Daddies of the Castle

by Adaline Raine

  “Coffee? I would have thought tea.” Speaking of the devil, Mr. Collins appeared beside me with his cup poised to get coffee as soon as I was done.

  “When in Rome.” I was starting to say that a lot.

  “Heh. Indeed. How are you settling in, anyhow?”

  “Still finding my way around. I suppose that’s normal; the place is rather enormous. How are things with you?”

  “The usual. The schoolgirls start their lessons this morning, after breakfast.”

  “Oh? I don’t suppose I could sit at the back and observe?” I was very intrigued by the idea, and I told myself it had nothing to do with a black-haired minx.

  “As long as you don’t interfere.”

  I grinned. “I can manage that.”

  “Oh, here’s one of them, now.” He gestured and I saw Ella enter the room, looking furtive.

  “She’s up to something,” I remarked.

  “She usually is.”

  I looked quizzically at him.

  “She’s been here a few times before. Always the prankster, when she hasn’t been caned enough.”

  I raised my eyebrows in surprise. She’d seemed so sweet and innocent to me.

  “You think she’s going to try something?” I asked.

  “It’s written all over her face, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.

  I nodded in agreement. “Will you intervene?”

  “After she’s done whatever she’s planning, yes. You could spend your life punishing schoolgirls who looked like they were up to something. I like to wait until they’ve gone through with it, because it gives them a chance to change their minds and be good. Not that she will. Get your breakfast and we can watch the performance together.”

  He seemed to be taking it in good humor, although I suspected that wasn’t the side of him that Ella would experience shortly.

  I took some scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and butter, and sat down at Collins’ small table, taking care to choose a seat that would make it easy to watch Ella.

  Part of me didn’t want her to get into trouble. The rest of me wanted to be the one to cane her until she cried.

  Ella

  I had the spiders in my pocket and I’d made it into the dining room without anyone stopping me. There was something about having a scheme, it always made me feel like everyone around me knew what I was up to, and like someone was going to bust me at any moment.

  I got my breakfast, still feeling like I was being watched, but whenever I glanced around the dining room, the only people I recognized were Idris and Mr. Collins, who seemed to be deep in conversation together at a corner table.

  They probably didn’t even know I was here.

  I saw Priscilla, queen of the bitches, sitting with Jemima and a couple of Little Maids, all gesturing and talking animatedly. They weren’t going to notice me until it was far too late. I took my tray and steeled myself for the act I needed to convey as I approached their table.

  “Hey! Can I sit here?” I asked, gesturing to the empty seat by Priscilla. They all looked at my tray when I put it down, and none of them saw my left hand dart out and drop a plastic spider in Priscilla’s orange juice.

  “That seat’s taken,” Priscilla replied.

  “Is it?” Jemima seemed surprised.

  I tried to look disappointed, like I’d wanted to sit with them.

  “Oh, okay,” I said in a small voice. “Never mind.” I picked up my tray and walked away.

  “Did you see what she had on her plate? It’s no surprise she’s so tubby,” Priscilla said while I was still in earshot. For a moment, it was hard not to genuinely cry, because in real life this had happened so many times at my high school in upstate New York. Rejection at the cafeteria table was one of those stupid things that opened up deep wounds.

  I got a hold of myself quickly. After almost twenty years of reporting, I’d learned how to manage my emotions when I needed to, even if I preferred to be 100% genuine in my reactions when I was here, at the Castle.

  I sat down by myself, being sure to have a view of their table, but not being too close. I didn’t want to get covered in juice if she really freaked.

  I ate my breakfast slowly, sipping my coffee and waiting for the show. After a while, I wondered if she was ever going to finish the drink, but then she picked it up. Began gulping. Dropped the glass and screamed so loud she could have woken the dead.

  She just kept shrieking. I giggled. Even when she was upset, she was obnoxious. People rushed to help her and I stayed right where I was.

  I finished my breakfast on a high. It had been the perfect crime and it felt good to take back control of the crappy sleeping arrangements.

  At least, that’s how I felt until someone put a hand on my shoulder and I startled. An all-too-familiar voice rumbled in my ear. “Come to my office after lessons. Don’t dawdle, or it will go very badly for you.”

  Crap. I was busted.

  Ella

  All through lessons, I struggled to concentrate. I was in deep trouble and I knew it. This wasn’t like doing something in the classroom, where some naughtiness was expected. I’d caused a fracas in the dining room, where other guests from different programs ate and drank, too.

  How bad was this going to be? Was I ever going to sit on my butt again?

  Naturally, I wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention to the class.

  “Ella!” Mr. Collins’ voice reached into my thoughts and I startled.

  My eyes flicked to the board where a question had been written. I didn’t know the answer. My face got hot. The room seemed so big and scary all of a sudden. I felt the eyes of thirty students all staring at me.

  “I don’t know, sir,” I replied, feeling ashamed.

  The door opened and Idris walked in. Could this get any more humiliating?

  “Very well, Ella; you can avoid a punishment if you can explain to Mister Idris what we are learning about in this class.”

  I looked down at my exercise book. I’d written the date and nothing else.

  “I don’t know, sir,” I reiterated in the smallest voice.

  “You don’t know.” Mr. Collins’ tone had turned a little sarcastic, and I knew this wasn’t going to end well. “Priscilla, perhaps you could enlighten us as to what it is Ella doesn’t know.”

  “Yes, sir, we’re learning about the Marquis de Sade’s Justine , sir.” Priscilla gave me a smug look before sitting back down.

  “Good girl. And what was the question everyone was supposed to answer, Jemima?”

  “We were thinking about whether the story was consensual, sir.”

  “And why might that be important, Ella?”

  No. Not me again. Make it stop. I tried to come up with something that sounded good. “Because the Marquis de Sade is often referred to as one of the earliest writers about sado-masochism, one of the aspects of BDSM. But the foundation underpinning all BDSM activity is consent, regardless of whether participants use SSC, RACK, or some other system of principles.”

  Nailed it.

  My heart pounded in my chest as I began breathing again.

  “Yes, Jemima?” Mr. Collins continued the lesson. He had no praise for me, and I didn’t really expect it, given I was still waiting to be disciplined for my actions at breakfast.

  “But there are plenty of books nowadays featuring BDSM that don’t explicitly mention consent. They also don’t mention every time a character blinks or uses the restroom, sir. And then there’s BDSM fantasy…” Jemima trailed off.

  “What about fantasy?” Mr. Collins probed.

  “Well, like, many people fantasize about nonconsensual situations that they can only read about because in real life they would be outright illegal or lethal. Justine can be part of the literature without having to have a million-page-long nauseating scene where two people argue over a contract with a lawyer, sir.”

  “Hey, I liked that scene in Fifty Shades ,” Priscilla grumbled, as everyone else chuckled.

  Mr. Collins’ eye
s were twinkling slightly as he brought the class back to order.

  “We’re not here to discuss if we enjoyed any given attempt at literature, Priscilla. We are discussing whether Justine ought to be classed as a work on sadomasochism…”

  The class went on. I felt Idris’s eyes boring into my ponytail. Which was ridiculous, since his gaze couldn’t actually touch me and anyway, my hair had no nerves to feel anything.

  Concentrating was difficult, but I didn’t lose the thread of the class again, because the consequences of a double punishment were too terrifying to contemplate.

  All the same, when we moved on to contrasting Justine and Venus in Furs , I let myself fantasize a little about what Idris looked like under his suit.

  Ella

  After class, Jemima and Priscilla skipped off to lunch, not asking me to join them. I doubted they knew what I’d done, and I didn’t care either way. I took my time tidying my desk and waiting until they were gone before I stood up and walked to Mr. Collins’s office. I knew the drill. Stand up straight, hands behind back, don’t bite lips or fidget. I knocked on the door and waited.

  When it opened, my eyes bugged. Idris was in there with Mr. Collins.

  “Stand before my desk,” Mr. Collins ordered. Confused, I obeyed, trying to maintain good posture. “You dropped a plastic spider into Priscilla’s drink this morning.”

  I nodded. There was no point denying it; I’d only be in worse trouble, and he’d obviously seen something.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Playing a prank on a teacher in a classroom is punishable behavior. But it is expected behavior. By that I mean, nobody is especially surprised when it happens. What you did today was unexpected. Targeting a fellow pupil at the school is bullying.”

  I frowned and my mouth fell open at the transparent injustice.

  “That’s not fair, sir!” I argued.

  “Silence.”

  I closed my mouth but continued to shoot lava from my eyes at Mr. Collins.

  “This school has a zero-tolerance policy for bullies, Ella.”

  Yeah. Right. Unless the bullies were white and looked like pretty little china dolls.

  “In light of your behavior today, you are to receive twenty strokes of the cane. Additionally, in your free time, you will be matched with Mr. Idris, and you will do his bidding. Think of it as remedial tuition.”

  “And are the other two getting punished for their behavior?” I asked, but I knew it was pointless.

  “What did they do?” Mr. Collins asked. I was surprised he was listening, since people rarely did.

  For some reason, this situation dragged up old childhood pain and I suddenly burst into tears.

  “They never even asked my name, sir. They assumed I didn’t speak English. But I’m American, too. And they just picked beds and started talking ponies like I wasn’t there. And they live in the bathroom. I couldn’t even get in there to pee this morning. I had to… uh, go use another room.” I didn’t want to drag Idris into it. “And last night, they were whispering after hours. Forever. Just whispering. Then at breakfast, they told me the empty seat was taken, and Priscilla called me fat. I watched their table the whole time. No one came to sit there. I felt literally no guilt about the stupid spider after that.”

  The two men exchanged a glance.

  “Why didn’t you say something, instead of taking matters into your own hands?” Mr. Collins asked.

  “Because I didn’t think anyone would believe me! And the moment you saw me doing something, you didn’t even give me a chance to defend myself. Sir.”

  “You are aware it’s currently your word against theirs?” Mr. Collins asked.

  That was exactly how people like Priscilla always got away with it.

  “Yeah. That’s why I knew you wouldn’t believe me, sir.”

  “It was my bathroom,” Idris chipped in. “She knocked on the door this morning in her nightie—nightgown—and asked if she could use my bathroom. Very soon after she was done and returned to her dormitory, I left for breakfast, and Priscilla and Jemima went out without her. As a result of having to use my bathroom, she was late getting breakfast. And growing girls need time to eat. It’s a fact that they start skipping breakfast at a certain age when they feel too busy.”

  “And you failed to mention this until now?” Mr. Collins raised a brow at Idris.

  “I didn’t realize it was part of an ongoing problem. I just thought they’d work it out between them like… adults.” He sighed and slapped his own forehead. “But they’re not adults, right now, are they?”

  “No. They are not. And this is something you need to understand about littles of any age. They are intentionally in an environment where they do not have to respond to things like adults. It is our job to facilitate and understand that, and to be sensitive to their point of view—but not too sensitive.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I pulled that prank in the dining room , sir,” I said. “I’m not sorry I did it, mind. But I should have picked a better place where it wouldn’t startle other people, sir.” Was I making this worse for myself? Probably. In real life, I never apologized to anyone for ruffled feathers or butthurts.

  “That’s the worst apology I’ve ever heard, in all my years of working here,” Mr. Collins said. “But at least you’re sincere. Bend over the desk. Your punishment stands, although I will also deal with Priscilla and Jemima.”

  I sighed and got into position. I laid my face sideways against the cool and slightly squishy leather-topped desk. I’d been here before. I could handle this. There would probably be lines to write, as well, but something about going through this punishment ritual was deeply cathartic. Perhaps I’d wanted this all along. Even if I hadn’t, it was inevitable now, so I would have to give myself over to everything that was about to happen.

  The cabinet of canes made a familiar soft scraping sound when the wooden door opened. I imagined him selecting one before his footsteps moved closer to me.

  “Keep that bottom up and try to remain still, or you’ll get extras.”

  He flipped my skirt back, leaving my panties in place. A thorough but completely chaste punishment was always what Mr. Collins offered. I’d never felt preyed on while I was here. The addition of Idris in the room changed the atmosphere a little. I felt exposed and a little ashamed that I was in trouble.

  The cane tapped against my upturned bottom and I let myself go limp against the desk, submitting to my punishment.

  It whistled down hard against my ass, and the impact crashed into me with the initial bite. A few seconds later, the flesh decompressed and the second, worse pain exploded in a blazing line across both my cheeks.

  I breathed rapidly, trying to stay quiet because I wasn’t a wimp. At the same time, I was grappling with the creeping horror that always followed the first few strokes—fear of numbers. It went like this; one cane stroke was agonizingly terrible. But I’d been sentenced to twenty. That was twenty times this much pain, all on my ass at the same time. And the prospect was, to my mind, enough to make Russian dictators give up and start new lives as carrot farmers.

  Thirty seconds passed. Mr. Collins timed it impeccably. I flicked my eyes upwards and saw him using his pocket watch. At the exact moment when the pain in my ass had reached its impossible peak, he struck again.

  I had no choice but to scream this time. Eighteen more of these. I couldn’t do it. I knew my limits. It was too many.

  When the third landed, I was crying bitterly. The cane was so much harder than I remembered, and because of the circumstances, internally, my emotions weren’t settling down into the right place to accept this and get anything profound out of it. I’d tried my best to submit but something deep down was trying to fight back.

  By the sixth stroke, I was shaking.

  “You’re not accepting your punishment, are you, Ella?” Mr. Collins’s voice broke into my despair. How did he know these things? “Go and stand in the corner, and think about what you did. Specific
ally, think about how it would have been if any Littles from the Nursery had thought there were real spiders in the orange juice.”

  That would have been a disaster. I slowly made myself move and shuffled to the corner, standing with my hands clasped behind my back and my nose touching the wall.

  I’d been aware the dining room wasn’t an appropriate place to play a prank, but it hadn’t occurred to me that it might cause terror. If one of the younger girls or boys had seen, they might have panicked that all the orange juice had spiders in. And they would have told the whole playroom.

  Quickly, it could have caused a rash of picky eaters and fear of the dark, in case the spiders got out of the orange juice in the night and went hunting for children to eat, instead. I could see exactly how easily that might spread.

  Ignoring how justified I felt in pranking Priscilla, when I thought about the younger Littles, a deep sense of regret washed through me.

  I wasn’t allowed to speak in the corner, and I’d been here enough times in the past to know that, so I held on to my thoughts until Mr. Collins called me back to his desk.

  “What is your conclusion about the little girls and little boys in my care?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t think of them at all. My actions were thoughtless and selfish, and I wish I’d never done it, sir.”

  He stifled a smile but I saw his face twitch. He liked when we learned lessons with only a minimum of guidance.

  “Well done. You have recognized what was wrong with your behavior. Do you feel more deserving of your punishment?”

  “Yes, sir.” My heart now felt like this was the only way to make things right, and I knew I could accept it more readily than before.

  “Bend over my desk, again.”

  I obeyed straight away.

  The rest of the caning hurt like hell, but it was easier to take because I knew I’d done wrong. I needed consequences. I craved retribution for my action. And I was definitely getting it.

  After he delivered the last stroke, I was directed to the corner again. I pressed my nose against the wall while my tears fell, until all my emotions were out in the open, and my soul felt clean again. This was how I needed to feel.