Moonlighting: A Thanksgiving Story (4 page)

Nigel Longbridge
stood and walked over to the closet behind her. Charlotte turned in her chair
and watched. Her eyes widened when he turned back to her. He was holding a
cane.

“You cannot be
serious,” she said.

“And why not?”
He walked back over and when level with the chair where she sat, he put a
forefinger under my chin and tilted my head back so he could look down into my
eyes. “I happen to think it’s a rather brilliant compromise. You accept
correction for your misdeed - and there has to be some penalty - but get to
keep your job, with the promise, of course that you’ll be more careful.”

Tears sprang to
Charlotte’s eyes. “Are you making fun of me, Mr. Longbridge? Because if you
are…”

“I am not one to
trifle, Miss Tetter,” he said. “Perhaps if you get to know me better you will
realize that. And I am not one to mock another’s views on what works, even if
those views are cloaked in the mantle of fiction. Pardon me for saying, but I
believe a young woman who writes with such conviction about the benefits and
merits of discipline must herself believe something of her words. So it stands
to reason that a few strokes of the cane would go a long way in making sure
that you do not repeat the careless mistakes that could have cost you your
job.”

Charlotte opened
her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“Am I to assume
that you have never been spanked, then?”

Her face
flushed. “Mr. Longbridge, I’m not comfortable talking to you about this.”

“And why not?”
he asked. “I spent my entire evening reading your books.”

“Oh god…”

“Don’t be
embarrassed,” he said. “Do you think you are the only one?”

She looked up at
him. What was he trying to say?

“My writing is
therapeutic,” she said. “It’s not easy, having the desire to be…”

“…Disciplined?
Controlled? Guided?” He nodded. “I’m sure it’s not, Miss Tetter, especially
when modern society tells women they should not want any of those things. But
there’s nothing wrong with women who want that, just as there’s nothing wrong
with men who wish to provide those things to a woman. But it’s important not to
romanticize discipline, either. As one experienced in such matters, Miss
Tetter, I can assure you that genuine discipline - done correctly - will leave
the miscreant very sorry indeed.”

“Mr.
Longbridge,” she began, but he ignored her.

“And now you
have a choice to make. You can accept six lashes with the cane and reflect both
on the perils of lying to me, and keep your job. Or you can walk away as Miss
Hill did in your story, sans letter of recommendation.”

“And if I refuse?”
she asked, her voice shaking. “I could report this, you know.”

“Go ahead, Miss
Tetter,” he replied coolly. “You may publicly claim authorship of the bit of
fiction in Miss Tillman’s box, and that news can follow you from job to job. I
certainly cannot make that choice for you…”

Charlotte
realized she had no choice. And she realized something else, too. She was
terrified of finally getting something she had always wanted. Charlotte had
thought about being spanked since before she could remember. Her writing had
been the vehicle of working through her feelings, for coming to terms with
them. She never expected to meet a man like the ones she wrote about. But now
she stood in the presence of one, and she had no choice but to submit to his
discipline.

And she was
quite frankly scared to death.

 “I don’t
suppose I have much of a choice,” she said.

“No, I don’t
suppose you do,” said the headmaster. “I think we both know you need this, Miss
Tetter. I think we both know you need this as surely as we both know you need
to keep your job.”

She looked at
him. “But you can’t guarantee me that, can you? If you were able to find out
who I was, what’s to say that someone else won’t?”

“Because so far
as I know, no one else has access to your old email address, the one you
originally used to send me an email inquiring about the position. After that I
believe you must have started using an email for professional purposes, which
was wise after the fact. I am the only one who can make the connection, Miss Tetter.”

“But Mrs.
Forrester…”

“…will be
informed,” he said, “along with the other teachers that our investigation was
inconclusive and will be warned under no uncertain terms to refrain from
sullying the Falmont reputation with unsubstantiated gossip.”

That made
Charlotte feel better, but then her eyes fell on the cane, which Nigel
Longbridge was now tapping against the palm of his hand. Fear swelled in her
chest and she looked up at him.

“Isn’t there any
other way?”

“You know there
isn’t,” he said. “Now be a good girl and bend over my desk.”

Charlotte rose
from her chair. Her legs felt wobbly beneath her as she walked to the desk. It
was all so surreal, and she had the feeling that any moment she would wake up
and find that this was all just a dream, a rather ridiculous dream. But when
she bent over and then felt the headmaster reach for the hem of her skirt, she
knew it was all too real. Her hand flew back and caught his by the wrist.

“No, please
don’t,” she said. “I never…and…”

“You’re worried
that it’s going to hurt a great deal, aren’t you?” he asked, and his voice was
not entirely unsympathetic. “Let me go ahead and tell you in advance that I
plan to guarantee that it does indeed hurt a great deal. I want to be certain
that you will never, ever lie to me again. Now remove your hand from mine. I
fully intend to raise your skirts, Miss Tetter.”

Her hand was
shaking as she put it on the desk in front of her. The surface of the desk was
polished, and she could see her frightened reflection staring back at her from
the surface. It was distorted; she looked like a scared girl.

But that’s how
she felt. She was scared. She wondered briefly if Mr. Longbridge’s interest in
spanking was - like hers - partially sexual. But he’d not made even a hint of
an advance and seemed almost businesslike in his approach to the matter.

Her skirt was
bunched up around her waist now. He stood behind her and Charlotte could feel
the cane tapping lightly against her bottom, one, two, three times. And then
she heard a “whoosh” that was followed by a blazing line of pain where the cane
had just tapped her. She cried out, surprised, and stood, her hands instantly
seeking to rub away the fierce sting. Charlotte was surprised at how badly it
had hurt, especially when it did not seem that Mr. Longbridge had struck her
particularly hard.

“Mr.
Longbridge!” she cried. Her voice was tense and tight with tears. “I don’t
think I can do this….”

“You can. And
you will. Bend back over, Miss Tetter, unless you’d prefer I restrain you.”

“Mr. Longbridge..”
she began.

“Miss Tettter,”
he said. “Do you want that first stroke to count? Or would you like to start
over. Because if you do not assume the position by the time I count to three, I
will double the punishment starting from one. One…”

“Please, sir…” She
was genuinely afraid now. What had she gotten herself into?”

“Two…”

“Headmaster, if
you would just listen!”

“Last chance!”
he warned, and she felt herself turn and put her hands back on the desk. She
knew now that this was a serious matter she’d gotten herself into, and that
Nigel Longbridge was a man of his word.

Charlotte closed
her eyes, steeling herself for the next blow and begging that he would be
gentle. When writing about caning, she’d sometimes had her characters subjected
to ten, fifteen or twenty blows. Now she realized how ridiculous she had been.
The average woman would barely need more than three to feel truly contrite for
her transgressions. And as the second fell she mentally cut that number by one.
She cried out, tears running down her face as she fought to hold her position.

“Please, Mr.
Longbridge!” she cried. “I’ll never lie to you again!”

“I suspect you
won’t,” he said. “Keep your position.” His tone was completely dispassionate.
He was unmoved by her tears. Charlotte had never been more intimidated by
anyone. Even though he wasn’t being particularly cruel, and wasn’t forcing her,
his authority over her was unmistakable.
The third blow criss-crossed the first two, and Charlotte wailed into her arms.
She was leaning into them now, sobbing onto the polished surface of the desk.
The headmaster gave her no time to recover before striking her again, this time
low on her bottom right above her thighs. The blow was an uppercut, catching
both of her cheeks right on the “sit spot.” Her hand started to go back to rub
away the pain but she caught herself and when she did he felt his hand rub her
back as his voice praised her for being a good girl. To Charlotte’s horror, she
felt a tug of desire that corresponded with his touch and tone of approval. Her
nipples, pressed against the desk, hardened to deliciously painful points. She
bit her lip to keep from moaning in shame.

There would be
three more. The headmaster pressed down on Charlotte’s lower back and ordered
her to spread her legs. She moaned an objection and he sternly commanded her to
do as she was told, despite her mortification, for she knew that when she did
he would see the tell-tale moisture on her panties that had appeared despite
the pain and humiliation. It was just like her story, only it was real. And she
did not think she could survive the embarrassment.

Another blow.
This one fell on the crest of her buttocks. She concentrated on just getting
through the last two. Charlotte braced her leg, keenly aware of the
headmaster’s broad hand on her lower back. The fifth blow was harder than the
others. Her thigh muscles screamed as she fought to keep her legs from buckling
while bracing for the sixth. It came, not as hard as the others, but it didn’t
have to be. It hurt terrible, delivered on her already searing bum.

“You can stand
up,” he said. “It’s over.”

Charlotte rose
shakily to standing, and as she did, she felt him turn her towards him. She
collapsed into Nigel Longbridge’s arms, letting him support her. His jacket
smelled so good. She could feel his broad, warm, chest beneath it. He hugged
her tight and Charlotte let him. Even though he had just punished her, she felt
that no one could comfort her at that moment save the headmaster.

“There, there.”
He dropped a paternalistic kiss on the top of her head, and Charlotte felt
ashamed of her sexual reaction to the spanking. It obviously did not affect him
that way, she told herself. He was her boss and saw her as a subordinate. She
felt a handkerchief pressed to her face and took it, conscious of the throbbing
in her bottom as she dried her eyes.

“I trust you
will be more mindful in the future regarding honesty?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes
sir,” Charlotte said balefully.

“Good lass.” He
took a step back from her, his hand still on her shoulders.

“I will have to
be very careful with you,” he said.

“Sir?” The
comment perplexed her, all the more so because he did not elaborate.

“You should to,
Miss Tetter,” he said.

She nodded and
turned, picking up her bag as she left the office. It felt peculiar, stepping
out into the hallway as if she were leaving the headmaster’s office after a
routine meeting. Her heels clicked on the tile floors as she headed for the
exit. The school was eerie at night, especially with it getting dark so early.

Charlotte turned
back to the car as she stepped outside and could see that Mr. Longbridge had
followed behind her and was now watching from the doorway to make sure she got
to her car safely. The feeling of gratitude and security that afforded her
almost compensated for the pain she felt sitting down. Her bottom throbbed
throughout the drive home, and the first thing she did upon entering was to go
to her bedroom, turn to the full-length mirror in her bedroom and examine her
naked rear. There were six, distinct lines, and she marveled at how badly they
could hurt even now. But Charlotte was also aware that her pussy was throbbing
and wet as she recalled the headmaster’s authoritarian tone, his touch, and his
nearness. She began to cry anew with the shame of her conflicted feelings.

For so long
she’d written about spanking to help herself come to terms with her feelings.
But now that she had actually been on the receiving end of discipline for the
first time, she was more conflicted than ever. The headmaster had been very
stoic in his treatment of her. He’d been stern and uncompromising and had
punished her almost beyond tears. Then he’d sent her away. Charlotte had a
clean slate now. She should keep her job and she knew she should be happy about
that and yet…

She’s found Mr.
Longbridge attractive before and now…how could she face him? He knew her every
fantasy. He’d told her he understood. He’d opened her eyes to the reality of
discipline in a way that made her want to avoid it even as she savored the
sensation of his authority. How could she walk past him every day in the halls
of Falmont Academy as if none of this had ever happened?
Charlotte drew a warm bath. The water stung then soothed her sore bottom. She
rested in the tub for many long moments, feeling the tension slowly ebb away.
Charlotte told herself that she could not change what happened, and despite any
embarrassment she could not leave the job she’d been determined to keep.

After her bath
she made herself a cup of hot tea and went to her writing desk. The story she’d
been working on was still on the computer. Settling gingerly into the chair,
Charlotte looked at the words on the screen in front of her. Charlotte hit the
“select all” button and watched a black surrounds the words. But as her finger
hovered over the “delete” key, she realized she could not do it.  Writing had
helped her before. Perhaps it could help her now. Charlotte told herself that
she needed to get a handle on her renewed fascination and attraction to Nigel
Longbridge. Perhaps if she wrote about Miss Hill’s experience, she could better
come to terms with her own.

He dismissed
me from his office. I wiped my tears away as I walked stiffly down the hallway,
my caned bum throbbing with each step. I knew I should not have misled Mr.
Edge; I’d thought I’d been noble in my cause. But I realized now that the
headmaster saw things quite literally, and brooked no disobedience, no matter
what the reason.

But I could
not stop my thoughts from turning back to him. My classes were beginning, and I
was grateful for having a diversion to occupy my mind. Throughout the day I
caught glimpses of Mr. Edge, but he ignored me. I replayed the punishment in my
mind, unable to put it past me.

I was
pleasantly surprised to see Lydia return to class. She gave me a shy smile as
she took her place at one of the tables. The other girls - the troublemakers -
sneered and glared, but those glares turned to worried looks as one of the
matrons arrived to tell them that the headmaster wanted to see them. Had Mr.
Edge taken my concerns seriously? I was worried that he saw me as something
less than the other teachers, given that he had administered the same
punishment to me that he reserved for the schoolgirls. But as the morning
continued and word arrived that the three miscreants who had so plagued Lydia
would not be returning to class, I knew the headmaster had indeed taken my
brief testimony into account and had confronted them. Had he punished them as
he’d punished me? I could not know, but I did feel a bit of empathy for their
plight as I pondered that this might be the case. The sting of the cane was
still fresh on my bottom; I conducted all of my instruction standing up.

By day’s end
my legs were tired and I was looking forward to seeking my apartment in the
teacher’s dorm. But as I was about to exit my classroom I saw Mr. Edge standing
in the doorway.

“I wanted to
thank you for alerting me to what has been going on in your classroom,” he
said. “Bullying will not be tolerated here, and now Miss Troy, Miss Gray and
Miss Brookshire will likely spend their evening lying on their tummies
pondering that fact.”

So he had
caned them. I tried to keep my expression impassive nodded.

“In the
future, however,” he said. “You will refrain from taking matters into your own
hands. You should have come to me, Miss Edge.”

“How can I
when I am so frightened of you?” I asked quietly.

“There is no
need to be frightened of me,” he replied.

“You truly
say that, after what happened today? Respectfully, sir, you are not seeing
things from my perspective.”

He chuckled.
“I grew up in a boarding school. I know what it is like to fear authority. But
I also know authority is only frightening when you seek to defy it. Had you
come to me early on, both you and those three girls would have been spared my
correction.”

I nodded. “Yes
sir.”

Mr. Edge
walked over to me. “Don’t be disappointed in yourself, Miss Hill. You are a
good teacher. And I find you very attractive.”

He drew me
into his arms then and I…

“NO!” Charlotte
began to backspace furiously, erasing the last three paragraphs from the page.
With a groan of frustration she stood and walked away from the computer. This
wasn’t helping at all. If anything, it was making things worse because her mind
was offering up completely unrealistic solutions. She did not live in
turn-of-the-century England. It was 2011 and the Falmont headmaster was not
going to profess love to her.