The School Grounds - Science Department

[Scuttle Buttin']

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The reflective gold had letters carved into it - Mr. Scuttle - Science, but even without it a glance into the room would make it's purpose quite clear.

The walls were lined with shelves, each holding beakers and test tubes, biology and astronomy and chemistry books, microscopes and glass plates, forceps and pins. Near the window stood a telescope, each end of it covered to protect the lenses.

At the front of the class was a heavy wooden desk, almost perpetually covered in papers. A coat rack stood in the corner behind it, the place where his jacket was often hung while in the room. Hard work, you know, and it could get quite warm sometimes.

Next to the coat rack, in the wall at the front of the room, was a locked door. A small closet was on the other side, though what was contained inside was the subject of some speculation among the students. Instruments for lesson plans, some said. Instruments of an entirely different kind, for lessons of a wholly different nature, said others. Few knew the truth, and none were willing to openly speak of it.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

He pushed the button for the elevator, pleased to see the doors opening immediately, the car still waiting for them. He stepped on, turning just past the doors and punching the button for the classroom level. The tip of the cane rested lightly by his foot, and his head tipped back, eyes lifting to look at the floor indicator as the doors closed and they began to rise.

Outside of the three initial words, he all but ignored her despite the small space they stood in.

This did not change until they were out of the elevator and he had led her to his class. Opening the door, he held it for her and stood aside, eyes returning to her for the first time since he'd looked over her in the reception area.

"After you, miss."

 

[saysalice]

The shake of his head did not escape her, and she saw him turn away as if embarrassed for her, or simply impatient. She felt the slow blush rising in her cheeks as she followed him - silently, except for the skittering of her heels, a frantic accompaniment to the steady click of his cane in the hallway.

She caught up just as the elevator doors were opening, and glanced at him as he turned to push the button - but he still wasn't looking at her. If this was the man who'd referred her to the school, he had nothing to say to her, now that she was here. Was he regretting his choice?

The doors closed after her. He was watching the numbers change as they rose past floor after floor, and so Alice watched, too. Nervous to be sharing this small space with him. She made herself breathe, made an attempt at small talk over her wavery smile: "So, you must be - you must be - um..."

She trailed off. Usually, when she faltered, people - men, especially - would rescue the conversation, finish her sentences, smile, reassure her. He said nothing to help, and she was spooked into silence again. Her pathetic fragments of weak conversation hung in the air; she felt like an idiot. She was making a hell of a first impression.

The doors opened again on the top floor, and she followed him, skittering in her heels on the hard floor, to a classroom, where a nameplate on the door confirmed that this was the man, anyway. Alice straightened her shoulders as she watched him open the door. She was here because of him - she mustn't forget that. He hadn't turned her away...yet. Setting her jaw slightly, twitching a smile at him as she preceded him into the classroom.

This was his idea. If it was a mistake, it was his mistake.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

Silent eyes watched her as she passed him, the tip of his cane resting near the toe of his polished shoe as she entered the room. His eyes stayed on her, admiring... inspecting... her from this angle as well, and then he nod, satisfied with what he saw.

He entered the room shortly after her, pulling the door closed behind him. A pause for a moment as he twisted the lock.

"First things first," he said suddenly, teacher voice in full force, "When you address me, you are to do so with Sir. Is that understood?"

He crossed the room as he spoke to her, collecting his empty cup and carrying it to his desk, where a pot of tea sat, thin tendrils of steam escaping the spout. He poured a bit in his cup, his back to her, all but ignoring her once again as he took a small drink. Savored the taste. Lowered the cup. At last turned to look at her once more.

"Would you like a cup of tea, miss?"

 

[saysalice]

She clattered past him in her heels, conscious of his appraising stare as she entered the empty classroom, and turned back to him after a few steps. She didn't like knowing he was behind her. She watched as he closed the door behind him, and then locked it. Her gaze lingered on the turned lock for a beat or two too long.

His tone commanded her attention. Was he annoyed, or just very direct? She made herself look up at him - it was more difficult, now that they were alone, in his classroom, behind a locked door - and she nodded quickly to show him she understood. But he wasn't looking at her, he was pouring himself a cup of tea. He wouldn't hear a nod.

"Yes - yes, Sir," she answered - a delayed response, but perhaps better than none.

With his back to her, she stood uncomfortably just inside the door, wondering if she should take a seat, or stay where she was. She assumed he would let her know, when he was ready. Alice glanced again at the locked door - why lock it? - and flushed when he turned suddenly and caught her looking.

What was the question? Tea. Easy question.

She smoothed her skirt, tugging at the hem to make sure it was covering her, and shook her head abruptly.

"No, thank you, Sir."

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

The cup sat on the desk behind him, steam curling out of it as thermodynamics took over. He leaned back on the edge of his desk as he considered her, a slight smile curving his lips. He'd not expected the thank you from her, had in fact been ready to correct her when she omitted it, but was pleasantly surprised when she did not.

He nodded, and the idea of tea, for both of them, was forgotten.

"Tell me," he said, moving off the desk and unbuttoning his jacket. "Are you nervous, miss? You seem... unsure of yourself."

He moved around the desk and to the coat rack in the corner, the cane hung on one of the hooks.

"Uncomfortable, perhaps," he said to the wall, certain she'd be able to hear him as he removed the jacket and hung it.

The cane was lifted off the hook, the tip lowered to the ground again, rattan tapping lightly as he turned and approached her slowly.

"Surely not... scared, miss?"

 

[saysalice]

His sudden smile unnerved her, and she didn't understand why that should be. Shouldn't she be glad to know that she'd pleased him, somehow? If he was pleased... Shouldn't she prefer a smile to a scowl?

He was asking her questions again. Nervous? Alice almost laughed. She drew a breath to answer, but he was up again, and she paused uncertainly to track his movements. Just hanging his jacket up. Shouldn't he be entitled to be comfortable, in his own classroom? She was beginning to sweat, herself - though she suspected it had little to do with the room temperature.

She wet her lips, ready to laugh at herself - nervous, yes - was it obvious? Maybe it would ease the tension - but before she could speak, he interrupted, with his back to her:

"Uncomfortable, perhaps."

He had put his jacket up, but was taking the cane down again. Her words dried up in the back of her throat as he turned to face her, and she swallowed hard with another fleeting glance at the locked door.

He was approaching her now, and with every tap of the cane she felt the muscles in her back and shoulders to tighten just a little more, drawing her up, straight as a pin. He walked easily, in no hurry, without a limp, not leaning on the cane for support. Alice heard her shoes shuffle restlessly on the floor, and fought the strong urge to take a step back as he entered her personal space.

"Surely not... scared, miss?"

Her mouth twitched and spasmed on a smile that would not quite catch and hold. It bothered her, that he had so many ready suggestions for what she might be feeling. She took a breath and made herself look up at him.

"No, I'm not -" Afraid of you. "Not scared, Sir." Her voice did not come across nearly as confident as she would have liked.

"I think - you were right the first time, I am very nervous and - unsure." She tucked an imaginary strand of stray hair behind her ear, and refused to look at the cane. "I'm still trying to understand why - why I'm here, and what's expected of me, Sir."

And what's going to happen to me, she didn't say.

"But not - scared. Sir."

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

At her answer he paused, still a few feet separating them, and considered her for a moment. Again his eyes appraised her, a slow descending and ascending of her shape, a slight pursing of his lips in thought, and then a nod. Whether to her or himself, he didn't bother to clarify.

"Excellent, then."

He started to turn away from her on his heel, then paused halfway through and turned his head back to her. A brow arched slightly above eyes that were cast sidelong at her, and though his lips were upturned in a smile, it was, perhaps, not the warmest of expressions.

"Do be a good girl and tell me if you are scared at some point though, yes?"

He did not wait for her answer before he turned his back to her again - the question either rhetorical, or the answer simply assumed, though he bothered not to clarify which - and he returned to his desk, lifting the folder that had been handed to him by Miss Fiala. The cane was hooked over his forearm again, the end tapping lightly on the desk as he turned pages, reading once more through her answers.

"So, he started, his back to her still, "Bratty behavior, a lack of patience - I'm sorry, a distinct lack of patience, pride, jealousy, impulse control and attention-seeking behaviors." The litany read, he dropped the open folder onto his desk and turned back to her, though he did not close the distance between them.

"Those are your words, miss, not mine." The cane was lifted off his forearm, the tip lowered to the ground, and both hands rested atop it, one over the other, as he considered her. "Can you really hear that list and still ask why you are here?"

 

[saysalice]

She waited as he stood close and seemed to consider her response. Could he smell a lie?, she wondered. Was it a lie? She wasn't even sure. Fear and nervousness could look a lot alike, but they weren't the same thing. It seemed dangerous, to admit fear to him right away.

He turned away finally, appearing to accept her answer at face value, and Alice exhaled a long breath, very quietly, and was beginning to relax when he looked back at her again suddenly, catching her in an unguarded moment with a smile that was not at all comforting. She twitched at the phrase 'good girl', and wasn't sure of the expression on her face at his last, rather ominous remark.

She nodded belatedly and murmured, "Yes, Sir," when he gave her his back again, but he had returned to his desk without waiting for a response.

She was beginning to feel a bit foolish, standing in the middle of the floor while he ignored her. She eyed the rows of desks and wondered if she might sit - he hadn't told her not to sit. She was glad again to have chosen the low heels, but her knees were feeling a little wobbly, waiting for him to speak next. He'd hear her shoes crossing the floor, but - they were desks for students - would it be so bad for her to sit? She'd almost made up her mind to just slide into the nearest one, when his voice broke the silence.

Her face flushed immediately and deeply as she listened to him reading off the faults that she'd listed on her application, and she scowled at herself, feeling her cheeks and even her forehead growing hot - she'd known he would see her answers, why be ashamed of them now? She commanded herself silently to stop being so silly, stop blushing - with the usual result.

When he turned around, she met his gaze with something close to a glare, despite noting that the cane was in his hands again. She knew well enough what she'd written - she'd had to write something - and she was here, wasn't she? It seemed unnecessarily humiliating, to have to listen to him repeat her words. She bit her lip to keep from blurting: I'm here at your referral, remember? It wouldn't do, to get off on the wrong foot.

She blinked, trying to forget her red face, and waited until she was sure her tone was under her control. A tiny smile tugged at her lips as she muttered, "Did I include 'overly critical of myself' in that list? Or did I run out of space?"

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

"Mm." He snorted a quiet, and a touch derisive, laugh at her questions. A slight shake of his head followed, and he broke his gaze from her to lift one hand from the cane and half-turn to the desk behind him, lifting the mug of tea. Once in his hand, his eyes returned to her, and he let silence cover the room like a blanket as he took a long drink, watching her the entire time over the rim.

He swallowed the warm tea, a sound audible in a room where the only thing it had to compete with was the steady ticking of the clock, and then half-turned again to return the cup to the desk. Once more his hands rested atop each other on the curved top of the cane, and he watched her, content to let the seconds drag out. If it was a lack of patience she had, then he was more than happy to push her to show it.

The only way to correct behavior, after all, was to see it.

Pride, jealousy...

All in good time.

At last, another shake of the head and his sigh broke the silence, his voice following close behind.

"I believe I asked you a question, miss. Are you in the habit of not answering questions, as well? I don't recall seeing that on your list, but perhaps it's not something you're aware of. Or maybe I'm just forgetting? Is that it?"

His back was suddenly to her again, the cane held in one hand as the other lifted the folder. He turned to face her again as he read the list once more.

"Bratty behavior, a distinct lack of patience, pride, jealousy, impulse control and attention-seeking behaviors."

Here he paused, frowning, a glance cast up at her and then back to the folder in his hand, and he read it again, more slowly this time.

"Bratty behavior. A distinct lack of patience. Pride. Jealousy. Impulse control. Attention-seeking behavior."

The folder was closed in his hand and his eyes found her again, head tipped to the side slightly, a curiosity that was far more mocking than genuine.

"Or, perhaps that was a little of the bratty behavior on display? A lack of impulse control already?"

 

[saysalice]

She'd expected to provoke him. She would not have admitted it to herself, at the time, but now - his unremarkable response, his long, drawn-out, maddening, unconcerned silence made her realize that she was waiting - hoping - for something else. A sharp word, a step in her direction to make her stagger back, a physical response to make her regret her choice of words - any break in his cool demeanor. Anything except more of this tense silence.

She couldn't keep from fidgeting. She wanted to sit down - her knees were beginning to tremble slightly. She didn't know what his silence meant, and the longer it stretched out, the more she worried. Alone in here with him, it would be smart to play by his rules - at least until she was very sure she understood the game. The minutes were wearing on her, she wondered if she should apologize, and then he spoke again.

It was his sigh that stung her, somehow. Perhaps it was the setting, more than anything. She was always such a good student, in school. Well behaved. Teacher's pet. She shook her head at his rapid questions, embarrassed - she'd tried to be smart, she'd tried to be funny, and no, she hadn't answered his question at all. Her mouth worked as she tried to respond - but he was taking up her folder again, and this time he faced her as he read through her list. Disciplinary issues, she remembered.

Her face pinched and twisted with discomfort as she listened to his inflection on each of her admitted flaws, and she felt her jaw tighten as he came to the end of the list. Her face flamed as he frowned up at her briefly - and then he began reading it again, even more slowly.

She winced, clenching her hands into fists at her sides and closing her eyes tightly for several seconds. Grimacing, she whispered, "Stop - just stop."

If he heard it, he paid no attention. She made herself breathe through it. Her pained expression did not relax, even as he reached the end again, finally, and she watched him close the folder.

Her lips writhed over clenched teeth at his next questions. She wondered if he knew how he was making her feel...if he was doing it on purpose. And if he was enjoying it.

Her voice, low and croaky, hardly sounded like her own when she spoke. "I know why I'm here. I'm here to improve on those things."

The look on her face could have easily been mistaken for a sullen scowl. She resented the shame she was feeling, and was annoyed with him, for making her feel it. He was only mocking her with his last two questions. She refused to answer.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

His attention at this point was a laser, focused entirely and completely on her, though he made no move to approach, to lift the cane to her, reach out to her... no sudden moves at all, in fact. Everything was steady and smooth, a contrast to the color in her cheeks, the useless flapping of her lips as he read her self-confessed crimes. He heard her, of course, whispered pleas for him to stop, and ignored them just as he would ones she may fill the room with later.

The clenched fist and closed eyes, though... that was interesting.

He smiled brightly at her answer, nodding and reaching behind him to drop the folder, unseen, on the desk.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

The smile melted, fell away, and was replaced with a crease of the brow and a sympathetic tilt of the head.

"Unfortunately, miss, you seem to have forgotten your manners."

Well... a mockingly sympathetic tilt of the head was probably more accurate, wasn't it?

Off the cane his hand lifted again, and this time it stretched out to her. Fingers curled, he extended and curled his index finger to her once, twice. Returned his hand to where the other rested atop the cane. Silently beckoning her to come to him.

 

[saysalice]

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

She glowered at him briefly, then looked deliberately away. Her cheeks were still streaked with red, but she could feel it fading, now that he had put the folder down. He knew, she was sure he had a very good idea how hard it had been for her to listen to him read through her list of flaws. Things she knew about herself - it would've been easier to take his criticism, she could argue with his opinions, disagree with him, even if it was only in her head. Much more difficult to hear him read out the shortcomings she admitted to herself, that she was asking for his help to correct.

Of course, she angry with herself, too, knowing she could have saved herself the humiliation if she'd not been coy, to start. Not much point in that, when she'd already bared herself so thoroughly on the page for him. Pride, was all that was. It wouldn't get her very far, here.

She looked up when he spoke again, wary of his expression, but her mouth fell open in indignance when he chided her on her lack of manners. Did he know just how tightly she'd been reining in her temper, to keep her tone carefully civil? She hadn't uttered a word that was out of line! She took a breath, ready to tell him so - and hesitated.

Had she?

She closed her mouth, frowning uncertainly. He beckoned her with a crooked finger, and she swallowed, hearing the scuff of her shoes on the floor as she shifted uneasily.

Jerking her chin up - stay angry - she clipped across the floor in her heels, stopping a ruler's length from where he sat on the edge of the desk. A little shaky on the inhale as she opened her mouth to speak, but not too bad.

"When did I forget my manners?" Her voice was steely as she struggled to hold his gaze. "Sir," she remembered to add - and then her eyes widened slightly in realization, and the color drained from her face. Oh, shit.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

The realization dawning on her face was delicious to see, a moment he wished he could rewind and replay repeatedly. Her face, once red, now white. Her eyes wide as she stared at him. He wanted to lick his lips, to savor the taste in the air. He felt like a hunter that had lured his prey into a trap he hadn't even intended to. Such a simple slip, and one made so quickly.

Leaning forward at the waist, the same hand that had risen off the cane lifted once more, index finger stretched out yet again, and this time it remained extended and reached out to tap the tip of her nose.

"There it is, miss. Such a simple request I made, and you couldn't even honor it for... what? Ten minutes?"

He clicked his tongue, shook his head sadly, as if sad to see someone he was pulling for gone so terribly, tragically wrong.

"Well," he began in a tone brighter than before, his hand returning to the top of the cane as he pulled in a deep breath, shoulders lifting in a half-shrug, "It seems we should get you a desk, no? Why don't you go pick one out. Things are just starting up again after the holidays, so you have your choice."

His hand lifted, fingers pointed downward as he flicked his wrist, waving her away from him.

"But please hurry, or I'll choose one for you."

 

[saysalice]

Alice bit her lip and looked at the floor in acknowledgement of her guilt. She'd have to be more careful. She'd let her emotions reign, and had forgotten the one rule he'd laid out for her. She tensed, watching his cane - suddenly quite sure that he would lift it - and resisted the urge to step out of striking range.

An embarrassing little whine escaped through her closed lips when he reached out and only tapped her nose, the way one would reprimand a puppy. She crinkled her nose after the fact, but managed not to flinch away.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I forgot. It won't happen again," she mumbled, glancing up to see him shaking his head. But he made no move to punish her. Perhaps she was allowed one slip...or maybe he'd decided that she wasn't worth the trouble.

Not even ten minutes. She made a brief face, disappointed in herself.

Then he was speaking again, shrugging as if shrugging off her carelessness, waving her away and telling her to choose a desk. She looked around the empty room - was this a test? Her instinct was to put as much space between him - his cane, specifically - and herself as possible, and to take a seat at the very back of the room, but she suspected it would be another mark against her. She knew where a good girl ought to sit.

It was a shuffle of only a few steps, to slide in behind the desk directly in front of his. He would be able to keep a close eye on her, and her distractions would be few. Her knees were wobbling again - he could still reach her with the cane, from here - but she did not sit down.

"May I take this one, Sir?"

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

Hands on the cane, he watched her scan the room, considering the desks. He'd given her the choice of all of them, and so her decision here would be interesting to see. In the back, as far away from him as she could get? In the middle, so he'd have to wade through a couple of rows to get to her, slowing his momentum? In the front, showing him she wasn't afraid... or at least was trying not to appear that way?

He wasn't even sure he was surprised to see her choose the closest desk - pride? attention-seeking? - and he smiled at her question and the return of her manners, nodding his head in reply.

"You may, miss. And now that you've picked one, I want you to stand in front of it, facing the back of the room, hands flat on the desk."

He started to move up and away from his own desk, and then paused as if he'd just remembered something.

"Oh. Before you do, skirt up and stockings down. Panties too."

That said, he lifted himself off the desk and turned toward it, lifting the cup and draining the rest of the tea within.

 

[saysalice]

She was gratified to see him smile at her choice, nodding his approval. She'd made the right choice, then. She could breathe a bit easier.

But his next instruction came quickly, and worried her considerably. Stand in front of the desk - facing the back? She hesitated, but saw that he was getting up, and she stumbled around to the front, glad to rest her weight on her hands. She felt suddenly that her legs would hardly support her.

She watched him over her shoulder, though he'd told her to face the back - she couldn't trust him behind her, out of her sight, until she knew what he was going to do. Then he delivered his final direction, almost as a casual afterthought, and she froze and turned away quickly, staring straight ahead.

The sound of his shoes hitting the floor seemed very loud in the quiet room, and she listened for his footsteps to close the short distance between them, but heard him finishing his tea, instead. He was waiting for her to obey. She couldn't obey - she couldn't do this.

But, if she didn't - ?

Stiffly, she reached behind her and pulled her skirt up in handfuls - it was a slim fit and did not slide easily over her hips. She knew how far. She didn't stop until it was bunched up in the small of her back. She rolled her stockings down, resting her chin on the desk for balance, feeling her heart thumping as she pressed into the smooth wood surface.

Panties too.

She whined quietly against the desk. She didn't want to. He had the cane, and canes were not her friends. She didn't know this one, but it looked wiry - wicked, flexible, and strong. She hooked her cold fingers into the waistband of her bikini panties - black, with lace panels - and eased them down slowly, holding them just below the rounded swell of her ass. He might change his mind.

There was no sound, behind her. Was he just waiting, and watching? She should drop her panties, she should put her hands on the desk, but she couldn't let go. If she let go, it would signal that she was ready for this.

"Please - please, Sir..." she murmured haltingly, then pressed her lips together tightly over any further pleas that might spill forth.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

The tea finished, he replaced the cup on his desk and turned to watch her rolling the stockings down her legs, exposing panties, thighs, the backs of her knees. Her skirt bunched up rather lewdly above her waist.

Unseen by her, he grinned a bit at her whine, a strange kind of music to his ears. The whine of a girl who did not want to do what she was doing, and yet found herself doing it anyway. And perhaps cursing herself inside for letting herself end up in this position.

But then all progress stopped, the globes of her ass exposed but the panties fell no further, held up instead by the curl of her fingers. And then her voice, there was the please, her whines turned to words. To her credit, at least, she did it the way she was supposed to.

Unfortunately, it was much too late for that.

The short distance between the desks was swallowed up almost instantly, the cane lifting as he moved forward, the tip of it lifted high into the air over his shoulder, and then slicing through the air, almost whistling as it made it's way to her.

Her first meeting with the cane was not a gentle one, was not warned at by any words or perhaps even any sound that she'd be able to process quick enough. But the sound it made as it met the backs of her thighs was unmistakable, rattan-on-flesh sharp and echoing quickly off tiled floor and large windows.

The second meeting was much the same way, forewarned perhaps only by the first meeting, and it was no more gentle than the first. The marks on her legs were already showing - the cane decorated them so nicely, he thought absently to himself - and a third stripe was quickly added to it.

Just as suddenly as it had begun it was over, the tip of the cane returned to the ground near his feet. Bending at the waist, he lowered his head down to her level, brows lifted.

"Are we going to have to add 'trouble following instructions' to the list, miss?"

 

[saysalice]

It was one step for him - maybe two, and she just had time to register the sound and know he was ignoring her cries - and then the cane swiped viciously across the backs of her thighs and her scream drowned out everything else.

She had the sense to pull her hands away, afraid for her fingers, leaving her panties suspended just under her ass and pressing her sweaty palms against the desk, bracing herself as the cane came down again, slicing into the soft white flesh of her thighs. She arched her back in reflex with a ragged wail as her knees buckled and she struggled to pull herself up. Before she had managed to straighten again, he whipped the cane into her a third time, and she collapsed into the desk with a shriek, her hands curled protectively about her head and ears.

She heard the distinctive, too-familiar click of the tip of the cane hitting the floor as she shuddered fearfully against the desk, feeling the hot welts burning stripes down the backs of her legs. Her panties had slipped down to hang around her knees, and through the shock and the pain she realized that he hadn't even struck her ass - he hadn't needed her to pull her panties down.

He leaned in close suddenly, and she cringed away, but put her hands flat on the desk and looked up at him with tears stinging her eyes.

She blurted her gasping, snivelling answer before he had even finished asking the question: "No, Sir - no - no, Sir!"

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

Her scream hit his ears almost instantly after the vibration from the cane striking her ended, and he had time to wonder if it was the surprise or the pain that caused it before another joined it.

Were anyone passing in the hallway, there was no doubt they'd hear her easily.

He could see the tears standing out in her eyes as he looked into her face, and they - indeed, her entire demeanor now - brought a smile to her face. But it was one accompanied by a shake of his head.

"No... I think we should. It was a simple instruction, one clearly understood, you just... decided you didn't want to. We really must work on that."

He nodded at this, as if a discussion had taken place and a decision reached between them.

"I'll make a note."

And then he was gone from her field of vision, straightening and returning to his desk. The cane was hooked over his forearm, the folder lifted from his desk. Quick steps carried him around to the other side, and he lowered himself into his chair and opened the drawer to remove a pen.

A pause, and he glanced up at her, bent over, bared, exposed.

"One moment, I'll be back with you."

Pen met paper, and quick notes were scribbled in the margins.

Trouble following directions.

 

[saysalice]

His smile. His smile, as he bent low to study the shock and the fear apparent in her face, chilled her to the core. It was hard to look at him, smiling at her pain, shaking his head - still not satisfied - but she was afraid to look away.

"... We really must work on that." His tone was pleasant, unruffled - jaunty even, she thought. Amused. She turned her head finally, blinking back the tears, and heard him shift and begin to walk away.

"I'll make a note."

Alice grunted wordlessly in protest - but only when she was sure that he was a safe distance away. It was a tactic her 4-year old niece employed often, when she wasn't getting her way, but knew that further argument would result in punishment. Shamelessly childish - pathetic, really, for a grown woman. She couldn't help it.

Another flaw, another disciplinary issue added to what she thought was already a lengthy list. She didn't like it. She'd thought - she knew now that she'd thought the question only half-serious, meant to properly humble the applicant and to provide excuses for discipline. She'd answered honestly to show she that was in earnest, never really expecting to have her answers revisited. She'd wasn't prepared for this intimate examination of her personality flaws - with additions to the list, as he saw fit to add them.

It bothered her more than she would have expected, knowing that his handwritten notes would appear next to hers. If the Headmistress or the school counsellor - or any of the staff - reviewed her file, they would see that upon meeting her, Mr. Scuttle had judged her list of admitted inadequacies incomplete.

And she couldn't argue with him on this one. She hadn't followed his directions - she wasn't even sure why she hadn't. Testing him, maybe. Another popular strategy of an immature mind, struggling for a little power.

She heard the rustle of paper and his desk drawer opening behind her, and she moaned unhappily - but more quietly, this time. Aware of the view she was offering him, and to anyone who passed in the hallway and happened to glance into the classroom. One look, and they'd know it wasn't going well for her. She wanted very badly to straighten up and pull her skirt down, at least. But he'd see her do it.

"One moment, I'll be back with you."

She tensed, catching her breath. In the silence, she could hear his pen moving briskly on the paper. He hadn't told her she could get up. He'd be right back - to do what, that he wanted her to remain like this?

"Sir..." she began anxiously - then hesitated. She wanted to apologize, explain herself - that she was scared, that she was trying - but every decision she'd made since she stepped through the door seemed now to have been the wrong one.

"Yes, Sir," she mumbled weakly, deciding against anything more.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

"I'm sorry, miss, did you say something?"

His voice rose from behind his desk where he sat still, pen hovering over the paper, ink still drying on the newly written words. His eyes were on her, on what of her could be seen from where he sat, and he knew that she must feel the weight of his eyes on her even when they weren't. And only minutes before she was standing in the middle of the room, fully clothed and unmarked.

How quickly things could change.

Without waiting from an answer from her - he'd heard her in the quiet of the room, despite her pathetic mumble - the pen returned to the paper, and he wrote again, reading it aloud as each word was added.

Does.

"Does..."

not

"...not..."

speak

"...speak..."

clearly

"...clearly..."

when

"...when..."

addressing

"...addressing..."

authority.

"...authority."

A nod to himself, and the pen was set down in the crease of the open folder, hands folded on top of the paper as his eyes returned to her.

"Anything else that should be added to this, miss? It seems your list was quite incomplete."

 

[saysalice]

She'd thought he would ignore her, but he pounced on her halfhearted mutterings - it seemed that everything she said or did here was open to scrutiny and being challenged. For half a second, she considered speaking up again - he was giving her the opportunity - to defend herself or to humbly apologize, she wasn't sure which. To try to turn things around, one way or the other. She was uneasy with the way things were going.

Before she'd decided whether it would be wiser to say something or to keep quiet, she heard his voice raised slightly for her benefit, enunciating each word carefully, writing as he spoke:

"Does not speak clearly when addressing authority."

Her hands closed into tight fists again on the surface of the desk and she clenched her teeth in annoyance. She could see how it was going to be. Every little thing. He was just trying to piss her off. Alice lifted her head and stared straight ahead, stubbornly. She wouldn't let him have it this easily.

But a flare of temper made her whip her head around to glare at him when he said her list was incomplete, and she growled irritably, warningly through her teeth, "Look - " before she caught herself, and abruptly looked away again.

Remember where you are. Remember he's got the cane.

She waited until she was sure she had it dialed it back by several degrees, using her sweet voice (albeit with an edge that was not altogether ladylike or submissive), speaking very clearly as she continued, " - Sir... No, I'm afraid I can't think of anything else, at the moment."

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

"Mmhmm. Very well then."

A satisfied nod, obviously unseen by her, and he stood up out of his chair. The papers within the folder were considered for a moment longer, and then it was closed, the top bowed slightly by the pen still in the crease.

His pace was almost casual as he moved around his desk, the end of the cane back on the floor, clicking along with him. A simple way to remind her that it was always within his reach, if not held within his grasp. The same casual pace carries him to her - he is in no rush, clearly content to leave her bent over the desk and on display for some time - and then even with her.

Sitting on the edge of the desk next to hers, the cane was stood on the floor and leaned against him. With his eyes on her, his cuff links were removed and pocketed, and then each cuff, in turn, was rolled up to expose his forearms.

"If you can't think of anything else, then there is still the matter of what put you in this..." he paused, eyes sliding down her body, a grin flickering across his lips, "...position in the first place."

One sleeve done, he moved onto the other one, fingers working the cuff up as he spoke.

"You didn't think I had forgotten, I hope? If so, I hate to disappoint, but-"

His words cut off, and with the second sleeve rolled up, he took the crook of the cane in his grasp again and leaned over it, bringing himself level with where her head rested on the desk.

"You do remember why you're being punished, don't you? Tell me. How will you learn anything if you don't know what this is for?"

 

[saysalice]

Stay angry, she told herself again as she heard him leaving his desk, his cane clicking against the floor - unhurried, but ever closer. Oh God - stay angry, as she felt herself shuddering at his proximity, as he stopped at the next desk over and her gaze slid to take him in briefly without moving her head. It wasn't working.

She heard the metal clink of the cuff links being slipped into his pocket, and then did turn her head to watch him rolling his sleeves up. It was a gesture that made her nervous, she was hardly listening to him. Men rolled up their sleeves when preparing for things to get intensely physical, preparing to work with their hands...when they expected to get - dirty. None of it boded particularly well for her.

No, she didn't think he'd forgotten, but...she'd hoped that he was finished punishing her, after the cane. Naive, she supposed, given that she was still bent over the desk with her bare ass in the air. Alice swallowed uneasily as he leaned in to bring his face down to where she could see it. She couldn't look at him.

"You do remember why you're being punished, don't you?"

For a terrible moment, she blanked utterly. She'd been so caught up in her strong reactions to his criticisms and her fear of what he might do next, that it seemed that - at his suggestion - she forgot the very reason she was bent over the desk.

She opened her mouth, but faltered confusedly for several seconds, feeling her anxiety rising at her hesitation. She had to answer him - if he felt that she wasn't here to learn, that she wasn't paying enough attention, that she was wasting his time -

"Manners," she blurted finally, and was quick to add: "Sir." That was it, wasn't it?

"I - I forgot my manners. I forgot to address you properly, Sir."

She ventured a glance at him. Right?