Free A Spanking in Time (Bexhill School) by Tom Simple Page B

any thrashing.
    Jenny’s dormitory was the nearest, so they went in, pulled down their knickers, and in the wall mirror examined the wide, red-purple blotches which glowed across the pale skin of their backsides.
    “Sitting down isn’t going to be much fun”, Jenny observed, massaging her stinging ch eeks. “Let me look at yours.”
    It was as she was running her fingers over the welts on Anna’s bottom that the door swung open. It only took a glance at the two surprised girls for Matron to register the situation.
    “Ah, so it was you two. I heard the headmaster spanking someone. I hope it was for your behaviour in chapel. I saw you whispering together until Mr. Desmond spoke to you. If he hadn’t put you on report, I’d have done so. I’m glad to see you got your just desserts. Now, pull up your knickers and be off with you.” She held the door open for the embarrassed pair. They made their way downstairs to join their friends. As always on such occasions, they became the heroines of the hour, with a cluster of girls around them eager to hear every detail of the ordeal.
    Now, as she sat at her dresser, hairbrush in hand, Anna remembered the ambivalent emotions she had felt on that occasion. She recalled the trepidation as they had made their way to the headmaster’s study and knocked on the door; their rising fear during the brief interview with him as their imminent fate became clear; the stomach-knotting terror as he reached down to extract Stinger from the drawer; the nightmare of the slow and deliberate preparations: the bending over, the sensation of cool air on her bottom as her skirt was raised, and then – worst of all – that awful wait for the third tap. The spanking, once it had begun, was almost a relief. Of course it hurt: each swat stung like mad, but every time the brush landed it was one more stroke counted off towards the allocated six.
    T hinking about the episode again, she remembered that there had been another element present, a perplexing undertone which she could not understand at the time and which she had driven from her mind. Now it came back to her again: in some way, perhaps subconsciously, she had the impression that she had actually enjoyed the experience. How could this be? Surely people couldn’t get pleasure from pain, could they? But that, on reflection, was exactly what she had felt, although she hadn’t recognised it at the time: a completely unexpected feeling of sexual arousal, both as she herself was being spanked and from witnessing Jenny undergoing her punishment beside her. It was confusing, shameful even. No wonder she had driven it from her mind at the time. But now that she confronted it afresh, she couldn’t deny it.
    She looked at the brush in her hand. She placed it on the bed. She piled her two pillows one on top of the other in the centre of the mattress. She unzipped her skirt, took it off, and folded it across the back of a chair. She slipped her panties down to her ankles and kicked them gently onto the chair’s seat. She pulled up her shirt, feeling the fresh air on her backside, just as she had in the headmaster’s study. She could already sense the tingle of arousal which had been so lacking a few minutes before.
    She lay down with her hips on the pillows, her bottom raised. Clasping her hairbrush tightly, she reached around behind her and rubbed it gently across her cheeks, awakening a frisson of desire in her lower belly. She lifted the brush and whacked it down. It stung a little, nowhere near as much as Stinger had, but well enough for her purposes. She experimented with different holds and ways of delivering the smacks. Soon her bottom was turning pink and her breathing was becoming heavier and faster. She increased the rhythm and intensity of the blows and after a few minutes her bottom was throbbing in harmony with her heartbeat. She knew her orgasm was close, so she dropped the brush, pushed two fingers inside her, and groaned as a wave of