“You will be. We’re just getting started here. Now back into position!”

Julie repositioned her toes correctly, turning her head away as the tears started to flow uncontrollably. The vision of her mother, sitting at the kitchen table sipping her tea – watching with such unadulterated pleasure – was simply too much for her to bear. She broke down completely, and the caning itself had still yet to be administered! Finally, after another few minutes of torrid whacks applied with the shoe, Ms. Donnelly let Julie up, but with a stern warning not to rub her flaming bottom cheeks.

Julie stood, crying, wanting to rub the sting out of her bottom as her disciplinarienne strode to the table and opened her black case – removing two different crook-handled canes. She bent the first one, an office cane, or “junior” cane which was quite thin, between her long, sensuous, capable fingers. Julie looked up to see this as she broke down again in tears, knowing full well the seriousness of the fate that now awaited her. Then Ms. Donnelly swished the cane quickly through the air and, shaking her head, replaced it back in its case. She then pulled out a senior cane, the type most frequently used in her establishment. It was longer and had a longer circumference than that of the office cane. It was also heavier, with greater density. She gave a wry smile as she swished this cane, feeling its weight spring between her fingers – knowing it would be the rod to impart the bulk of Julie’s lesson this afternoon.

Ms. Donnelly walked over to where Julie was by the chair and ordered her to kneel on the seat.

“Up on it, and I want you reaching over and grabbing the chair legs,” do you understand?

“Yes, ma’am. I do,” came the contrite reply.

Ms. Donnelly fussed with Julie’s posture even more this time, taking the cane and using it as a pointer, motioning her to arch her back as she reached down low, almost off balance.

“Bum up, head down. And don’t jump off that chair if you know what’s good for you!”

Julie was now sobbing incessantly, the tears flowing down her face as if a river had run amok. Her mother sat silently, watching with breathtaking fascination at the absolutely flawless pre-punishment delivery Ms. Donnelly was performing before her eyes. Never had she seen her daughter so controlled by a woman. So contrite. And this strange woman? So young – just out of college herself! And so petite!

How, Mary Whentworth thought. How could this be possible?

Ms. Donnelly, pleased with Julie’s posture finally, went forth with her precaning rituals that she was now honing on this wayward teenager. She rolled back her skirt again, over onto her back, but did not have to fuss with her knickers that were still at the tops of her knees. Julie’s sore bottom showed; welts from the heel of the shoe had “marked” her significantly already. Her bottom was literally a deep shade of crimson from the spanking and getting redder with each passing moment.

Ms. Donnelly took the cane and placed it between Julie’s thighs, spreading them apart just a bit. Then the governess trainee rolled up her right sleeve ever so slowly, a stern glare directed into Julie’s eyes.

“Turn your head from me,” Ms. Donnelly said next. “I do not wish to see your face as I cane you, young lady.”

“Yes, ma’am,” came Julie’s weak response again. The young girl complied totally and without question, having already been thoroughly disciplined by this woman.

“You’re going to receive a six-of-the-best caning, young lady,” do you know what that means?

Julie nodded her head that she did.

“Followed by a five-barred gate.” Do you know what that is?

Julie shook her head.

“You’ll very soon find out. Now, on with it. Head down and bum up. Legs spread wide apart … that’s it. Bum up. Higher … higher … higher!”

Ms. Donnelly drew the cane back to its full apex and with a lightning-quick motion and flick of her wrist, landed the first cane stroke squarely in the middle of Julie’s bum. The tip had not wrapped around the edge and she was pleased with her first stroke in more than a week. A fully-ridged horizontal cane stripe quickly appeared out of nowhere as Ms. Donnelly smiled to herself. Julie let out a hysterical cry. Ms. Donnelly pushed her back down and the errant girl obediently grabbed hold of the chair legs again, offering up her bum for further chastisement a total, undeniable sign of pure contrition.

“How many strokes was that, Julie?”

“One … ma’am.”

“Very good. Do not lose count, or we start over. Do you understand? Do not jump off that chair, or we start over.”

“Yes, ma’am, I understand,” Julie said, wiping her tears.

Ms. Donnelly readied the cane again — slashing three vicious cuts in succession, one on either side of the first stroke then one cut directly in the middle, landing on the first, horrendous cut which was fully developed and “weeping” now. The ridges fast-appeared again and were trapped within the fullness of Julie’s plump bottom. No sloppy weals, just well placed “ladders” exactly a half-inch apart. The disciplinarienne was truly pleased with herself; with how far she’d come as a mistress of the cane. This would be nearly the hundredth caning she’d administered (she kept a detailed diary of every one) and she felt very at home administering its style of discipline to those so desperately in need of chastisement and correction.

“How many more, Julie?”

The girl paused, finally answering in a very meek voice. ”

“Four?”

“Correct. Prepare yourself Julie Whentworth!”

Ms. Donnelly measured her distance with the cane as Julie bent forward again.

The disciplinarienne swished the cane through the air and it landed just below the other cuts, directly on the seat, where sitting is a reminder of the punishment itself. Not one weal was touching another. Julie let out another hysterical scream. She could bare no more. And what was this “five-barred gate” her mistress had mentioned?

“One more, Julie, then it’s all over. Get into position. … That’s it, head down, bum up.”

Ms. Donnelly repositioned herself almost even with Julie’s head, aiming her cane diagonally back across the previous weals. This last stroke was meant to be the most severest, “connecting” the previous five “cuts” – thus making the caning appear as if it were a “gate.”

The cane made a sickening swishing noise as it sliced through the air on its way to the target – Julie’s plump, well-rounded bum cheeks.

Julie remained in position, taking in a quick series of short breaths before breaking down into tears again. This had been such an ordeal. Ms. Donnelly watched, silently, to see if Julie would disobey her by rubbing her bottom or by jumping off the chair. The girl remained motionless, except for her heaving body giving forth to her incredible sobs. Mrs. Whentworth sat, silently, too, satisfied that the job had been done properly and that possibly there was some hope for her daughter’s immediate behavior problems.

Ms. Donnelly, without uttering a word, then went to the table and replaced her cane – put on her coat and handed Julie’s mother a white business card, which read, very simply, “Ms. K. Donnelly … disciplinarienne.” There was also a telephone number at the bottom and an e-mail address.

The two exchanged admiring glances and Ms. Donnelly looked back over to Julie who was still bent over the chair, now deeply immersed in self-pity and the remnants of a good cry.

Julie looked up for a moment, catching Ms. Donnelly’s eye. She emotionally mouthed the words: “Thank you” to the schoolmistress/governess as her tearstained face showed no signs of rebellion whatsoever. It was as if she was thanking this woman — this stranger – for taking the time, for showing her the attention, for disciplining her — as she had so badly needed and wanted all these years, but was somehow unable to communicate to her mother.

Then the disciplinarienne, case tucked under her arm, gracefully exited the Whentworth home as elegantly and as quickly as she came – a wry sense of satisfaction washing across her soft and satisfied features.

But would there be a need for her to return?

Mary Whentworth was absolutely certain.

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