Emily

The sun was over its zenith, and small white clouds were scattered about a pale blue sky. It was mid-May, and the promise was of a long hot summer, fields of golden wheat, strawberries and cream, ice cream cones, all in a perfect English summer.

Mr. Jackson wheeled his bicycle up the small lane and leant it against the front gate of a small neat cottage where Norma Middleton lived in semi-rural solitude. The garden was in full bloom of late Spring flowers, and early bluebells shared the flower beds with more cultured blooms.

He removed the bicycle clips from the bottom of his gray flannel slacks, pulled his corduroy jacket straight, and walked up to the red front door. It opened before he had hardly time to knock.

"Hello, Mr. Jackson," she smiled. "I am so glad you could come. Do come in."

She led him into the dark and somewhat cooler sitting room.

"Please take a seat. Would you like some tea?"

He sat down and sank into a large soft armchair, white with a pattern of roses.

"No thanks, Norma. What's the problem?"

She looked at him closely, earnestly with her large deep-brown eyes. She was a trim little thing, almost boyish in stature, but with a very feminine face and full red lips that had caused more than one local lad to dream of romance ....

She sat down. "This is not going not be easy. Please bear with me"

Mr. Jackson nodded, and waited for Norma to explain why she had asked him to visit her at this time of day, without any explanation other than to say it was very important.

"I need for someone, someone like you, to do something very extraordinary for me. Quite odd, really, when you think about it ..."

"Some one like me, you say?" he said to break the lengthening silence.

"Yes. Do you remember when I was about 11, or perhaps 12, when I was living here with Mum, and we had that early snowfall and I caught you on the back of your neck, near the railway station, with that big snowball?"

He smiled. "Yes, indeed. But you never threw another on at me, did you?"

"I know. Back then you seemed so big and dreadful. Because what I always remembered was that the spanking you gave me was very, very severe for such a little joke. It was the only time anyone made me cry by smacking my bottom. I have often thought of how serious you must be with discipline and things."

"Perhaps," he smiled. "You were a constant enigma back then, one day so sweet and innocent, and the next you were trouble of the worst possible kind. I decided to teach your devilish side a lesson it had a long time coming. Particularly with only your Mum at home to deal with you."

She smiled ruefully. "Mum could dish out a fair clout, when my bad side was on top. Not like you, mind, but enough to keep me in order."

"But back to the business in hand, Norma. What is this all about?"

She took a deep breath. "About 5 weeks ago, I was on the 5:15 bus coming home from work, and a ticket inspector got on. "He spotted that my weekly pass was out of date."

"Last Thursday I was in court, to explain to the Justices why I didn't have a ticket. Tom Robinson, on the High Street, he was my solicitor, of course, and he had told me that I had only committed a crime if I had deliberately tried to get a free ride. If there was a reasonable explanation, I would have to be let off."

"So, when I got the chance, I explained to the magistrates how I had bought a weekly ticket the previous Friday, and because of the crowd, and line and the bustle, I had the ticket and change in one hand, the pass cover and my hand bag in the other, and I put the cash and ticket into one pocket while I got out into the clear, and I must have then dropped the ticket or something, without knowing. When I got on the bus the next week, I really thought I had a valid ticket with me. When the inspector pointed out the one I was showing was out of date, I was shocked and horrified."

"That seems a very reasonable explanation of an unfortunate incident. Did they accept your story?" ask Mister Jackson

"Oh, yes. Absolutely. For I had sworn on the Bible to tell the truth, and they believed that a girl like me would tell the truth after taking the oath. So I was acquitted. Not even a warning to take more care, or anything"

"So everything turned out fine, then ..."

"Except for one thing." She took a deep breath. "I was lying through my back teeth. It is so easy to get past the driver if you just wave an old weekly ticket at them - they never look properly - don't have time and are usually trying a new chat line. I have stolen many a free ride. Many. But this time I got caught. And I got off by telling lies. Telling lies after swearing my Holy oath to tell the truth, the whole truth ....."

She closed her eyes for a moment.

"I see. So now what?" he asked.

"I never realized just how deep and agonizing a sense of guilt can be. Making atonement is proving to be impossible for me. I put three times the amount of the maximum fine in the collection plate last Sunday, and I still cannot get any peace of mind at all. None of the soft penances are working. And I now know none of them are going to."

She licked her lower lip.

"I walked out and about a lot last Monday evening. I considered the various ways in which I could come to terms with what I have done. And over and over I saw that I deserved a punishment as serious as the sin I am guilty of. Have you ever heard of mortification of the flesh, Mister Jackson?"

"Yes, of it. Not really my way of life, though ...."

She stood up. "Come through the back here with me"

He followed her into the dining room at the rear of the house. The ding table and its chairs were pushed aside to one wall. In the center of the room was a large wooden saw bench. Lying across it's flat wooden top was a wooden cane.

She picked it up and offered its handle to him. It was about four feet long, green and supple.

"They say that in Victorian schools that the maximum with something like this was twenty four strokes. That seems to fit the description of mortification of the flesh."

"You want me to spank you with this?"

"I wish to be punished for what I did, Mister Jackson - it will be more than a spanking"

"Is that what you really want to happen to you?"

"I want to be able to sleep in peace, again, Mister Jackson. What to you might seem a savage cruelty, to me would in fact be something of a kindness. I want the full strength of your arm to strike as hard as it can".

"Sweet Jesus. You have really got it in for yourself."

She looked deeply into his face. "This I need and deserve. I cannot do it myself, and others may take advantage of my helplessness in ways that would cause harm outside of the disciplinary process. Now, will you be my executioner? Please."

"Yes. I can do this for you." He took off his jacket and placed it on one of the dining chairs. He started to roll up his right shirt sleeve.

"Come on," she said. "Let's do it now before I tell you that we should postpone it for a month or two."

She unzipped the side of her skirt, and stepped out of it. She was wearing no hosiery or stockings, and quickly stepped out of her panties. She was then naked save for a white blouse and a white bra. She looked so thin and vulnerable, it was as though the beating could cut her completely in two.

She placed her legs apart, so that her ankles were against the legs of the saw horse. Mr. Jackson knelt down and carefully and efficiently fastened each in turn to a leg, so that there was a gap of two feet or so between her feet. While he was doing this, she placed a folded piece of leather against her tongue and fastened it in place with a short leather strap wrapped across her mouth and then fastened back behind her head.

"Last chance. Once I start there is no going back until it is all over. Still ok?"

She nodded, quickly and firmly.

She then lay herself across the top of the bench and offered her wrists to be secured to the front legs of the frame, fingers touching the carpet in front of her. Spread eagled, secure, a willing victim awaiting closure to her crime.

She lay still, almost serene, with eyes closed, seemingly awaiting her fate with total acceptance. And then, unseen to Jackson, her expression suddenly changed. Almost as if she had just woken up.

Inside her head, angry passions were playing out. For the mind of Norma was split into two, independent, personalities who had total possession of her body in sequences of varying length. Emily, currently in abeyance, used Norma's name in all public conversation, and her own only when actually talking to Norma.

"What the hell are you doing?" screamed the voice of Emily from deep with inside her consciousness.

"I have often warned you what you would get for your constant messing me up!" Norma yelled back. "And if you ever treat me and my man friends so bad again, you will get far worse than this."

"What stupid story was that about bloody bus tickets?

"Think he would do this to you just because it was pay back time?"

"You stupid bitch!"

"I will now leave. You will have total charge of our body for the next week or so. But I shall watch over your shoulder all the time. Don't do anything stupid. Or else, I will show just how vicious I can get." And then, with a sudden finality, Emily realized that she was completely alone and all that was about to happen was going to happen to her, and her alone. She felt around inside, and there was not a single trace of Norma, not anywhere she could sense.

"Oh you silly cow, what have you done?" she asked.

Of course, not one word was heard by Mr. Jackson. The conversation had been totally silent to the outside world.

Mr. Jackson took up his position and looked at the two pale orbs splayed out in front of him. He was tasked to punish them as thoroughly as anyone had ever been punished, and that he would willingly do - with relish even. If she wanted real pain, she had certainly chosen the right man, and he was going to make the most of her unexpected, but most welcome. request.

He pulled his arm back, and saw every muscle in Emily's body stiffen in anticipation of the first dreadful blow.

Inside her head, Emily started a silent scream of "No" that became a mantra of agony until the very last stroke had bitten deep, deep, deep. The gag reduced her real screams to mild whimpers as if she was experiencing only slight discomfort. If the truth be told, provided no one else could hear, Mr. Jackson would have gladly listened to the loudest scream, and not reduced on stroke by an iota of strength, nor viciousness.

And when it was all done, she bucked and strained and kicked for many more minutes. He sat and watched and quietly enjoyed the scene until she at last lay still, the images stored for many future replays at times when things were quiet and he had time to dwell on their finer points.

When he finally released her, she was near incoherent as she ushered him out, but she managed somehow to let him know that he had done a good job, and that he could count on her discretion not to let anyone in the village know the role he had played. And that she was perfectly all right.

And, after a few moments to regain her composure, she stumbled off to her bed, to wait for sleep and time to take away the pain. And to await for the return of Norma.