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Chapter Twenty

Slowly, dimly, I became aware of my surroundings again. It was an effort to lift my head and look at the rows of watching students, but when I did I saw that several of them were crying, and all looked shocked. I didn't care. There was no room in my head for anything but the slowly-dulling pain.

Slowly, calmly, Anderson undid my restraints. I couldn't stand. My legs were too weak, and I felt that if I moved from the bench I would simply collapse. He helped me to stand, and then helped me to shrug my way into the dressing gown once more. The light fabric of it moved against my welted backside and brought a fresh wave of pain, making me whimper out loud. My face was wet with tears. My throat was sore from screaming.

Slowly, painfully, watched by the entire school, I made my way out of the hall, Anderson supporting me all the way. I felt shell-shocked. But underneath that there was a wonderful euphoria building. I had gotten through the most severe spanking of my life, and the slowly-fading pain was exquisite now, refined. I thought back over the last few minutes: all those people watching me be punished, Anderson standing over me with the cane, the whip and the sting of those hundred lashes.

We arrived at Anderson's office. He ushered me inside, then followed and shut and locked the door behind him. For the first time since he bent me over the bench, I looked at him. He stood before me, handsome and powerful, and my desire for him hit me like a tidal wave. He had punished me. He owned me. I moved into his arms and we kissed, fiercely and for a long time.

Then Anderson guided me gently to his desk, and pushed me down onto it. I gasped in pain as my whipped backside made contact with the smooth wood. I bit my lip. He pushed me down so that I was lying on my back on the surface of the desk, then deftly removed my panties. The burning skin of my bottom was exposed to air, pressed against the wood of the desk, making me writhe.

Anderson undid his belt, gripped my thighs and entered me. I was wet for him already. I'd been wet all through the spanking, even if I didn't realise it. He went deep and I gasped - a new and different kind of pain, but one that I loved. One that felt so right, so good.

Anderson started thrusting into me. He was gentle at first, but then after a minute he reached down and squeezed the tender flesh of my backside, making me squeal in pleasure and surprise and pain. He bucked harder, and I gripped the edge of the desk. I'd never been fucked like this before in my life, and it was wonderful. I wanted it so badly. I needed it.

"Fuck me," I moaned. "Oh, fuck me."

The words spurred him on, and he started thrusting in earnest, hard enough to hurt, hard enough that with each thrust his hips smacked against my already-bruised bottom, bringing fresh pain, wonderful pain. It was more than I could handle. I arched my back against the desk. I could feel him deep inside me, feel his cock filling me completely. I couldn't speak, couldn't think. Every nerve in my body wound up tight like clockwork...

And then...

And then I came. Once, then twice, and then again. I felt like I was floating in the dark, nothing but me and Anderson. It was more intense than any orgasm I'd ever had, complicated and enriched by the pain. I felt my eyes roll back in my head, felt every muscle in my body contracting and releasing. I groaned in utter pleasure.

In a moment, Anderson came too. I felt the tautness of his body give way, and he plunged his cock deeper inside of me than he ever had before. Warm slickness burst out of him and filled me, made me flex my hips towards him and whimper in delight. Six or seven spurts of heat, and then he was done.

He stayed inside of me for a long time before he withdrew, and it was even longer before I could sit up. I felt exhausted, my body full of echoes of pleasure and pain. At last though, I managed to stand, to pull on my clothes. Anderson took a seat behind his desk.

"Did I do well?" I asked."Sir?"

For the first time ever I saw an unguarded flicker across his face. "Very well," he said. "In fact, I think we'll be seeing a lot more of each other this coming term."

I smiled weakly. "I'll try to be good," I said, though we both knew I didn't really mean it.

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.

Chapter Eighteen

In the end I managed a few fitful hours of slumber. I woke early, and spent a long time getting dressed. I was too nervous to eat, and I avoided the other girls in the dorm. In just a few hours they would be watching me, bent over and bound at the front of the hall, jerking and screaming as Anderson whipped me mercilessly...

I inspected myself in the mirror before heading down to Anderson's office. In my school uniform I looked plain, ordinary. I spent a little time fixing my makeup, wanting to look good for him, to please him in every way possible. When I was sure that I looked as good as I could manage, I set off.

Ten minutes before the beginning of assembly, I knocked on his door. He told me to enter, and I did, shutting the door behind me. With each step and each action I brought myself closer to the punishment that I knew was waiting for me. The thought of it made me tremble all through my body.

Anderson was sat on the edge of his desk, a cane on the surface beside him. My eyes went to it immediately, as if drawn by some magnetic force. He cleared his throat.

"Undress," he said. That one simple command almost had the power to make me melt. I started to strip off my clothes, peeling away my blouse and my skirt, removing my shoes and socks. I took off everything except my underwear, and all the while Anderson watched me, his eyes hot on my body.

Then, when I stood there in nothing but plain black bra and panties, Anderson stood up, walked over to me and kissed me full on the mouth. It was the last thing I had been expecting, and it hit me like a bolt of lightning. Warmth surged through my body, and I felt myself unconsciously falling in towards him. His hand was at my shoulder, and his mouth was on my mouth, and I could taste him, feel him. I shut my eyes and kissed back.

And then, with a firm movement, he pushed me away. It was like waking suddenly from a dream, the real world rushing back. I opened my eyes to see him stride to a cupboard at the other end of the office and pluck out a dressing gown, which he gave to me. Still a little unbalanced by the kiss, I pulled it on. It was the same kind of plain white dressing gown that I had seen the two girls wearing when I witnessed my first ever caning. To be pulling it on over my own bare shoulders now felt uncanny.

Without a word we set off towards the assembly hall, walking beside one another, a foot or so apart. The kiss felt like it had created some kind of invisible connection between us, a string that lead from me to him and back again. My heart was pounding and my breath was shallow. The corridor was empty; everyone was in the hall already, and I could hear the soft babble of voices drifting down the hallway towards us.

We kept walking, and when we got to the hall we walked straight inside. Anderson turned and started to make his way down the side of the hall towards the front. I followed, feeling like a puppet, the imaginary strings between me and Anderson controlling my limbs as surely and firmly as if they were physical bonds. I tried to ignore the sudden shocked silence that spread throughout the hall. I tried not to look sideways at the row upon row of friends and teachers and students who were seated in the hall. Every single one of them would see my punishment...

In too few steps we were at the front. And there was the bench, sitting there polished and dully gleaming. At first sight of it I felt a dull stirring of arousal deep in by belly, and I realised in that moment that it was too late to turn back now. Even if I was to change my mind, to decide that I really didn't want to be punished after all, there would be no escape for me.

Chapter Seventeen

Before I knew it, the spanking was over, and I was wrenched back to my feet, then pushed down onto my knees again. It all happened so dizzyingly fast. Anderson's cock was in my mouth again, and this time I sucked and tongued and licked at it in earnest. I pushed one hand up behind his balls and encircled the base of his cock with the other. All my energy was focussed on him now. It was my job, my only duty in the world, to make him come.

It was a few minutes before I felt the twitches start. I backed off a little and pressed my tongue up against his glans, squeezed tighter with my hand around his cock. It was happening. He was going to come in my mouth. The thought made me so horny that for a moment I almost thought I was going to come myself.

And then it happened. The first spurt filled my mouth, salty and hot. His cock felt hard as rock, and his hand found the back of my head and held me there, held me on him. I wouldn't have moved away if I could. I swallowed eagerly, feeling his seed slip down my throat even as more came spurting out. Five or six pumps in all, and then it was done.

I realised I was exhausted. I had put so much into the blowjob. My legs ached from the position I was in, and I felt dizzy from lack of breath. I didn't care. Anderson's seed was still thick in my throat, his hand still loosely resting on the back of my head. Surely I had pleased him. Surely I had done well.

I remained kneeling as Anderson moved away from me, fastening his trousers again. He took a seat behind his desk. I was watching him from the corner of my eye, keeping my head respectfully lowered all the while.

"Stand," he said to me. "Get dressed." I did so. My bottom was a little sore from the spanking, but nowhere near as painful as when he'd used the cane on me. I felt tired and happy, but underneath the current of arousal was still strong. I pulled on my clothes and then awaited his judgement.

"Tomorrow," said Anderson. "Tomorrow morning. Before assembly. You come here." He stood and came to me and ran a hand lightly down my side. The touch felt like it set my nerves on fire. "You've done well," he said, and I felt a thrill of joy at the words. "Tomorrow."

With that I was dismissed. I left the office in a daze, and walked back up to my dormitory barely noticing anything around me. Had I understood right? Was I going to be punished in front of the whole school? Since I'd seen my first caning months ago now it was all I'd wanted. Was it now really just about to happen? A mix of nerves and excitement filled me as I lay in bed.

Sleep came only fitfully. I was horny beyond belief, and it was too much to think that only hours from now my fantasy might finally be fulfilled. My hand crept between my legs, but whenever I came close to making myself come I thought about the morning, and the possibility of being caned in front of all my friends and fellow students and the arousal was mixed with nerves. It was torture. The shame I felt at such a prospect was so complicated - it turned me on all the more and at the same time was dreadful.

Chapter Sixteen

Anderson stood up, moved swiftly to the door and locked it. He turned to face me. "Kneel," he said. As if compelled by his voice, I sank to my knees. And suddenly Anderson was coming towards me, his hands undoing his belt. I felt a swoop of nervous excitement in my belly. His cock was out and he was standing over me, so that all I could see was him. I knew what he wanted of me, and my body yearned to obey, to please him, to give him what he wanted. I titled my face up and opened my mouth. I felt a hand on the side of my face, cupping my cheek with surprising tenderness. I took him in my mouth.

His cock was big and thick, and it filled my mouth completely. It throbbed against my tongue and cheeks, the silky smoothness of it sliding easily past my lips. I'd not given many blowjobs before in my life, and I wanted desperately to please him. I took him as deep as I dared and swirled my tongue against his cock. Every time I felt it throb or twitch a little shiver of pleasure ran through me.

If I could have seen myself then I don't know what I would have thought. Stripped to underwear and kneeling in the corner of Anderson's office, his cock buried deep in my mouth. I looked up at him, but I couldn't see properly. I dipped my head back and forth and felt him swell against me in response. I was wet, down there between my legs. Wet and horny. I closed my lips around him and sucked.

One of my hands was on his thigh, and another was in my lap. I couldn't help myself - I slipped that hand down between my legs and felt the hotness there, the slick, beautiful wetness. I rubbed at myself through my panties, moving my head and sucking in time. I wanted to make Anderson come, to please him, to serve him. I wanted to swallow his seed. The thought of him being inside me was intoxicating.

Suddenly, a hand was in my hair. It seized a handful, gripped and yanked me to my feet. His cock left my mouth, leaving my jaw faintly aching. I was standing, on tiptoes, face to face with Anderson.

"Did I tell you to touch yourself?" he hissed. I didn't know what to say. My hands hovered in the air, not daring to touch him, or myself.

"I... I'm sorry," I managed to choke out. He still had a tight grip on my hair, and my eyes watered from it. My heart fluttered like a tiny bird against my ribs. Then, with a swift movement he turned me around and shoved me forwards to stand by his desk. I found myself bent over it, with one firm hand pressing into the back of my neck. My cheek was against the hard, dark wood. I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath.

The first blow made me gasp. Anderson was using his hand. The sensation was quite different from the sharp bite of the cane. It was less painful, but came with a lot more force. So hard that it jerked me against the wooden surface of the desk. A dark thrill ran through me - something about his bare hand against the curve of my backside was intimate and erotic beyond belief.

He delivered a dozen quick, hard blows. They came in such rapid succession that I could barely catch my breath after one landed before the next one fell. The only sound I made through the whole punishment was a series of strained gasps. I gripped the edges of the desk with my hands and focussed on staying still, on taking the punishment like a good, obedient girl.

Chapter Fifteen

Anderson placed the cane against her backside, and I saw the slightest of tremors run through her at the mere touch of it. I wondered if she had been caned before - if she knew the pain she was about to endure. Certainly she had seen other people being caned, had heard their screams and seen them struggling to escape the bonds that held them there.

I could feel my heart thudding in my chest as I watched Anderson raise the cane for his first stroke. It was beautiful. The precision of it, the poise. He held it there, waiting, for an impossibly long time. On the bench the poor girl quivered in terrified anticipation. I could just see her jaw beneath her mop of hair; she was biting her lip.

The cane fell sharply. The crack of it meeting flesh was deafening in the small room. The girl's back arched and a pained yelp escaped her. I jumped too, my nerves on edge. Anderson didn't pause, but lifted the cane again and delivered another stinging stroke. I could see the flesh of her backside ripple as the cane bit into her. She heaved against the leather straps, and I felt a sense of pride at how well I had secured her.

Anderson didn't allow her the slightest pause. He delivered the ten strokes quickly, sharply, one after the other. Each one seemed to fall in exactly the same place as the last. I could only imagine how painful it must be. My sex burned just from watching. I wished that it was me being punished, me taking the whipping with my body pressed against the warm leather and wood of the bench.

All too quickly it was over. Anderson seemed to relax, to stand down. He replaced the whip in its rack, moved behind his desk and sat down. The room was silent and still, apart from the girl on the bench, who was sobbing softly, her back shuddering with her tears. Anderson looked to me, and made a simple gesture with his hand. I understood. He wished me to untie the girl.

I moved quickly and obediently to my task. It was altogether different from tying her in place. Whereas then she had been on edge, even a little resistant, now the fight had gone from her. She was hurting and humiliated and yet glad that her punishment was over. I could sense the relief and the shame rolling off her as I released her arms and legs from their leather restraints.

"Stand," said Anderson, as I undid the last strap over her back. Obediently the girl did, and I returned to my corner. I watched her wince as her skirt fell back over her bruised backside. She wiped tears from her face, and sniffed audibly. She was shaking all over, and when Anderson told her that she was dismissed she practically cringed in fear at his voice.

"Y-y-yes sir," she blurted out, and then took a step towards the door. She looked afraid, as though she expected to be called back for further punishment at any moment. With a nervous glance over her shoulder she skipped the rest of the way to the door and was gone from the office as quickly as she'd arrived.

Chapter Fourteen

"Ms Huskins told me to come--" a girl's voice began, but was swiftly cut off.

"I know why you're here," said Anderson. "And so do you."

"Please, sir, I said I was sorry. I was only talking."

"Enough." The girl fell silent, and Anderson's chair scraped back. I heard his footsteps as he moved around to the other side of the desk. "You'll take ten strokes as your punishment. Each word you speak from now on will mean an extra two. You understand."

I didn't hear anything in response. The girl must have nodded her understanding instead.

"Over the bench," said Anderson curtly.

A few moments later there was a soft touch on the back of my shoulder. I risked a glance up to see Anderson standing above me. He gestured for me to rise, and as if on strings I floated up to my feet. He leaned close, and whispered in my ear. The closeness of him made my knees weak.

"Tie her down," he breathed into my ear.

So this was what he meant when he asked for my assistance, I realised. And this was how he planned on testing me. I was to be his assistant. Well, if that was the case, then I was determined to do a good job of it, to please him as much as I possibly could.

I turned and went to the girl on the bench. She lay over it, fully-clothed in her uniform, her legs sheathed in dark tights. She was skinny, her face hidden beneath a mop of mousy hair. I recognised her in a kind of vague way; St Martinas was a small enough school that I knew most students there to look at. I kept my eyes down, and knelt beside her leg. My hands felt big and clumsy as I reached for the straps, threaded the leather through the buckle and pulled it tight. I felt a frisson of excitement, and tingles spread through my own leg, as though I was the one being secured in place.

As I moved to her other leg, I was reminded once again of the strength of the leather restraints, their mercilessness. The way they tightened against her flesh was beautiful and darkly exciting. I moved up to her arms. At this end of the bench I was close to her head, and I could hear her shuddery breathing, could see that she was chewing nervously on her lip. I thought of those moments that had preceded my whipping. They had seemed the longest of my life...

The final strap went all the way over her back. I secured it tightly, the black leather creasing into the smooth white of her uniform. When it was in place I stepped back and returned to my corner, where I stood with hands by my side, ready to do as I was told by Anderson. He didn't look at me, but instead rose from the edge of his desk where he had been perched and strode across the room to pick a cane from the rack by the door.

The last time I had watched a punishment be carried out, it had been at a distance, in a hall full of fellow students. Now, here in his office, there was only the three of us, and I was so close to the girl being punished that I could have taken one step forward and touched her. I watched, heart in my mouth, as Anderson lifted up the tail of her school skirt and draped it over her back, exposing her backside. I could make out the shape of her panties beneath the dark material of her tights. I hear a soft whimper - of dread or fear perhaps - escape her lips.

Chapter Thirteen

The next day, Anderson sent for me. At St Martinas each student has their own pigeonhole in the corridor off the main hall. Our names are printed underneath our slot in tiny, neat silver lettering, and any letters or parcels addressed to us end up there. Internal mail is dealt with that way as well, and everyone checks their box at least once a day.

I never usually received anything very exciting. Letters from home were rare, and it was much more common to find an updated timetable, or a marked piece of work in my pigeonhole. That was why I wasn't terribly excited when I picked up the small manila envelope: I recognised it as school stationary. What set my heart beating was the handwriting on the envelope. It was Anderson's. I'd recognise it anywhere.

Stashing the envelope in my bag I made my way to my next class. It was History, and I made a point of sitting right at the back so I wouldn't be disturbed. As everyone else opened up their textbooks, I slipped the letter from my bag into my notes, and then quietly slit it open while the teacher was talking.

Inside was a single sheet of paper, with only a few sparse words written on it:

You may be of assistance to me tonight. My office. Six o' clock. Anderson.

It was strange, but just those few hastily-scribbled words were enough to set my heart racing. I could feel a pulse beating in my sex, feel the heat there. I felt like I was suddenly hypersensitive to everything. Subtly I shifted against my seat, reawakening the pain in my backside. I gripped the edge of my desk, struggling to control myself. Not here. I would wait. At six o' clock tonight I would see him again. Maybe even be punished by him again. Maybe more...

Waiting out the day was impossible, torturous. I tried to lose myself in studying, but every few minutes my mind would drift back to Anderson and his office and the torture or the ecstasy that awaited me there. It seemed as though I'd never be able to last all the way until the evening.

Somehow though, I did. At five thirty I changed into fresh clothes and checked myself in the mirror. I wanted to be as close to perfect as I could possibly be for him. I had chosen a short black skirt and a loose blouse on top - feminine and yet (my mind raced) easily removed. I touched up my makeup, tidied my hair and then set off for his office.

I arrived a few minutes early, and waited in the corridor, determined to obey his instructions to the letter. At exactly six, I raised a trembling hand, took a long, slow, deep breath and knocked on his door. The last time I did so it had been only a few minutes until I found myself bound securely to a wooden bench, being thrashed soundly with a cane. A shiver ran up my spine.

"Enter," called Anderson.

I did so, shutting the door behind me. At the sight of the punishment bench in the middle of the office my heart leapt and started racing like a rabbit's. Anderson sat at ease behind his desk, finishing some paperwork. He was as calm and inscrutable and handsome as ever. With barely a glance in my direction he gestured for me to come closer.

"Listen carefully - I'll only say this once. You are to strip down to your underwear, and then kneel in the corner facing the wall, with your hands on the back of your head. Do you understand?"

I blinked. The instructions had been delivered so rapidly and matter-of-factly that they caught me off guard. For a moment I felt like asking why he wasn't directing me to the bench in the middle of the room, but I caught myself.

"Yes, sir," I said.

I set about removing my clothes. Part of me couldn't stop myself glancing over to Anderson to see if he was watching, but he appeared oblivious to my emerging nakedness. I folded my blouse and skirt and put them neatly on the corner of the desk, then dropped to my knees in the corner and put my hands behind my head. The floor was hard and I felt vulnerable with my back to the room, unable to see a single thing that was going on behind me.

For long minutes I knelt there, unmoving, uncertain what was about to happen. When, finally, there came a tentative knock at the door I almost jumped out of my skin. I was so tense, my heart beating hard and regular in my chest.

"Enter," called Anderson to whoever it was outside the door. I heard the office door open and shut.

Chapter Twelve

The day after he punished me was delicious and agonising. I slept lying on my front, and in the morning when I woke and pulled on my clothes I winced as they moved against the tender welts that marked my backside. Anderson's marks, left by him on my skin like tattoos. Every time I sat down - every time I even shifted in my seat during class - the pain reminded me of him.

I couldn't concentrate. All day long my mind drifted. As I sat in English Literature I found myself idly inspecting my wrist and remembering the way it had felt when he strapped me down to the bench. The memory was so vivid - sound and smell and feeling all wrapped up in one. My face grew hot as I remembered, and I felt a slow tingling begin in my belly.

"Focus," I whispered, and pinched my arm to distract myself.

But as the day wore on, distracting myself became a more and more impossible task. I was horny and desperate and restless. Lying on my front in bed the night before I had resisted the urge to masturbate, wanting to save myself, keep myself for him. But now I needed release. If I wasn't able to get myself off soon I felt that I would go crazy.

"I'm just going up to the dorm," I said to my friend Nancy as we left English and set off towards our History lesson. "Tell Mr Wickes I'm not feeling well."

"Oh, you okay?" said Nancy, obviously concerned.

I shrugged. "Yeah. Fine. Just got cramps. Tell him I'm sorry. I just can't concentrate. I might go to the nurse."

Nancy nodded earnestly, convinced by my story, and I headed off towards the dorm. I felt vaguely surreal - I'd never skipped lesson in the middle of the day before, and certainly not to touch myself. Such things I'd always kept for after hours when the lights were out. The privacy of night was where they belonged. But waiting for night to come wasn't an option. I was desperate.

Fortunately I made it to the dorm without incident. I was pleased to see that the cleaner had already been in. There was a fresh pine smell in the air and the beds were immaculate. That meant I wouldn't be disturbed. Quickly, I stripped off my clothes and pulled on my pyjamas, then got into bed. It felt strange being there in the middle of the day, with bright light shining through the gap in the curtains. But nice too. It was so quiet.

I lay on my front. That felt good. I lay on my front and imagined Anderson standing over me, cane in hand, ready to punish me again. I imagined that I was waiting for the first strike to fall, bound and gagged and helpless. One hand crept down between my legs. The other I reached back and slipped into the waistband of my pyjamas. I could feel the welts across my bottom, the roughness of the skin as if it had been grazed.

Deliberately, delightedly, I squeezed my backside, digging my fingers into the tender flesh. A shudder of pain rolled through me. Sweet, tired pain. A memory of something sharper. I squeezed until it the pain mounted and I gasped into my pillow. My other hand slipped into the cleft between my legs and found the sweet place there where each movement brought a frisson of pleasure.

It was exquisite. I brought myself to the very edge of coming and then dug my fingers into my backside and let the pain carry me higher. Three or four times I did this before at last I tipped over the edge. My muscles went into spasm and I bit down on the pillow to keep myself from crying out. I rocked my hips against the bed, against my hand. Tears sprung to my eyes and my breath halted in my throat. I thought of Anderson. The bench. The sting of that first lash. I came.

Weak in the aftermath of such a sweeping climax, I curled into a ball, hugging my pillow. I could feel my entire body trembling, every muscle exhausted as though I'd just sprinted a mile. Before I knew it I was asleep, exhausted and satisfied.

Chapter Eleven

I didn't let myself relax at first. It was too much to hope that it was well and truly over, and I expected at any second to hear the swish of the cane once again, and to feel a redoubling sting, that mounting, intolerable burn. The seconds stretched out with no sound except my own laboured breathing, the involuntary sobs that escaped my throat.

And then I heard a soft click as the cane was placed on the surface of the desk. Anderson's hands brushed against my ankle as he started undoing my restraints, first freeing my legs, then my arms, and then lastly removing the strap that ran across my back.

But even when I was completely free, I found that I couldn't move. I was exhausted, as tired as if I'd run a marathon. My backside was raw, the pain still fresh and biting, and I knew that any movement would only make it worse. And on top of that, as the immediate pain faded, I recognised in myself an arousal, a sheer, blinding horniness that was almost unbearable. I lay there waiting, hungry for him, longing to feel his hands on my skin, his cock inside me. I was helpless. With the pain that he'd given me still burning, I wanted nothing more than to have him take me.

"Get up," he said. And although a moment ago I was sure that I couldn't move I found myself rising stiffly to my feet. How could I not obey, after all? He owned me. He controlled me completely. My limbs shuddered, and my breath caught in my throat. I became aware of a slick wetness between my legs. I turned to face Anderson and it was all I could do not to move towards him, to offer my naked body out to him. Instead I kept my head lowered and waited for him to speak.

"Get dressed," he said. To my disbelief he turned his back on me and busied himself at his desk. I stood there, speechless. It wasn't fair. How could he not make love to me now? After owning me so completely, after destroying me, how could he not remake me...

He glanced up sharply. "Is there a problem?" he said. His tone was neutral, but the words hit my like a slap. Recoiling, I summoned up what little confidence I had.

"I want you to fuck me," I said. "Please." I could hear the sweet, tender need in my own voice. Anderson stood and moved towards me, his presence overwhelming, intoxicating. I felt that if he came too close some form of unseen electricity would ark between us, searing me every bit as badly as the cane had. "Please," I repeated. Anderson was so close now that I could smell his cologne, that I was sure I could feel the heat of his skin. I felt sure, for a second, that he was about to kiss me. In anticipation I shut my eyes and allowed myself to drink in his scent, his heat, the presence of his body so close to mine.

But he didn't kiss me.

His voice barely about a whisper, his face inches from mine, he said softly, "Earn it." And that was all. By the time I opened my eyes he was seated back behind his desk, not even looking at me. I understood myself to be dismissed.

Hurriedly I put on my clothes, wincing as I pulled my panties up to cover my bruised and welted bottom. I was dizzy with confusion, hurting and horny and frustrated. And I wanted Anderson. I needed him. At the door I paused, willing him to call me back, to put his hands on me, to lay me out on his desk and lay into me...

But he didn't, and I left the office and stood in the corridor outside on the verge of tears, frustrated and desperate. Earn it, he had said. Well, that was just what I'd have to do.

Chapter Ten

The final strap pulled tight over the small of my back, leather against flesh. And then to my surprise I felt Anderson's hands brushing my cheeks. Something rubbery and large was pushed gently into my mouth, forcing my jaw open wide. I bit down on it as a strap was fastened around the back of my head. I had been gagged. Even if I changed my mind halfway through, even if the cane was too much for me to stand, I would not be able to protest. Around the rubber obstruction of the gag I could hear myself whimpering softly with arousal and fear.

The next thing I heard was the sound of Anderson picking up the cane.

Seconds stretched out, and I lay there face down, unable to see what was happening behind me. I could feel the pulse pumping in my sex. I could feel my tense limbs tight against the restraints. My heart thudded fit to burst.

Just do it, I wanted to scream at him. Just get it over with.

I heard the swish of the cane cutting the air a moment before it hit my flesh. The pain was excruciating. A white hot whipline of hurt across my backside. My teeth clamped down automatically on the gag and a scream stifled in my throat.

A second stroke cracked down. Agony. I bucked and struggled against the restraints to no avail. Around the gag I screamed at the top of my lungs, but the only sound that emerged was a muffled groan. Another stroke landed, and another. My bottom was burning, the pain mounting with each stroke that landed. Hot tears sprang to my eyes and I bit down on the gag, seeking a distraction from the pain.

There was none. The lashes kept coming hard and fast. If Anderson could hear my muffled moans and screams and yelps he paid them no attention whatsoever. No matter how I squirmed there was no escaping the whip. Why had I gotten myself into this? What had I been thinking?

Another, swish, another crack, another blaze of sudden pain. I was crying in earnest now, tears falling freely down my face. My arms and legs trembled, weak from pain, weak from struggling. How many lashes had there been? Fifteen, maybe twenty? Each one seemed to fall in exactly the same place and the pain was unbearable now, overwhelming. There was no room for any thought in my head except when the next lash would fall, and the sharp, burning sting it would cause.

I clung to the bench, buried my face into the leather, sobbed and prayed that it would be over soon, that he would let me off. I wouldn't be able to stand it much longer. Swish! Crack! A scream tore from my throat, emerging as a strangled yelp aroung the gag. Tears and spittle covered my face. If I had been able to speak I would have begged, pleaded, apologised, screamed...

Everything else in the world was distant, unimportant. It was only me and Anderson and the bench and the whip.

The cane slashed across my backside again, and I shuddered. Any resistance I had in me had disappeared, drained away. I was a wreck, broken and pathetic and helpless.

Swish. Crack.

Swish. Crack.

No more, I thought desperately. Please no more. I bit down on the gag so hard it must have left marks in the rubber. But no matter how hard I willed the punishment to be over, the lashes kept falling. There was no escape; I wasn't even free to flinch away from the pain.

And then, at last, at the very moment I thought I must surely pass out from the pain, it stopped.

Chapter Nine

The next day all I could think about was the coming evening. It weighed on my mind like a blanket of lead. What was going to happen? Had I made things worse for myself? Had I persuaded Anderson to punish me? Or was I going to be thrown out of the University? It seemed so cruel that I would have to wait until the evening to find out, but wait I did, passing the time fretfully in the common room. Several times Nancy asked me what the matter was, but I just shrugged and told her I was tired.

"Where were you last night?" she asked. "You weren't around at lights out."

"I was helping Mr Harris with some filing," I lied quickly, having already thought up the excuse that morning.

Slowly, hour by hour, the day crept by. At long last seven o' clock arrived and--suffused with nervousness--I made my way down to Anderson's office. I was careful to wait until the corridor was empty before I knocked on the door; the last thing I wanted was for one of my friends to see me down here. Questions were bound to be asked.

"Enter," called Anderson's voice from within. I opened the door and slipped inside. When I saw what was waiting for me I could barely suppress a gasp.

There, in the middle of the office, was the bench. It had been moved from the hall, and now stood in front of Anderson's desk. I had never been so close to it before. I could smell the leather. My wrists and ankles tingled as though they knew already what was coming. Excitement surged through me, along with a cool, prickly dread. It was happening now. It was definitely happening. No way to escape.

Anderson stood behind his desk. "Shut the door," he said tersely, and I obeyed. "Come and stand here," he said. I did, and he looked me up and down. His eyes were merciless, cold and hard. Around his mouth hovered just the slightest hint of a smile. "Take off your clothes," he said.

I almost balked at this. Never before had I been undressed in the presence of a man. It would be humiliating, completely against my nature... but it was an order, and I was helpless to disobey. I pulled off my school jumper and shrugged out of the shirt, feeling a blush creep up my neck as my bra was exposed. I wiggled my skirt down over my hips and discarded it, standing there now in just my underwear. Automatically I crossed my arms in front of me, shielding myself.

Anderson leaned calmly against his desk for a moment. Then he stood, picked up the cane that rested against the wall and walked up to me. Suddenly the tip of the cane was underneath my chin. A tremor ran through me, and a small noise of surprise and fear and arousal escaped my lips. I was shaking. For the first time I felt just how hard the cane was. It bent against my skin, thin and whippy.

"I said take off your clothes," breathed Anderson. I could smell him, his cologne washing over me. The smell hypnotic and powerful. This was the man who would punish me. He stepped back and, under his gaze, I stripped off my underwear and stood there naked as the day I was born. Without a single stitch to protect me I felt small and vulnerable. The shaking was worse now, amplifying along with my butterfly nerves.

Anderson came to me again, and this time put a firm hand on the back of my neck, propelling my forward until I stood before the bench. And then that same hand, still snug on the back of my neck, was pushing me down, bending me over. My skin met wood and leather with what felt like an electric shock. I lay across the bench, my bottom exposed, my sex open, utterly naked, my brain a storm of conflicting emotions. I was horny and scared and euphoric all at once.

And then Anderson started fastening the straps. Something happened to me as the first one cinched tight on my wirst. I was trapped now, bound and confined. I could not escape, could not struggle--and my first reaction was pure, shuddering panic. But it didn't last. With each restraint he fastened the terror diminished. My choice had been taken away. I was going to face my punishment, whether I wanted to or not. It wasn't my choice anymore, but his. Completely his.

Chapter Eight

"Come with me," said Anderson. Meekly I stood and followed him to his office. Visions of leather straps and the cruel thin cane flashed through my mind, making me feel almost weak with desire, with fear, with arousal, with shame. The good girl that I was, I'd never seen Anderson's office before. I'd been expecting something frightening, perhaps with a rack of whips mounted on the wall. In reality it was merely an ordinary office, just like those that belonged to any of the other lecturers at St Martinas.

I sat in the chair in front of the desk, practically squirming with excitement now. I longed to touch myself, longed to feel the sting of the cane for the first ever time, to know what it was truly like to be punished. I was scared, of course, but the fear only made it that much better, that much more intense. Anderson sat opposite me and steepled his fingers. I waited for his judgement.

"Jane," he said at last. "You've got a good record. One of the best in fact. If I'm not mistaken this is, in fact, the first offence of any kind you've committed, correct?"

I nodded. "Yes, Sir."

Anderson considered me thoughtfully. "You know the normal punishment for this would be the cane? You understand me?"

"Yes Sir," I said again. Doubt was creeping in now. What did he mean 'the normal punishment'? Was he going to discipline me in some different way? What if he simply gave me a detention? Or lines? All of my effort would have been for nothing.

"I understand you're on a scholarship at this University."

"That's right," I said. "I am."

"Good. Well, in that case I'm going to give you a warning tonight." He leaned forward across the desk. "You're a good student, Jane. We all make mistakes, and if this turns out to be a one off you'll hear no more about it. If, on the other hand, you put so much as a foot wrong again you'll be out. You understand? Straight away, no questions asked, I'll pack you off home."

I nodded. "I understand." Inside of me I could feel the hot dark excitement dying out into disappointment and shame. Of course, I should have known it wouldn't be that easy to get what I wanted. I watched Anderson fill out my warning slip and file it away. There was no way now that I would ever be caned. If I broke any more rules he would simply send me home and that would be the end of it. It was so unfair.

In that moment I made a decision. If I wasn't drunk there was no way I would have said it. "Please Sir," I murmured. "I want to be caned."

Anderson stopped where he was and looked at me with piercing eyes. "Say that again," he said.

For a moment I wavered, but there was no going back now. "I want to be caned," I repeated, louder and more confident this time.

For a second or two Anderson simply stood there, then he gave a small laugh and sat down at the desk once more. He considered me for a long minute, and I felt every second of his gaze. I withered under it. When he did finally speak his voice was brisk and business-like. "Come back to my office at this time tomorrow night. You are dismissed for now."

I needed no further encouragement. I scurried from the office and up to my dormitory, where all the other girls were thankfully asleep. I crawled into bed, and slept.

Chapter Seven

It's not a long walk into town, perhaps ten minutes down a big hill. To make it a sure thing that I'd be caught when I returned I'd decided that I would have to stay out past dinnertime before returning to the campus. That gave me several long hours to kill in the village before I had to go back. I started by getting a cup of coffee and doing a little bit of reading in the sunshine outside a tiny cafe. Then I wandered off to a local bookstore and spent a while browsing the shelves.

It was a pleasant enough way to spend an afternoon, but every so often I would remember exactly what I was doing here, and exactly what was going to happen to me when I returned and my stomach would swoop unpleasantly. It wasn't too late to turn back now, I thought. I could probably sneak back into school grounds without anyone noticing and go on as normal. But just like before, along with the nerves there was a sliver of longing and excitement. No, there was no turning back now.

At four o' clock I headed down to the pub. I was not a big drinker, and I knew that it wouldn't take much to get me tipsy. It had occured to me that I could simply act drunk, rather than doing it for real, but I knew I wasn't that good an actor. I ordered a cider and a vodka and coke and went to sit at a quiet table in the corner. The pub was a pleasant enough place with a low ceiling and the constant scent of wood polish. I liked it there.

I polished off my drinks and ordered some more. Already I was feeling the effect. By the time six o' clock rolled around I was comfortably dizzy, and my nerves had all but dissolved in the alcohol. Despite my best efforts to keep my mind from straying I found myself shutting my eyes and thinking back to the assembly hall that day when Cherry and Elisia had been punished. I pictured myself up on stage instead of them, and felt a shiver run through me like a spark of electricity.

Time to go, I decided. I got unsteadily to my feet, collected my things and left the pub. The sky was beginning to get dark. Back at the school everyone would be sitting down for dinner, my friends probably wondering where I'd got to. I smiled to myself. If only they knew the truth.

The walk back up the hill took far longer than the walk down. I kept stumbling, dropping my handbag and stopping to rest. Quite frequently I found myself breaking out into giggles, overwhelmed by the sheer naughtiness and daring of what I was doing.

The giggling stopped when I got to within sight of the school. Suddenly everything seemed a lot more real, a lot more imminent. I began to wish I hadn't drunk quite so much. Still, there was no going back now. I marched up to the front gate and found it locked. I pressed the buzzer and waited, leaning against the metal rails.

It was a few minutes before a teacher came out to fetch me. It was Mr Harris, an English lecturer I recognised. When he saw me his eyes widened in surprise.

"Jane?" he said disbelievingly. "But I was just looking at the book. You're not signed out, are you?"

I shook my head. "Guess I must have forgot," I said, and was pleased to hear my voice had a slight slur to it. It was working perfectly. I would come across as the drunk girl keen to cover up her misdeed.

"Are you... have you been drinking?" said Mr Harris, his eyebrows rising still further.

I shook my head, the picture of poorly-disguised guilt. "No Sir, I don't drink."

Mr Harris considered me for a moment more, then his face hardened. He opened the gate and beckoned me through, and together we walked up to the school. I made sure to stumble a couple of times on the way up the path, just to remove any last trace of doubt.

He escorted me all the way to the main office, where I waited for a couple of minutes on the sofa by the door while Mr Harris went off to fetch someone. When he returned Anderson was with him, and the sight of the teacher in charge of discipline sent a delicious thrill through my belly. Was it going to happen now, I wondered. Right now? Was my fantasy about to come true. It almost seemed too much. I could feel myself growing wet at the thought of it.

Chapter Six

My mind was made up: I wanted to be punished. I wanted to be marched up in front of the whole university and caned like a schoolgirl. Even the thought of it sent shivers down my spine--shivers that were half fear and half excitement. I felt as though I had something glowing inside of me, an ember that smouldered away at all hours of the day and night. I could think of nothing else.

However, my mission to get myself in trouble turned out to be harder than I at first thought. I'd always been a good girl and rule-breaking didn't come easily to me. I started small: running in the corridor, throwing little balls of paper during lectures, yawning loudly when the tutor was speaking. But the most I managed was to get sent out of class one rainy day after a week of minor mischief.

The trouble was, I was just too nervous. As much as part of me wanted to feel the sting of the cane, part of me desperately didn't. And I was just so used to being good and obeying all the rules that there was little contest between them.

If I was going to succeed, I decided, I would have to do something big. And I'd have to plan it out beforehand. And it would have to be something easy, something that I could definitely follow through with. It didn't take much thought to come up with the idea. I would do exactly the thing that Cherry and Elisia had been punished for. I would leave the grounds without permission, get drunk at a pub in the nearby village and then return to St Martinas and make sure I was caught as I snuck back in.

The next weekend I woke with my heart in my mouth. The plan that had seemed so simple and so easy a few days ago now loomed large in my mind. Was I really going to do this? Was I actually going to willingly subject myself to the punishment that had made Cherry and Elisia scream and cry and beg for mercy? But then as I thought back to the day when I watched that punishment, I felt the familiar ember of excitement flare to life in my stomach, and I knew it was what I wanted.

I had breakfast as normal, and then slipped away from my friends at the first opportunity. I fetched my handbag from my room and ran down to reception. Normally, whenever we leave school grounds we must sign out in the big book outside the front office, but today I simply walked straight past and out the door. I felt a little tingling in the soles of my feet: quite against my usual nature, I was breaking the rules, and it was strangely thrilling.

Chapter Five

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.

Chapter Four

I knew what to expect this time, but even so as I watched her being secured into position my stomach was tight and fluttery. There was something close to excitement there. My eyes flicked over to Elisia, who stood sobbing in the corner, hands on head as she'd been left. Then back to Cherry. She was fastened securely in place, and Anderson was now taking his mark on her backside. I wondered what it must feel like to be Cherry right at that moment, bound in place and unable to move, unable to see what was going on. Awaiting the sudden shot of pain that would mean the punishment had begun. Knowing that I'd have to endure fifty long, agonising strokes of that cruel whip.

The cane swished down through the air and landed with a smack. Cherry howled, tears already in her voice. As if spurred on by the noise, Anderson raised the cane again and brought it down, harder than before. And so the punishment continued, hard and unrelenting, despite all her cries of pain, despite her tears, her pleas, her agonised wails. The fact that Cherry would not be silent only seemed to make Anderson hit her harder.

I glanced to the side of the stage and saw that Elisia, still standing with hands on head, winced every time the cane fell. The memory of the pain was clearly still fresh. My eyes were drawn back to Cherry, her slim body contorted against the straps that held her there. I could see the welts already darkening on her upper thighs. Even over her cries I still heard the swish as the cane cut the air on every stroke.

CRACK! Cherry squealed and kicked. By my count she was only half way through her punishment. "Please," she cried. "I can't take it. Please! That's enough! Let me go!" Anderson ignored her, completely and mercilessly. The cane rose and fell, whistling down through the air like a whip.

Whereas Elisia had seemed to give up and accept the punishment after a certain number of strokes, Cherry did not. She fought and kicked and screamed all the way to the fiftieth stroke, her face blushing, her hands clenched into fists against the side of the bench, set against the pain. Tears dripped freely from her face, and she was shaking all over. At last, Anderson stood back.

The knowledge that it was over silenced Cherry for just a moment. She looked stunned, still crying freely, her face alight with hope. Anderson set down the cane, and started undoing her straps one by one, taking his time. As soon as he had released her he helped the crying, trembling girl to stand, which she did with head bowed and hands on her welted bottom. Anderson fetched Elisia and stood them side by side. Then with a quick movement he seized a handful of each girl's hair and wrenched their faces up towards the hall.

For several seconds every eye in the hall was on those two tear-streaked faces. Then Anderson turned them around and deftly swept aside the gowns to show off the deep red marks left by the cane. There was absolute silence. Even Cherry--perhaps fearful that her punishment was about to continue--had managed to contain her sobs.

And then it was over. Finally over. The two girls were allowed to hobble down off the stage and leave the hall with Anderson. The bench was moved back to the side of the stage and one of the other teachers stood and began the normal proceedings of the daily assembly. Collectively, the hall breathed a sigh of relief.

Chapter Three

Anderson lowered the cane against the curve of Elisia's bottom, clearly taking his mark. Then he raised it up high to his shoulder and brought it swishing down. I and everyone in the hall heard the noise it made as it cut through the air. And then: CRACK! The sound of the impact was so loud and so sharp it made me jump, my heart pounding. Poor Elisia jerked against the straps the held her, a strangled yelp escaping her lips. The way she was angled I couldn't see her face, but I could imagine the look of pain there.

Anderson didn't pause. He raised the cane and brought it down again, as hard and fast as before. This time I saw it hit. Little ripples ran through the flesh of Elisia's bottom and thighs. Already livid red marks were just visible around the edges of her panties.

Another stroke. Even though I knew to expect it the sound made me cringe. He was hitting her so hard! "Oooowwww!" Elisia screamed at the top of her lungs, but Anderson paid no attention whatsoever.

The strokes kept coming, hard and fast. No sound in the hall except for the rhythmic swish and CRACK of the cane, and Elisia's anguished wails. Within ten strokes she was crying freely, her body tense and thrashing against the restraints, desperate to escape any further pain. But there was no escape and she could do nothing but lie there helpless and take it, and howl with fresh pain each time the rod landed.

It seemed to go on forever. At thirty lashes all the fight seemed to go out of her, and she went limp over the bench, shuddering. Her yelps of pain were weak now, drowned by her sobs. "Please! Please it hurts so much. I can't... Not any more... OOOOWwww!"

It felt as though the punishment had been going on forever. Thirty-five strokes, then forty. Elisia clung to the bench, head down, no longer fighting, but howling and crying out with each blow that landed. I glanced over to Cherry where she stood at the side of the stage, hands on head. She was shaking from head to toe. I wasn't surprised. What must it be like to stand there and hear Elisia's cries of pain and know that you would be next?

Forty-five strokes. For the final five Anderson seemed to put in a little extra effort, the cane whipping down out of the air and landing with a smack that echoed through the hall. Elisia's body shuddered, jerking against the restraints. And then, with a final CRACK it was over. She had taken her fifty strokes.

The entire hall was silent, Elisia's sobs and whimpers echoing through the stillness. Anderson stood back for a moment, allowing everyone to hear, then walked deliberately to the side of the stage and placed the cane against the wall next to Cherry, who was now visibly shaking with fright. He returned to Elisia and, without any hurry, starting undoing her bonds. Her legs were first, then her body, then her arms. The moment she was free she sprang up and her hands went to her backside, rubbing at the tender welts there. Her face was blotchy red and streaked with tears.

She was allowed to struggle back into her robe before being escorted to the side of the stage, where she switched places with Cherry. Cherry was crying already, and her to be marched to the centre of the stage by Anderson, who then pulled her gown roughly off her, and pushed her into position over the bench.

Chapter Two

Like most things in the school the bench is an antique, but a well maintained one. It only has one purpose, and everyone knows what it is. If they bring out the bench it means that someone is about to be punished. I watched a couple of the tutors carry it out into the middle of the stage, the dark wood and leather of the old contraption gleaming in the light that flooded in through the big windows. As yet I'd not seen anyone strapped into the bench, but I could see how it would work. They would lie on their front astride the bench, backside exposed, legs and arms cinched in place by thick leather restraints. Already my mouth was dry.

"Who do you think it is?" whispered Nancy from beside me.

I shook my head. "No idea." For a brief moment the possibility that it might be me flitted through my head. I imagined my name being called, standing and walking to the front, bending over the bench... My stomach fluttered, and I returned to reality. Of course it wasn't me. I'd done nothing wrong.

Silence fell throughout the hall, every head turned towards the stage and the bench. People were craning to look, eyes wide. The senior teachers sat in a line at the back of the stage, unperturbed. And then from the left emerged a pair of girls accompanied by Mr Anderson, the teacher in charge of discipline. Both wore plain white dressing gowns and expressions of wide-eyed fear.

With a shock I realised that I recognised one of the girls. Her name was Cherry, and she lived in the dorm across from mine. I had often seen her in the common room, or in the corridor, and although we had always traded smiles and greetings we had never really talked. Here she looked pale and small beneath her mop of shoulder-length red hair, very different from her usual self. She scanned the hall, then lowered her head as she was escorted across the stage.

The other girl was a blonde with long curly hair and a curvy figure. It was she who Anderson took to the bench first. Cherry was left to wait at the side of the stage, hands on head and facing away from the hall. Anderson lowered his head to the blonde girl and said something to her in a voice that I couldn't quite catch.

Shyly, with a pleading glance at Anderson, the blonde girl removed her gown. Beneath her body was pale and naked except for a plain black bra and panties. Her breasts were big, and her hips wide, leading down to strong peasant legs. If I could have seen her face I'm sure she would have been blushing. Of course, humiliation was part of the punishment.

Anderson set about securing her to the bench. Even watching the process sent shivers through me. When he put a hand on the back of her neck and bent her over the wooden device I felt as though it was my neck he was touching. As he cinched her wrists and ankles and thighs tightly with the leather straps I felt my own limbs tingle. And when the last strap--the thickest, strongest one that ran over the blonde girl's back--was fastened into place I couldn't help but shiver.

The silence in the hall was absolute. I was sure I could hear the blonde girl breathing, though looking back that must have been my imagination. Anderson's footsteps echoed as he strode across to the side of the stage and picked up the cane. It was a thin, whippy black thing. Not wood, but something synthetic and cruel looking. Anderson crossed the stage once more, slowly and leisurely, and took up position behind the blonde girl.

Everyone waited.

"Last week Elisia Simpson and Cherry Harris left university grounds without signing out, and returned drunk and under the influence of drugs. For this breach of the rules each shall receive fifty strokes with the cane." Anderson turned his attention to the blonde girl, Elisia, speaking to the back of her head in a voice the whole hall could hear. "If you swear or otherwise behave unacceptably during your punishment, an extra twelve strokes will be added."

And then, without any further ceremony, the punishment began. It was brutal.