Helena was nervous as hell as they waited for Wade to come to the door, but she had to be the strong one, since Acacia, normally the composed one, had been a mass of tears all the way up.

In his affable way, Wade said “Well, good morning ladies …” then noticed the redness of Acacia’s eyes, the puffiness of her face.

“Acacia, what’s the matter?” he said as she brushed past him wordlessly and headed for the fireplace mantle. She snatched the collar from the peg, and in an instant was on her knees in front of him, holding it out for him. Helena watched as he took the collar from her hands, placed it around her neck and locked it into place, then stepped back a couple paces and asked, “My Lady, will you please tell me what the problem is?”

Rather than speaking directly, Acacia bent forward until her forehead was on the floor, arms stretched out in front, prostrated before him. “My Lord, I seek your forgiveness,” she said, her voice a little muffled from speaking at the carpet. “I made a serious error. I spent the night with Ms. Curtis, sir.”

“You what?” he replied, not raising his voice, but with a coldness that lowered the temperature of the room a good twenty degrees.

“My Lord, she was very depressed, and I thought contemplating suicide. I … I tried to comfort her, sir.”

“My Lady, your concern for Ms. Curtis is commendable, but your actions are hardly so,” he said with an edge to his voice that could have cut steel. “I thought I had made it clear that you are to cleave to me only. I am extremely upset that you have made a mockery of my words and seek to return to your old ways. Rise, that I may remove your collar to destroy it.”

That was too much for Helena. No matter what the agreement Acacia may have had with Mr. McCluskey might have been, he was seriously misinterpreting her words. With fire in her eye, she stepped between them looked up at him, and said fiercely, “Like hell you will, sir.”

“Ms. Curtis, stand aside that I may treat this creature as she deserves,” he said, his anger obviously mounting, although the loudness of his voice remained the same.

“You may be bigger than I am,” she said, the snarl of a lioness protecting a wounded cub in her voice. “You may be stronger, but by God, if you intend to hurt her, you’ll have to go through me to do it.”

“I will not lay a hand on she who was My Lady,” he said, snarling right back. “I merely intend to remove her collar and throw her out of my life.”

“And just how much is that going to hurt her?” Helena replied, her voice just as stern, not backing down in the slightest. “You are her life, sir, and it is quite clear to me that she is yours. If there’s anyone at fault, it’s me, not her, and I refuse to let you ruin her life and yours because of it.”

“Ms. Curtis,” he said, anger still evident but backing down, just a touch, to try to justify it to her. “She knows that if she attempted to return to her former ways it was the end for us.”

“Then at least get the facts before you judge,” Helena said, still bristled. “Yes, she comforted me when I was very upset. Yes, we spent the night together, sleeping in each other’s arms. But as far as I know, she neither sought nor received any sexual pleasure out of it. Did she get the pleasure of helping a friend in need? Yes, I’m sure she did. Did we touch inappropriately? No, we did not, not that I recall, and I think I would have recalled it. Should I have sent her away, and told her I’d handle my problems somehow? Yes, I should have. But I did not, so if there’s anyone to be punished for her actions, it’s me, not her.”

“I cannot punish you for her breaking an agreement of honor,” he said, looking down at the fierce courage in her face. “You and I have no such agreement, and you are not under my discipline.”

“Does that really matter?” Helena snarled. “She told me that you would be angry with her. I promised her that I would stand beside her, since it was my fault. I may be several things I’m not proud of, but I gave my word to her and I will keep it. You talk of honor, sir. On my honor, you will do nothing to her that you will not also do to me.”

“Miss Rose,” he said. “Is her statement of what happened correct in your eyes?”

“Yes, sir,” Helena heard from below and behind her. “There was nothing inappropriate. I admit to skirting the line, but I did not cross it.”

“All right, Ms. Curtis,” he said, still harsh, but visibly backing down. “I admit that she did not break our agreement. Yet, she deserves punishment for drawing close to that line, and you deserve punishment for your thoughtless actions in seeking the affections of one who is committed to another. Will you accept my discipline in this matter?”

“Yes sir, I will,” Helena replied stalwartly, knowing that it could mean a whip across her backside. If that was what it took to put things back together again, so be it.

“Very well,” he said harshly. “On your knees, My Lady. Ms. Curtis, you said you would stand beside her. Now kneel beside her while I consider this.”

Helena understood instinctively that if she were going to accept his discipline, she had to use his rules. She had seen the “high kneel” position enough before to know what it was – vertical, but on her knees, eyes cast downward, hands open at her side. Until this minute, she had not been able to understand what it meant, but realized now the visible submission to authority that it displayed. She was a complex mass of emotions, but that was nothing new, not the past few weeks. She was almost shaking inside, not at the fear of what might happen, but in an emotional overflow from the courage it had taken to look Mr. McCluskey in the eye and stare him down. But it had been the right thing to do, she realized, and she felt right about having done it, no matter what the result was. As she’d told Acacia a couple hours before, so be it.

Keeping her eyes looking downward, she could still watch as Mr. McCluskey stepped back across the room, turned, looked at the two of them and frowned wordlessly, his eyes upon the scene before him, for minutes that seemed to her like hours.

“On your feet, ladies,” he said finally, in a hard sounding voice – still no louder than normal, but with a tone that said quite clearly that he expected to be obeyed without question. Quickly they rose and followed him out through the kitchen and the porch onto the patio in back.

He led them to the back corner of the fence around the pool. “Ms. Curtis,” he said in his hard tone. “Are you aware of what the position of ‘Attention’ is?”

“Yes sir,” she said. “I was in marching band.”

“When I was a naughty child, I was told to stand in the corner. Your actions were childish, but you are an adult, and the consequences adult as well, so you will stand in the corner as an adult. You will stand at attention in the Marine manner. Face the corner. You will stand one foot from both the walls. Erect, back straight, head up and facing forward, heels together, toes 45 degrees apart, your ring fingers at the seam of your skirt. You will not move. You will not speak. You will stand as if you were a human statue. If an insect lands on your nose, you will not shoo it off, even if it bites. You will contemplate how you would feel if you discovered that a man who you loved very much and hoped to marry told you that he’d spent the previous night in bed with another man. While you are at it, you will also contemplate how your thoughtless actions can harm others around you, especially those that you love. You will remain in that position until you are told otherwise. Do you have any questions, Ms. Curtis?”

“No sir,” she said flatly, a little surprised that it didn’t look like she was going to be whipped after all, and willing to do exactly what he said as an alternative. “I understand and will do as you say.”

“Very good, Ms. Curtis,” he said. “My Lady, you will take the other corner, and follow the exact same instructions.”

It was the longest morning of her life. It was longer than the fourth grade. It was longer than the third, fourth and fifth grades combined, with no summer vacations. Helena started the punishment with a stern resolve, her anger still driving her, wondering how in the world she had been able to reach down inside herself to act like that. Yes, it had been the right thing to do – and she realized that accepting Mr. McCluskey’s punishment was the right thing to do, too. Despondent though she had been the night before, asking Acacia to do what she did stepped over her own lines of behavior, too. As they’d lain in bed this morning before the horrible realization came over her partner, Helena had been starting to think of herself as a lesbian, for the wonderful hours of the night had presented her with a good argument. But now, she began to wonder about that. Her fantasies had been of men, not women, even as Acacia had held her – and Mr. McCluskey had been one of the men, perhaps the most prominent. What would Acacia say if she knew that?

As she stood there rigidly, contemplating her actions, she began to realize that if she hadn’t stood up to Mr. McCluskey in her defense, and allowed her friend to be thrown out, she would have felt a duty to comfort Acacia – perhaps in bed, no, most likely there – if for no more reason than to try to make up in some way for the disaster that her thoughtless actions had involved. Whether she was a lesbian or not – and now she was doubting that she was – she would have become one, willingly or unwillingly, as a result.

There was nothing to look at in the corner, except for the slight grain of the wood of the corner, covered with paint, and after the first minute or so, there was nothing there to interest her. Still, she stared at it, trying to put the panoply of thoughts out of her mind, without much luck. A month ago, she’d stood for an hour against the post a few feet away, wrapped in the ropes of the karada, and had drifted off into what Mr. McCluskey and Acacia had called “subspace.” It had been a pleasant experience, though it had scared her. Pain had turned to nothingness, to pleasure; time had ceased to have much meaning. Subspace would have been a blessing just then, and she tried to sink into it, strange though it was, but it wouldn’t come to her. There were no ropes to relax into, no way to relax. Her muscles screamed at her, aching from the agony of being held tense and rigid, but she dared not move to relax them. There was no pleasure from this pain.

Time … passed. Whether slowly or quickly, she had little idea, but whatever it was, it had to have been excruciatingly slowly. Holding herself rigid, she tried to play some of the little mental games that had helped her through long, dull classes in school and college. Name all the states. Name all the capitals of all the states. Damn it, was Georgia’s Augusta or Fayetteville. Or, perhaps Andersonville? No that was that prisoner of war camp in the Civil War … or was it? Damn it … she went through the list of states, but wasn’t sure if she was missing any or counted any twice, or what, and Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts was only a diversion for so long … not long enough. Nowhere near long enough. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the shadow of the sun creep toward a little spot on a board. Could she count to a thousand by the time it reached there? Backwards? She got to somewhere in the five hundreds before she lost interest.

Oh God, her legs ached, her back ached. Maybe if she moved real, real slow she could shift her weight a little, change the pressures there. It might help. Worth a try … “I said, at attention, Ms. Curtis!” she heard Mr. McCluskey’s voice growl. Only now did she realize that he was behind her somewhere, not far away, and had to have been watching her like a hawk. Acacia too, probably; she wasn’t far away. She hadn’t heard any footsteps from him, but she was sure that he could walk quietly on the pool deck if he wanted to, if he took his time – but from what she could tell, he was right there and watching, and hadn’t shown any signs of going away. She dared not try to move again.

The pain was excruciating. Did Acacia like this? She couldn’t see her friend, not out of the corner of her eye, without moving her head enough that he might notice. Last month, she’d started to believe that she could get used to the idea of accepting pain, at least up to a point, and it had scared her half to death, but her aching legs and back and shoulders told her that not all pain was pleasure … and maybe that was a relief, too. If she wasn’t a lesbian, well, maybe she wasn’t a kink, either … but this wasn’t the same thing as being in a karada, after all. Interesting thought, maybe she’d have to explore it a little. Some other time. This was no pleasure, after all.

My God, how long can this go on, she wondered. As long as it does, she told herself. After all, she was the one who had said that she needed to be punished – and she was right. That was a horrible thing she had done. She should have known better. There was no sorrow bad enough that gave her the right to put Acacia’s relationship with Mr. McCluskey in jeopardy … she knew the two well enough to know that they were extremely close, and should have realized that there was nothing casual about it. Acacia had told her about all the troubles that she’d been through, in no great detail, and she knew that Mr. McCluskey had pulled her away from them by force of will – the will that she could feel drilling into her back from the eyes that were watching her from behind. My God, how could she have dreamed of hurting him? He was a nice guy, in spite of everything, and Acacia was lucky to have him. Whatever kinds of things they did, and she realized that she’d only seen the barest surface of it, he was always gentle and warm – even though he had obviously been pissed and hurt indeed this morning, as pissed as anyone ever had a right to be, he still hadn’t raised his voice. He hadn’t needed to. As bad as she’d felt yesterday, there was nothing that gave her the right to mess with something like that. She’d messed up her life bad enough.

She realized, almost with surprise, that there were tears running down her cheeks. The pain had something to do with that, but the shame of being so weak, letting her darkness getting the best of her was even a greater part. She’d been so near messing up her life permanently. This morning Acacia had said she feared that she was thinking about suicide. She hadn’t been, not really, but now she admitted that it had been in the back of her mind, and if she’d let the depression build on her, it might have become more of a real possibility. Wouldn’t that just have made things wonderful, she thought, the tears running down her cheeks, pooling on her chin, and dripping off. What would her parents have thought of her? My God, it would have killed them – just because she couldn’t control herself. The thought of how they’d have reacted just made the tears run faster. She’d liked to have sobbed, to break down and cry out loud at her shame, but she wasn’t going to give Mr. McCluskey the satisfaction of watching her. He’d told her to stand there at attention and by God she was going to do it if it killed her, tears and all.

Now, another pain was building in her, building slowly: her bladder. The pressure on it slowly became excruciating, even throbbing. She had to pee so badly that it wasn’t funny. She gritted her teeth, for what good it would do, resolving that she’d hold on to it as long as she could, and shame herself by wetting her panties if she had to before she’d shame herself and shame Acacia by moving one Goddamn muscle … finally it became so bad that she decided that she might as well, but her subconscious fought her – her toilet training as a toddler had been too good, she couldn’t even mentally force her bladder to relieve itself as she stood there. My God, she didn’t even have that much self-control!

“Ladies,” she heard him say – in a flat voice of command, but not quite as hard as it had been earlier. “About face!”

She knew from band what that meant, and her band training had given her a way to do the move that she was sure that the Marines had never taught, but almost automatically she went through the move. At least it was a chance to move! She almost stumbled, she was so weak on her knees, and it didn’t have the grace of the move she’d learned in band, but at least she could turn around – and see a sight that she hadn’t expected to see: Mr. McCluskey was standing at attention a few feet in front of them, rigid, like a Marine on parade – except that his face was puffy from obvious silent crying, as well. Only now did she realize the pain he had felt, the pain it had cost him to put them through this punishment. She remembered her father saying that a punishment would hurt him more than it had hurt her, and she’d always thought it was a load of bull, but now she started to realize just exactly what he’d meant. “Ladies,” he said in that voice of command. “Have you considered your actions?”

“Yes, sir,” Helena heard Acacia say at the same time she said it. Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at her friend, standing firmly at attention in the other corner. Her face and makeup was streaked with tears, too – and the front of her dress was wet with them, as Helena was sure her blouse must be. It didn’t take any amount of brain power to realize that Acacia, no matter how much she may have liked pain, didn’t like this pain any more than she did.

“Do you both realize the thoughtlessness of your action? That it may have seemed like a good idea at the time, but that it had implications far beyond the moment, and could have hurt a lot of people? My Lady?”

“Yes, sir. I feel my motives were correct, but I could have handled it much better.”

“Ms. Curtis?”

“Yes, sir,” she said. It was all she had to say.

“No further comments, Ms. Curtis?”

“I have no comment, other than thank you, sir.”

“Thank me? For what?”

“For your forbearance and your willingness to stand up and do the right thing. I feel you have done the right thing, sir.”

“Do you, Ms. Curtis?”

“Yes sir. I would not have thanked you otherwise.”

“No,” he said, frowning, but noticeably breaking from the hardness. “I doubt you would have, had it been otherwise.” He silently looked at her for a moment, then added, “Ms. Curtis?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Though your actions that precipitated this were wrong, you are to be commended for your courage in standing up for the actions of your friend, your courage to admit your mistake, and your courage and honor in accepting punishment for your actions.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“This matter is ended. The two of you are forgiven, this time,” he said, the hardness returning. “Do not let it happen again. Now, when you are dismissed, compose yourselves and make yourselves presentable, then join me by the pool so we can informally discuss several points that have occurred to me.”

“Yes, sir,” both Helena and Acacia sounded as one.

“Ladies, dismissed,” he said, then turned and walked away.

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