four.

Canes? Paddles? Whips? A horrifying sight indeed.

'This can't be real' she thinks to herself. He flicks a switch and when the lights come on, she sees that the room is completely empty except for the disciplinary tools hanging on the walls and the single chai and table in the middle of the room.

It smells like leather and wood spice, the small area. It's about one-third the size of a normal classroom. Among them, only the headmaster knows that the room is completely soundproof.

When he shuts the door, she panics.

"There's no need to look so frightened, Jane," the headmaster says tauntingly. "This is what you chose," he reminds her.

This is her chance to act tough. To show him that she's not that much affected by his arrogance.

"I'm not," she says, keeping her chin up and squaring her shoulders in an attempt to seem confident.

"You're not what?" He asks. He's much taller and much bigger in general. She knows she can't intimidate him no matter how hard she tries.

"Frightened," she replies.

"Good." He knows she's lying, but pretending to believe her is just so much better.

He browses the paddles hanging on the wall, wondering which one would be most suitable. He wants her to feel pain, but only enough to get the message across and not so much that she can't bear it.

"How often are students brought in here?" She asks.

"More often than you think. Don't ask any more questions, Jane, this isn't a lecture."

She presses her lips together and waits with her hands crosses behind her.

Finally, he takes a long wooden paddle and wields it. 'This will have to do'.

Walking over to the table, he sets it down and rolls up his sleeves to his elbows.

Then he places his palms flat on the surface of the table, leaning over it to. "Like this," he says, showing her the position she must take.

She rubs her sweaty palms over her skirt and moves over to the table, taking position.

"Eight strikes on your ass. Are you ready?"

She looks at him with wide eyes. "I'm not… I-" she gulps. "Eight strikes? I can't take it."

He doesn't know if he can get through it either without his cock going hard. Seeing her like this, helplessly submitted to him, her ass pushed back and awaiting the paddle is the most nerve-racking thing he has seen in a while.

"You can take it. You *will* take it." Does she really think she has a choice.

"Brace yourself, Jane."

She hangs her head in defeat, pressing her palms over the table and taking a deep breath.

He keeps one hand tucked safely in his pocket while the other raises the paddle and strikes her for the first time.

"Count," he says, surprising both of them. And when she hesitates, he strikes her again.

"Two!" She shrieks. He hums in satisfaction.

"Three," Jane says through ragged breaths after he strikes for the third time. Even through the fabric of her skirt, it hurts like a bitch.

His hand wavers, causing her to look back at him. Their eyes connect, her bottom lips tucked between her teeth and her eyebrows creased in discomfort. His legs move before he can stop them, coming dangerously close to her just before the fourth strike.

"Four."

"Keep your eyes down," he orders, feeling his arousal start to take hold of him.

'I should stop. I should stop here and let her go.'

He strikes again. "Five," she cries, whimpering and shaking over the table. He wonders what shade of red her ass is glowing right now under her skirt. He wonders what it would sound like to paddle her on her bare ass, what her skin would feel like under his palm as he soothes her, preparing her for another hit.

She's more than halfway through. "Good job. You're being so good for me," he breathes.

She presses her thighs together as hard as she can, wishing the unexplainable ache between them would go away. But it grows more deliciously intense when he strikes her again.

"Six," she sighs. She's panting now, sweating all over as her entire body heats up. And as he watches her, he realises the harsh truth. She is turned on by this. Just as turned on as he is. She… likes it.

Maybe not consciously, but a hidden part of her is practically begging for more.

'What if I lift up her skirt? What if I catch a glance of her underwear and see how wet she is from this?' He wonders.

His chest rises and falls even faster as he contemplates. He knows he must stop himself from crossing that line, but he's not sure if he can.

Grabbing onto the hem of her skirt, he holds it up before bunching it around her waist. He exhales sharply as he catches a glimpse of the red marks on her skin. She turns slightly, grabbing onto his left arm at the intrusion.

She should probably be running and screaming, but her eyes send a different message when she looks into his eyes again.

He stares at her. 'She's wants me to spank her again?'

He raises the paddle, striking again. "Seven," she whimpers. His eyes shut and he takes a deep breath. This is not going according to his plan. This is bad, this is really bad. This should not be happening.

She wonders if he feels enough pity for her now to let her go. But she has already come so far. "Last one, Sir," she says. "I can take it. I'm taking it just like you told me to."

'Holy shit she's going to be the death of me.' He's already so hard he can barely think straight. He might as well finish what he started.

Once again, the paddle rises and falls on her skin. "Eight."

He drops it to the floor, stepping away from her and running his fingers through his hair.

"Shit," he curses under his breath.

She lift her palms, turning around and adjusting her skirt. And for a moment, they just stare at each other, breathing heavily and wondering what just happened.

Silence fills the room. It's suffocating.

She waits for him to say something. Anything.

But without a word, the headmaster leaves the room.