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An attractive 17 yearold girl turns you around to face away, a slender sylph of a girl you have the fiercest of crushes upon, her slender fingers coolly caressing your naked buttocks as she pulls your pyjamas down exposing your small taut round bottom. Her hand rests momentarily upon your skin.

England, 1954. A small boarding school beside what the English call the sea be it channel, sea or ocean, and Americans call the ocean be it ocean, sea or channel. A small boarding school for boys 7-13 in a seaside town, all peculiarly English and far more peculiarly so in those distant 1950s when as you may well imagine corporal punishment was very common, causing no particular outcry, and if it left emotional scars, well maybe these longings are part of all that though I wouldn't change a thing.

Up to the age of 10 we usually received smacked bottoms when naughty and it took pretty serious misbehaviour before the slipper was brought out. Seniors, over 10, were rarely smacked, although it was not unknown.

Dormitories were a world aside from the day school. Breaking dormitory rules was usually dealt with by one of the matrons. The senior matron was a stout lady with hair usually somewhat awry, a wig to cover her baldness, we boys were certain. She always used a large hairbrush. More than happy to whack you in front of the rest of the dorm she nonetheless always let you keep your pyjamas on, always allowed the miscreant attain a measure of dignity by her manner of imparting punishment, even enhanced his dignity by making it possible for him to endure in manly fashion - perhaps the reason we never resented her punishments.

Things were worse on nights when her overly-strict assistant Miss Evans was on duty. Worse for all apart from me, for she was the recipient of my silent love. She was very yong for the job. 17. Merely 6 years older than I, for I was now a senior, and I always let myself believe she was less strict with me than the others. I think I actually believed she looked at me fondly when opportunity permitted.

Then the night I etched permanently into my being. My friend William was talking after lights out. It was he talking, not I. All I did was murmur "Better be quiet, Will, or Miss Evans will catch you." Precisely at that moment the door burst open, lights went on and my final word seemed to hang resoundingly in the air, pinned there by my fierce love's intense angry stare. She must have been waiting outside the dorm listening for a voice, a reason to punish. Surely then she had heard Will rabbiting on? Perhaps she chose me because she liked me? I wished to believe so.

"Get out of bed, Petrie" she told me, all boys in English schools addressed by surname, of course. "Stand at the foot!"

Warily I climbed out and stood as she instructed.

"I've had enough of you boys always talking in bed against the rules. It's time to make an example."

I gulped and croaked "Oh, come on, I wasn't talking much. I just said...." I could hardly rat on my best friend so I stopped there.

"You just said what?" She hardly paused for an answer. "It's not what you said, idiot child, it's the fact that you talked and you aren't supposed to, are you? It's not the first time, I've warned you before." That was entirely untrue and I was deeply stung for I'd prided myself on always being on her good side. What had happened to our special relationship?

She seemed extraordinarily angry for such a small infraction. Is hindsight grasping after straws in suggesting she felt some kind of attraction toward me and was angry at the absurdity considering my youth?

"Now, it's up to you - we can either deal with it here and now, or it's a visit to the headmaster!"

I was incredibly shocked. No-one got sent to the head for talking after Lights Out. If she did what she threatened it might mean the cane. None in the dorm had been caned but I recalled the awful marks on the bottom of a lad from one of the poorer families, a charity student always in trouble for scruffy hair and torn clothing, who'd been caned the previous term. We'd all seen the damage clearly in the showers after games and desperately wanted to avoid an experience like that.

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Miss Evans was getting impatient. Her manner was hurting me deeply and I probably writhed and cowered visibly on the spot like an unhappy puppy. "Well, what's it to be? Do you want to go and see the headmaster, or shall I deal with it now?"

I couldn't face the idea of being caned yet also couldn't bear to be punished by her, my secret love. And yet it was hopeless. She looked so intensely angry I pictured myself bent over in the head's study and after a few moments of hesitation replied "I suppose I'd rather you dealt with it now, Miss Evans" Her name came out of my nervous mouth with such warmth I hoped she would be moved to forgive me.

She looked relieved and my heart rose for a few moments. Again in hindsight I suppose she didn't like the idea of actually sending someone to the head just for misbehaving after Lights Out lest he dismiss her complaint as trivial and she end up the one looking foolish with authority diminished. Her dignity versus my backside. An easy choice for her, I fear.

"Right, then, young man! I'm afraid I'm going to give you the slipper." We all knew that routine. a common dorm punishment which meant little. Such was my thought as I slowly went to the foot of my bed and bent over. Most slipperings were over in a flash. She went to the door and picked up one of the plimsolls lying there and came back to me, by now bent over my bed and feeling curious stirrings in my penis which up to that time had never, to my conscious knowledge, been erect. I seemed to find myself actually longing for this contact with my love. Very strange!

She stood behind me a few moments then slowly reached up to the waistband of my pyjama bottoms and pulled them down. I heard the entire dorm gasp and couldn't look around, frozen in horror. This was the first time any of us had been slippered on the bare bottom and I wanted to die, exposed to all the boys, my standing destroyed in their eyes. Bent forward ignominiously. A girl, older than I, assistant matron, yet nonetheless very young in the scheme of things, exposing my intimate parts in public. And the feeling of her hands against my flesh as she slid the fabric off my nakedness! Like a caress. A soft sweet caress in extreme contradiction to the brutal physical pain and perhaps worse emotional pain she was about to inflict.

I could only bury my face in the bedclothes while feeling the eyes of the entire class glued expectantly to my small bottom shining out in the large ill-lit shadowy room with its beds in two orderly lines. It was summer and my skin browned very easily to a handsome golden tan and the lines of my swimming trunks made abrupt demarcations accentuating the whitenesss of my buttocks. Not white for much longer. Thwhack! Miss Evans brought the slipper down really hard. Next morning the other boys told me they saw precisely where that first slap landed by the clear red mark in the exact shape of the plimsoll slap-bang in the middle of my right cheek. But, they laughingly told me, this soon disappeared as the rest of my backside turned red.

She hit 6 times and by the end I was in tears, tears of physical pain, of shame and degradation, loss of my love, of anger. I was told to get back into bed, did so with as much dignity as I could muster, and she left. None dared talk any more that night.

I was deeply upset and very quiet for a long time thereafter. Not long after the spanking Miss Evans left the school for a job in a shop in the town so I saw her less often, for we were only allowed into the town on Saturday afternoons. I never spoke to her again yet each time I saw her two things happened - no, three. My face reddened as I recalled the unjustified indignity, my bottom seemed to tingle and feel again the sensous stroking of her fingers pulling my pyjamas down followed by the burning slaps, and my cock would stir to erection.

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