“Shall we get started?” She hoped off the desk and held out her hand. Frightened beyond belief, but somehow incapable of running away, I placed my hand in hers. She led me behind the desk. Walking next to her was a dream. I could smell that delicious scent and hear the soft rustle of her clothes as she moved, the hiss as her thighs rubbed together. It was intoxicating. Letting go of my hand, she smoothed her skirt down behind her, and sat in the Headmaster’s large leather chair. “Come across my lap,” she said quietly. I stared at her in terror and confusion. What was she doing? This was no way to administer a caning.
A Trip to the Head17
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