“Get the fuck off me!” The office clerk scowled angrily as she was forcibly seated into the narrow chair in a darkened room. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” she yelled indignantly. “I was finishing work and going to my date when you appeared out of the darkness. What is this? MI5? You think I’m a terrorist or something? I’m a British citizen and you people can’t do this! Isn’t it bad enough that you read our e-mails?”
“Young lady,” he bellowed, walking around the seated woman, quivering under the bright spotlights in his small, windowless office. “We have some behavioural issues we need to address with you. That is all.”
The 21 year-old scowled, shaking her long brown hair out of her face as she looked up from the desk. “What?”
“Gemma, we know. We know everything.” The six-foot caped crusader’s boots echoed on the cold, stone floor as he walked behind her and crossed his arms. “We know all about you.” Gemma sniggered. “We know that you took an ice cream from the newsagents without paying for it when you bought sweeties …”
“That was years ago,” she cried, turning and looking into the darkness. “I was eight. What the fuck is MI5 doing watching me when I was eight?”
“We are not MI5,” he snapped.
“Who in the hell are you?” She got up from the chair and gestured towards the voice. “Stalking me and …”
“We are the League of Karma and …”
“The league of … what?” Her eyes glowered into the inky blackness and she crossed her arms. “You’re crazy people. I want to leave now,” Gemma yelled, her eyes scanning the darkness for any movement. “And …”
“That will not be possible. We have some work to do. But soon.”
“I want to go now!” Gemma yelled. “You’re crazy. You can’t keep me here.”
“I’m necessary,” he calmly responded. “We are required to keep your sort in check. You’ll be gone within the hour, if you co-operate. Sit down, please.”
“I’ve got a date at seven with the cute guy from Accounts.” Gemma heard as his feet struck the flagstones of the cold, airless room and she watched as her captor walked into the half-light on the other side of the desk. His black cloak and mask obscured his identity, and he sat down on the chair, putting his gloved hands on the desk. “You …”
“Sit down,” he demanded and tapped the wooden desk. Gemma nervously seated herself. “You have been sending messages to people with hidden meanings,” he told her. Gemma denied it instantly but the “Rectifying Officer” opened his desk and pushed a small blue file towards her, listing hundreds of text messages, Tweets, Facebook messages, e-mails and several choice of songs at a recent karaoke evening.
“You’ve been stalking me.”
“The League puts balance into this world,” he replied nonchalantly. “And we’re just the Britain and Northern Ireland branch here.” He smiled. “You do mean things, we do mean things back. Balance. You stole chocolate as a child, it made you sick. Karma.”
“So when I tricked my little sister into taking the rap for the broken greenhouse …”
He grinned as Gemma remembered the uncharitable antics of an eleven year old girl. “Yes, that was one of my favourites. You fell in the mud at the school trip to the farm.”
Gemma’s eyes fizzed dangerously. “That was so … embarrassing.”
“I know,” he cackled. “But balance was restored. You sin, I punish.”
“So everything that’s gone wrong in my life is up to you? The broken boiler? My favourite dress going in the tumble dryer? Being late for work?”
“No, that’s London Underground. I can’t take credit for that.” He smirked as Gemma fidgeted and he tapped the oak table with impatience. “Now I’m a busy man; I’ve been in Belfast all week and got some catching up to do. And you’re one of the worst offenders on my patch, which is why I’ve brought you here.”
“And probably made me late for my date,” the captive interrupted. “Do you know how hard it is for …”
The Rectifying Officer banged his fist on the table to interrupt her and rose from his chair. “Enough,” he barked. “I have a 100% record in this city: no meanness goes unpunished. And tonight it won’t be! Barbed comments are not tolerable,” he thundered and strode into the darkness as he grabbed a spanking paddle from the wall. “And you know this.”
Gemma floundered and pursed her lips together. “But what if I say I’m sorry and won’t do it again,” she muttered. “And …”
“Too late,” he exclaimed and stood behind her chair. Her eyes widened as she saw the wooden implement in his grip and she stared at it for a few moments. “Take your coat off. Palms on the desk.”
“You what?” Gemma cried anxiously and shook her head, her misty eyes still focused on the weapon. “I’m not a little child.”
“Indeed, little children we throw in muddy puddles or make them eat green vegetables. For adults, we need a punishment with a little more … impact.”
“Impact,” she repeated dreamily.
“Indeed,” he replied and slapped the paddle onto the palm of his hand, causing the young lady to jump.
“You better be joking,” she squealed, her hands shaking. “I’m not … well you can’t … it’s …”
“I’m late,” he snapped. “Palms on the desk. If you took the hints this wouldn’t be necessary. I rarely have to get people in to deal with them. You’re a stubborn case.” Gemma hesitated, but with an angry bark and a terrifying threat, from the Rectifying Officer, she reluctantly removed her yellow coat and leant forward to touch the desk.
She flinched when he kicked the chair away from her and into the corner of the room with a deafening crash. He roughly pulled her trousers to her ankles and sized up her thong-covered bottom. She clenched her buttocks and looked over her shoulder as the Officer lined up the paddle on her exposed buttocks.
“Be gentle,” she breathed, as her body tensed up, awaiting the first strike. “Please.”
He grunted, promising her that he could show no mercy, and brought the paddle down softly on her rear. She exhaled as the soft strike soaked into her flesh and looked over her shoulder. “Look the other way,” he demanded firmly as he moved the paddle a mere foot away from the young lady and struck her flesh with a gentle slap. She gave a breathless grunt and wriggled, resisting the urge to watch as the fearsome man smacked her rump with effortless technique.
She sighed as he hit her seven times, each stroke slightly harder than the last, but still barely reddening the skin. “I hope this will be a lesson to you, Miss Gemma,” he cried as he brought the wooden implement above his shoulder and swung it angrily onto the tops of the exposed thighs, causing the angry slap to echo in his chamber.
Gemma screamed, hurling profanity into the air. “That hurt,” she screeched. “Ow!”
“It was meant to hurt,” he muttered as he dropped the paddle onto the desk with a clatter, and gestured towards her. “You’re free to go. And think about what you’ve done!”
“That really hurt,” Gemma wailed as she soothed her abused bottom and pulled her trousers to her waist. “Way too much.”
“I don’t like doing it,” he replied. “It’s the way of the world: you sin, we punish. Now I’m late and I believe you had a date.” She sniggered and looked at her watch in disgust. “Oh, and one last thing,” the Officer asked as Gemma picked up her cheerful summer coat. “How do I pronounce this guy’s name?” The girl’s eyes widened at the moment she saw the photograph of the man he held in front of her eyes.
“George,” she muttered.
“Ahh, my last guy said it was Jeffrey,” the Officer replied with a smirk. “But I knew that didn’t sound right.”
“What are you going to do with him?” Gemma found herself asking.
“He’ll be tied up for a day or two.” Gemma’s eyes fizzed and she looked pleadingly at her captor. “I know that look. No you can’t watch. And I’m running late”
“But please … he’s …”
“It’s against every rule in the book. Now, Missy, please move! And think about the consequences of your actions in future. I do not want to see you again.”
She crossed her arms as his eyes bored into her from underneath his mask and she unlocked her phone. “OK. I’ll do it another way!”
“What are you doing?”
“Twitter,” she replied airily. “I’m just saying that ‘a man who teases a girl with a feint glimpse of a promise but doesn’t deliver is not worth …’”
“Gemma!” He barked. “That’s …”
Her eyelids fluttered. “Me? Well perhaps I just need a tiny bit more punishment to get the message. Or perhaps, … oh just take me along,” she begged. “Get two for the price of one, I don’t mind a few spanks as long as I can watch George get punished.” He sighed. “Unless you don’t want to keep your 100% home record,” she teased. “Please! I’ve dreamt of this moment since the election.”
“Haven’t you got a date?”
“Fuck that!” Gemma squealed. “I want to see … this. Perhaps I could be your assistant, every superhero needs an assistant. I could be Miss Karma or … ”
He sighed wearily. “I’m too old for this shit,” he muttered. “Well come on then, I’m late. What the hell did I do to deserve you?” He moaned as he opened the door with his key.
“It’s karma,” she replied with a glint in her eye. “Just karma.”
Anyone thinking that this is anything but a story and has a hidden message then you are clearly wrong.