A coal burning fireplace in the wall opposite the windows cast a flickering glow on the Persian rug before it. A large glass-topped desk occupied the center of the room and behind it, the headmaster’s hard backed chair.
Slowly and deliberately he took the chair and placed it on the rug with its back to the fireplace. He took off his jacket, folded it and placed it carefully on his desk top. I felt a tremor of fear, but it was too late to back out now.
He sat legs together and motioned for me to approach. Seconds seemed like hours.
Slowly, I did so. His thighs felt firm and warm. Then with an abruptness that caused me a sudden intake of breath, he pulled up my skirt.
God, finally, finally, I was in the position I had craved for so long, over a man’s knee, about to be spanked. This was beyond my wildest dreams.
“Pull your knickers down.”
The way he said it, the quiet, stern voice of authority, made me shudder. As I moved to comply, he assisted, slipping them to my knees. For several seconds he appeared to be concentrating on the music, but I knew he couldn’t take his eyes off me.
I clenched and unclenched my cheeks. Minutely, he adjusted my position and I thrust up my disrespectful bottom for punishment. I felt his fingertips. Seconds passed. Then, abruptly, his hand fell hard, then again and again, alternating cheeks. Pain fused with pleasure and became a single, wonderful, overpowering sensation.