Free BEXHILL SCHOOL FOR GIRLS, Assembly by Adrian Akers-Douglas

over the welts on Anna’s bottom that the
door swung open, revealing Matron. 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 all the
time 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 two embarrassed girls, who 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.
    Thinking 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 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 fulfilment crashed over her.
    Afterwards, she
lay on her bed in a warm afterglow, trying to come to terms with
the new facet that she had uncovered in her character. Gradually,
she felt less ashamed about it: it was her private fantasy, after
all; no-one else was getting hurt. She wondered whether others felt
as she did; she supposed probably not. She