This was it, the moment she had dreamed about, fantasised about and read about over and over again. The moment when she would, indeed was, hooking her thumbs into her oh so brief briefs and lowering them to her knees under Richard’s watchful appreciative eyes. There was still the chance to cry off, to say no and there would be nothing he could do about it, and yet-
She leaned over the desk, feeling the cold wood press against her stomach. Her pubic hair crinkled uncomfortably as she wriggled a little, producing a sigh from Richard.
‘My dear Susan, you have the most beautiful bottom.’ Even face down, not having to meet his eyes, she felt herself blushing. Her fingers reached for the other side of the desk and she tried to quell the mounting apprehension.
Immediately there was a sharp whistling sound and a line of pain leapt across her bottom, burning both cheeks. She yelped and held on tight. Richard said, ‘one’ very quietly and she groaned aloud. She could hear him laugh and at the same time a searing line drew itself across her skin. She cried out.
‘Two.’ There was amusement in his voice. ‘You re doing very well, Susan, I’m not doing it very hard either, I could cane you a lot harder than this!’
Susan didn’t believe it, it hurt so much and there were still four to go! Sentences, paragraphs, photographs flashed through her mind as the third stroke landed and she realised even through the pain that he was doing it very well indeed, that each of the three lines burned separately, not crossing over anywhere.
‘Only another three to go, Susan, here’s the next one.’ And the fourth line bit into her poor exposed cheeks. Tears began to form in her eyes, but didn’t fall. She couldn’t cry all over his desk, that would never do! The pain, the fire, the burning of the lines! And two more to go! Could she hold out?
The fifth arid sixth strokes landed in quick succession and she leapt up, clutching her burning cheeks in both hands. She turned to look at him, ‘Does one say thank you?’ She tried to smile, whilst rubbing carefully at the pain. Susan realised suddenly that the embarrassment had disappeared, along with most of her dignity.
It was extremely difficult to be dignified when you have just exposed nearly all of your most private areas to the gaze of a comparative stranger, who has dealt out stinging punishment without so much as an apology, and then to stand in front of the stranger, knickers around stocking tops, rubbing at the wounded area!
‘You could say thank you,’ he responded.
‘Thank you, kind sir.’
‘Now tell me, was it as you anticipated?’
‘It hurt more, it burned more than I expected,’ she confessed, tugging her knickers back into place carefully.
‘Well, when it’s all settled down to a nice glow, you can think about it a little better. If you want any more, let me know. Next time I’ll do it just a little harder.’ He opened the door for her and took her hand as she went to pass him. ‘You were very brave, Susan.’ She blushed and hurried to her room, anxious to look at the damage.
The door safely locked, she walked to the dressing table and for the second time in a comparatively short space of time. She lowered her knickers and turned round to present herself to the triple mirror.
Her weals looked awful against her creamy skin and how they hurt! The books were wrong, there was nothing sexy about it at all!
She grabbed a pile of cushions and sank cautiously into the armchair. Nothing sexy? Well, that was wrong, for the anticipation had been the very height of excitement. Thinking about it, talking about it, preparing for it. It was the inflicting of the pain, being dominated by such a strong man, that was sexy.
As Susan relived the vivid experience she became aware the pain was subsiding into the most unbelievable glow. Cautiously she slipped a finger into her secret place and began to move. Sexy? I should think it was!
Holding Richard’s memo in one hand, Hazel made her way along the thickly carpeted corridors to his office. She was feeling slightly silly as the day had gone well and she was really enjoying the heated discussions which occasionally flared up. She had almost felt like an adult in an education centre for a few hours, but now, heading towards what had been the headmaster’s study, she felt young and inadequate all over again. She had wor5ried all through lunch whether she would find enough to talk about to justify asking to see him, and her nervousness was mounting the closer she got to his office door.
‘Hazel, come in!’ The smile was welcoming, the friendliness unmistakable. Hazel sank into the leather armchair in front of the desk. She began to feel slightly more confident as Richard sat down, and steepled his fingers under his chin.
‘You wanted to see me; is there anything wrong with the course?’
‘No, nothing like that, it’s - it’s a silly problem really, one I shouldn’t be bothering you with, taking up your valuable time.’
‘If you hadn’t asked to see me before the course was over, I’d have asked to see you, as I like to talk to everyone at least once during the fortnight, so don’t let that bother you! There’s only you, me and the desk, why not tell me what it is that’s bothering you?’
‘Well -’ Hazel looked down for a moment and then into the friendly eyes that waited so patiently for her to begin. ‘I didn’t like school, in fact I’d go so far as to say I hated it. Since I left, I’ve been avoiding anything like school as it makes me feel stupid and useless all over again.’
‘Has coming to Cornfield made you feel stupid and useless?’
‘Well, it did at the beginning. It looks like a school, although I have to say you’ve made it really luxurious, but it is still a school!’
Hazel waited for Richard to respond, prepared to defend her argument against anything he might say. He stirred in his chair and then reached for a cigar from the box, silently asking if she minded. She shook her head.
‘What was it about school that you hated the most, might I ask?’
The aromatic cigar smoke drifted towards her, tickling her nose.
‘Being made to look foolish in front of the class, you know, if you didn’t know the answer the teacher would be sarcastic and everyone would laugh. That sort of thing.’
‘But that doesn’t happen here, does it?’
‘No, but you see, the feeling that has been left in me about school has stayed over the years. I know it’s silly and I hoped that talking to you would get it out of my system.’
‘One of the unfortunate things about buying a school is that it does have these overtones of sarcastic teachers, gym sessions, changing rooms, maths, chalk and dust, even if I have turned it into a luxury hotel. It might have helped if I’d changed the name but that is what’s on the deeds and the locals knew it as Cornfield School so there didn’t seem to be any point in changing it.’
‘Has anyone else had my particular silly worry?’ she asked hesitantly.
‘No, but you see, Hazel, a lot of people actually like the thought of being m school again.’ He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a confidential level. ‘When the headmaster left, he left his cane behind and sometimes, just sometimes, you understand. a lady comes along who likes to relive some of her school memories and we act out a little charade. Were you punished at school?’
‘Once or twice. Not like some, they seemed, to get the strap all the time!’
‘Oh the strap! Not the cane?’
‘It was in Scotland, they’re rather keen on that, I understand.’
‘Yes, I believe so. Well, Hazel, there’s a secret for you to think about. I’m sure I can rely on you not to tell anyone, can’t I?’
‘Yes, of course. What you’re saying in effect is, it isn’t a particularly bad thing to relive some school memories, am I right?’
‘Right first time. And if you have any fantasies you d like to live out, let me know.’
‘I don’t think that’s very likely.’ She s
tood up and held out her hand. ‘Thanks for seeing me, and for listening to me.’
‘If there’s anything troubling you, then it isn’t a silly thing. I hope I’ve helped.’
‘I think you have. Thanks again.’
Hazel walked thoughtfully back to her room, considering the interview. What a charming man! And so honest and open with her too! Surely he hadn’t meant the invitation seriously, though. Did people actually go along there to be caned? Are there perhaps others like me who have school memories they can’t escape and try working them out instead?
Sitting at her des, gazing out across fields stretching away from the ground, Hazel let her mind slip back to her school days for the first time since she had arrived. She relived incurring the teacher’s wrath, and being ordered to the headmistress’s study. She remembered the seemingly endless walk along the long corridors, the timid knock on the door the hard voice ordering her in. She remembered handing over the note with hands that shook, the stern look bent upon her quivering body, the strap swinging from the hand, wickedly pliable. She recalled being ordered to bend over the chair and how she wailed and cried as the strap descended with the full force of the adult arm upon thin-knickered cheeks that shrieked their agony through the cloth. Sobbing, she had hidden in the girls’ toilets until she could sit properly again before returning to class and the sympathetic gaze of her friends. If he thinks I’d go through all that again, voluntarily, then he has another thought coming! Hazel laughed at the thought. But I wonder what it would be like, now I’m an adult? Would the feeling be the same? Would a cane hurt like the strap?
Foolish thoughts, almost as foolish as the ones that sent me there in the first place! A caning, indeed!
But despite all her protestations, the thought simply refused to go away.
Carole’s opportunity to talk to Richard Edwards came at the dinner at the end of the first week of the course. She had seen him a few times before then, walking the corridors, popping his head round the door of lecture rooms, but the opportunity had never been right. This Saturday evening, with sherry flowing smoothly and everyone in an amiable mood, it seemed like a good time to drop some hints and see whether they were picked up.
She saw him standing alone for a moment and went across to him.
‘Hello, Mr Edwards.’
‘Hello there, it’s - Carole Davidson, isn’t it?’
‘It is. Do you remember the faces and names of everyone who comes on your course?’
‘I try. Part of the training, you know, goes down well if you remember someone’s name.’
‘I’ll have to remember that,’ Carole laughed, still keeping her eyes on Richard. ‘Your maid, Emmy, isn’t it? was telling me this really was a school, not purpose built for you.’
‘That’s right.’ Richard looked round. ‘Would you care to sit down?’
‘Thank you.’ He led the way to a couple of empty seats next to a small table. When they were settled and he lit one of his slim cigars, he started to tell Carole how he had acquired the school after the number of pupils had dropped dramatically and it could no longer pay its way.
‘It certainly is a beautiful place.’ She looked round at the hall. ‘It could have been built for you.’
‘It did come onto the market at the right time.’
‘Emmy said you use the headmaster’s old study for your office and you keep it just as it was.’ The comment was innocence personified but Richard knew which way the conversation was going; he was an expert in the art of double-talk with willing ladies.
‘Exactly as it was. The desk is huge, solid oak, beautifully made. I couldn’t have bought a better one. I’ve kept all the old books, more out of interest than anything and added a few of my own. It’s a lovely room, you must come and see it some time.’
‘That’s a new line, isn’t it? Come and see my study some time, I’ve kept it just as the old headmaster did,’ she teased: her eyes dancing with suppressed excitement.
‘Not exactly a novel line of approach, is it, but then it is a genuine offer. You can come and see my office any time you like.’
‘I think I will,’ she said shyly. looking into her drink.
‘Tomorrow, if you like. Sundays are rest days, so you aren’t tied to a lecture or anything.’
‘Then I’ll come tomorrow, after dinner. All right?’
‘I look forward to it. Until tomorrow then. I think 1 d better circulate a little more before the evening is over.’ Carole watched him walk away, strong and tall and exciting. She felt her excitement reaching the point when she could orgasm there on the spot if she wasn’t careful. For all the outward casualness of the conversation, she had made an assignation with the cane, and she knew it as well as he did. Tomorrow, after dinner. Could she wait that long?
The interminable Sunday dragged by. Carole spent most of it in her room, writing a passionate letter to David and looking at his framed photograph for inspiration. Would he understand if she told him? Possibly not. It was one secret she would have to keep. As it was, she had to hope the marks would fade by the time she got back unless she made a game of it and told David he had acted like a real headmaster, caning naughty ladies who didn’t concentrate during lectures. It would be worth trying to find out if anyone else on the course had had the cane as it would affect her own escapade a little.
As the thought crept into her mind she abandoned the letter. If she could prise a secret or two out of Richard Edwards, it could be mentioned in the letter to prepare David for the revelation when it came. On the other hand, if the marks faded, and she had no idea how hard he would cane, she could boast of others being caned but her concentration had been so good, her contributions so excellent, she hadn’t been punished. Not that he would believe that for a moment but it was worth a try.
The dinner gong sounded, breaking her reverie and she hurried to the dining room. Anticipation had put an edge on her appetite and she was ready for almost anything.
By the time the substantial meal was over, Carole was quivering with excitement. She politely fended off invitations for cups of coffee and chats from the others and went casually back to her room. There she took a quick shower and changed her undies to the black lace she had packed ‘just in case’, not knowing whether they would really be needed.
Richard’s door stood slightly ajar and she tentatively tapped on it with her fingernails and peeped round the edge.
‘Do come in. Isn’t it a lovely Sunday?’
‘Yes, the weather’s fine, if that’s what you mean!’
Richard laughed. ‘You obviously don’t need any training in the art of quick conversation!’
‘It depends on who I’m talking to, of course.’
She smiled provocatively at him and walked over to the glass-fronted bookcases. ‘This lot should be worth something, you should let a dealer look at them.’
‘Mercenary, aren’t you?’ He stood beside her, looking at the books. ‘I just like having them around. I like links with the past, traditions and all that.’
‘So I understand.’ She endeavoured to put a double meaning into the simple statement.
‘Why not? After all, some things that were done here before I came are worth continuing, aren’t they?’ He looked seriously at her, knowing she understood his meaning as clearly as he had hers.
‘I do most certainly agree. Sometimes the old ways are more – interesting.’
Richard sat down in his big chair. ‘Come and sit down, Miss Davidson. I think there is something we have to discuss.’
‘Certainly sir.’ She walked carefully across the thick pile carpet, hoping her heels wouldn’t snag.
‘Now it has come to my notice that you have been expressing an excessive amount of interest in a certain tradition once maintained by this school, that is, corporal punishment.’
Her stomach musc
les contracted so violently that it was all she could do to play along with the charade.
‘Yes, sir, it is a subject I am deeply interested in and have been a student of for some time.’
‘Then it would appear that I would be doing you a favour in furthering your studies.’
‘It would seem that way.’
Richard leaned back and opened the drawer. He took out the cane and flexed it.
‘This is the cane. Miss Davidson. Normally I allow students who need such extra curricular - uh – activities to divest themselves of any posterior coverings and lean over my desk. However, on the few, I might say rare, occasions when an avid student of the subject presents herself I do make the exceedingly rare gesture of offering slightly more than the standard six of the best. You may nor may not avail yourself of the extra discipline, as the mood dictates.’
‘May I enquire, sir, what this extra discipline consist of, so I can make up my mind?’
‘Most certainly. I am offering the added bonus of a thorough bare-bottom spanking, across my knees, before applying the cane to the same part of your anatomy. I understand it adds a certain – something – to the pleasure.’
This was far more than Carole had hoped for and she made up her mind immediately.
‘It would be nothing short of churlish of me to refuse such an offer. I accept, willingly.’
‘I had hoped very much that you would. Come round this side of the desk.’
Carole kicked off her high heels and padded softly around the solid oak desk. Without any hesitation she laid herself across Richard’s knees, leaving him the pleasure of turning back the red dress and finding nothing more than black lace panties, suspenders and stockings in the way of the promised spanking. He sighed with pleasure as he eased the tiny panties down and left bare, ivory white cheeks.
‘It’s almost a sin to destroy its purity,’ he mused, bringing his hand down hard in the middle of her left cheek and then again on the right. Carole wriggled slightly to make herself more comfortable, if that was the right word, the regular slapping of his expert hand on her cheeks, bringing a flush to them (and to her face) as erotic feelings surged through her. The spanking was sharp, hard and professionally done. He was an expert. How much practice had he managed here at the school? Building steadily from tingling to stinging and painful, she wriggled and kicked a bit as the spanking reached a crescendo. At the perfect moment he stopped, just when it verged on unbearable, and helped her to her feet, smiling at her red face and increased rate of breathing. Her breasts moved as she shook herself, adding to his desire as well as her own. Then he picked up the cane.
Cream of the Crop Page 14