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.