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The Cane Mutiny
- Thread starter windar
- Start date
connoisseurs
Senator
windar
Teller of Tales
In New York, when someone is being ignored, they will often ask, "What am I, chopped liver?"
It's not bad luck that gets Moore in trouble usually, it's her temperament...
twonines
LIMERICUS
Very nice scene, but that lazy blonde needs to put in a great deal more effort unless she wishes to change places.
fat slave girl
Regina Servorum
Could they put her on autopilot and go for lunch?
windar
Teller of Tales
3.
Dean James Windar checked his watch. It was 10:15 already. This meeting of the President’s Select Committee on Diversity was supposed to be done by 10, but Dean Conroy had to use a sentence where a word would do and a paragraph where a sentence would suffice.
The bottom line was that the college was meeting the Board’s diversity goals comfortably. Almost 60% of the student body was female and minority enrollment had almost doubled in the past five years. The tenured faculty, Dean Windar’s area of responsibility, was over 40% women and quickly heading towards parity.
But, Windar’s mind wasn’t on female faculty members in general right now, but one particular female faculty member-the very attractive, but very troublesome Dr. Barbara Moore. She would be coming up for tenure next year, the point in an academic career where everything was in the balance-a positive decision would mean lifetime job security, while a negative one would mean that she would have to depart Dorsbury and find employment elsewhere.
And, while the recommendation would be made by her departmental colleagues, Dean Windar would have the final say. Her publication record was first-rate, and she had already delivered two plenary talks at national meetings of the American Historical Society, an unusual accomplishment for one so young.
Dr. Moore’s classes usually filled up within hours of enrollment opening and her student ratings were among the best in the whole College. Sure, she wasn’t the best at managing a budget, but her results were worth the money, and, after he had counselled her a couple of times to keep a tighter track on expenditures, there were signs of improvement.
Honestly, her tenure would be a lock, except for one thing-that little demonstration against the state’s recent adoption of corporal punishment. Of course, Dorsbury College was foursquare in favor of free speech and Dr. Moore could advocate any opinion she desired. The problem was that she had gone well beyond advocacy into illegal actions-namely chaining herself to the door of a courtroom down at the County Courthouse.
It was bad enough when some Dorsbury students had egged the Attorney General’s car. Dean Windar hadn’t felt the need to get involved personally in their punishment-students everywhere did that kind of thing from time to time and the judicial system had handled it appropriately, in a manner that made it unlikely they would repeat their error. But this was a faculty member, and one that he had taken some responsibility for.
And she had chosen not just any courtroom, but that of Dean Windar’s longtime friend, Judge Martin “Maximum Marty” Powers. He and Marty went on a several day canoe trip most summers, skied together often in the winters and served together on the boards of several local organizations.
He knew that Marty, as a sentencing judge, was permitted to witness punishment sessions, though Marty claimed to do so only very rarely. So, after the last board meeting of the Dorsbury Animal Shelter, he had invited Marty for a beer at one of the bars nearby and asked him if he was planning to attend Moore’s punishment.
“You’re damn right, I will!” the judge had announced. “That woman had a lot of nerve chaining herself to my courtroom door. I don’t make the laws, I just follow them in sentencing people. She absolutely deserved what I gave her and I want to be there to see it.”
“Dr. Moore is well known on campus for her nerve,” Dean Windar replied.
“How well, do you know her, Jim?”
“It’s a small campus, Marty. I’ve met with her quite a few times. She’s up for tenure next year. Normally, she’d be a shoo-in, but this little escapade will complicate the decision. I sure hope the punishment will get through to her and make her a little less, how should I say this, strident.”
“You know, Jim, since you’ve got a personal interest in her case, let me talk to the folks at the Department of Corrections and see if you can join me at the Punishment Center. That’s assuming, you’d be interested, of course.”
Dean Windar had drained his beer glass and signaled for a second, before turning to his friend. “I hate to put you to any trouble, Marty,” he had managed to get out.
“No trouble at all for a good friend, Jim.”
Dean Windar glanced at his watch again-10:20. “So, in conclusion,” Conroy was saying. Damn it, that meant he could go on for a good fifteen minutes more. Windar was supposed to be at the Punishment Center around 10:30 to be in place for Dr. Moore’s arrival sharp at 11.
Even though it was only five minutes away by car, he wanted to make sure he didn’t miss a moment. For, when Dean Windar had sat in those meetings with Dr. Moore going over her budget or boring administrative matters, he had to admit, as politically incorrect as it might be in this era of “MeToo#”, that he had spent a good deal of the time mentally undressing her.
So, the prospect of her being made to physically undress by butch guards, having every crevice of her body searched and then made to bend over a caning frame, a position in which her charms would be most delightfully displayed, and having her tight little ass, which Dean Windar had often watched sway as she left his office, striped by the judicial cane, was a spectacle that he had dreamed of almost constantly ever since Marty had raised the possibility of his attendance.
Dean Windar didn’t want to miss a single moment. So, he was extremely grateful when President Porcelli, a no-nonsense woman with her grey hair done up in a tight bun, whom Dorsbury had hired away from Harvard by offering her an ungodly salary, coughed loudly, causing Conroy to pause in his interminable conclusion.
“Thank you for that excellent summation, Dean Conroy,” she said. “It’s clear that we are making excellent progress towards our diversity goals. Let’s all keep up the good work. Does anyone else have anything to add?”
Dean Windar offered a silent prayer, which, miraculously, was answered when no one spoke up. He practically jumped out of his chair, grabbed his coat, and ran down the corridor, almost bumping into one of the secretaries leaving the President’s office as he headed for his car.
Beth looked at the box of donuts lying on the staff room table. “Go ahead, Beth, the chocolate glazed one with the sprinkles has your name on it,” Sgt. Sue Miller, her supervisor, told her.
“Shit, Sue, I’m trying to lose a few pounds, but it’s impossible with you always bringing in pastries,” Beth said as she reached for the treat.
“You’re going to need some fortification with the circus that’ll be happening here in a couple of hours,” Sue told her.
Beth rolled her eyes. “They’re really going to have a film crew in here?” Sue nodded. “With lights and everything?”
“Well, Richard said there’d only be three or four of them”-Richard was Richard Morgan, the Director of Security for the Department of Corrections, Sue’s boss-“But they need lights for filming.”
“And Richard will be here with them?”
“Yep,” Sue replied.
“And what are they going to do with this film?” Beth asked. She could imagine that making it public would be a deterrent to people who might be tempted to commit one of the offenses that might lead to a caning. But, she could also imagine that it would incite more protests and even bring negative attention on the state from around the world.
“I have no idea, Beth. That’s above my pay grade. All I know is that they want to record every part of the procedure from start to finish. So we have to figure out where they can set up in each room.”
Beth nodded. “And the judge who sentenced her is coming?”
“Yep, Maximum Marty himself. He came a couple times before you were hired, but he hasn’t been here in a while. And he’s bringing his friend, who happens to be Moore’s boss, Dean something-or-other from the college.”
“And Moore doesn’t know that she’ll have an audience, including her boss?” Beth asked.
“Nope. She’ll be in for quite a surprise. But don’t feel bad for her. These radicals are trouble. If they had their way you and I would be looking for new jobs or we’d be transferred to the State Pen, dealing with murderers and bank robbers instead of ho’s and shoplifters and dumb ass commie professors.”
“You got that right, Sue. You’d think she’d have learned from those students we caned a few weeks ago and that other professor, the one who had taught Priya back when, but, no. This Moore must be dumb as a box of rocks to have pulled a stupid ass stunt like that.”
“George will show her the error of her ways soon enough, Beth. In the meantime, you and I better check all the equipment one more time. We don’t want any screw ups. Wouldn’t do to have a strap come loose for the camera, would it?”
Beth laughed. “Sure wouldn’t. I suppose George has picked out one of his whippiest canes for the occasion, right?”
“You know him,” Sue said.
“Oh, by the way, who’s the doc on duty today?”
“Some woman named Allison Taylor, who’s on loan from Center Number 5 for the day. I haven’t met her, but she’s supposed to be good.”
“Too bad Priya left. I think she would have wanted to see this.”
Now it was Sue’s turn to laugh. “Oh, you know it, sister!”
Dean James Windar checked his watch. It was 10:15 already. This meeting of the President’s Select Committee on Diversity was supposed to be done by 10, but Dean Conroy had to use a sentence where a word would do and a paragraph where a sentence would suffice.
The bottom line was that the college was meeting the Board’s diversity goals comfortably. Almost 60% of the student body was female and minority enrollment had almost doubled in the past five years. The tenured faculty, Dean Windar’s area of responsibility, was over 40% women and quickly heading towards parity.
But, Windar’s mind wasn’t on female faculty members in general right now, but one particular female faculty member-the very attractive, but very troublesome Dr. Barbara Moore. She would be coming up for tenure next year, the point in an academic career where everything was in the balance-a positive decision would mean lifetime job security, while a negative one would mean that she would have to depart Dorsbury and find employment elsewhere.
And, while the recommendation would be made by her departmental colleagues, Dean Windar would have the final say. Her publication record was first-rate, and she had already delivered two plenary talks at national meetings of the American Historical Society, an unusual accomplishment for one so young.
Dr. Moore’s classes usually filled up within hours of enrollment opening and her student ratings were among the best in the whole College. Sure, she wasn’t the best at managing a budget, but her results were worth the money, and, after he had counselled her a couple of times to keep a tighter track on expenditures, there were signs of improvement.
Honestly, her tenure would be a lock, except for one thing-that little demonstration against the state’s recent adoption of corporal punishment. Of course, Dorsbury College was foursquare in favor of free speech and Dr. Moore could advocate any opinion she desired. The problem was that she had gone well beyond advocacy into illegal actions-namely chaining herself to the door of a courtroom down at the County Courthouse.
It was bad enough when some Dorsbury students had egged the Attorney General’s car. Dean Windar hadn’t felt the need to get involved personally in their punishment-students everywhere did that kind of thing from time to time and the judicial system had handled it appropriately, in a manner that made it unlikely they would repeat their error. But this was a faculty member, and one that he had taken some responsibility for.
And she had chosen not just any courtroom, but that of Dean Windar’s longtime friend, Judge Martin “Maximum Marty” Powers. He and Marty went on a several day canoe trip most summers, skied together often in the winters and served together on the boards of several local organizations.
He knew that Marty, as a sentencing judge, was permitted to witness punishment sessions, though Marty claimed to do so only very rarely. So, after the last board meeting of the Dorsbury Animal Shelter, he had invited Marty for a beer at one of the bars nearby and asked him if he was planning to attend Moore’s punishment.
“You’re damn right, I will!” the judge had announced. “That woman had a lot of nerve chaining herself to my courtroom door. I don’t make the laws, I just follow them in sentencing people. She absolutely deserved what I gave her and I want to be there to see it.”
“Dr. Moore is well known on campus for her nerve,” Dean Windar replied.
“How well, do you know her, Jim?”
“It’s a small campus, Marty. I’ve met with her quite a few times. She’s up for tenure next year. Normally, she’d be a shoo-in, but this little escapade will complicate the decision. I sure hope the punishment will get through to her and make her a little less, how should I say this, strident.”
“You know, Jim, since you’ve got a personal interest in her case, let me talk to the folks at the Department of Corrections and see if you can join me at the Punishment Center. That’s assuming, you’d be interested, of course.”
Dean Windar had drained his beer glass and signaled for a second, before turning to his friend. “I hate to put you to any trouble, Marty,” he had managed to get out.
“No trouble at all for a good friend, Jim.”
Dean Windar glanced at his watch again-10:20. “So, in conclusion,” Conroy was saying. Damn it, that meant he could go on for a good fifteen minutes more. Windar was supposed to be at the Punishment Center around 10:30 to be in place for Dr. Moore’s arrival sharp at 11.
Even though it was only five minutes away by car, he wanted to make sure he didn’t miss a moment. For, when Dean Windar had sat in those meetings with Dr. Moore going over her budget or boring administrative matters, he had to admit, as politically incorrect as it might be in this era of “MeToo#”, that he had spent a good deal of the time mentally undressing her.
So, the prospect of her being made to physically undress by butch guards, having every crevice of her body searched and then made to bend over a caning frame, a position in which her charms would be most delightfully displayed, and having her tight little ass, which Dean Windar had often watched sway as she left his office, striped by the judicial cane, was a spectacle that he had dreamed of almost constantly ever since Marty had raised the possibility of his attendance.
Dean Windar didn’t want to miss a single moment. So, he was extremely grateful when President Porcelli, a no-nonsense woman with her grey hair done up in a tight bun, whom Dorsbury had hired away from Harvard by offering her an ungodly salary, coughed loudly, causing Conroy to pause in his interminable conclusion.
“Thank you for that excellent summation, Dean Conroy,” she said. “It’s clear that we are making excellent progress towards our diversity goals. Let’s all keep up the good work. Does anyone else have anything to add?”
Dean Windar offered a silent prayer, which, miraculously, was answered when no one spoke up. He practically jumped out of his chair, grabbed his coat, and ran down the corridor, almost bumping into one of the secretaries leaving the President’s office as he headed for his car.
***
Beth looked at the box of donuts lying on the staff room table. “Go ahead, Beth, the chocolate glazed one with the sprinkles has your name on it,” Sgt. Sue Miller, her supervisor, told her.
“Shit, Sue, I’m trying to lose a few pounds, but it’s impossible with you always bringing in pastries,” Beth said as she reached for the treat.
“You’re going to need some fortification with the circus that’ll be happening here in a couple of hours,” Sue told her.
Beth rolled her eyes. “They’re really going to have a film crew in here?” Sue nodded. “With lights and everything?”
“Well, Richard said there’d only be three or four of them”-Richard was Richard Morgan, the Director of Security for the Department of Corrections, Sue’s boss-“But they need lights for filming.”
“And Richard will be here with them?”
“Yep,” Sue replied.
“And what are they going to do with this film?” Beth asked. She could imagine that making it public would be a deterrent to people who might be tempted to commit one of the offenses that might lead to a caning. But, she could also imagine that it would incite more protests and even bring negative attention on the state from around the world.
“I have no idea, Beth. That’s above my pay grade. All I know is that they want to record every part of the procedure from start to finish. So we have to figure out where they can set up in each room.”
Beth nodded. “And the judge who sentenced her is coming?”
“Yep, Maximum Marty himself. He came a couple times before you were hired, but he hasn’t been here in a while. And he’s bringing his friend, who happens to be Moore’s boss, Dean something-or-other from the college.”
“And Moore doesn’t know that she’ll have an audience, including her boss?” Beth asked.
“Nope. She’ll be in for quite a surprise. But don’t feel bad for her. These radicals are trouble. If they had their way you and I would be looking for new jobs or we’d be transferred to the State Pen, dealing with murderers and bank robbers instead of ho’s and shoplifters and dumb ass commie professors.”
“You got that right, Sue. You’d think she’d have learned from those students we caned a few weeks ago and that other professor, the one who had taught Priya back when, but, no. This Moore must be dumb as a box of rocks to have pulled a stupid ass stunt like that.”
“George will show her the error of her ways soon enough, Beth. In the meantime, you and I better check all the equipment one more time. We don’t want any screw ups. Wouldn’t do to have a strap come loose for the camera, would it?”
Beth laughed. “Sure wouldn’t. I suppose George has picked out one of his whippiest canes for the occasion, right?”
“You know him,” Sue said.
“Oh, by the way, who’s the doc on duty today?”
“Some woman named Allison Taylor, who’s on loan from Center Number 5 for the day. I haven’t met her, but she’s supposed to be good.”
“Too bad Priya left. I think she would have wanted to see this.”
Now it was Sue’s turn to laugh. “Oh, you know it, sister!”
Migoz2
Senator
Ok, I'll admit it, whenever Barb appears here fully clothed I, too, find myself mentally undressing her. Perhaps CF has its own version of #MeToo.
Way to go, Dorsbury!!!!!
Never quite understood why those sessions had to take so long, and why he always leaned over me so closely as we went over the numbers together?
Who, me?
Not as much as he’d like, apparently...
Bingo!
Well, shame on him!
He really needs to see a shrink about those dreams ...
Uh oh ...
Now look what I’ve gone and done...
Migoz2
Senator
Tumescence?
Migoz2
Senator
Just one figure - yoursYou mean he wasn’t looking down at the figures?
twonines
LIMERICUS
Absolutely brilliant, the scene is set, poor Barb is in for the shock of her life. Her failure to research what actually happens before sounding off, is going to come home to roost and she won`t know what`s hit her.( Actually , she will, a very forcefully applied cane on her bare tight little.)
twonines
LIMERICUS
Who can blame him? Take your pleasure where you can I say.
twonines
LIMERICUS
Do you mean your shirt or your mouth? Mouth would probably be the better option.Memo to myself: button up next time!