I can’t do any work today. I knew it was going to be like this as soon as I woke up this morning. I felt that familiar tremor in my knees, that slow, delicious quiver in my stomach that won’t go away. I know I’m in trouble now. I need a spanking.
I’ve got a meeting in 20 minutes, and I can’t focus on anything other than what’s going to happen to me tonight when I get home. I prepared for this as much as I could, but it still fills me with a mixture of excitement and dread. I’ve dressed for it today – he likes it when I dress up. I’m wearing my tight black skirt that comes to just above the knee, stockings and garter belt, and my heels. I have on a lacy black thong from Victoria’s Secret which I always wear when I know I’m going to be punished – it makes me feel so sexy to have that thin strip of material pulled up tight between my cheeks, feel its caress as I walk, my heels making me sway my ass, my skirt which shows it off so well. Right now it is tingling in anticipation. And I feel like everyone can see how hot I feel – the client who can barely take his eyes off me as I hand out the folders round the table, watching me as I walk back to my chair. Even when I go to sit down now I’m mentally bracing myself – I know I won’t be sitting comfortably again this week.
How did I get like this? Needing to be punished like a naughty girl? It’s true I used to get spanked sometimes at school, but I hated it – would never have dreamed it would turn me on so much now that I am nearly 30. The turning point, I think, was in my last year at school. I’d been in the dinner queue, and my friend Laura was 3 places ahead of me. I went up to her to ask her something – I forget what now – and suddenly felt a tremendous blow to my leg. I whirled around and Anna M was standing there, having just kicked me on my shin. “Don’t try and queue jump,” she sneered. Tears sprang to my eyes and I saw red. “Don’t kick me!” I yelled. And then I made my mistake. I slapped her as hard as I could.
What I didn’t see at that moment was Miss Williams, who had just joined the queue.
“Jennifer! Get over here now!” I shame-facedly walked towards her.
“It wasn’t my fault, miss,” I stammered. "She kicked me!”
“I will not stand for this kind of behaviour. Both of you, go and wait for me outside the common room.”
“But miss, please...”
“Do as I say!”
This was bad. Very bad. We both knew what was going to happen. I walked along the corridor that led to the staff common room, Anna just behind me. I couldn’t stand looking at the sneer on her face. Anna was getting in trouble all the time.
We stood there for half an hour as the lunchbreak ticked away. Then came the sound I was dreading – the click of Miss William’s heels along the wooden corridor. She was a tall, fierce-looking woman, around 40 years of age, and had the reputation of being strict. My stomach began doing flip-flops. She strode past us, ignoring us completely. 5 more minutes we stood there, before I heard her call out: “Come in here, the pair of you.”
The staff common room was out of bounds to pupils. You only ever got to see the place if you were in serious trouble. Around the walls, portraits of people in Victorian dress looked sternly down. Miss Williams was standing by the window. We filed in.
“I will not stand for this violent behaviour. Our job here is to turn girls into young ladies, and there is one sure-fire method of doing that. You are both going to be punished, and I intend to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget. If you act like naughty girls you’ll be treated as them. You’re going to be spanked.”
I shot a glance at Anna. She wasn’t so cocky now, looking at the ground and biting her lip. Miss Williams went over to the desk in the corner and I heard the sound of a drawer opening. She pulled out a large wooden hairbrush. Crossing to the upright chair in the bay window, she sat herself down upon it, hairbrush in her right hand. I felt sick.
“Anna, you instigated this, so you are going to be first. Come here and bend over.”
Anna was trembling now, I could see it. She looked small and scared. Both of us knew what that brush could do to our backsides, and it was in the hands of an expert. Anna walked up to Miss Williams and docilely leant across her lap. Miss Williams positioned her so that her bottom was high up and sticking out, then slowly lifted Anna’s short, tartan skirt. I could see her knickers – they were white with little pink flowers on them, stretched tight over her ass. She wore knee-length white socks, and black shoes with little kitten heels. It was one of those shoes that had put the dent in my shin, but while I was pleased she was getting what was coming to her, I felt sick knowing that I was next.
Miss Williams raised the brush high in the air, and brought it down on Anna’s backside with a tremendous crack. Anna yelped. The brush fell again, this time on the other cheek, then began to tap out a terrible rhythm upon Anna’s bottom. WHACK. WHACK. WHACK. “Ow, miss, please, stop, I’m sorry,” Anna cried, kicking her feet. WHACK, WHACK, WHACK, the brush fell again and again, harder and harder, until Anna was squealing and sobbing openly. She wasn’t so tough now. Her knickers had ridden up into the crack of her bottom and it was turning bright pink. WHACK, WHACK, WHACK, went the brush, until Anna wasn’t saying anything any more, just yelping and wriggling, pinned fast across Miss Williams’ lap. I lost count of how many times she was spanked, but it went on for a long, long time.
Then it was over. “Get up,” snapped Miss Williams. “Go and stand in the corner, hands by your sides. If I see you rubbing your bottom you’ll get another spanking.” Sniffling, Anna got up, her hands instinctively reaching for her searing hot backside, but halting just in time. She didn’t look at me at all as she walked past. It was my turn.
“Jennifer, get across my lap.” Mutely I walked over to her, eyes fixed on that dreadful hairbrush lying in her hand. I felt absolute terror, and my legs were shaking. From the corner came the sound of Anna’s sobbing. If it would do that to a hard case like Anna, I wondered, how was I going to handle it? I bent over Miss Williams’ lap. I could feel the rough material of her skirt and looked down at her ankles encased in sheer stockings. Her feet were pressed together and her black shoes had a large buckle on each of them. Behind me I felt a sudden coolness from the air as she raised my skirt.
WHACK, went the brush across my bottom. To my utter shame, I squealed in surprise. I couldn’t believe how painful it was, even over my knickers. WHACK again, on my left cheek this time, right on the sit spot. WHACK, WHACK, WHACK, on alternate sides. It was like fire – the pain was extraordinary. Tears began to course down my face and I started to plead. It made no difference. WHACK, WHACK, WHACK. Although I wanted to be obedient, to take my punishment, I somehow had to stop the pain in my bottom. I began to kick my legs. “Stop that at once!” commanded Miss Williams. “Or you’ll get even more.” “WHACK, WHACK, WHACK. I was wailing by now, almost delerious, and still that awful brush fell. I didn’t know if we were at 20 or 50 strokes – my face was hot, my vision blurred, my ass was on fire, and I was completely in the power of Miss Williams. WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK. “Ooow, ow, ooh, stop, miss, please. I'll be good...”, I wailed. WHACK WHACK WHACK. She gave me three on each cheek in turn, each stroke harder than the last. I wanted to scream. Eventually, I was just sobbing uncontrollably. I didn’t know such pain was possible.
Then, suddenly, it was over. “Get up,” came a voice from a million miles away. “Stand in the corner.” I immediately grabbed for my bottom, almost jumping up and down with the pain. “Get your hands off your bottom!” Miss Williams commanded, “unless you want another spanking.” The thought was incomprehensible, so I fought to keep my hands at their sides, and walked over next to Anna. The heat in my bottom kept growing, and it hurt terribly. My knickers were stretched tight across my flaming backside, and just the brush of my skirt as I walked was agony. Crying helplessly, I looked at the floor and tried not to think about the pain.
We were kept in the corner for about 15 minutes. Miss Williams busied herself with some paperwork, occasionally glancing in our direction with what may have been pride in her handiwork. Then she told us to get to class. I ran out of the room and down to the changing rooms. In there was a large, full length mirror. Luckily no-one else was about. Turning round I lifted my skirt up and pulled down my knickers, gasping with the pain. My bottom was scarlet. I could see the oval-shaped marks left by the hairbrush all over, from the top of my cheeks down to the crease at the top of my thigh. It hurt like crazy. Desperately needing to pee I went into the cubicle, but couldn’t sit down, so I balanced on my hands above the bowl. Pulling up my knickers again I winced as they made contact with my smarting skin. I washed my hands and face, and walked to the maths class. I felt as if everyone was looking at me knowingly as we all filed in – my bottom felt enormous, sticking out even more than usual. I sat down gingerly and felt that burning sensation again. It was the longest class of my life, and I kept trying to surreptitiously change position to ease the pain. That night, in the dormitory, I got hurriedly into bed and lay on my front, my hands rubbing my still-aching bottom. I think it took about a week before I could sit down again without it hurting. On the Thursday we had Miss Williams for French, and she fixed me with a glare when I walked in, but didn’t say anything. I couldn’t look her in the eye – all I remembered was the pain of that hairbrush as it cracked across my bottom, and I didn’t ever want to give her a reason to use it again.