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I'd never lie to her, unless it was completely necessary. We were friends. That was it. She'd make a bed up for me in her flatmates old room, which was now the living room, pulling down cushions from the settee, hunting out bits of blankets and quilts and putting them together like something resembling a child's idea of a bed, all jumbled heaps with no hospital corners and the smell of spilt Kestrel lager. I stripped of down to my Ys,, like a child getting ready for bed, a little self conscious, but showing off in equal measure. I needed another pee. She could see that I had a hard on, but she chose not to see it, tilting her head away, watching something, watching nothing. I always had a hard on when I was with her. She couldn’t mistake the feel of it poking against her as we got into clinches. My whole body was waiting, primed, sensitive to her touch and slightly musky smell. She was watching something on the TV when I got back, something funny, because she laughed. I. By the end of the class, I was exhausted and my ass was criss-crossed with livid welts from Mistress Garner’s whip. I stumbled into the showers, eager for the cascading waters and the opportunity to wash the sweat of exertion from my body. Some of the girls giggled at my scarlet bottom, which had so often been the target of the instructor’s whip. I strove to ignore their taunts, and finished the shower so that I could clothe myself once more.My last class of the day was psychology with Master Eddings. He was of middle years, perhaps forty-five or fifty, with brown hair graying at the temples and gold-rimmed glasses. His brown tweed coat bore the customary Tarnheim crest, and looked quite fetching on his broad shoulders. He was keenly intelligent and displayed a breadth of knowledge of the human mind that was astonishing. During the class, I found it difficult to sit still due to the soreness of my bottom, which attracted the attention of our teacher. At one point during the lecture,.
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