It wasn't until I stood up to leave a few minutes later, once the short assembly had been concluded, that I realised just how much the caning had affected me. There was a tingling between my legs. A dark, roiling feeling that could have been fear and could have been excitement. It was impossible to tell which. All I knew was that I couldn't stop thinking over and over again about what I'd just seen. As I queued up to leave the hall, I was burning like I'd never burned before. But why? It barely made sense. Surely I should be feeling chastened and subdued like the rest of the girls around me. I certainly shouldn't be feeling... well, horny. What was wrong with me?
The day that followed was absolute torture. All I wanted was five minutes alone to think over what I'd seen, to try and understand why it had affected me in the way it had. But we went straight from assembly to lessons, and at break Nancy and my other friends kept me occupied until the bell rang. In fact it wasn't until that night after lights out that I had a chance to reflect.
I found myself lying there in the dark replaying the caning in my mind's eye, focussing on every little detail. The cries of pain, the whip-like crack of the rod, the sight of the welts, the merciless expression on Anderson's face. Within minutes I could feel a sense of arousal building within me, swelling up like a wave about to break. Careful not to make any noise, I slid my hand down my body, seeking out the source of the heat between my legs.
It was all I could do not to moan as I touched myself. I had been waiting hours to do just that, and it was transcendent, wonderful, a release in itself. It felt so good. So right. And the more I shut my eyes and thought about the caning, the hotter I became, the better it felt. I was suffused with it, dizzy with it. I didn't care, right then, that it didn't make sense, that it was wrong. I was so turned-on, so desperately aroused.
My fingers slid on my wetness, sending shivers through my body. I curled them inside of me and thought of the cane. Imagined myself at the front of the hall, all those eyes on my body, bending over the bench, waiting for that first awful lash to fall. It would be me crying out in pain, begging for mercy. My bottom marked with welts. My body shivering and bucking against the restraints.
A shudder ran through me. I had only been touching myself for perhaps a minute or two and I was already on the verge of coming. I tensed myself, and tried to hold it back for as long as possible. The pressure built until it was surging and tingling under every inch of my skin. And then I couldn't hold on any longer, I couldn't wait another second. I bit down hard on my lip, and let myself come.
My orgasm washed through me. My back arched, my muscles spasmed. I felt a drenching spray of wetness leave my sex. It was all I could do not to scream out loud. Every muscle in my body shuddered as wave after wave of pure, bright pleasure rushed through me. It felt my body was drenched in sunlight, like I'd never stop coming.
At last, after what felt like a minute or longer spent in ecstasy I collapsed back onto the bed. My pulse pounded in my ears and my limbs were weak. Tiny spasms still ran through me, rippling through my stomach and sex like little earthquakes, leaving pleasurable flurries of sparks in their wake.
I lay there, breathing slowly until my heart rate had returned to normal. And right then and there I made a decision. However wrong it might be, and however much it scared me to think about it, I wanted to be caned. I'd make it happen, whatever it took. One day soon it would be me up there on that stage, in front of the whole school, squealing and crying as I was punished.
I could hardly wait.
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