A Life in the Day of Rosemary Booker - The Woody Back to School ...

A Life in the Day of Rosemary Booker
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Deborah doing the
same thing. She was not looking best pleased.
As I said earlier in the week Deborah was
treated to a late-night dose of Claire’s cane. At least
that time it had nothing to do with me and involved
Debs getting distracted by some tennis-jock, studmuffin
whispering sweet nothings in her ear on her
cell-phone and missing the lockdown bell.
As usual it had been a spectacularly impressive
whopping and I suspect that she was not looking for
a second helping quite so soon.
I heard the rattle of Claire putting her cane
down on the sideboard. She shrugged off her blazer
and hung it on a hook on the back of the door. I
watched her as she carefully unfastened the cuffs of
her crisp white blouse and turned them back. She
unfastened the top button of her blouse and loosened
her red Elite tie. She retrieved the cane.
I was becoming increasingly nervous as she
padded across the room in her crepe soled brothel
creepers.
At Woodys everything is performed in a
ritualistic manner. If more than one gal is to be
beaten then the thrashings are delivered in
alphabetical order of our surnames. As my last name
begins with ‘B’ I was scheduled to get it first.