Her Little Secret

An Iron Chef challenge by Brother Grimace

Janet Barch hated herself. She hated how she would pace aimlessly about her classroom during the last session of the day; waiting for one of the hapless students who had come in for this free period to make up assignments or lab work to make the tiniest of mistakes or show her anything fawning obedience to her rules...

They never did. Like a pack of neighborhood mongrels, they slunk away from her presence, and hovered over their texts as starving dogs over scraps... hoping to gulp bits down before something snatched it away or struck at them, sending them skittering off, away from brutal, yet callous blows...

The students never looked her in the eye during this free period, and so, Janet had no way to release the sour taste of her own self-loathing-

And then, it was five P.M.

How many times had she gone down this hall in her mind, let alone in reality...? How many times had she turned back, seething with the knowledge that she was so untruthful to everything she swore to uphold each and every time she abused one of her daily male charges, that she was such a liar, and yet still, she found herself going down that hall, towards the door to the second of the many sectioned-off bomb/storm bomb shelters.

She stopped, rubbing at the calloused area around her left wrist without thinking, trying to blink away the image of the marshmallow-soft goatskin leather restraint circling her wrist, holding it down as she tried to rise, her hand flexing and curling talon-like, a shrill shriek that she remembered as her own – her vision shuddered and blurred as the sound rose and impeded her vision as effectively as blinders-

I can't do this anymore-!

In her mind's eye, the well-remembered sensation of the sudden cold as her skirt and undergarments were pulled down in unison with one well-practiced downward movement made her skin prickle, and her nose flied with the acrid scent of man, of sweat hours old, entangled with the smell of cheap cologne and tuna noodle surprise, the sweet smell of a new pair of restraints, freshly removed from their packaging-

I hate them – I hate all of them -!

The cool, smooth feel of the ruler, brushing, no, sliding along her cheek and past her ear, tracing a thin path as it was turned on one side and traced along the length of her spine-

She bit down as the ruler slid away, and she felt the sting as it struck full against her exposed bottom... The sting she remembered from years past, from decades past, gone with her husband, and now once more a part of her life...

Her revulsion evaporating, Janet thrilled inwardly to have the sensation embrace her again.

I wish I knew how to quit you...

Her eyes downcast, Janet placed her hand on the door handle, and opened the door.

14 March 2006