Saturday, 16 November 2013
The Office of Correctional Services, Pt. 10
Haven't heard from you for awhile. Just checking up on my little sister. Is she still growing up too fast? :D
Yeah, sorry. Been a rather heavy semester. Classes are more intense this year. I've only been able to go out into the woods and paint once. And things in the OCS are evolving. In September I approached Ms Hutchins and told her I wanted to learn her trade and asked her if she would be my mentor. She told me she was not surprised, that she figured it was only a matter of time before I mentioned it. "Think carefully about this," she cautioned me. "There ought to be a service like ours in every college in the country, but the truth is that positions like mine are very few and far between. There isn't much call for the correctional arts, unless you go the private route and deal with types like that one lad that wanted to be punished."
I have thought about it, long and hard, and the other side of the coin is that there isn't much I can do with a major in art and art history once I graduate either. Ms H tended to look down on that side of her profession, sort of the way my art profs look down on commercial artists, but I've always loved the work of some of those artists, and from what I understand, some of those self-employed disciplinarians do quite well. It could be a way of making a fun living until I figure out my direction in life, anyway. Of course, I didn't tell Ms. H that - I told her I respected what she did, and having the skill set she had wouldn't hurt.
She laughed at that. "Don't be so sure." But she agreed and now after the Office closes, she spends a half hour or so teaching me all the nitty gritty details on how to deal out 'correction'. I have to say, she really believes in what she does, and takes it very seriously. "The big difference between what we do and those 'other' disciplinarians do is that our intention is to discourage our clients from a return visit, whereas they have a vested interest in seeing them come back again and again. So we don't dress provocatively, or tease them or try to appeal to their libido in any way. We want their experience to be a purely unpleasant affair, for their own sakes." She had me start working with the canes, testing the various weights and how to deliver a proper stroke. She even let me take a couple home, so now I spend an hour each night thrashing the daylights out of innocent pillows.
Because school is busy, the dorms are full and it's hard to find the privacy, I don't see as much of Royce as I did in the summer, but we still meet for coffee sometimes. When I told him about my training, he pleaded with me just to let him come over and watch me work out with the canes. I cautioned him that I didn't dare use them on him, since we could both be tossed out of our residences, but it was okay as long as he behaved himself.
OMG, how he loved just watching me swing those canes. It got him sooo horny, he would leave all trembling in the knees and in a sweat. I think NOT punishing him was more punishing than punishing him -lol!
A couple of weeks back, I felt sorry for him and was eager myself to try out my skills on some bare flesh, so I invited him to come with me on a painting excursion into the hills. We drove well out of town to a trail I knew that was off the main hiking paths. There was even an old, abandoned woodshed - how appropriate! I told him to go cut some switches from various types of trees and bring them back for my approval, while I set up my easel and paints. While I sketched the shed, he fetched a half dozen switches of maple and birch and hemlock. I tested them out on tree trunks and approved or disapproved them. I scolded him for the ones that snapped or looked too weak to do much good, and sent him off again.
Once I was satisfied with three or four of his offerings, I instructed him to stack the cut logs into a suitable arrangement, then drop his drawers and prostrate himself over them and wait for me.
I made him wait for almost an hour while I laid down washes on my canvas. A couple of times I strolled over behind the shed to make sure he was still waiting patiently with his naked butt in the air. It must have been unpleasant. The logs he was lying over did not look comfortable, and there was a chill in the air that rose goosebumps on his cheeks. But to his credit, he stayed there dutifully. To keep his enthusiasm from lagging, I laid the switches and the cane I'd brought on the ground in front of him so he could look upon the instruments that would soon heat up his chilled backside. Then I strode back to my painting.
Finally, I could not take the anticipation no longer than he could, and set my brush aside. It was time to paint Royce's rear end instead. I walked behind the woodshed and leaned down real close to his face. I told him he'd been a very good boy to be so compliant and patient, and now I was going to let him have his reward. I took up a strand of maple and rubbed it over his bared bottom. His whole body tensed with excitement at the touch. I took careful aim to lay my first stroke over the center of his buttocks and then let him have it. He quivered with pleasure and I watched with fascination as a faint red stripe formed right where I'd intended. Lovely.
Well, none of the switches held up for long without splitting or snapping. I told him that he needed to work on his switch-cutting and that as he had done such a poor job of it, I had little choice but to use the cane. At this point his bottom was scratched and marked with little red stripes, but now it was going to get serious.
I rubbed the cane on him and lightly tapped the little weals I'd made with the switches , just to tease him. "I have SO looked forward to this!" I told him. "All the times you watched me beat those pillows, I was picturing your bottom rippling beneath my cane, just as much as you were. Ready?"
"Well, well just see about that."
I meant to deliver a series of strokes that would generate parallel stripes evenly spaced and perpendicular to his butt crack, but my aim was only middling. I succeeded in raising some angry red welts, and several grunts and hisses from Royce, but too many of the marks were crooked or crossed each other. Clearly, I needed a lot more practice. I decided to finish him off with a flurry of six-of-the-best, delivered as fast as I could, but on the fourth one he bucked and spilled the logs under him, rolling on the ground in a heap.
All in all, it was quite the little adventure we had. We might even try to get another outing in before the really cold weather sets in.
Got to go. Getting late, I have a paper due, and pillows to punish.