Monday 28 July 2014

Chapter Nineteen

We arrived at the bench, and the process began almost immediately. I shed the dressing gown, feeling a hundred pairs of eyes roam over my naked body. A blush crept up my neck and warmed my face, and I did everything I could not to look towards the ranks of students filling the hall. I felt cold and naked and vulnerable standing there in only bra and panties.

Anderson steered me gently towards the bench, and with a hand on the back of my neck, bent me over it. I stared at the floor, felt the cool leather against my skin, felt my breasts crushed against the curved surface of it. The first strap was fastened, so tight that I found I couldn't move the leg even an inch. It bit into my calf. I thought I could detect faint whisperings in the hall. I let my hair fall over my face, hiding me from their eyes.

My other leg was secured in place, then my arms, and finally the strap over my torso. I was shocked to rediscover all over again just how immobilising the bonds were. I could barely wriggle, and my arms and legs were pinned in place. I was so vulnerable there, my bottom exposed, ready to be punished.

Anderson stepped forward and spoke to the assembled students. I didn't hear what he said - I felt at that moment like I was underwater. I knew though that he would be giving some spurious reason for my punishment. I wondered what fictional deed I might have done in order to deserve the lashes I was about to receive. Only one part of his speech penetrated my consciousness. It was the phrase "One hundred strokes".

If I had been nervous before it was nothing to how I felt now. Something very close to panic was budding inside of me. A hundred strokes would be more than I could ever possibly bear. And yet I would have to bear them; I had no choice in the matter. I wanted to struggle to be free, to cry, to beg. Surely Anderson would be lenient on me...

He was not.

There waiting before the first stroke lasted an eternity, and when it came it was a shock. I heard the crack and then felt the force of it a second later. White hot fire flared across my backside, and I cried out in pain and shock. The sting was harder and sharper than I had experienced before, the pain already almost too much. And that was just the first stroke...

The next one came quickly after, without warning. I yelped again, my whole body contorting against the straps. The pain was immense, filling my mind, not leaving room for escape, for thought, for anything else.

Swish! Crack! Anderson whipped me again and again. I lost count. It was all I could do to tense my body against the straps and gasp and squeal and cry as, with each lash, the pain was redoubled, renewed. Tears spring to my eyes and dripped down my nose. I could feel sweat beading on my skin.

Swish! Crack! It was too much. It was unbearable. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to escape the leather straps that held me there. I would have done anything.

This, I realised, was true punishment. This was a true test. I wept openly, and screamed each time Anderson whipped me. My backside burned like it had been branded, and still the lashes came, blindingly painful, the sound of each impact loud in the hushed hall.

"Please," I heard myself wail. "Please, I'm sorry." I didn't know what I was apologising for. "Please, no more."

Swish! Crack! Anderson was merciless. He didn't leave time between lashes for the pain to fade, for me to anticipate the next. The strokes kept coming, hard and fast, building and building to the point where I thought surely I would pass out from the pain. I was gripping the bench so hard my muscles screamed.

Swish! Crack! Each lash seemed to fall in exactly the same place, so that there was a firebrand of pain across my buttocks.

Swish! Crack! How many now? How many more?

Swish! Crack! It was too much to stand. Too much. I screamed and yanked at the straps.

And then, at last, it stopped. For a long minute I didn't know whether to believe that the punishment was over or not. It had been going on so long that it seemed like hours since I was marched into the hall. The pain was excruciating, the sharp lick of the cane giving way to an unbearable burning. I felt a drop of warmth run down my thigh - I didn't realise until later that it was blood.

No comments:

Post a Comment