Cameron To Candy

That night's dinner had ended rather uneventfully. Lennie had cooked for them, saying it was her honor to repay them for hosting her. This was, of course, a huge relief. She was still talking as the plates were cleared, her voice bright and cheerful as she described some ribbon catastrophe in her dorm the week prior, while Marcus stacked dishes with the quiet patience of a man who had learned that interrupting Lennie often made things take longer.

Candy was carrying a pitcher toward the kitchen when Lennie slipped in beside her, lowering her voice as if she were about to confess something scandalous.

“Candy,” Lennie whispered, eyes shining, “will you sleep with me tonight?”

Candy nearly stopped walking.

“Sleep with you??” she repeated.

Lennie nodded eagerly. “Yeah, a little slumber party! Just us girls tonight!"

“Uh, I don’t know,” Candy said cautiously. “I mean, it sounds fun but...”

“Please?” Lennie begged, clasping her hands together. “Just tonight?”

“Well, I suppose. I mean, you if you insist,” Candy grinned.

Lennie brightened instantly. “Really?”

***

Later that evening, when the house had quieted and Marcus stepped outside to check the lanterns along the walk, a routine he followed every night without fail, Candy found herself standing alone in the hallway. Lennie peeked around the corner almost immediately, as if she had been waiting for this exact moment.

“Candy?” she whispered.

Candy closed her eyes briefly and let out a slow breath.

“Fine,” she muttered. “Just for a little while.”

Lennie’s bed was soft and warm, layered with blankets that smelled faintly of lavender and something aggressively cheerful. That was curious because neither Candy nor Marcus had washed the sheets with anything of that scent. Lennie settled under the covers with an immediate sigh of contentment, while Candy climbed in beside her with careful control, keeping a small gap between them at first.

They talked. At first it was harmless nonsense. Lennie rambled about Academy gossip, ribbon drills, posture inspections, and teachers who could detect slouching from across a room. Candy answered sparingly, offering dry remarks that made Lennie giggle into her pillow. Then the conversation turned to the marital tattoo.

“Oh,” Lennie said. “Aunt Eleanor said she’s going to come down and help when it’s time for your tattoo.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I got a letter from her to that effect.”

Inside, she flashed back to the daughter line…

She had known the tattoo was coming. Paddlewick did not let a woman forget something like that, especially when you were on the ministry watch list. A letter with a list of the action items she had left had been delivered the previous month, and the tattoo was among them. She really should read the entire thing, she thought as she reflected on it. She had written back twice, though. The first letter had been polite. The second had been pointed and contained the phrase, “I assume you have prepared a solution to this that does not accidentally give away my state-classified anatomy to a guild artist, one of my best friends, and my mother-in-law.” They had not answered. Of course they hadn’t. There was no way they hadn't received it, and she was sure someone had read it. She swore they did this to her on purpose, either for dramatic effect or some ridiculous bureaucratic procedures.

The marital tattoo always went on the right butt cheek. That was the rule. Not the hip, nor the shoulder, nor somewhere discreet and reasonable. No, Paddlewick had looked at the entire female body and chosen the one place guaranteed to make the procedure humiliating, vulnerable, and thanks to things like public spankings, thong day and communal bathhouses, socially unavoidable.

Candy could already picture it; her dress lifted, her body exposed, and some cheerful guild artist leaning in with needles and ink and a professional smile. Eleanor would be standing nearby, misty-eyed over the sacred rite of womanhood while Candy, tried desperately not to let anyone notice the one remaining fact about her body that could bring the entire cover story crashing down.

“Candy?” Lennie asked.

Candy looked up. “Sorry. I was picturing making a run for Cleavendale.”

Lennie giggled because she assumed Candy was joking. That was one of Lennie’s more endearing qualities at the moment.

“It’ll be fine,” Lennie said warmly. “The Guild does these all the time.”

“Yes, well, the Guild hasn’t done someone like me,” Candy muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Lennie stretched out a bit. “Have you picked a design yet?”

Candy hesitated, then forced herself to keep moving. “Uh, mostly. Alyssa has been helping me.”

Lennie’s eyes widened. “Alyssa from the bathhouse?”

“Yeah. She works for the Tattoo Guild. She knows the rules, and she’s good at explaining things.”

"That's good! She does seem very clever."

"She's extremely clever. It's both her best and worst quality."

Lennie giggled. “Well, that’s so exciting!” she exclaimed while clasping her hands together. “What are you getting?”

“I, well, I don’t want to say until I’m sure of it,” Candy answered.

Lennie lost a bit of energy on that one. “Oh, uh, okay, if you’re sure.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Well, uh, do you have any idea how you want to work Marcus’ initials into it?” Another charming rule to this asinine branding ritual, Candy thought.

“As tiny and hidden as possible,” Candy replied.

Lennie laughed. “Penny said you’re funny.”

“Penny has always had excellent judgment, er… concerning humor-related things.”

Lennie accepted that with easy confusion. “I know it’s too soon for me, obviously, but I’ve thought about mine.”

Candy looked back at her. “You have?”

“Oh yes,” Lennie said. “All the girls do. Not officially, because we’re supposed to wait until courtship prospects are serious, but everyone thinks about it. Some women base it on their husband’s family crest, you know, but others just go with whatever they like. Oh, oh! I know an upper classman named Mary. She’s super into tattoo history, especially the maiden tattoos. They’re both really interesting, but I think maiden tattoos might actually be more historical.

Candy sat back slightly. “Oh?”

“Yeah, because there's more tradition. Like, there are women with the same tattoo for eight generations. They’ve kept passing it on from mother to daughter.

That caught Candy’s interest despite herself.

“So the tattoo can be maternal,” she said.

“Oh yes,” Lennie replied. “Some families care very much about keeping the women’s line intact. My mother’s maiden family is Bellswitch, and their design always has a bell and a switch, I know pretty predictable but at least it’s no misleading. Then for me and Penny they included it on the sides but worked in Father’s key parts, the paddle for spanking and the well.

Candy stared at her for a moment.

“What?” Lennie asked.

“That’s… actually interesting,” Candy admitted. Lennie beamed. Candy looked away quickly before she gave the wrong impression. “Er, so, the well? It’s actually a well. I always thought Spankswell was that, you know, you spank, well."

“Oh,” Lennie giggled. “No, it goes back to something about water rights, and a battle won, and the ability for water to purify. Something like that. Father tells the story every time a boy in our family reaches the age of manhood, but, well, it doesn’t apply to me so I never really paid much attention. Father always gets worked up in the telling, though¹Lennie was correct that the word well was not originally in relation to spanking well, and that her father got too into telling the story. Of course, that was about all that was correct. Not that it was her fault. Sure, she never paid attention to the story, but the story was almost complete fiction anyway. Not that anyone in their family knew that.."

Candy huffed a small laugh at that and pressed on. “So the maiden tattoo stays unchanged, even after marriage, right?” she asked, turning back to the subject at hand.

“Oh yeah,” Lennie said quickly. “That’s the whole point. The maiden one is yours. Your mother’s. Your grandmother’s. All the way back. Or it gets blended with both your parents' families. Either way, it reminds everyone where you came from.”

Candy stared down at her hands for a second longer than she meant to. Where you came from…

Candy sighed. That sounded simple when Lennie said it. Simple in the way things always sounded when you actually had family support. She missed her parents and her grandparents, now more than ever.

Candy frowned slightly. “So you said yours and Penny’s were the same?”

“Oh. Close,” Lennie corrected. “Penny’s has lily pads around the water. Mine’s more about roots. The roots represent the switch part. You know, the part that does the striking. Didn’t you see it at the bathhouse?”

“I must’ve missed it,” Candy admitted.

“Well, here,” Lennie said.

She flipped the bed covers aside in one smooth motion, then lifted her nightie just enough to expose the tattoo across her left cheek. Candy leaned forward before she could stop herself, eyes wide.

The design was far more intricate up close than she expected. The stone well sat at the center, detailed brick by brick, with a slender paddle rising above it. Beneath the well, the roots spread downward like a tangled network, branching and twisting as if they had pushed through soil over the years. Some of the thinner strands curved like switch-reeds, slender and flexible, making the symbolism suddenly obvious.

Water pooled at the base of the well, and from that water the roots seemed to drink.mCandy stared for a moment, quietly impressed. Wow, she thought. That’s probably about what Penny’s looks like, just with lily pads floating around the water instead of roots—

The thought cut off abruptly as Lennie lowered her nightie again and flipped the covers back into place.

Lennie smiled, then glanced toward the hallway as if Aunt Eleanor herself might appear if her name was spoken out loud. “Do you want Aunt Eleanor there?”

Candy’s answer came too fast. “No.” Then she considered, “Well… I mean, it’s such a private thing but, I know it’s supposed to be something you share with your," she sighed, "with your mom, or a female relative, and I uh, well, I don’t have any, exactly, so, I don’t know. Maybe? For part of it. Not the actual tattooing part though!” Lennie just nodded, brows knit, pondering that response. The entire prospect gave Candy a headache to think about.

The night went on and somewhere along the way, Lennie edged closer without thinking. Her shoulder brushed Candy’s arm, and then she tucked herself against Candy’s side in that easy, trusting way of someone who had grown up surrounded by female cousins, a sister and shared beds.

Candy stiffened. Then the door opened. There’d been no knock or warning, just the quiet, deliberate turn of the handle. Marcus stood there. He didn’t raise his voice or storm in dramatically. He simply stood in the doorway, taking in the sight of Candy lying beside Lennie under the blankets. Candy felt her stomach drop.

Lennie sat up immediately, blinking in surprise. “Oh! Cousin Marcus!”

Marcus inclined his head slightly, his expression smooth and controlled.

“Oh, so sorry, Lennie,” he said calmly. “But it’s Candy’s maintenance night. I’ll need her with me.”

Candy bolted upright. This wasn’t maintenance night.

Lennie nodded quickly. “Oh, of course, cousin.” Then she hesitated, thinking too hard, which was always the dangerous part.

“Could she come back after you spank her?” Lennie asked.

Candy felt heat flood her face. Marcus didn’t react outwardly. He kept his tone perfectly polite.

“Oh, sorry, but no. There are some additional things I need to discuss with her.”

“Oh, sorry! No! You’re the man of the house,” Lennie added quickly, waving her hands. “I didn’t mean to question you.”

“Quite alright, Lennie,” Marcus replied.

He crossed the room without another word, slid an arm around Candy’s waist, and lifted her cleanly off the mattress. The motion was firm, efficient, and completely without hesitation. Candy burned with humiliation as he guided her toward the door.

“Good night, Lennie,” Marcus said.

“Good night,” Lennie called cheerfully behind them, completely unaware of the disaster she had helped create.

The door shut. They walked several steps down the hall in silence before Candy twisted sharply in his grip.

“What the hells was that?” she demanded, pushing him off her. “We can do the maintenance tomorrow after she leaves!”

Marcus didn’t answer immediately. He kept walking until they reached the far corner, well out of earshot. Then he stopped and turned to face her.

“The Ministry isn’t happy,” he said. Candy felt the anger drain out of her chest, replaced by cold dread. “Greg figuring out you're really Cam when you let the ‘bird is white’ correction slip,” Marcus continued quietly, “has them concerned.” Her mouth went dry. “They’ve ordered me to give you a fifteen by-hand warm-up, and twenty with the tawse,” he explained gravely. “They said they were letting you off very easy. They really highlighted the word very.”

Candy swallowed hard. THE TAWSE.

***

Marcus sat in the chair facing the dressing mirror, steady and deliberate, like he was preparing paperwork instead of punishment. Candy stood a few feet away, arms folded. She already knew how this went and she still hated it. Marcus held her gaze in the mirror.

“Come here, please.”

She rolled her eyes but stepped forward. Marcus was getting too practiced at this for her liking. He guided her down across his lap, firmly but not roughly. She planted her hands and feet on the floor, stretching just enough to make contact; barely. Being five-foot-four meant she always had to reach a little farther than she liked, even after he'd bought a shorter chair.

Her palms flattened against the wood floor. Her toes pressed hard into place. She made sure of it. If her hands or feet lifted, even for a second, he had to redo the stroke. And she absolutely did not want extra strokes. Her chest shifted forward with the bend, settling awkwardly against the side of his leg as gravity took over. She scowled into the mirror at the indignity of it all. Marcus rested a hand at the small of her back, the other wrapped firmly around her waist.

“Fifteen,” he reminded her.

Candy sighed.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Marcus lifted his hand off the small of her back. It was only a few seconds but in that time she felt her cheeks flush in humiliation and unwanted anticipation. The first strike landed. It was firm and controlled, not shocking but not gentle either. But the first swat always felt worse than it was.

“One, Sir,” she muttered.

The second came.

“Two Sir!”

Third.

“Three Sir!”

Gradually, her fingers tightened against the floorboards as the count progressed. It was just the equivalent of maintenance. It was mostly light, but sometimes the sting caught her off gaurd.

“Eight Sir!”

Her voice tightened.

“Eleven Sir.”

“Twelve Sir.”

She shifted slightly. Marcus’s hand pressed lightly at her back. “Stay down.” She didn’t respond vocally but flattened her feet harder. That was something she hated the most. Yes, his hand was grounding, but it was a major symbol of his authority, and her required submission. The swats began again.

“Thirteen Sir.”

“Fourteen Sir.”

The fifteenth landed solidly. She sucked in a breath.

“Fifteen Sir!”

That wasn’t great, but it was just the warm-up; something to get her bottom ready for the real correction. After months of getting twenty swats for maintenance, fifteen didn’t mean much, but the tawse that was coming… dear gods.

Marcus paused, then rested his hand briefly against her back.

“Up, please.”

Candy pushed herself upright, rubbing her palms against the skirt of her dress. At least Marcus said please. It was one of those niceties that said, yeah, I'm in charge, but I feel weird about it. She wouldn't say it out loud, but as much as she resented everything about this, there was a small part of her that appreciated that he was doing what he could.

“That part never gets more charming,” she muttered, referencing the hand spanking.

Marcus stood, then reached into the drawer and pulled out the tawse. It had handsome dark leather and a split tail. Familiar and deeply unwelcome. Cameron, like all men, had trained to resist pain from cuts, bruises, whips, and all manner of magic curses, but since turning into a woman, Candy found her flesh was more sensitive. Her old training wasn’t as useful as she’d hoped it would be in some situations. She’d come to realize men thought of themselves as tougher than women. In a way, they were. After all, they technically withstood more. But for women, the pain they felt was more severe, and they still buggered through these corrections, kept their position, and thanked their men afterwards. Now Candy understood women were the real tough ones.

Candy groaned softly. “Oh, fantastic. Did they send you that?”

Marcus moved behind the chair. “Yeah, they did. I swear I didn’t buy this. Anyway, hands,” he directed.

Candy grumbled as she slowly reset herself, hands on the chair, back straight, bottom out. This was going to hurt.