Summer School Pt. 01 Ch. 03

"Now Mr. Marshall, I just told you I wanted you to count each stroke. That means after the stroke you should have said 'One Ms. Wechsbotham'.

It was so simple. How could he have forgotten that in the span of a few seconds? But then the pain across his backside was taking his focus. He knew however, that it was required and Ms. Wechsbotham would not accept him forgetting the counts in the future. He wasn't looking forward to the next strike but he steeled himself and vowed to remember the count.

Whaaackk!

"Two Ms. Wechsbotham."

It all came out in a rush. There was no way to sound calm. It was as if his body was fighting between breathing and speaking. And this time he was more aware of the blow as it landed. He had been taken by surprise the first time but this time he was aware of the paddle as it covered his butt and the stinging pain lit up once again.

"No Mr. Marshall, we always count from the beginning. And if we miss a count we start over, but then we haven't really started yet, have we?"

What? Haven't started yet? She was suggesting that those first two licks didn't count, while his burning ass was telling him they most certainly did count. He had to get this counting thing right. He wasn't sure he could take many more and somehow he had already given her two hits for free.

Whaaackk!

"One Ms. Wechsbotham."

It still came out in a rush, but he was confident he had done it right this time. And she had done it right too. His body was trying to compare this to any other experience. What came to mind was a belly flop in a pool. Years ago he had been dared and it didn't seem like a big deal, but when the water had slapped his stomach upon entry he knew what the fuss was about. It was a slapping, stinging sensation that didn't go away immediately. And he had just experienced another butt flop with all the slapping and stinging of the paddle.

Whaaackk!

"Two Ms. Wechsbotham."

Correction: it was like a butt flop if the water in the pool was made of wood. It had the same slapping and stinging sensation, but none of the giving. It was a hard and unyielding sort of slap. And by this time his ass was beginning to feel hot and the pain was increasing.

"You know I almost forgot. Weren't you supposed to be thanking me for each of these strokes?"

Fear suddenly grabbed him. It grabbed him by the shirt collar and shook him for being a fool. The thank you's that she had mentioned before he had been strapped to the table; he had forgotten about them. He couldn't start over again. He was barely maintaining his composure and he had finally gotten the counting right.

Perhaps she sensed his fear. Perhaps, she had an ounce of compassion. For while he tried to think of what to say, what he could do, how to keep from breaking down on the spot, he heard her speak again. He had to force himself to pay attention to what she was saying, not to the pain that was becoming ever present, and not to the fear of what might come.

"However, since you are new to this...maybe I could come up with a solution that doesn't involve starting over. You do want to thank me don't you?"

"Yes Ms. Wechsbotham. Thank you Ms. Wechsbotham."

He still couldn't sound calm and in control, something he didn't like and hadn't considered before, but he assumed she was both aware and happy that it was difficult for someone in his position. And now he knew he was willing to plead, to beg with her, if he didn't have to start all over again.

"So from here on out, you must count the strokes and thank me for each one. And you need to thank me for the strokes you missed."

"Thank you Ms. Wechsbotham."

He didn't hesitate. He would say anything for her to not start over. He was eager to be finished with this business and get out of here.

"Since we missed a few, how about a thank you for correcting your poor behavior."

"Thank you Ms. Wechsbotham, for correcting my poor behavior."

"That's a good boy. So we will continue without starting over. The count will be three this time and you will count and thank me for each and every stroke."

What a relief. He was wor...

Whaaackk!

She hadn't wasted any time and the stinging was washing over his behind. He heard himself cry out a little this time whether it was from surprise or the building pain. And then fear grabbed him, once again reminding him not to delay with his required response.

"Three Ms. Wechsbotham. Thank you Ms. Wechsbotham."

"Now that's the proper way to do it. Well done. Now for a small adjustment before we continue."

He found himself happy that she was happy. He had no intention of antagonizing her in any way. And he had answered the stroke correctly. He would be able to do that again and he promised himself there would be no need to start over, ever again. Now he was hoping this would all be over soon.

He then felt the paddle in a different way as she laid it over his back, the handle likely jutting out over his tailbone. He wasn't sure why she had done it but he didn't care for being used like an object. He soon forgot that objection as he felt his underwear suddenly yanked down to his ankles.

"What are you doing!"

"Watch your tone young man. I need to observe clearly and as this is outside the realm of a normal correction you needn't be afforded any form of protective cover."

Though of course for Tom it wasn't just about protection. He doubted his underwear was really providing any dampening of the pain, but now he was completely exposed from the back. Besides his bare ass being on display, she could possibly see his privates. He hoped his dick was hidden from view from her vantage point but she may have already seen his balls. Now he felt his face was turning red to match his battered butt.

He was thinking about his current position and how helpless he was to do anything about it. This wasn't something he could take back. And it wasn't over yet. He felt the paddle lift off his back and prepared himself for the next blow, reminding himself he still had to count and thank each stroke.

Whaaackk!

"Four Ms. Wechsbotham. Thank you Ms. Wechsbotham."

He had no idea if the underwear had made any difference. Each stroke seemed to be more painful than the last. He had a few moments respite as between the discussion of the thank you's and her pulling down his underwear but while the stinging may have lessened during those short breaks, the pain never really went away.

Whaaackk!

"Aaaahhh!...Five Ms. Wechsbotham. Thank you Ms. Wechsbotham."

He had cried out the last two times but this cry was louder, it was involuntary; it was his body's reaction to the pain it felt. He was now appreciating why no one would want to be in this position and how this knowledge might be a deterrent for unwanted behavior.

Whaaackk!

"Aaaahhh!...Six Ms. Wechsbotham. Thank you Ms. Wechsbotham."

While his breathing had gotten steadily heavier during the course of the paddling, he came to realize that it wasn't sweat that he felt but rather tears that were running down his cheeks. He didn't want to admit it to himself and he would never admit it to anyone else, but although he wasn't crying openly, she had brought him to tears with her disciplinary expertise.

He felt broken, defeated; he felt her fingers, her hand, sliding over his buttocks. His body and mind subjected to another surprise. She was gentle not rough and his sore skin thanked her for that consideration. But a part of him knew that this was improper, that this wasn't right and that same part of him became excited for the same reasons.

"Now that's looking nice."

After saying that, she pinched his sore cheek and he let out a squeal from the shock and the pain. She then ran her fingers over him some more and gave two playful slaps, one to each cheek. He was trying to come to terms with how she was playing with him when he heard her walk away back to the rack.

Was it truly over? Had he finally reached the end of this painful experience? Would he be set free to go home and get cleaned up and forget this had ever happened to him? He wanted it to be so, ready for it to be over, when his ears picked up a sound.

Whooosh! Wheeesh!

Whooosh! Wheeesh!

And the sound was getting closer. It was accompanied by the sound of Ms. Wechsbotham's heels on the wood floor as she approached him from behind, from his most vulnerable and stinging behind.

"Now then; shall we begin our little test?"

"But you just...I mean I...I've already...you already...that was...isn't it over?"

He could hear himself babbling but he had to say something. It had to be over. There just couldn't be more, he couldn't take it. What could she be thinking?

"No my dear boy, that was just a warm up. But don't worry. We won't need near as many with this. It will be over before you know it. Now, same rules as before. I want you to count and thank each one. And we will start at the beginning, so this next one will be 'one'."

He understood what she said but he was having trouble comprehending what was happening to him. There was to be more pain. She had found something other than the paddle and had warned that it was more severe. He couldn't imagine what that meant and he had no idea how to prepare for what was to come.

Whooosh! Wheeesh!

The sound hung in the air and time stood still in anticipation. The very room felt like a tense spectator waiting for an unbelievable outcome. And then, in an instant, the mystery was revealed.

Thwaaapp!

Aaaaaawwwww!

It wasn't a cry; it was a scream, a full bodied scream as a line of fire sliced into his bare ass. He thought he had felt pain, but he was wrong. Either the stinging he felt previously wasn't pain, or this new sensation was something beyond pain. His back arched and he found the cuffs yanking at his wrists. He also found his legs had been restrained in some manner because they wanted to double over his body and protect his flanks, but his feet barely left the floor.

"Son of a...One Ms. Wechsbotham. Thank you Ms. Wechsbotham"

It wasn't politeness or even obedience. It was a survival instinct that forced him to remember and speak those words. It was something born of fear, which would not allow for any inaction that might lead to more suffering.

"Now you naughty boy, I do hope you weren't about to say something rude. You know what you're supposed to say. I'm not sure why I'm feeling so lenient today but I guess we can just continue on."

"Thank you Ms. Wechsbotham."

Of course a part of him wanted to curse her for both the pain she had inflicted and her casual manner that she was being lenient with him and that he deserved worse, such as starting over. But a more powerful voice inside him would not let that come to pass. It knew the dangers of speaking out and that for survival he must keep any anger in check.

"You're welcome. Now we will continue."

Whooosh! Wheeesh! Whooosh! Wheeesh!

Thwaaapp!

"AAAaaawwwww!...Two Ms. Wechsbotham. Thank you Ms. Wechsbotham."

There was no hiding it now. Another scream and now he was sobbing openly as another line of fire burned across his ass. He felt his legs trembling and was thankful for the table to support him, or he surely would have fallen to the floor. She had won. She had most certainly won. He couldn't fight her on anything, he could only pray for her mercy.

Whooosh! Wheeesh!

Thwaaapp!

"AaaaAaaaAaaawwwww!...Three...Ms. Wechsbotham. Thank...you...Ms. Wechsbotham."

"There now. See? That wasn't so bad."

He couldn't argue, he wouldn't argue. She was right. Whatever she said was right. His body tensed once more as a finger ran along one of the lines of flame, bringing pain and awareness, but other than his sobbing he remained silent.

"Yes."

She said it more to herself than to him, as if she was pleased with her work. He tried not to think about it and was grateful when he realized she was working to remove his restraints. When she came around in front of him, her chest was once again in view but it did not excite him. He was simply relieved she was letting him go.

When she slipped off the cuffs his arms hung limply below him. She stood up and he felt her hand in the hair on the back of his head. He couldn't decide if she was stroking a pet or comforting a child.

"You did very well for your first time. Now get up slowly, and if you get dizzy, hold on to the table. Oh, and you might want to pull up your underwear and pants."

She was congratulating him and mocking him, but he didn't care. He made it. He had survived the ordeal and it was over. His arms felt weak but he managed to get them onto the table and to push himself to a near standing position. Once again he was grateful to the table for its support. While he didn't want to remain exposed for longer than necessary, he knew he needed to steady himself before he tried to bend over and adjust his garments.

In time he pulled up his underwear and his jeans and fastened them. The material was covering but not comforting to his abused bottom. He would surely need some sort of ice to cool the heat on his backside or a cream to ease the pain before the night was over.

Ms. Wechsbotham was sitting behind the desk, waiting for him to pull himself together. While his body had undergone a strenuous event, looking at her one would be hard pressed to point out any signs of exertion on her part. If anything, she looked invigorated.

Soon she was standing having gathered her things and he gathered his pack, and they were heading out the door. She tested the lock, probably out of habit, and they stood facing each other.

"Well Mr. Marshall, if that's all you'll be needing from me today, I think it's time for both of us to head home."

It was more of a stagger than a walk as Tom turned around and headed down the hall, the first step in his journey home. He was in something of a daze, but he couldn't help but hear Ms. Wechsbotham's parting comment.

"Now be a good boy and don't forget to study for your final exam."