All delinquents shall be punished severely. The laminated sign's title screams as your eyes drink in the image slowly. The tedium and monotony of the punishment is slowly pushing you to the edge, making you devour the rules in desperation to alleviate the boredom. Your eyes are forced forwards, your hands clasped on the top of your head. You stand in the corner of the classroom, your whole world now formed solely from the wood panelled walls and the delusional sign you read quietly.
Rule 1 - All tutors are to be treated with utmost respect at all times.
You chuckle involuntarily as the message went in. Bollocks! You want to say out loud. You're not some green military recruit who obeys orders without question. You're a free spirit, no one controls you, but you.
Rule 2 - All homework and essays are to be neat, referenced and handed in on time without exception.
Homework? The paradox of the word causes you to question your very being. How could anyone be home if they were working? How could anyone be at work if they were at home? Plus what did it really matter if one pathetic essay on William Shakespeare was missing from the pile? It was hardly going to resolve war crimes or world hunger was it? You think contemptuously... Silently.
"Stand up straight!" Her booming voice calls out from behind your skull. The cacophonous roar rebounding through your mind as if you were stood in the town bell tower as the chime for dawn was called. "If you can't achieve a task as simple as standing quietly, how can you comprehend arithmetic!?" Her volcanic vocal chords sound off, instantly causing the rebound to begin anew.
"It's maths, Miss." You counter, your accent elongated and twinged with a giggle. Your joy is cut short as a stinging slap collides with your thighs. You whelp as a second blow lands, the skin tingles painfully. You move your head, trying to catch a glimpse of the tool. A sharp whack of Miss's hand on the back of your head causes you to stumble and move your hands to the ringing at the back of the cranium.
"Stand up straight!" She repeats loudly, "your place is this corner until you can learn control! That means no moving and no speaking." The wooden panelling to your right gives off a loud snapping sound. Inadvertently your eyes dart askance, catching a glimpse of the long plastic ruler she had evidently hit you with. "Disrespectful pupils get the ruler, delinquent pupils get the cane!" She calls out authoritatively, you listen and hear the clipping sound of her heels colliding repeatedly with the wooden flooring.
You breathe a sigh of relief. The stinging on the back of your thighs continues, you are desperate to rub it, but know that any movement will make things worse.
Rule 3 - Pupils must not answer back to the Tutor
The words cause an ire to boil beneath the surface. Hypocrites! You silently protest, remembering how the Tutor answered you back when referring to The Winter's Tale as A Winter's Tale. It reminds you of the message in a song of many of your favourite bands. The ultimate message was that of one rule for them and a different one for you.
Rule 4 - No chewing gum, sweets, crisps or soft drinks to be consumed in the classroom.
You grin at this and prepare a plan for later. Slowly you read more of the rules, from behind you can hear the lifting of papers and the sound of Miss angrily scowling at the answers she was ticking off. You want to wish whoever made her mad luck, they were likely to need it.
"Return to your desk." She announces suddenly, you breathe deeply and sit down swiftly, grateful to rest your legs. You wince, however, as the withered and splintered wooden seat collides with your stinging thighs. "Now, let us try again. Define pii."
"A figure commonly used to calculate the circumference of a circle in conjunction with the radius squared. The most common abbreviation of the figure is 3.141 but the number has an infinite number of places." You smirk as the answer is digested by your teacher.
"Give me pii to nine places." She asks suddenly, derailing your confidence.
"N... Nine Miss? Why?" You ask gingerly.
“On your feet now!” She commands angrily, you roll your eyes and stand up. Can't even ask a sodding question without panties being twisted? You internalise. “Turn around and face the wall.” Silently you obey, not giving her the satisfaction of further misbehaviour. Before you have completed your turn, your thighs sting even harder and the vibration of the muscles causes you to scream. Instinctively you turn around and see Miss staring with a very angry expression. “Face... The... Wall!” She repeats with a slow, almost inhuman sourness.
“Whatever Miss.” You reply and turn again. You curse yourself for not taking the opportunity to see her new weapon of choice. As you do so, the thighs get struck again, the force moving you forward a step. As you compose yourself a third and final stroke is laid on the bare skin.
“Rule number 3! Do not answer me back! But to answer your question, because I want to be sure you did not cheat. Since you know it has an infinite number of places, and the most common abbreviation, prove your skill by going outside the norm. Tell me, now.”
You stammer and nod. “Errr... Well... 3.1415...” You clasp at your head, desperately trying to drag more numbers free, but your mind draws a blank.
Miss frowns. “You disappoint me. I would never expect you to cheat.”
“I did not cheat! I just don't know!” You protest
Miss points to her desk. “Lean over that and clasp the other side, now!” You walk slowly to the front of the empty classroom, occupied only by Miss and Yourself. As you go, your feet snake out and collect two chairs, creating an ear-piercing screeching sound as the legs drag against the wooden floor. A light tap with Miss's unknown tool on your thighs straightens you up. “Over the bench, now!” Miss repeats angrily.
You reach the wide oak desk that is stacked on both sides with thick textbooks, between them are test papers, you are unable to read the name at the top one due to it being upside down. But you do see the first page littered with red inked crosses, and the score '0' at the bottom of the folio. You try to ignore the test score and slowly lean forward. The varnished oak feels cold against your chest and you give an involuntary shriek at the shift in temperature. Slowly you bow your head down, staring at the arrow straight wooden slats that formed the floor. Gingerly you reach with your hands to clasp the underside of the table.
“Do you know why you were sent to me?” Miss asks with a harsh and cold tone.
“For being cheeky to my maths teacher.”
You yelp as another stroke hits the back of your thighs, this one heavier and more powerful. You can feel a warmness rising to the surface and what feels like a swelling of the muscles and skin.
“Arithmetic!” Miss shouts angrily. “And no, that is not the reason, it is one of the reasons. You have repeatedly broken Rule 3 right here tonight, meanwhile, I have been advised by your English Literature tutor that you have also repeatedly ignored Rule 2, why, you couldn't even get the title of a play you were studying right!”
“This isn't fair! No one told me that was what I had done wrong!” You protest again, another heavy stroke hits you and a scream emits from your mouth. “What the fuck are you hitting me with?”
“How dare you!?” Miss shrieks as she hears your question, her heeled feet smash against the wooden flooring, sending thunderous clipping sounds in to the air. Suddenly, you see the outline of her pleated black skirt and her formal white blouse and neckerchief in front of you. Harshly she pulls your head upwards and slams a bar of soap between your lips. “Bite down!” She commands, you try to refuse but a harsh slap on the oak table inches from your ear compels you to obey. The awful, bitter taste floods your senses and your eyes only just register the heavy Lochgelly Tawse that she had substituted her ruler with.
You watch as she places her hands on her hips and stares at you. “You have not just disappointed me, you have behaved in a manner wholly aghast. A part of me wishes to exclude you for a week and consult my councillors and decide whether you should remain a part of this educational establishment.” She suddenly leans forward and your brows almost touch. “But I will not! A youth as petulant and delinquent as you would only see it as a holiday. Well, I feel I can reform you appropriately. I advised you earlier that disobedient pupils get the ruler, delinquent pupils get the cane! Therefore that is exactly what will happen.”
You try to gasp but the soap merely swallows the sound as Miss walks behind you. Worse, your saliva moistens the bar and causes it to foam up to your tonsils, flooding your battered senses all the more. Miss comes back to your front and mercifully retrieves the bar, tutting as she sees the teeth marks and wetness left behind.
“As you were so smug earlier, your punishment is this. You recited pii to 4 decimal places and the source number. I wanted to hear pii to 9 places. Repeatedly you have answered me back in vulgar fashion by advising that it is 'maths' not arithmetic. Well, I feel like a demonstration needs to take place here.”
Miss disappears from view and you hear the sound of a thin object colliding with the table as it is lifted from place, instinctively you know that it is some form of cane. The clipping sounds of the heels begins again and stops directly behind you, suddenly you cry out as Miss pulls down your underwear and lower uniform, leaving your behind bare and exposed. The clothes chafe against the already hurt thighs making you wince again.
“Recite the 9 times table please.” Miss commands.
You sigh and wince at the feeling against your thighs. “1 times 5 equals 5. 2 times 5 equals 10. 3 times 5 equals 15. 4 times 5 equals 20. 5 times 5 equals 25. 5 times 6 equals 30. 5 times 7 equals 35. 5 times 8 equals 40. 5 times 9 equals 45.”
“Stop!” Miss commands, shocked by the suddenness of it, you halt immediately. “5 times 9 equals 45. Or in my arithmetic class, your failed answer times the answer requested equals your punishment! Count each stroke please, and if you mess up in any way, I wil start all over again!”
You gulp as it hits home, 45 strokes on the bare! You quiver with fear, the tawse and ruler had already hurt, what will the cane do? You think silently. A sudden whooshing sound comes to the air and less than heartbeat later the stroke snaps against your bottom. You gasp, close your eyes and tense up before wincing and moaning. You lie on the table for thirty seconds, absorbing the force of the blow, Christ that hurts! You cry out in your mind and are confused as nothing follows, until you realise you have not counted.
“1, thank you Miss.” You reply gingerly.
“Incorrect!” She suddenly announces curtly. “You took too long to count so I am starting again!”
Before you are able to protest the cane swishes forth again, colliding with your bottom. The stinging fiery feeling flushes through your buttocks like quicksilver.
“1, thank you Miss.” You cry out much quicker. Almost immediately you hear the swooshing sound again, the second strike is lower, you feel it colliding with the area of the bottom that you sit on. You scream as the pain flushes inside you.
“2, thank you Miss.” You count after a brief period. Still rolling with the previous blow. For the next five strikes Miss aims for the same area, you feel like screaming yet you do all you can to remain defiant and not give. The bare bottom feels inflamed, as if you have caught it briefly against a hot metal rail.
“Not so cocky now are we?” Miss suddenly whispers in to your ear. It confuses you, like she is being supportive whilst mocking at the same time. “Are you going to misbehave again?” You shake your head at the question. “Stay bent for me,” she whispers again. “How many strikes to go?” She asks swiftly.
You stumble and mutter as you try and remember. “Erm... 38 Miss!” You cry out as the figure flashes in your mind.
“Only if you count correctly and do as you're told.” Suddenly the cane lashes beside your right ear, the sharp snapping sound and the vibration shock you in to still silence, your eyes transfixed on the thin thickness of the instrument in her hand. “Do you like my cane?” She asks with a raised intonation, bollocks! If I say yes then she'll increase my punishment, if I say no... You ponder the Prisoner's dilemma in your mind. “Too slow.” She interjects, her voice low and obvious disappointed. “I'll mark this on your report card for any further indiscretions I have referred to my attention.”
Before you can think of any reply, you feel another stroke collide with your bottom. The sting really cuts through the top of your cheeks, it was as if the stroke was vertical and not horizontal.
“8, thank you Miss.” You say through gritted teeth, immediately another lands mere millimetres lower. “9, thank you Miss.”
“Tell me the percentage of your punishment that has been served... Including how you worked it out, you have 60 seconds, starting now.”
In your mind you struggle, if this was 50 strokes then 10 would equal 20%. Therefore... You realise instantly that is just confusing you.
“45 seconds remaining.” You feel her leaning in close to you. “Answer this correctly and I'll reduce your punishment.” She whispers softly in your ear.
You begin to think fast. The clock, booms with each tick, sweat on your brow, breathing shallower, faster paced, tension swallowing you.
“30 seconds left. You don't want to fail me, I may decide to go the other way on your punishment.” She orates with a twinge of a smile.
Sadist! You cry to yourself, the seconds continue to devour you, desperately, you revert to the previous idea, when it hits like a bolt from the blue. 9 is 1 lower than ten, but 45 is 5 lower than 50! It's the same answer!
“The answer is 20%, Miss.” You begin confidently and remember she wanted working out. “To test my calculation,” you continue theatrically. “Simply divide 9 by 45 and multiply the answer by 100.” You smile but hear a frown forming on her lips.
“That is correct... Very well, I shall reduce your punishment by 10 strokes, how many remain?”
“26.” You reply instantly.
Without another word the next strike hits. It feels harsher, thicker, deeper. You grit your teeth and give a light growl, trying to extinguish the pain.
“10, thank you Miss.”
Rule 1 - All tutors are to be treated with utmost respect at all times.
You chuckle involuntarily as the message went in. Bollocks! You want to say out loud. You're not some green military recruit who obeys orders without question. You're a free spirit, no one controls you, but you.
Rule 2 - All homework and essays are to be neat, referenced and handed in on time without exception.
Homework? The paradox of the word causes you to question your very being. How could anyone be home if they were working? How could anyone be at work if they were at home? Plus what did it really matter if one pathetic essay on William Shakespeare was missing from the pile? It was hardly going to resolve war crimes or world hunger was it? You think contemptuously... Silently.
"Stand up straight!" Her booming voice calls out from behind your skull. The cacophonous roar rebounding through your mind as if you were stood in the town bell tower as the chime for dawn was called. "If you can't achieve a task as simple as standing quietly, how can you comprehend arithmetic!?" Her volcanic vocal chords sound off, instantly causing the rebound to begin anew.
"It's maths, Miss." You counter, your accent elongated and twinged with a giggle. Your joy is cut short as a stinging slap collides with your thighs. You whelp as a second blow lands, the skin tingles painfully. You move your head, trying to catch a glimpse of the tool. A sharp whack of Miss's hand on the back of your head causes you to stumble and move your hands to the ringing at the back of the cranium.
"Stand up straight!" She repeats loudly, "your place is this corner until you can learn control! That means no moving and no speaking." The wooden panelling to your right gives off a loud snapping sound. Inadvertently your eyes dart askance, catching a glimpse of the long plastic ruler she had evidently hit you with. "Disrespectful pupils get the ruler, delinquent pupils get the cane!" She calls out authoritatively, you listen and hear the clipping sound of her heels colliding repeatedly with the wooden flooring.
You breathe a sigh of relief. The stinging on the back of your thighs continues, you are desperate to rub it, but know that any movement will make things worse.
Rule 3 - Pupils must not answer back to the Tutor
The words cause an ire to boil beneath the surface. Hypocrites! You silently protest, remembering how the Tutor answered you back when referring to The Winter's Tale as A Winter's Tale. It reminds you of the message in a song of many of your favourite bands. The ultimate message was that of one rule for them and a different one for you.
Rule 4 - No chewing gum, sweets, crisps or soft drinks to be consumed in the classroom.
You grin at this and prepare a plan for later. Slowly you read more of the rules, from behind you can hear the lifting of papers and the sound of Miss angrily scowling at the answers she was ticking off. You want to wish whoever made her mad luck, they were likely to need it.
"Return to your desk." She announces suddenly, you breathe deeply and sit down swiftly, grateful to rest your legs. You wince, however, as the withered and splintered wooden seat collides with your stinging thighs. "Now, let us try again. Define pii."
"A figure commonly used to calculate the circumference of a circle in conjunction with the radius squared. The most common abbreviation of the figure is 3.141 but the number has an infinite number of places." You smirk as the answer is digested by your teacher.
"Give me pii to nine places." She asks suddenly, derailing your confidence.
"N... Nine Miss? Why?" You ask gingerly.
“On your feet now!” She commands angrily, you roll your eyes and stand up. Can't even ask a sodding question without panties being twisted? You internalise. “Turn around and face the wall.” Silently you obey, not giving her the satisfaction of further misbehaviour. Before you have completed your turn, your thighs sting even harder and the vibration of the muscles causes you to scream. Instinctively you turn around and see Miss staring with a very angry expression. “Face... The... Wall!” She repeats with a slow, almost inhuman sourness.
“Whatever Miss.” You reply and turn again. You curse yourself for not taking the opportunity to see her new weapon of choice. As you do so, the thighs get struck again, the force moving you forward a step. As you compose yourself a third and final stroke is laid on the bare skin.
“Rule number 3! Do not answer me back! But to answer your question, because I want to be sure you did not cheat. Since you know it has an infinite number of places, and the most common abbreviation, prove your skill by going outside the norm. Tell me, now.”
You stammer and nod. “Errr... Well... 3.1415...” You clasp at your head, desperately trying to drag more numbers free, but your mind draws a blank.
Miss frowns. “You disappoint me. I would never expect you to cheat.”
“I did not cheat! I just don't know!” You protest
Miss points to her desk. “Lean over that and clasp the other side, now!” You walk slowly to the front of the empty classroom, occupied only by Miss and Yourself. As you go, your feet snake out and collect two chairs, creating an ear-piercing screeching sound as the legs drag against the wooden floor. A light tap with Miss's unknown tool on your thighs straightens you up. “Over the bench, now!” Miss repeats angrily.
You reach the wide oak desk that is stacked on both sides with thick textbooks, between them are test papers, you are unable to read the name at the top one due to it being upside down. But you do see the first page littered with red inked crosses, and the score '0' at the bottom of the folio. You try to ignore the test score and slowly lean forward. The varnished oak feels cold against your chest and you give an involuntary shriek at the shift in temperature. Slowly you bow your head down, staring at the arrow straight wooden slats that formed the floor. Gingerly you reach with your hands to clasp the underside of the table.
“Do you know why you were sent to me?” Miss asks with a harsh and cold tone.
“For being cheeky to my maths teacher.”
You yelp as another stroke hits the back of your thighs, this one heavier and more powerful. You can feel a warmness rising to the surface and what feels like a swelling of the muscles and skin.
“Arithmetic!” Miss shouts angrily. “And no, that is not the reason, it is one of the reasons. You have repeatedly broken Rule 3 right here tonight, meanwhile, I have been advised by your English Literature tutor that you have also repeatedly ignored Rule 2, why, you couldn't even get the title of a play you were studying right!”
“This isn't fair! No one told me that was what I had done wrong!” You protest again, another heavy stroke hits you and a scream emits from your mouth. “What the fuck are you hitting me with?”
“How dare you!?” Miss shrieks as she hears your question, her heeled feet smash against the wooden flooring, sending thunderous clipping sounds in to the air. Suddenly, you see the outline of her pleated black skirt and her formal white blouse and neckerchief in front of you. Harshly she pulls your head upwards and slams a bar of soap between your lips. “Bite down!” She commands, you try to refuse but a harsh slap on the oak table inches from your ear compels you to obey. The awful, bitter taste floods your senses and your eyes only just register the heavy Lochgelly Tawse that she had substituted her ruler with.
You watch as she places her hands on her hips and stares at you. “You have not just disappointed me, you have behaved in a manner wholly aghast. A part of me wishes to exclude you for a week and consult my councillors and decide whether you should remain a part of this educational establishment.” She suddenly leans forward and your brows almost touch. “But I will not! A youth as petulant and delinquent as you would only see it as a holiday. Well, I feel I can reform you appropriately. I advised you earlier that disobedient pupils get the ruler, delinquent pupils get the cane! Therefore that is exactly what will happen.”
You try to gasp but the soap merely swallows the sound as Miss walks behind you. Worse, your saliva moistens the bar and causes it to foam up to your tonsils, flooding your battered senses all the more. Miss comes back to your front and mercifully retrieves the bar, tutting as she sees the teeth marks and wetness left behind.
“As you were so smug earlier, your punishment is this. You recited pii to 4 decimal places and the source number. I wanted to hear pii to 9 places. Repeatedly you have answered me back in vulgar fashion by advising that it is 'maths' not arithmetic. Well, I feel like a demonstration needs to take place here.”
Miss disappears from view and you hear the sound of a thin object colliding with the table as it is lifted from place, instinctively you know that it is some form of cane. The clipping sounds of the heels begins again and stops directly behind you, suddenly you cry out as Miss pulls down your underwear and lower uniform, leaving your behind bare and exposed. The clothes chafe against the already hurt thighs making you wince again.
“Recite the 9 times table please.” Miss commands.
You sigh and wince at the feeling against your thighs. “1 times 5 equals 5. 2 times 5 equals 10. 3 times 5 equals 15. 4 times 5 equals 20. 5 times 5 equals 25. 5 times 6 equals 30. 5 times 7 equals 35. 5 times 8 equals 40. 5 times 9 equals 45.”
“Stop!” Miss commands, shocked by the suddenness of it, you halt immediately. “5 times 9 equals 45. Or in my arithmetic class, your failed answer times the answer requested equals your punishment! Count each stroke please, and if you mess up in any way, I wil start all over again!”
You gulp as it hits home, 45 strokes on the bare! You quiver with fear, the tawse and ruler had already hurt, what will the cane do? You think silently. A sudden whooshing sound comes to the air and less than heartbeat later the stroke snaps against your bottom. You gasp, close your eyes and tense up before wincing and moaning. You lie on the table for thirty seconds, absorbing the force of the blow, Christ that hurts! You cry out in your mind and are confused as nothing follows, until you realise you have not counted.
“1, thank you Miss.” You reply gingerly.
“Incorrect!” She suddenly announces curtly. “You took too long to count so I am starting again!”
Before you are able to protest the cane swishes forth again, colliding with your bottom. The stinging fiery feeling flushes through your buttocks like quicksilver.
“1, thank you Miss.” You cry out much quicker. Almost immediately you hear the swooshing sound again, the second strike is lower, you feel it colliding with the area of the bottom that you sit on. You scream as the pain flushes inside you.
“2, thank you Miss.” You count after a brief period. Still rolling with the previous blow. For the next five strikes Miss aims for the same area, you feel like screaming yet you do all you can to remain defiant and not give. The bare bottom feels inflamed, as if you have caught it briefly against a hot metal rail.
“Not so cocky now are we?” Miss suddenly whispers in to your ear. It confuses you, like she is being supportive whilst mocking at the same time. “Are you going to misbehave again?” You shake your head at the question. “Stay bent for me,” she whispers again. “How many strikes to go?” She asks swiftly.
You stumble and mutter as you try and remember. “Erm... 38 Miss!” You cry out as the figure flashes in your mind.
“Only if you count correctly and do as you're told.” Suddenly the cane lashes beside your right ear, the sharp snapping sound and the vibration shock you in to still silence, your eyes transfixed on the thin thickness of the instrument in her hand. “Do you like my cane?” She asks with a raised intonation, bollocks! If I say yes then she'll increase my punishment, if I say no... You ponder the Prisoner's dilemma in your mind. “Too slow.” She interjects, her voice low and obvious disappointed. “I'll mark this on your report card for any further indiscretions I have referred to my attention.”
Before you can think of any reply, you feel another stroke collide with your bottom. The sting really cuts through the top of your cheeks, it was as if the stroke was vertical and not horizontal.
“8, thank you Miss.” You say through gritted teeth, immediately another lands mere millimetres lower. “9, thank you Miss.”
“Tell me the percentage of your punishment that has been served... Including how you worked it out, you have 60 seconds, starting now.”
In your mind you struggle, if this was 50 strokes then 10 would equal 20%. Therefore... You realise instantly that is just confusing you.
“45 seconds remaining.” You feel her leaning in close to you. “Answer this correctly and I'll reduce your punishment.” She whispers softly in your ear.
You begin to think fast. The clock, booms with each tick, sweat on your brow, breathing shallower, faster paced, tension swallowing you.
“30 seconds left. You don't want to fail me, I may decide to go the other way on your punishment.” She orates with a twinge of a smile.
Sadist! You cry to yourself, the seconds continue to devour you, desperately, you revert to the previous idea, when it hits like a bolt from the blue. 9 is 1 lower than ten, but 45 is 5 lower than 50! It's the same answer!
“The answer is 20%, Miss.” You begin confidently and remember she wanted working out. “To test my calculation,” you continue theatrically. “Simply divide 9 by 45 and multiply the answer by 100.” You smile but hear a frown forming on her lips.
“That is correct... Very well, I shall reduce your punishment by 10 strokes, how many remain?”
“26.” You reply instantly.
Without another word the next strike hits. It feels harsher, thicker, deeper. You grit your teeth and give a light growl, trying to extinguish the pain.
“10, thank you Miss.”