The stroke had landed full across both cheeks, high across the top of my bum. The stinging was amazing, but it faded quickly. I blinked back tears and realized with surprise that I hadn’t cried out. “There’s a good lad. Well taken. Stay down, now. That’s one,” came the sweet Siren voice of my tormentor. I was more conscious for the second stroke, and gasped loudly. The pain was worse — much, much worse. My fingers went white as I gripped the desk with all my strength so I wouldn’t rise up. I couldn’t let Miss Craven see how much she was hurting me. The line of agony across my seat felt like a hot branding iron against my bare skin. Surely she had sliced clean through my shorts.
A Trip to the Head30
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