Well, it finally happened. After a good couple of years reading The Spanking Writers, I've finally turned into Abel, and can now see the kinky potential in any situation. It happened thus. I was walking through a shopping mall today and they had a stall where the staff were spray painting peoples hair with various hideous colours. I don't know whether this was a permanent stall or just for Hallowe'en. At any rate, it was packed full of young customers and surrounded by parents in various states of boredom/annoyance. As I walked past, a little scenario popped into my head, very much as I imagine happens to our friend Mr Jenkins.
“No way, Nicola, you have to be kidding me. You are not going to a concert with your hair spray-painted all colours of the rainbow. Non-negotiable. Now we've got 90 minutes before the concert starts. You can go off and do some shopping while I go and get some new suits, and I'll see you outside St Mary's at 6:45. Don't be late.”
Her father turned and walked off in the direction of House of Fraser, leaving her standing against a pillar sulking. It was bad enough that she'd been dragged into town to watch the “improving” concert (good for her Music A-Level studies, apparently), but to have her father ban her from doing anything even vaguely fun... After all, she was supposed to be at the Sixth Form Hallowe'en party tonight, not stuck at a boring concert. She mooched through some of the shops in the mall, but half an hour later, with time still to kill, and nothing inspiring to buy, she found herself in front of the hair colouring stall once more. It was only ten pounds, that was nothing. Why shouldn't she do what she wanted with her hair? She was 17, old enough to leave home, for goodness sake. Certainly old enough to chose to colour her hair. Her inner devil took over and fifteen minutes later she was wandering towards St Mary's with her normally blonde hair a rainbow of turquoise, red, black and green colour. She was now rapidly regretting her actions. It had been at least a year since her father had been truly angry with her, but the memory of his belt across her buttocks was no less fresh than it had been.
She could see her father as she approached the church. He was looking straight at her, but obviously didn't recognise her at a distance. As she got closer, his eyes widened as her realised he was in fact looking at his daughter. By the time she reached his side, his face was like thunder.
“How dare you? You directly disobeyed me. We'll be talking about this when we get home.”
Nicola followed him meekly into the church, and sat through the whole concert barely listening to the music. She could feel the stares of people around her, and she couldn't concentrate on the Mozart being played in the church, as thoughts of what awaited her later ran through her head, her stomach turning over and over...
Later, much later, Nicola hugged her father tight and wept into his shoulder as he comforted his little girl, dues now paid, stripes of pain from his belt smarting on her cheeks. She'd learnt yet again that disobedience comes at a price.