Who Needs a Breadboard?

by Alyx

Ermie knew a rush of triumph at the expression on Callie’s face. She had totally not expected that, and was clearly at a loss.

Callie, meanwhile, was trying to determine if the fish had a death-wish. Only someone mentally unhinged would be trying to start a fight when she was locked up in a cell with someone twice as strong as she was. Or someone crazy with rage and desperation. Callie’s eyes narrowed as she studied Ermie’s defiant posturing. Yup, the fish was as pissed as a mule chewing on bumblebees. She sighed to herself. These next few hours weren’t going to be fun.

Ermie’s inner nervousness betrayed itself in the way she jumped as Callie slowly rose from her bunk. Callie approached the cell door and Ermie retreated, keeping her backside carefully away from her at all times. She swore inwardly as she heard Callie calling for a guard.

Whatever emergency had called Henderson away had subsided, and the C.O. appeared a few minutes later. Callie had a few quiet words with her, and Ermie could’ve sworn she passed something over to the top. Then the guard bent down to pick up the bread board, and Ermie felt a sinking in her tummy. But to her astonishment, C.O. Henderson turned around and headed back down the corridor…taking it with her.

Callie returned to her bunk and shoved something beneath the mattress. She turned around and regarded Ermie with arms crossed and a face like stone. Eventually nerves made Ermie break the silence.

“Uh…where’s she going with that?”

“I told her it came from the kitchen. I’d guess she’s going to return it there.”

“Oh.” Ermie digested that. “How come?”

“You wanted to talk. We’re going to talk.” Ermie gaped at her. She’d been running like a SWAT team on high alert since lunch time, and the combined adrenaline and frustration had her wound tighter than a watch coil. To hear Callie say it was going to end in a discussion was almost a let-down. Instead of rejoicing at having avoided punishment, she felt almost disappointed. But then Callie continued. “But first you need to cool down a bit. Go stand in the corner till I tell you you can come out.”

Ermie was almost relieved to feel the outrage that arose at those words. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Callie shook her head. “No, I’m not kidding. Get in the corner and face the wall.” She pointed to the only corner in their cell that was suitable for the purpose. It was next to the sink and without even a crack in the paint to look at.

“Fuck that! I’m not a child.”

“More like a toddler with a tantrum, if you ask me. But that’s not the point. Get in the corner.”

“No.” She faced Callie squarely, her arms crossed also.

Callie approached her and grabbed her arm. Ermie attempted to resist, but Callie was too strong and she was dragged to the corner. Three hard swats against her ass and then she was forcibly placed there. Naturally, her presence there only lasted as long as it took for Callie to turn around and walk back to her bed. Ermie stomped back to her own bed, glaring at Callie the entire time.

With a sigh, Callie stood up and walked over, grabbing her arm again and lifting the struggling Ermie to her feet.

“No! Let me go! I’m not going!” Ermie’s protests were for naught, as she was again dragged back to the corner. Again another three hard swats landed and she was placed back against the wall. But no sooner did Callie turn around and walk away, did Ermie make her way back to her own bed again.

“I’m NOT fucking staying there, so you may as well forget it!” She made her body limp, but even her dead weight did not stop Callie from dragging her back. The top then lifted her by the earlobe, and Ermie was forced to stand, swearing the whole time. Three more whacks, and Callie turned her to face the corner.

This exercise was repeated at least 50 times over the course of the next two hours. The only variation came during episode 28, when Ermie gave into her rage and became a screaming, kicking, scratching hurricane as Callie attempted to lift her from her bed.

“Oh no, you fucking don’t,” Callie said grimly, one of the few times she broke her silence. She pinned Ermie down, removed her shoes and then her pants. “Act like a little wild animal, and I’ll treat you like one.” Callie grabbed a handful of hair at the nape of Ermie’s neck and pulled her upright.  She marched Ermie to the corner and then delivered the inevitable three whacks to her now barely covered rear end. Ermie cried out at the terrible sting, but she was determined not to give in. She left the corner once again as soon as Callie turned away. However she did not try again to strike her cellmate, as she had no doubt Callie would not hesitate to strip her naked and force her to stand there.

In the battle between the irresistible force and the immoveable object, who wins? Scientists and philosophers have debated this paradox for centuries, but none of them have ever measured the willfulness of an angry brat, nor the implacability of a determined top. Dear readers, I can tell you the answer: the one who gives in is the one with the most vulnerable nerve endings.

Callie was older, and though she lifted weights she was also the one expending more energy in the battle – lifting and dragging Ermie to the corner 50 times was bound to take its toll. She was breathing hard and sweating, and a growing part of her wanted to just pull the brat over her lap and whale away. But that would be losing her temper, and that would mean losing not only this exchange, but her position as top. The point was the brat had to learn to obey her, whether she liked it or not. In her mind she kept replaying an episode she once saw of “SuperNanny.” The mother in that show struggled with her kid for SEVEN HOURS to get her to stay in the naughty spot. Seven fucking hours, and the woman was a skinny wimp. If she could hold out for seven hours, then Callie could too.

But she prayed to god it wouldn’t come to that.

Ermie, meanwhile, had youth and fury on her side. The frustration and unhappiness of several weeks were boiling over, and it fueled her rebelliousness quite nicely. On the other hand, three hard swats times fifty…is one hundred and fifty swats. Her muscles were aching from wrestling with Callie, but it was her bottom that was signaling surrender. And so on the 51^st time she was dragged to the corner, when Callie lifted her arm to deliver her punishment, Ermie found herself covering her rear end and crying out for mercy.

“No, don’t hit me anymore! Please, it hurts, it hurts!” She huddled in the corner, keeping her throbbing bottom pressed against the wall.

“Turn around.” Callie’s voice was soft, her expression stern.

“Please don’t spank me anymore!”

“Turn around and face the corner.”

Ermie did so hesitatingly, still cupping her sore cheeks, half expecting to feel Callie’s iron palm.

“Stay there until I tell you to come out.” Callie walked away.

Ermie had no idea how long she stood there. It could’ve been three minutes, or three days. She only knew her mind and body, which a few hours ago were buzzing with rage, now felt curiously empty.

“Come here.”

Ermie turned around. Callie was sitting at the edge of her bunk. Ermie looked longingly at her own bed, but Callie shook her head. “Over here, fish.”

Ermie walked over to her, knees still shaky from the earlier struggle. Callie patted her thigh. “Over my lap.”

In spite of herself, Ermie felt the tears start at the corners of her eyes. “But I did what you said!” she protested.

Callie nodded. “And now I’m telling you to bend over my lap.” She patted her thigh once again.

Ermie struggled to regain her composure. She may have lost the battle, but it didn’t mean the war was over. She looked Callie squarely in the eye. “I will do it, but I think you are a fucking big bully.”

To her surprise, Callie grinned. “Yeah? Well you’re a spoiled brat with no respect for others.”

Ermie flushed and bit back a retort. Resentfully, she lowered herself over Callie’s thighs. She stiffened as she felt Callie slide the back of her top up and pull her panties down. Then Callie’s fingers lightly traced the skin of her buttocks. “Hmm…probably bruises tomorrow.”

“No, you’re kidding me!” Ermie replied sarcastically.

Callie chuckled. She uncapped the gel of arnica and began to rub it over the swollen cheeks. “I’ve been thinking about the way people treat you,” she said.

Ermie hid her start of surprise. “You have?”

“Yes. And it would be good for you to learn to defend yourself…just in case I’m not around.”

“I thought you said I wasn’t to fight?”

Callie squeezed out more gel and moved down to the backs of Ermie’s thighs. “Not go around picking fights,” she corrected. “But you should be prepared in case someone starts up with you.”

“Oka-ay…so what did you have in mind? You gonna teach me how to use a knife?”

Callie snorted. That’s all she needed, to arm the little hot-head. “No, I think you need to put on a little muscle. You’re going to start weight training with me.”

Ermie groaned. There was very little she could think of that sounded like a worse time than that. Except maybe kissing Weedy’s ass. No…even that would be more fun than lifting heavy weights that clearly wanted to stay put. She didn’t understand what the matter was with people – couldn’t they respect the laws of gravity??? Oh that’s right, she was in prison.

“I’m not doing it.”

Callie capped the tube of arnica and pulled up Ermie’s underwear. She swatted her bottom gently and helped her to her feet. “Great, we’ll start tomorrow.”

The End

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