The name was on a simple brass plaque on one of the brickwork pillars that supported the wrought iron gates: Carnifax Correctional Academy. For me, there were a lot of unanswered questions and one very uncertain future wrapped up in those three words.
I had never even heard of the place until recently. There was no reason why I should have, since I was from Virginia while the Academy was in the Finger Lakes region of New York State. Once I was offered the position, though, I made some inquiries, and everything I heard caused me to question whether or not I was doing the right thing by coming here.
Carnifax’s reputation in the educational community was, to put it bluntly, brutal. Essentially, it was a reformatory for girls – young women I suppose – between eighteen and twenty one years of age: a sort of intermediate step between reform school and incarceration in the regular prison system. No one could or would say for certain, but there were persistent rumors of the regular beating of students by the staff members. Add to that the criminal natures of the girls themselves, and it didn’t sound like much of a place to work.
Then again, it didn’t look like I had much of a choice. I had put my resume out almost in bulk to every educational institution I could find an address for, and other than Carnifax Academy, the only standing offer I had so far was for a post teaching English as a second language in Southeast Asia. If I was going to work anywhere outside of the Third World, this was my last chance.

My name’s Jack Bower, and I’m a teacher, with Master’s Degrees in English and Administration. I’m thirty-two, and I taught in the public school system of my home state for ten of those years, nearly a third of my life. That all came tumbling down with what the State School Board euphemistically referred to as ‘the incident’.
There wasn’t much to it, really. My wife and I taught at the same high school; we had met there early on, and married two years later. I thought our marriage was a happy one, and I suppose it was for her, at least until the day I walked in and found the school principal screwing her while she bent over the table in the teachers’ lounge behind a door each one thought the other had locked. Of the three of us, I don’t know which one was more surprised.
I’m a fairly big guy, six foot-two and two hundred pounds. I had played football in high school and college and always kept myself in good shape, but I’ve never been a violent man. I suppose you could say I snapped then, for the first time in my life. I knew exactly what I was doing, but I was unable to stop myself, almost as if I were suddenly a stranger to my own body, watching events from the outside. I grabbed the principal and slammed him against a wall, my wife promptly hit me over the head with a metal lamp, and the whole thing turned into a free-for-all. Suffice it to say that the teacher’s lounge was utterly destroyed during the melee. All three of us ended up taking a brief trip to the emergency room, and I ended up flat broke and on the street at the losing end of a messy divorce, and blackballed from my chosen career. There is a certain sense of community in American education, and word gets around. I knew I was damned lucky to be considered for a post anywhere, even here, especially as Assistant Administrator.
Before pushing the intercom button on the column so they could unlock the gate and buzz me through, I took a good, long look at the grim three-story pile of bricks at the far end of the drive.
Maybe I wasn’t so lucky after all.

I parked my old rattletrap Ford Impala (bought with $500 dollars borrowed from my friend and fellow teacher Phil Lee so I could get to this interview) beside a handful of other vehicles in the gravel lot in the Academy’s rear. I was pleased and not a little surprised it had managed to make the long trip; from the knocking and missing of the engine, I had had my doubts more than once.
I quickly checked my appearance in the reflective surface of the car window. I had changed my clothes this morning in a roadside rest after spending the night in the car in order to save money, but my precious tweed jacket that I had bought a couple of years ago hung properly and unwrinkled. Carrying only my scuffed and slightly battered brief case with my paperwork inside, I headed for the entrance. The door opened just before I could reach for the buzzer on the facing.
“Hello! You must be Mr. Bower; welcome to Carnifax!”
The lady’s cheerful voice and her appearance – late fifties, healthily overweight but not obese, elaborately coiffed gray hair set off by a floral print dress and a pair of glasses leashed with a rhinestone chain left me pleasantly surprised. Frankly, I had halfway expected Ilse the She Wolf, slapping a riding crop against a spit shined jackboot and saying, ‘Your papers, please!’
“Thank you, ma’am,” I managed to say once I had recovered from my shock. “Ms. Price?”
“Oh heavens no, dearie,” she guffawed, patting me on the arm before winking and whispering conspiratorially, “but I wish!
“No, I’m Mrs. Phyllis Ross, the secretary; our Administrator is in the office. Just follow me.”
As we entered the building, I immediately saw it was much more pleasant inside than out. The walls were spotless white plaster and the floors polished hardwood. Framed prints of various masterpieces alternating with oil and water color originals from lesser known but very skilled artists were regularly spaced along the well-lit hall, interspersed with the occasional large potted plants and the glass doors at either end let the sun shine in.
“It’s pretty isn’t it?” she asked with an obvious sense of pride, and, as I admired Van Gogh’s ‘Sunflowers’ in passing, I had to admit she was right. It may have been grim and institutional outside, but inside, the place was simply beautiful, much more like an expensive private school than a reformatory. “Mr. Carnifax bought the building – an old orphan’s home – and spent his family fortune fixing it up. We try to uphold his high standards in all things.”
Something in her voice caught my attention.
“Pardon me ma’am, but you sound like you might be from the South too.”
She nodded, obviously pleased that I had picked up on her accent.
“Lexington, Kentucky; I wondered how long it would take you to notice. It’ll be good to hear another Southern drawl again. You and I are the only ‘rebels’ here.”
“Are the others all New Yorkers?”
“Surprisingly no. I think you’ll find that, with a couple of exceptions, our staff comes from all over.”
“Why?” It couldn’t be the wages, that was for certain. The pay was at the very low end for the teaching profession, even considering that free room and board was provided for the Academy staff. The letter had informed me that teaching and administrative positions at Carnifax were live-in jobs, on call 24-7. Of course, it wasn’t like I had anything else to do at the moment, or could afford to do it if I did.
She just shook her head.
“You can’t explain it to someone who hasn’t worked here. Carnifax is a very special place. No one has ambivalent feelings about it; you’ll either love it or hate it.”

After ushering me through an open door with OFFICE painted in black on the frosted glass, she asked me to wait for a moment and she would see if Ms. Price was ready to receive me. My warning antennas went up. If the secretary referred to herself as Mrs. and to the Administrator as Ms., it was obviously because her boss insisted on it.
I bit my lip. I’d worked for feminist bosses before, and frankly I had hated it every time. I began preparing myself to hide my dislike. I needed the job too badly to let my personal feelings get in the way.
While Mrs. Ross dialed up the Administrator, I took the opportunity to look around. The outer office was fairly spacious and well lit, with two closed doors side-by-side marked Administrator and Assistant Administrator respectively. The latter would be mine…if I were accepted.
Opposite the window behind Mrs. Ross’ desk there was a nice print of Renoir’s Woman in a Boat on the wall. Below it, on the first in a line of varnished wooden chairs, sat a young girl.
Her uniform white blouse and pleated blue plaid skirt marked her as a student. Of medium build, she looked the part, from her short-ish dark brown hair to the tall white knee socks that encased her lower legs. She was pretty, or maybe more like cute, but the one thing that struck me most about her was how very sad she looked. I’ve seen more than one kid sent to the principal’s office, but very few of them looking quite so upset about it.
I was just about to speak to her when Mrs. Ross got my attention.
“She’s ready for you now. Just go right in.”
As I walked to the door and reached for the knob, I heard the secretary ask the girl, “Honey, why do you do this to yourself?”
Like the rest of the Academy, the décor of the Administrator’s office was comfortingly old fashioned, with slightly textured white plaster and wood wainscoting, but the classic effect was somewhat spoiled by a bank of a dozen closed circuit TV screens on the wall above an electronic control panel, and a computer monitor on the most beautiful oak desk I had ever seen. The carved desk itself was striking, but not nearly as much as the woman behind it.

Ms. Price was not a big woman; on the contrary, she gave the impression of being almost ethereal, although she was slender and muscular rather than skinny. The clear skin of her face was milk white, topped by a long, unbound cascade of thick, straight red hair. Her features were lovely, with her high cheekbones, perfectly straight nose, and pointed chin giving her a slightly elfin appearance. She was about five-eight and couldn’t have weighed over a hundred and twenty pounds. Still, from what I could see of the body hidden by the dark skirt and jacket, she looked to be very well built; certainly her breasts were large for her size. Due much more to her position at Carnifax rather than to her appearance, I had to put her age at around thirty, but definitely no more than that. She looked more like a student than an Administrator; if she had been dressed like the girl in the outer office, she could have easily passed for one of her classmates.
Her eyes were what held my attention though. Slightly turned up at the outer corners, they were bright blue, almost like a welder’s flame. They were also sharp and serious, and gave the impression of being somewhat dangerous. It was obvious she was nobody’s pushover.
Her voice was clear and to the point as she tapped in something – presumably pulling up my file – on her keyboard.
“Please sit down, Mr. Bower; I’ll be with you in a moment.”
I parked my rear on the comfortable chair – wood with genuine leather upholstery no less – and in order to prevent a faux pas like being caught staring at her breasts, focused my eyes on the portrait above and behind her, the only picture in her office. It was the life-sized rendition of a white-haired old man in a plain black suit, standing with one hand on the same desk the woman now occupied. The plaque below it read simply Arthur E. Carnifax.
Looking at his stern, unyielding features, he seemed at first glance like the stereotypical Yankee Puritan personified. Still, the painter had captured the slightest little sadness in his tight lips and, paradoxically, just a hint of humor in his brown eyes. If he was the Academy’s ‘witch finder general’, I decided he must have been a reluctant one.
“That’s our founder,” she told me unnecessarily as she tapped a final key, having noticed the direction of my gaze. “One of our early graduates painted that not long before he passed away.”
“She certainly did an excellent job. He looks like he was very serious man.”
“He was, about everything he did. I pride myself on trying to do the same.” She rose and extended her hand. “I’m Fiona Price.”
“Jack Bower,” I told her, standing and taking her slender but surprisingly strong fingers in my own. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
After that, the interview ran pretty much true to form, asking me about my degrees, EMT certification and experience (Their nurse had just retired and if I was hired, I would also be expected to handle any minor medical emergencies.), and past employment. It was her next question, however, that threw me.
“Have you ever had the occasion to discipline a student, Mr. Bower?”
“In what way, Ms. Price?”
“Physically.”
“No ma’am; corporal punishment was strictly forbidden in all the school systems I’ve taught in. They had gotten away from it before I entered high school.”
She nodded, looking unsurprised but mildly disappointed at the same time.
“As I’m sure you’ve heard, you’ll find it to be quite a different world here at Carnifax. First of all, we never refer to it as corporal punishment. Instead, it’s called ‘physical correction’ because that’s the best description of its purpose: the use of physical force to correct errant behavior. In fact, that’s what our institution’s whole purpose is: to correct the wrong behaviors of the girls here, and to re-enforce that correction to the point that, once they return to ordinary society, the good habits they developed will stick with them, enabling them to be good citizens.”
She sounded to me like she was reading from a script written for the politicians who sent the delinquent kids here and provided the money for the institution. Still, I couldn’t argue; ‘physical correction’, as she referred to it, was the way I had been brought up at home and spent my own early school years. When I became a teacher myself, not a day went by when I didn’t wish I still had that option. Even so, those two words covered a lot of ground, and I wanted to know just where I stood.
“Exactly what sort of corrective techniques do you use here?”
“Every teacher has her own favorite method,” she explained, “although any differences are based mainly on the positioning of the student during the process. The number of strokes and instrument used for each offence are spelled out clearly, and in the interests of fairness to all the girls, little deviation is allowed. If you’ve never seen it in action, it might be easier to demonstrate it for you than to explain it.”

Considering the reputation of this place, I wondered if she was going to drag some poor innocent kid in here and beat her butt merely for demonstrational purposes. I really hoped not, because if she did that I would walk, job or no job. But if I was going to stay, I needed to know what was expected of me. I guessed I would just have to wait and see.
“That would probably be best; I’ve never worked in this sort of environment before, particularly with all-female students, and most particularly with students of this age. Since these are college-aged young ladies rather than little girls, there are obviously some inherently sensitive issues here. Frankly I want to be sure of what I’m doing before I do it.” More importantly, I couldn’t afford to lose this job by making a misstep. I hoped my desperation didn’t show in my voice.
Ms. Price nodded.
“I understand, and that’s a very wise decision on your part. Actually, you’re just in time. I have a student in the waiting area right now, a nineteen year-old named Alicia Jane LaFond. She’s been with us for just over a year, and although her behavior has greatly improved during that time, it’s still a long way from what it should be.”
“I noticed her when I came in; she looked a little sad.”
“Very observant of you, and well she should. This is not Alicia Jane’s first trip to this office by any means, and this time she - really stepped in it. She was caught stealing from another student, calling for a Level Three Correction. She’s experienced those twice before, and she knows what’s waiting for her.”
“Level Three? What’s the difference?”
“The severity. Level One corrections are generally administered by the teacher on the spot, as are Level Two’s, only those are more severe. Level Three’s are very severe and may only be administered by or in the presence of an Administrator – me, or possibly you, if you are accepted for this position. The only higher level of severity is Four, and that one requires my personal approval and is administered in assembly, in front of the entire school, to add to the humiliation factor. If you read your handbook – and I strongly urge you to do so as soon as possible – you will find a table of offences and the appropriate level of physical correction for each one.”
Her voice was as matter-of-fact as if she were describing a lesson plan or seating arrangement instead of a painful punishment. I was beginning to wonder just what I had gotten myself into.
She pushed the intercom button.

“Mrs. Ross, please send in Alicia Jane.”
The girl entered immediately, pausing a moment to close the door behind her. She crossed the office taking very small steps, as if being reluctantly drawn forward by an irresistible force. She stopped in front of the desk, head hanging and furtively glancing at me out of the corner of her eye.
“This is Mr. Bower; he’s applied for our position of Assistant Administrator.”
“Good morning, Alicia Jane.”
I was startled to catch myself calling the girl by her first and middle names just as Ms. Price had, making her sound like she was a naughty child in trouble with her parents. I supposed the analogy wasn’t actually that far off.
“G-good morning, sir,” she stammered.
Ms. Price eyed her for a moment.
“Look at me, Alicia Jane.”
Her head immediately snapped up.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
“Yes ma’am,” she mumbled.
“Speak up.”
“Yes ma’am.” She was louder this time, but her voice was so tight it was still little more than a squeak.
“Why?”
“Stealing, but Ms. Price, I didn’t –”
“I would stop right there if I were you. You were caught in the act, with the other girl’s items in your hand. Do you know what the penalty is for lying about what you did?”
She gulped audibly.
“Yes ma’am.”
“What is it?”
“The correction moves up a level, ma’am.”
“And since you’re here for Level Three, what would that mean?”
The girl blanched
“Level Four in front of the whole school. Oh please ma’am…”
“Are you certain you want to deny the charges against you?”
The Administrator went up a notch in my estimation; she was clearly doing her best to leave the girl an out to allow her to escape worse punishment. I just hoped Alicia Jane was smart enough to take it.
“No ma’am,” she said quickly. “I did it.”
Ms. Price nodded, and her voice was surprisingly sympathetic.
“I know. I can’t tell you how much I wish you hadn’t; believe it or not, I don’t like this anymore than you do.” She sighed. “It’s time for your correction. Undress.”
Alicia Jane looked at me and I don’t know which of us was more wide-eyed. To say that this was not at all what I had expected was putting it mildly. I felt like I was suddenly caught up in someone else’s sexual fantasy of a Victorian boarding school. We used to joke about such things in college when we read The Pearl to each other in the dorm rooms, and I had playfully spanked one or two girls I’d dated, but I never expected something like this to happen in the real world.
At least she had actually done something to be corrected for, but still…
“But ma’am, he’ll see!”
“Yes he will; in fact, he’ll be administering your correction once I explain to him how it’s done.”
“Please Ms. Price –”
“And the whole school will see along with him while you get it a lot worse if you do not prepare yourself this minute. Undress now!”
Her last word had a cutting quality to it, almost like a lash, and Alicia Jane jumped. Immediately her hands went to her skirt’s waistband. She unfastened it and folded it carefully onto a vacant chair, then did the same with her blouse, putting it on top. She cast another pleading look at Ms. Price before slowly unfastening her bra and hanging it on the back of the chair, exposing a pair of small but firm pink-nippled breasts. Biting her lower lip in embarrassment, she bent over, pulling her white cotton panties down, then slipped them off her feet and put them with the bra. Her shoes and socks were next, and she stood completely naked, visibly fighting the urge to cover herself from my gaze. As I was to find out later, modesty was forbidden during a correction.
“Are all your corrections done in the nude?” I asked with a growing sense of unreality, unable to help staring at the nubile flesh before me. This was no little girl, no matter how much she sounded like one; this was very obviously a young woman. Something inside told me to get the hell out of here, but it was as if someone had nailed my shoes to the floor.
“Normally only Level Three’s and Four’s, but all are done on the bare bottom. Can you guess why?”
“I would assume it’s for the humiliation factor you mentioned earlier.”
“That’s certainly a large part of it; however, it’s not the only reason. I want these girls to be corrected, Mr. Bower, but not seriously injured: no bleeding, no scars, no blood pooling in the muscles, that sort of thing. In order to protect them from that, you have to be able to see the effect you’re having, and stop before you do real damage.” She turned to Alicia Jane. “Don’t just stand there, girl; assume the position.”
Looking pitiful and already sniffling, she went to the desk and bent over it, grabbing the far edge, pressing her breasts against its top, and turning her lovely white derriere up like a target.
“Spread your legs; you know the drill by now.”
With a moan of embarrassment, she obeyed, spreading her legs wide, opening her crack and putting both her anus and dark-furred womanhood on prominent display. Regardless of how sorry I felt for her, it took a real effort on my part to look away from it.
“More humiliation?”
Ms. Price shook her head.
“Anatomical principles; by the act of bending over, she tightens the gluteus muscles from one angle, and spreading her legs further tightens them from another, making her correction much more effective. Here.” She motioned me forward. “Feel for yourself.”
Reaching out as she directed and feeling both distinctly uncomfortable and extremely excited, I closed my fingers and thumb on Alicia Jane’s right cheek and gingerly squeezed, kneading the flesh. The administrator was right; the position made her bottom tight and hard. For that matter, my pants were getting a little tight as well because something else was getting hard despite me.
“Now then, you need to remember to keep all your blows on the bottom two-thirds of the buttocks and upper quarter of the thighs. Too high you could hit her tailbone here,” she said, tapping her index finger right in the girl’s crack a couple of inches from the top, bringing a startled ‘Ooh!’ from the student, “and too low, you could injure her hamstrings. Don’t land all the licks in one spot and don’t just swing willy-nilly; aim each one and work up and down so you spread them out over the entire spankable area. That gets the point across without making her too sore. Do you understand?”
“What do I use? My hand?” I asked her, extending my right palm.
Her eyes widened and then seemed to cloud over as she looked at it, and, much to my surprise, she reached out an index finger and traced it along the skin, giving me the feeling of an electrical shock. Abruptly she blinked and shook herself as if coming out of a stage hypnotist’s trance.
“You’ve got big enough hands, but no; only Level One corrections are delivered with the palm,” she told me, all business once again as she strode to the far side of the desk and opened a drawer. “Level Two’s are with the teacher’s choice of a paddle or a hairbrush. For girls who have let themselves reach level three, we use the strap.”
I heard Alicia Jane gasp as the Administrator lifted the implement past her face, and I could see why. It was eighteen inches of thick leather on a wooden handle, and was at least three inches wide. There was no question about it hurting. Ms. Price handed it to me, and I felt the weight of it, then touched the leather itself, thinking of how many feminine backsides it must have blistered over the years. It was obviously old, yet as I ran my fingers over it, I found it was remarkably supple.
Noticing my attention, Ms. Price remarked, “That strap is thirty years old, Mr. Bower, as old as this institution; it was made for the purpose by Mr. Carnifax himself. Its edges are rounded to help prevent cutting the skin, and it is kept soft with a weekly application of leather dressing.
“Well, are you ready to begin?”
“I’ve never done this before,” I told her, studying the girl’s exposed bottom. “How hard do I hit her?”
“Hit her hard.”
I shrugged and drew back the strap. Taking careful aim, I whacked her across the very bottom of her butt cheeks, just above the crease, bringing a grunt from the girl and a look of irritation from Ms. Price.
“Mr. Bower, just by looking at you, I would never have thought you were a wimp.” My face reddened at her mocking tone as she continued. “There’s not one of our female teachers here who can’t hit harder than that, even Mrs. Johnson who doesn’t even weigh a hundred pounds. Hit her hard!”
I drew back again and put a bit more into it. The crack was much louder as the strap wrapped around the center of her butt and Alicia Jane jerked, but all it got from what would hopefully be my new boss was a look of utter disgust.
“Is that all you’ve got?”
The heat must have shown in my voice as well as my face; I was becoming extremely irritated with this woman. What was she wanting me to do, hit this teenager as hard as I could?
“Ms. Price,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “It is not a question of strength; I can bench press twice my own bodyweight. I’m afraid of hurting this girl!”
“You’d never know it to see you swing that strap. Anyway, it’s supposed to hurt!” She took a deep breath. “Give it to me. I’ll show you how it’s done.”
I handed over the leather, and stepped aside when she said, “Watch closely.”
With that, she drew the strap back over her shoulder, and then whipped it forward, torquing her entire body into the blow. The crack was almost like a gunshot, and Alicia Jane jerked forward much harder and yelped. A bright red rectangular mark immediately appeared across her bottom, its glow eclipsing both of the faintly pink ones I had left. She angrily jammed the strap back in my hand.
“That is the way to deliver a physical correction at Carnifax, Mr. Bower. Now try again, and if you can’t better that stroke from me, a woman half your size, you can consider our offer of employment withdrawn as of now.”
She was so damned infuriating I sincerely wished it was her turned over that desk with her naked little ass in the air instead of Alicia Jane; I’d show her a strapping she wouldn’t forget for a while!

I hesitated; instinctively I knew I was at a turning point; do I do this – more importantly, can I do this – or not? If the girl had been an innocent, then no: job or no job, I had to live with myself. She wasn’t though, and I thought back to how many times I had wished, just once, to be able to give the blistering they sorely needed to several students over the years. It would have done them a world of good. I looked down at Alicia Jane stretched across the desk. Yes, she would have a sore bottom for a day or two, but maybe, just maybe, it might straighten her up and save her from something worse.
Sorry kid, I thought to myself as I took aim, but you probably do need this, and I definitely need this job.
Still stinging from Ms. Price’s smart remarks, I didn’t hold back. This time when I brought the strap down I figured the sound it made when it met flesh must have been heard throughout the whole school.
“Ahh!” Alicia Jane shouted. “It hurts!”
Still, the administrator wasn’t entirely satisfied.
“Better, but a little harder. Again.”
Another, louder crack, and the girl’s tears began to flow as she gasped in pain.
“Again, just like that.”
“How many?”
“Until I tell you to stop. A moment, though.” She went forward and studied the second, much redder mark so closely I thought she was going to bring out a magnifying glass. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard once. Following that, she moved to the other side of the desk.
“Take my hands, Alicia Jane, and hold tight.”
“Yes ma’am,” she hissed through clenched teeth, grabbing the woman’s hands. “It hurts, ma’am! It hurts!”
“Shh. I know it does, but you’ll be better for it.”
Looking up at me, Ms. Price said, “Continue, and get your rhythm going so one lands every two to three seconds.” There was a warning in her blue eyes as she told me, “Don’t back off the force.”
I nodded. I had no choice if I wanted this job. Grimly, I drew the strap back again.
She was right; once I had the rhythm down, it wasn’t hard to keep it going. Swish-crack! Swish-crack! just like clockwork. I landed a dozen strokes that turned Alicia Jane’s cheeks and upper thighs a brilliant, raw crimson and set the girl to literally screaming with each blow and sobbing between them as she jerked and tugged against Ms. Price’s hands, and alternately kicked her legs.
“Another dozen,” the Administrator demanded, “ just as hard, and as fast as you can. Speed it up.”
I complied, changing my rhythm to about one lick a second, and Alicia Jane’s voice turned into continuous, top-of-her-lungs crying. When I finished, her naked butt was purpling, almost the color of wine.
“Shh,” Ms. Price whispered soothingly to the howling girl once more, brushing the hair out of her eyes as she lay there. “Shh. Lie still, Alicia Jane; it’s over. I’m going to check your bottom now.”
“No more! No more! Please make him stop! Make him stop!”
“He has stopped; now lie still or you’ll get some more.”
She let her go and moved around the desk to examine my handiwork. The girl winced and gasped in pain when Ms. Price brushed her blistered bottom with the merest touch of her fingertips.
“There, Mr. Bower; that’s the effect I was looking for. I knew you had it in you.”
I simply stared at the poor girl’s abused rear, excited by her naked, exposed body and, surprisingly to me, by the act itself. Yet at the same time I was ashamed for her, ashamed of myself for doing it, and still more ashamed of the part of me that had thoroughly enjoyed it. I was only an inch away from saying the hell with it, throwing the strap down, and leaving Carnifax and all its craziness behind for good when I noticed Ms. Price’s eyes. There were tears openly running from them as she spoke the girl.
“Alicia Jane, you can get up now.”
Painfully the girl arose and turned to face me, still naked and blubbering, rubbing her tender posterior with both hands.
“Do you have something to say to Mr. Bower?”
Alicia Jane gulped, trying her best to stop crying long enough to speak.
“Th-thank you for c-correcting me, sir.”
“This is the part where you counsel her,” Ms. Price told me; then she went back to her chair and sat down.
I just looked at Alicia, keeping my eyes on hers so they wouldn’t succumb to the temptation of roaming down her body, further embarrassing her. What the hell was I supposed to say to this girl – this naked young woman standing in front of me – who I had just beaten and humiliated that would make it all better? Whatever it was, I quickly saw that I would be getting no help from the Administrator, who simply crossed her pretty legs and watched, evidently wanting to see how well I could think on my feet while under stress. Suddenly I realized this was the final test, and I was on my own.
“Alicia Jane,” I sighed. “What did you steal?”
“Some money…”
“A dollar-thirty seven,” Ms Price said.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. All that for the price of a bottle of coke!
“Didn’t you know if you got caught the punishment for that theft would be a Level Three correction?”
“Yes sir.”
I shook my head in amazement.
“Was a dollar and thirty seven cents worth it?”
She bared her teeth as she rubbed her hands across a particularly sore spot.
“No sir. Nothing was worth that!” she sobbed.
“Then why?” I asked in exasperation. “Why did you do it?” I knew kids often did stupid things for no apparent reason, but seldom with this kind of consequences waiting for them if they got caught. I desperately wanted to understand what motivated her.
“I don’t know!” she wailed, then to my surprise threw her arms around me and pressed her tear-stained face against my chest. “Please, Mr. Bower sir, I won’t do it again! I’m sorry!”
It didn’t help matters that Ms. Price looked vastly amused by my expression in this uncomfortable situation.
“I hope not,” I told her, holding her for a moment and clumsily patting her bare back while resisting the sudden urge to rub her sore bottom for her. “I’m just sorry you did it this time and brought something like this on yourself.”
I saw her nose was running heavily, and I took the opportunity to disentangle myself and take a tissue from the box on the desk. I held it up to her nose.
“Here; blow.”
Obediently she honked, and I wiped the rest of her face as gently as I could.
“Thank you sir.”
“Alicia Jane, what would you do to keep from being corrected by me again?”
“Anything!”
“Good; then here’s what I want you to do. Never break another rule that requires that you be corrected. You may not believe this, but I didn’t like giving it to you anymore than you liked getting it. The thing is, when you break the rules there are consequences. Please think about that the next time, and if you don’t know why you’re going to do something, don’t do it, okay? If you don’t think you can stop yourself, come and talk to me and I’ll help you if I can. Will you do that for me?”
She nodded, big-eyed and serious.
“Now, if Ms. Price has no objections, let’s get you dressed and you can go back to class.”

I ended up helping her, since she was still a bit unsteady on her feet and could bend over only painfully, and I didn’t have the heart to make her. I knelt and, while she leaned on me with one hand, I slipped her panties over her feet and up near the top of her thighs, then allowed her to ease them up the rest of the way. I did the same with her skirt, and, so she didn’t have to sit down just then, I also put on her socks and shoes for her while the Administrator watched thoughtfully.
After the girl put on her bra and blouse, and left walking slowly and carefully, Ms. Price rose and closed the office door, then returned to her desk.
“Please sit down.”
I sat, using the same chair Alicia Jane had hung her clothes on. Ms. Price wouldn’t look directly at me.
“You were unusually considerate to her.”
“Under the circumstances, I thought she might be in need of some unusual consideration at that moment. Deserved punishment or not, it was over and done with. She was hurt and embarrassed, and she obviously needed someone to comfort her.” I paused a moment to gather my thoughts before continuing. “I’m certainly no expert, but it seems to me, once the punishment is over, it means the penance for the act has been paid in full; it’s over. Just from what I saw here today, when Alicia Jane went over that desk, she was a thief – a delinquent who deserved to be punished for her actions. But once she paid the price, what stood up was just a kid: a scared, hurting, and suddenly very alone little girl who desperately needed someone to hold her and let her know they cared. Am I wrong here?”
She sat there quietly for a moment, and when she finally spoke, her voice was heavy with resignation. “No, Mr. Bower, you’re not wrong.” She sighed. “I suppose you think I’m a sadist.”
Actually, despite her beauty, I had thought her the worst kind of monster at first, but no longer.
“No. No, Ms. Price, I don’t you’re a sadist at all.”
“You can speak frankly, Mr. Bower. I’m thick-skinned and your opinion on the matter will have nothing to do with your employment here.”
“I am speaking frankly. I saw your tears when Alicia Jane was being corrected. You felt for her, and you hated what was being done to her just as much as I hated having to do it. Crying for someone else’s pain hardly the mark of a sadist. I think you’re doing this for the girls’ own good, because you sincerely believe it’s the best way. I don’t know that I totally agree with your methods, but I don’t doubt your motives in the least.”
“Damn it,” she muttered, wiping at her eyes as she looked away. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”
I reached for the box again and handed her a tissue before venturing, “Notice what, that you’re human?” and then I wondered if I’d gone too far.
She finished mopping away her tears and dropped the tissue in the trash. Putting her fingertips to her temples, she looked down at the desktop for a moment, and suddenly could no longer contain a smile. It was the first time I’d seen her do it, and it was absolutely beautiful.
“It shows, huh? Even through the ‘super bitch’ attitude?”
“As bright and clear as a new day.”
“Most people never notice that; I tend to forget it myself all too often. I am human, and I love each and every one of these girls like they were my own. It’s not always easy, but I really do. Can you believe that?”
I nodded. Ms. Price had depths I had never suspected.
“Yes, as a matter of fact I can.”
She smiled her appreciation.
“The thing is, Mr. Bower – look, may I call you Jack as long as we’re alone? And please, call me Fiona in private. I don’t like being formal all the time, especially since we’ll be working closely together.”
“Okay, Fiona.” I had always thought that was such a pretty name, and it suited her perfectly.
“Like I was saying, Jack, I love these girls and I’ll do whatever it takes to save them, even from themselves. They’re lost when they come in here, every last one of them: society’s throw-aways that no one wants anymore, and most of them no one ever wanted in the first place.
“This is their last stop and their last chance. All of them have been remanded to the juvenile authorities until they turn twenty-one. The thing is, at eighteen, they normally either move them to regular prison or else send them here for those intervening years. We’ve got exactly three years with them here at Carnifax to destroy eighteen years of criminal habits and turn these girls into high school graduates and good citizens: wives, mothers, career women. Three short years! If we fail, they will, almost without exception, return to crime and either end up in the regular prison system or on a morgue slab. If either one happens, they’re lost forever, their whole potential wasted. We’re literally in the business of saving young girl’s lives here, and that’s worth some extreme measures in my opinion.”
“I can’t fault your logic and I certainly don’t object at all to physical discipline in principle, but does that really necessitate the corrections being quite so…severe?” I had seen spankings before, certainly, but I had never seen anyone punished to the degree I had just seen…just done myself.
“Yes,” she sighed, “I’m afraid it does. Jack, these girls come here at eighteen, already grown up physically, and this is the only discipline 99% of them have had in their lives. Oh, they may have been beaten and kicked around, maybe raped and abused by their own family members, but they have never, not once in their lives, been subject to consistent, structured discipline.
“Carnifax students are hardened criminals: street toughs with eighteen years of calluses on their consciences. They aren’t grade school moppets you can bring to tears and repentance with a slap or two across their lace panties; they’d laugh right in your face if you tried. They’ve seen the hardest life has to offer, and it takes a lot to break through to them.
“Take Alicia Jane, for example; I know you think she’s just a mischievous teenager, but it’s more than that. She has a record dating back to when she was thirteen of theft and drug offences, and at sixteen, she was involved in a convenience store robbery where a clerk was shot and paralyzed from the waist down. The reformatory listed her as incorrigible, and she was like a wild animal when she was brought here just over a year ago. I like to believe she’s come a long way since then.”
I could hardly believe it. The girl who had said, “Yes sir” and “Yes ma’am” and who had impulsively hugged me was a violent street hoodlum? My disbelief must have shown on my face.
“Oh yes,” Fiona assured me and then pointed to the TV monitors on the wall. From the constantly changing pictures, it appeared she could keep an eye on pretty much the whole school from her office. “This girl in the front row on the third monitor? She ran a cocaine ring. That one behind her? Career burglar. This one – ah!” she exclaimed, pointing to a screen that showed a small woman with a student much larger than she was stretched across her lap with her skirt up and panties down, while the teacher spanked her bare behind with a hairbrush in front of the class. “The one getting the Level Two correction from Miss Johnson: she’s in the system because she stabbed her own mother – an abusive prostitute, by the way – during a drunken fight.
“With records like that, if we don’t save these girls, they won’t be saved. They won’t get another chance.
“Some experts privately say that after a child has reached puberty, if they’re a criminal then they’re a lost cause. I can’t give these girls up that easily. I won’t give them up!”
Slowly, comprehension dawned on me.
“I think I’m beginning to understand.”
“Good. I sincerely hoped you might. So you’ll have no problem delivering any required corrections with all the necessary force like you did here today?”
“No – well, yes, I may have a problem with it at times, but I’ll do it anyway because, as you said, it has to be done.” I blew out my breath. “To be honest, I’m still not certain I entirely agree with the way you do things here, but I don’t have any other solution to offer either. If I didn’t think you just might possibly be right, I would walk out of here right now.”
She pursed those lovely lips in thought while toying with a pen for a few seconds before she spoke.
“So you didn’t enjoy correcting Alicia Jane even the least bit?”
She was watching my eyes closely, and however uncomfortable, I looked right back at hers and settled for the truth.
“As a man, I can’t deny there was a certain physical stimulation to the whole thing, but at the same time, I loathed what I was having to put that girl through; I simply loathed it, and I hated myself for doing it! I don’t like hurting people.”
Her gaze relaxed as she treated me to yet another smile. She was achingly beautiful when she did that.
“I saw both those things while you were carrying out her correction; thank you for trusting me with that intimate of a truth. Most people wouldn’t do that”
I felt like I should have been embarrassed, but I wasn’t.
“Well, at any rate, I’m certainly glad you’re able to carry out your duties because that was the main reason I asked for you to come. I wanted a man to be the Assistant Administrator in part because you’ll also be giving most of the corrections. I believe they’ll be much more effective that way.”
“You mean I’m going to be the one…”
“Oh yes. You’ll be delivering all Level Three’s and Four’s, and unless I miss my guess, many if not most of the Level Ones and Twos. You are going to be Carnifax’s new disciplinarian.”
It took an effort for me to close my mouth that had suddenly dropped open in shock.
“Why me?”
“Because you’re a man, Jack, and because you give a damn. It’s in your eyes; you care. I did a little research on you when you applied, and I thought I saw that from your record, but I couldn’t be sure until I actually saw you in action. You corrected Alicia, but you cared about her and felt for her at the same time, a girl you’d never even met. You were as embarrassed as she was, and I honestly think it really did hurt you more than it did her. When you refused to look below her eyes to keep from humiliating her even more, when you held her, when you wiped her face and dressed her, and most of all when you tried to understand her, that clenched it for me. Those are the most important reasons why I’ve selected you over all my other applicants without even bothering to interview them. You’ll fit perfectly with what I want.
“The vast majority of these girls have never had a real father figure in their lives; if they had, they probably wouldn’t be here. Traditionally the father is the one who applies the serious discipline in the family, not only because he’s stronger but because he’s more temperamentally suited for it and because he cares. ‘Wait till your father gets home” is not just an empty expression.
“When Mr. Carnifax was in charge of this institution, there was less than a ten percent recidivism rate among the graduates: less than ten percent! He was a kindly, gentle man at heart, but he ruled this place with an iron hand, and woe betide the girl who crossed him.
“He died four years ago, and I took over from being in the same position you are as of now: Assistant Administrator.”
She paused and there was a hitch in her voice when she went on. “I-I’ve failed, Jack. The recidivism rate is double what is was and getting bigger every year. If things don’t improve within the next couple of years, the state is going to shut us down. I’ve tried everything, done things exactly as he did, and it’s just not working. Not only that, but the behavioral problems are increasing. I know there’s something going on here I’ve yet to be able to identify, an underlying tension, almost a fear of something that I can only sense, but the students won’t confide in me like they did him. The only difference is I’m a woman, and apparently that’s enough of a difference. These girls need a father figure, and that’s you.”
I could plainly hear her desperation.
“Fiona, if I am going to do this, I’ve got to be more than just the ‘beater’ or ‘corrector’ if you prefer. Rest assured, I’ll do my job – after all, a sore butt is much better than a prison career – but I won’t settle for being nothing beyond an object of fear to these girls. I do want to work here and I’ll administer corrections whenever they’re required, but I’m not going to be just Carnifax Academy’s ‘executioner’.”
She surprised me by reaching out and putting her hand on mine comfortingly.
“With your personality, you’ll be much more than that, Jack. Besides taking on your share of the administrative duties, you’ll also be a councilor, confidant, tutor, comforting shoulder to cry on, bandager of skinned knees…” She glanced at the tissue box and her smile returned. “Occasionally a wiper of runny noses too; you seem to do that so well! I thought for a minute you were going to hold it up to my face and say, ‘blow’.”
We both laughed, and I had the feeling that everything just might be all right after all.

***

© Copyright by author, 2005; all rights reserved. No duplication except with author’s permission. CARNIFAX is a work of fiction, and all characters and places depicted in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or to any institution, is purely coincidental.
(send comments to the author: bruketol@yahoo.com

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