Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 288(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 288(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
“Who fucking cares!?” There’s confusion in that cry.
“I care.”
Those two calm and composed words hit harder than the paddle.
Is it possible that someone she just met cares more about what she does than anybody else she’s ever encountered in her life so far? The question keeps her still.
The paddle lands again and again. Once, twice… and then twenty something more times. Storm has lost count by the time Jane lays it down on the desk beside her. She is shocked into inaction. There is heat and there is ache and there is the incredible fact that she just stayed in place for all of that to happen, and she doesn’t know why.
“You’re not going to be getting away with anything anymore,” Jane lectures. “I will be watching you. I will know where you are, and what you are doing, and if you miss classes… if you misbehave at all, you will find yourself here again. I can promise you that. Do you understand?”
“Yeah.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jane corrects her. “That is how you will address me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Storm mumbles into the desk, cringing at having to say the words.
“You will get better at that too,” Jane says, walking away for a moment, the crisp sound of high heels on a polished wood floor making Storm’s belly tighten.
She looks up, hoping things are over, but she sees Jane open an old cabinet and take a fresh implement from inside. Her blood runs cold. She knows what that is.
A cane.
The instinct to get away rises once more. Jane preempts it with a shake of her head.
“Don’t move,” she says. Her tone isn’t stern or cruel. It is the tone of someone giving very good advice to someone who needs it.
“I don’t want that…”
“Of course you don’t,” Jane says. “Now, be a good girl for me and present that bottom. That’s right, up on your toes…”
A faint whine emerges. Storm looks at her tormentor with wide eyes full of the beginnings of tears. She does not know how much more she can take. She does not know if she can take any more at all. Not with a cane. Not like this.
Jane’s voice is calm and reasonable. “Storm, I am making this easy for you. It can be much, much worse.”
Storm believes her. There is so much unspoken painful potential in those words that she finds herself actually wriggling up and into position, her body responding with atypical obedience, overriding her natural rebellion.
Swish… crack!
The first stroke of the cane lands. It is loud, but it is not so bad.
Wait…
The pain holds off for a brief moment, then hits everywhere at once like a thunderclap. Storm emits a stream of swear words, but before she can move, another harsh line has cut across her rear, and another. The cane lines are placed with professional precision, each of them one below the other so straight and so neat she could be used as letter paper.
It is not merely painful. It is transcendent. It is an experience of such intense discipline that she cannot process it. She is trapped between the desk and cane, her rebellion, and Jane. There is no way out and there is no stopping it until the disciplinarian sees fit.
Jane finishes the barrage with a final stripe right between cheek and thigh, a placement so infernally intense that Storm’s shriek threatens to drive off the water birds all the way outside the window.
It is over, but the sensation will echo for a long time. She will feel this when she moves, and she will certainly know about it if she tries to sit. Even when the marks are gone, the mental impression will remain. Her world has just been transformed in the most primitive and physical of ways. Someone has actually done something.
“Stay still,” Jane issues one last command. “Reflect on your actions and their well-deserved consequences.”
Heels click across the floor again, and in the mid-distance a chair behind Storm scrapes slightly as Jane settles into it, cane still very much in hand.
True to her word, she is watching.
Storm sniffs and squirms, heat suffusing her body from head to toe. The pain continues to thrum through her intermittently, emanating from her cheeks and zipping up through the core of her. When she moves a little too much, it all intensifies, a half-dozen little pressure points all activating at once to make her gasp. She wants to get up, but getting up is going to hurt. Staying down makes more sense, assuming she can stand the embarrassment.
Jane’s eyes are on her. She can feel them on the parts of her body she’s never let anyone see before. While she was being spanked her bare state was the least of her problems, but now it is fast becoming the entirety of them. How she yearns for a longer t-shirt, or a skirt she could just push down.