In the Professor's Office

Mary Catherine stood nervously outside Professor Higgins' office. She had never spoken to him before. Her only encounter with him had been at the welcoming speech he'd given her year. As head of their programme she would only expect to have contact with him as she progressed through her course. That she was told to report to him and not her year head did not bode well for her.

She had knocked and been told to wait until he was ready. The waiting made it all the worse. For the fifth time she smoothed her skirt down. Hoping to show she was taking this seriously she had chosen a neatly pleated skirt with a smart shirt and jumper and black stockings and shoes, looking every bit the part of a studious university fresher.

Jumping as the door suddenly opened, she turned to face him. On his invitation she silently entered his office and stood in front of his desk. Professor Higgins sat back comfortably in his desk chair, giving her a long, hard look as she fidgeted in front of him.

'Mary Catherine, I assume?' he enquired. She nodded wordlessly. Silence hung heavy in the air and she looked at the floor, around the office, at the many books and papers lying around; everywhere except at him.

Finally he spoke again. 'It's very rare I have the opportunity to meet freshers. And when I do it's usually for one of two reason: excellent achievements or matters of discipline.' She flinched at the latter; how awful it sounded. 'I think you know which one you're here for?' he looked at her sternly.

'Yes sir' she said quietly.

'I dealt with your friend Elizabeth this morning. Cheating and plagiarism are very serious offences, are you aware of that Mary Catherine?'

'Yes of course' she stammered 'but I didn't do either. It was my work she copied. I did the work.'

Another pause as he considered her argument. Then quietly and firmly explained just how dim a view the university took of such matters. That allowing Elizabeth to copy her essay had amounted to cheating too. How they had both tried to cheat the system.

'I'm sorry' she cried. 'I really didn't think of it like that. I just wanted to help her.'

Tears started to fall as he informed her that she had indeed helped Elizabeth, helped her to fail the first semester. Then he moved on to talk of her. The disciplinary procedure: an automatic failing of the paper and therefore the subject. Awarded a bare pass for the semester even though all her grades had been As.

She was suddenly distraught as the consequences hit home. Her career ambitions disappearing for the folly of trying to help a friend.

But there was an alternative. He was prepared to spare her the formal procedures and mark her paper on its merits.

She looked at him in hope. He continued to lecture her and she had to agree that she couldn't be let off scot free either. Then listened in fear as he proposed a different course of action: corporal punishment.

In disbelief she eyed the thick dark cane he held in his hands. Asked and was assured it would hurt. 'It wouldn't do you any good if it didn't,' he explained calmly.

More silence as she weighed up the options, but the outcome was inevitable. She nodded and agreed to take the punishment. He cleared his desk and positioned her over it: arms stretched ahead of her, her bottom jutting out to face the cane. To her mortification she had to lift her skirt up and lower her knickers. He hadn't even started and she was regretting getting into this mess.

'12 should be sufficient' he stated. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him raise his arm and then bring it down quickly. She gasped as the cane landed on her bottom, but then yelped and jumped up as the full force of the dragon cane burned through her. With tears in her eyes she begged him to stop, that it hurt too much.

Gently he instructed her to bend back over. Asked her to be a brave girl and take the punishment she deserved. Resuming her position she clutched the table in fear. How much harder it was now, knowing what was coming.

'Count each aloud and thank me' he ordered and she mumbled the required response.

The next stroke descended. Another squeal and a kick of her legs. A miserable 'two, thank you sir'.




How could she take ten more. It wasn't possible. How could she have gotten into this position. He took his time between strokes, allowing her to feel the full impact of each and to catch her breath before the next. She was struggling to take them, clearly feeling the pain but trying not to make a fuss.

After six he allowed her stand and take a brief respite. Told her she taking it very well and that she would benefit from his ministrations. That it would be all over and the slate would be clean. Her bottom throbbed and tears prickled her eyes but she bent over again when ordered.


The next six were applied just as carefully. Each stroke burned like fire across her bottom and she mumbled her count as best she could. Telling herself to hold on, just a few more, just one more. Tears of pain and relief when it was all over. He left her in position to compose herself. Took a minute to admire the 12 perfect stripes across her bottom.



When she was finally permitted to stand, she adjusted her clothing in considerable pain and embarrassment. Her bottom was hot and felt swollen to the touch, marked with ridges from the cane. Fervently she promised to never do such a thing again and he smiled at her as he warned her he'd be keeping a very close eye on her.

Finally she was dismissed and fled back to the halls to cry quietly in her room.