Sir

"Bend over the desk."

I quickly complied. There was a nervous knot in my stomach, but also a thrill of excitement working its way through my body.

"Don't move. I shall be with you shortly." He remained at his desk. I stayed still, my hands out flat in front of me, breathing deeply, trying hard to contain the excitement that was building inside. I wondered what he had planned for today. He'd simply told me to report to him after class.

I waited. An eternity passed. I grew frustrated as I longed for his touch. I wondered if he would spank me again. Despite the pain it caused, I wanted to feel his hand on me.

"Last week's punishment seemed to have little effect, so I thought I'd better reinforce the message." His voice brought my wandering mind back to reality. He walked over to me as he spoke. He pulled my skirt up around my waist and removed my underwear exactly as he had the week before. Then he moved away again. I could feel the cool air on my newly exposed flesh.

SWISH!

I automatically turned around and looked for what had made the sound. As soon as I'd done it I knew I'd made a big mistake. For two reasons; firstly because the look in his eyes informed me that I'd now made things a whole lot worse for myself by moving from the position he had required. Secondly because I saw that he held a long, thin cane in his hand.

I froze and my blood ran cold as I slowly realised; he was going to hit me with that cane.

I returned to my position as quickly as I could, cursing myself for being so stupid. "For not following orders your punishment has been doubled. You were to receive 'six of the best', as they say. You will count your twelve strokes." His apparent complete disinterest made everything he said seem twice as horrible. He spoke in such a businesslike way.

He took a couple more practice swings at mid air. Then he stood behind me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

SWISH!

I heard it coming, then felt it impact. "One," I got the word out quite steadily. Luckily I managed it before the burning hit me and spread across my body, bringing tears to my eyes.

SWISH!

"Two;" just below the first mark the cane tore into my skin again and again there was a slight pause before the pain hit me. A tear broke free from my eye and rolled slowly down my cheek. My fingers gripped the edge of the desk tightly, turning my knuckles white. My legs were weak.

On the third stroke I had to stifle a cry; I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of hearing how much he was hurting me. I knew that was what he wanted; to hear me scream.

Each time he struck me he moved his target slightly lower, barely a millimetre beneath the mark of the strike before. He gradually worked his way down my ass in this way, reaching the tops of my thighs. I knew he did this to maximise the area of pain, slowly enlarging it; he was slowly increasing the burning pain I was feeling and slowly decreasing my ability to hold in my cries.

By the time he reached ten I'd bitten my tongue and my bottom lip as hard as I could and I knew that I couldn't hold out much longer. Tears were flowing down my cheeks. Counting was becoming almost impossible as my voice wavered and cracked. It took all my concentration and will power to keep it strong enough. I hated myself for allowing the pain to come through in every word I spoke. And yet, once again, I could feel a growing dampness between my thighs. I hated myself even more for being unable to hide the fact that I was aroused by his punishment.

SWISH!

"Eleven." I heard my voice breaking as I spoke.

SWISH!

"Twelve." With this last word I finally let out one small groan. I relaxed my grip on the table and fell onto it; my shaking legs could no longer hold my weight. I was exhausted. Bringing my trembling hands up to my face I tried to wipe away the traces of my tears on my cheeks.

He stepped back from me. I waited for him to say something, but instead I felt him bring his hand to my body, nudging my thighs apart and running his fingers across my pussy. I helplessly let a tiny moan escape my lips as I felt him sink his hand into my dripping cunt. But as quickly as his fingers had touched me they were gone. He ordered me to stand up and turn to face him. I did so, forcing my legs to allow me to stand, and resting my hands on the table behind me for support. He still had the cane in his left hand. He moved up his right hand to my mouth, holding it just in front of my face, compelling me to breathe in my own scent.

"You've made my hand wet." There was still no expression of feeling in his words as he pushed his hand closer to my mouth, pressing his soaking fingers inside, stretching my lips around them and forcing me to clean my juices from them. I felt a wave of humiliation washing over me as I stood there with his hand invading my mouth.

Then, removing his fingers, he looked deep into my eyes, running the forefinger of his right hand down my cheek, clearly following the track of a tear from my eye. What I read in his eyes scared me. He didn't need to speak to reiterate his earlier threat: he would make me scream, no matter what it took. I shivered. Fear and excitement fought for domination of my feelings. I realised that by remaining strong and withholding from him the satisfaction of hearing my pained screams I was only pushing him to increase my torture. Something would have to give in the end...