‘Don’t thank me, Miss Delray, until I’ve finished with you. I might not be expelling you, but it’s clear that some extraordinary measures are needed to encourage you to develop your self-discipline.’ He emerged from the wardrobe wielding a rattan cane.
My first caning. I goosebumped all over, curling my toes inside the Victorian lace-up boots.
‘I haven’t used this in many a year,’ he said, bending the cane reflectively. ‘I hoped I would never have cause to again. But you have brought it out of retirement. Miss Cross, I will need your assistance. Please pin up her skirts for me.’
‘Oh no,’ I wailed miserably as Maz crouched to grab my hem and lift it up, taking some pins from her hair and using them to tack the material up at my waist level.
‘It’s a sound six of the best, or you leave this place for good,’ Justin reminded me, whipping the cane through the air. The sound was terrifying, alluring, terrifying again. ‘Bend over, please.’ He pointed his cane at the footboard of my bed, and I gripped it hard, watching my knuckles whiten.
‘I’ll practise, I promise,’ I whimpered, listening to the tap-tap-tap of the rattan in Justin’s palm.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You will. Miss Cross, kindly lower her drawers for me.’
For the second time in that half hour, my bottom was exposed, pushed out and positioned high, the focus of everyone’s attention.
‘I see you had to spank her quite hard,’ said Justin. His hand touched my right bum cheek, finding it warm. ‘Your arm must be tired.’
‘It is,’ said Maz.
Humph. All the sympathy for her arm – how about my backside? I twinged and let out a hasty breath as the long, thin rod was laid against the plumpest section of my cheeks. It felt so innocuous, just a whisper of cool, a light, sweet thing …
Its soft kiss ended and Justin drew back his arm.
I clamped my jaw and tensed my shoulders.
The air split and sang and a streak of heat branded my behind.
It hurt. A second passed, and then it hurt much worse. I couldn’t hold back my cry. This was pain beyond imagining, beyond expectation, and yet I didn’t say the word. Instead, I let the agony sear its path through my skin and tissues until it became pleasure – the process took no more than half a minute.
And then I wanted another.
‘Please, sir,’ I whispered.
‘Yes,’ said Justin. ‘You may have another.’
He gave me it. And again, laying them on swiftly and briskly until six angry lines barred my bottom.
‘Good shot!’ said Maz on the sixth, while my knees buckled and I let go of the footboard, spouting some incoherent noise that might have been swear words. I was red hot and throbbing, at my outer limit, my fingers pressing anxiously into the expanding welts, as if touch could soothe them, which it could not.
‘Hands on your head,’ barked Justin, grabbing my wrist and yanking it away from my rear.
I stood – just about – by the footboard, skirts up, drawers down, presenting my freshly caned and scorching hot arse to whoever cared to look at it.
‘That’s a job well done, Professor,’ said Maz, in a passable cut-glass accent.
‘Take a closer look,’ invited Justin.
I winced as Maz ran her long fingernails across each sensitive mark, pushing them in, pinching cruelly.
‘That should concentrate her mind,’ she said.
‘Yes. You know, Miss Cross, I’m thinking that we should make this a regular fixture. Perhaps on a weekly basis. I imagine it would improve her concentration no end.’
‘What a good idea, Professor. Six of the best at the beginning of each week, to start our sessions off as they mean to go on. Extras as necessary, throughout the course of the term.’
‘That’s agreed. You’ll present yourself in my office every Monday morning at nine o’clock sharp, Miss Delray. And from now on, all piano practice is to be done bare-bottomed, so you’re ready for extra spanking when required. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ I snivelled.