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Tim had thrown the dress code out of the window months ago. He wasn’t even making much of an effort anymore. Elias had wholly ignored the complaints from the day he turned up in leather shorts, riding boots and a crop top, which rather took the fun out of it.
No one batted an eyelid at him strolling into the institute at two in the afternoon in cycling shorts and a tank top with armholes down to his hips. No one except the visitor in the long overcoat, who eyed him disapprovingly. Tim had pushed a flirtatious smile past his anger and exhaustion before vanishing into the archives.
He doesn’t think any further of the man until he barges into Elias’s office, half an hour late for his appointment, and the man is sprawled in an armchair in the corner.
“What do you want?” Tim snarls, looking between Elias and the bearded man.
“Ah, Tim. I’ve always appreciated your punctuality, do you know that?” Elias says, leaning back in his chair. “Do sit down.”
Tim leans on the wooden panelling across from Elias’s desk, glaring.
The man in the corner laughs. “Oh, Elias, you really do have discipline problems, don’t you?”
“Peter, shut up,” Elias snaps, and the man slouches into his chair, still grinning.
“Now, Tim, I can’t fire you, as much as you’d like me to, but one of the institute’s sponsors has complained, I really must do something about your, ah, somewhat lax standard of dress,” Elias eyes Tim’s clothes disdainfully.
Tim snorts. “What are you going to do?” Tim can’t think of much that would make the hell his life has become any worse.
“Well, I was planning to show you how long it took Danny to die,”
Tim’s stomach drops, and his slouch against the wall becomes abruptly necessary to keep himself upright.
“But Peter suggested I take a more traditional approach.” Elias continues, smiling.
“Of course, it’s up to you,” Peter says from the corner, voice cheerful.
“What are you going to do?” Tim says, trying to keep the horror out of his voice.
“Give you six of the best,” Elias says, picking up a thin cane Tim hadn’t noticed leaning against the desk. “Or, on the other hand.”
Tim gets a flash of Danny’s face, pale and terrified.
“NO! No, I’ll, I’ll do it.”
Tim is breathing hard, fighting to keep his composure.
“Over the desk then,” Peter says, leaning forward in his chair.
Tim forces the swell of angry humiliation down and rests his arms on Elias’s desk. It’s been cleared. Elias knew what he’d choose before he even asked, and Tim hates him. He’s also dreading getting a caning without any sort of warmup, and he doubts Elias is going to start gently.
“Hm. Legs a little wider,” Elias instructs, tapping Tim’s calves with the tip of the cane. Tim’s face feels hot, but he shuffles his feet apart anyway, hoping it’ll be over quickly.
He resists the urge to squirm as he feels the cold line of the cane resting across the curve of his buttocks. Elias leaves it there for a moment as the cold knot in Tim’s stomach grows. The cold line of rattan is barely gone for a moment before there’s a swishing sound and Tim feels the impact. The pain arrives a moment later, a searing line of heat across his cheeks. He chokes back a whimper, gasping and kissing goodbye to his hopes of seeming unaffected.
Tim is still trying to catch his breath when the second stroke arrives. He stumbles forwards, away from the stinging pain, his thighs bumping into the edge of the desk as his arms stop supporting him. His focus narrows to the pain, thoughts of composure and not humiliating himself in front of his boss and Peter whoever-he-is vanishing.
“Back on your feet,” Elias orders, amusement colouring his tone as Tim struggles to raise himself from the desk.
Peter sniggers. “I thought you said he might like it, Elias. Old eye not as good as it used to be?”
Tim grips the edge of the desk tighter this time, trying to ignore the conversation.
“He like it a lot more last time he was caned, didn’t you Timothy?” Elias says, tapping the cane very lightly over the burning welts on his arse. “With, oh, what was her name?”
Tim wants to vanish into the floor rather than talk about what he did with Marissa.
“Ah, Marissa, that’s it. Hard through the whole thing, weren’t you?”
Tim chants “Fuck off” in his head. He doesn’t think it keeps Elias out.
“I suppose it’s the sexual context that makes it easier then. You just find this painful and humiliating, don’t you?” Elias says, running a gentle finger across Tim’s soft cock.
“Get on with it,” Tim snaps. He wants to leave this room, leave Peter and Elias, and forget this ever happened.
“Ask nicely,” Peter says, affable and distant and Tim wants this man dead.
The cane is resting against his arse again, and Tim realises Elias is going to make him ask.
Tim screws his eyes shut. “Please cane me,” he mutters.
“What was that? I’m afraid I didn’t quite hear you.” Tim wants to strangle Elias.
“Please cane me” Tim says, louder this time.
“Since you asked so nicely.”
The cane is brought down again, and this time Tim can’t keep the whimper back. His knees feel weak and his arse is on fire. Elias is working his way down Tim’s buttocks stroke by stroke, each agonising line perfectly horizontal.
The fourth stroke makes him sob in pain, his eyes watering and his knees shaking.
“Oh, Elias ” Peter murmurs. “You made him cry!”
The delight in Peter’s voice makes Tim want to curl up and die. He can’t make his eyes stop watering.
“Perhaps you’d like to take your shorts off?” Elias asks, sounding genuinely curious.
Tim looks over his shoulder, sheer bewilderment cutting through humiliation before he sees Elias’s little smirk.
“You could pretend we’re getting off on this rather than punishing you,” Elias suggests.
Fresh tears run down Tim’s face as he hears Peter laughing in the background.
“Just finish it.” Tim’s voice is cracking. “Please.”
Elias obliges him with another cruelly stinging line, this one at the very bottom of his cheeks. Tim can hear himself whimpering pathetically.
The final strike lands across the tops of Tim’s thighs. A thin scream breaks through the sobs before he stifles it. He can’t stop crying, choking sobs echoing around the office.
“That should do for now,” Elias says.
“I’m sure you’ll do a better job disciplining your staff from now on,” Peter agrees.
Tim is slumped across the desk, feeling wrung out and unsure if his legs will hold him.
“That’ll be all Tim, you can head back to work now,” Elias says, as if he hasn’t just bruised the hell out of Tim’s arse.
Tim pushes himself off the desk and walks unsteadily to the door, cringing with every step and refusing to make eye contact with either of the men in the room.