Spanking Story Competition 2013 – ‘The Golden Age of Education,’ by Robert:
“Yes, Porter, Miss Svenson will see you now. Knock on her study door and await permission to enter.”
At first it had merely piqued her interest as a quaint perk of Lucy Spencer’s new job as school secretary, studying the pensive countenance of each fresh miscreant as he or she entered the small office, a brief yet delightful prelude to the pupil submitting to the Headmistress’ particular brand of traditional corporal discipline.
Yet thrice daily for the past seven days Lucy had witnessed this precursor to punishment and, increasingly drawn to the thrilling percussive chorus of each successive thrashing that she could hear from the adjoining room, it had by now consumed her every waking thought.
In idle moments Lucy could not now help but hark back to that day a decade ago, when her own Form Mistress had held her firmly over her knee and administered what Lucy had then considered to be quite a Victorian spanking. Yet the vim and vigour with which Miss Svenson deftly applied correction forced Lucy to concede her own experience had been a mere pat-a-cake punishment by comparison!
Such was the secretary’s new-found fixation, when the Headmistress’ duties took her away from her office Lucy would surreptitiously slip into Miss Svenson’s study. Once inside, she indulged the urge to trace a fingertip across the glossy sheen of each polished leather strap and paddle hanging along the wall. This rich, sensual prompt allowed Lucy to relive the symphonic lickety-split slaps an implement had so recently afforded her – Oh Miss Svenson, if music be the food of love, play on! — when she had wondered what sweet torment its recipient endured behind the closed door, as she pretended to remain demure and disinterested, typing up minutes at her desk.
One lovingly hand-crafted artefact in particular, a red leather Three Pence Strap, increasingly appealed to Lucy’s hitherto latent disciplinary sensibilities. The young woman could not help but ponder over how many upturned pupils’ bottoms had assumed its deliciously deep crimson hue, following a prolonged thwacking from the Headmistress. An involuntarily mischievous smile would illuminate her pretty features at such times, as Lucy recognised the extent to which these deliciously decadent musings had aroused her.
Today, however, was of particularly special interest, for the pupil in question was not only captain of the rugby team, he was widely considered a certainty to be the next Head Boy; that was until Rupert Porter had been caught in the girls’ dormitory after lights out!
So great had been his fall from grace, Miss Svenson felt utterly compelled to make an extreme example of the boy. Firstly, in order to compound his shame, Porter had been ordered to attend lessons that day attired in the school ‘punishment kilt,’ as opposed to regulation school trousers, so all would be acutely aware of what was about to befall him. And it was an ill-kept secret that this once too-proud youth, who until now had paraded his devilishly handsome form around the school like some strutting cockerel, had been forced to sport a petticoat and matching lace-trimmed satin French knickers beneath his tartan pleats. For as Miss Svenson had concluded with a cruel smirk at the recent staff meeting: “If he is that keen to get into girls’ knickers then I will duly oblige him!”
As Lucy eyed the crestfallen boy now stood before her, she absent-mindedly licked her upper lip and relished the prospect of what she must surely soon overhear: an over-the-knee spanking and strapping, followed by a delightfully formal and severe 24-stroke thrashing with the cane . And the young woman stifled a giggle at the unmistakeable rustle and swish of frou-frou from beneath Porter’s swaying kilt, as he made for Miss Svenson’s study door.
The secretary attempted to busy herself, but it was a futile attempt at distraction and her heart fluttered butterfly-like as the recurring temptation coursed through her veins. In her mind’s eye Lucy could vividly picture Porter’s bare and peachy-pert bottom all a‑quiver in expectation of what was to ensue. And as the first refreshingly sharp palm slaps resounded beyond the four walls of the Headmistress’ sanctum, Lucy found herself irresistibly drawn to the study door, like a moth to a flame.
Oh, how her heart now galloped like a wild horse over the hills, as Lucy recognised the sweet intoxicating thwack of the Three Pence Strap, its gloriously whippy impact having already reduced Porter to such endearing sobs for mercy. And the secretary sensed the slight involuntary undulation of her hips in time with this metronomic and mesmeric melody of punishment, emanating from just beyond the closed door at which she now stood.
Lucy positively swooned as she overheard Porter sob: “Six, thank-you Miss,” as the delicious ‘swish’ and ‘thwip’ of the cane seared yet another livid stripe across the boy’s tender seat. But then for a moment all became eerily quiet. Surely Miss Svenson had not succumbed to the pupil’s pleas and ceased the punishment with but a mere quarter of the strokes executed? A frown briefly clouded Lucy’s sweet features and, in her disappointment, her full red lips pursed into quite an adorable little pout.
“Miss Spencer! Stop loitering in the doorframe and enter my study immediately.” The unmistakably clipped and icy tones of Miss Svenson broached no quarter for dissent and a rather flustered and flushed-faced Lucy duly obeyed, her gaze lowered to the gleam of her patent leather court shoes as she entered the room.
In an instant, Miss Svenson flashed her steely glare upon the forlorn Porter, similarly head-bowed as she addressed him: “You, boy, are to return to your class, but I would suggest you consider this interruption a mere interlude. You will spend a further day attired in your kilted uniform, before reporting to me at 3pm sharp tomorrow afternoon, so we may draw this matter to a more satisfactory conclusion. Close the door behind you.”
The clear displeasure indelibly etched across the irked Headmistress’ features froze the errant secretary where she stood, now all too acutely aware that her foolishness had placed her in quite a predicament: the position of every naughty pupil who had ever been summoned to Miss Svenson’s study!
“Miss Spencer, whilst I appreciate you are a newcomer to this establishment, it cannot have escaped your notice that as Headmistress, I prefer to run this school in accordance with principles from the Golden Age of Education, now so sadly frowned upon elsewhere in the modern system,” explained Miss Svenson. “I firmly believe etiquette and protocol are vital elements underpinning all situations of any value, and never more so than when the occasion arises for me to administer corporal punishment.
“By lurking in my doorway and eaves-dropping on the sacred rituals of a whipping, you have completely undermined the very setting I have strived to create,” continued the Headmistress , “and the consequences of your rude interruption are that Porter has been denied the opportunity to achieve the state of atonement he craves. That in itself is unforgivably selfish of you, Miss Spencer.”
The young woman flinched as she received her scolding, for she instinctively recognised the irrevocable truth of Miss Svenson’s stinging words. And this ‘vocal spanking’ had yet to run its course. “Furthermore, Miss Spencer, and perhaps even more seriously, you have denied me the opportunity to conduct my duties as Headmistress in the manner I see fit and I believe mere words themselves are insufficient to convey the severity of this offence.”
With that, Miss Svenson rose from her seat and sashayed with such alluring and effortless feminine elegance to the line of leather implements hanging silently in attendance along the far wall. And with the swift confidence of the expert, she made her immediate selection, returning to her ebony leather Empire chair with Three Pence Strap in hand.
As she reclined once more with such regal poise, a shaft of summer sunlight added a golden, haloed glow to Miss Svenson’s luscious blonde locks. And in that moment it appeared to Lucy that the Headmistress’ undeniable authority was such that it must have been ordained by some deity.
“I assume, having reached the age of 21, you now consider yourself far too mature to receive the attentions of this fine relic from the aforementioned Golden Age,’ taunted Miss Svenson. “But I can assure you, Miss Spencer, if you act like a naughty little spank-girl at this establishment, then that is precisely how you will be treated.” And with a crooked index finger, she beckoned the young woman towards her. It was all Lucy could do but meekly comply. “Miss Spencer, you may now assume the position.”
Giddy with the realisation of what was to occur, Lucy’s movements were by now as un-coordinated as her random thoughts, but she somehow managed to compose herself sufficiently to stand at the Headmistress’ side and bend from her trim waist until her palms touched the floor. And as she settled her own shapely form into Miss Svenson’s sumptuous lap, the young woman relished this deliciously intimate moment.
The Headmistress swiftly whipped up her secretary’s light, flighty skirt and smiled a silent appreciation of the most charming ‘target area’ that greeted her, so elegantly framed by the young lady’s stocking tops and suspender belt. Miss Svenson afforded herself the pleasure of allowing her palm to glide briefly across this most aesthetically appealing behind, with a touch as gentle as a lover’s caress, as Lucy’s beating heart frolicked lamb-like in trepidation – and curious anticipation – of what she was about to receive.
In the instant Lucy allowed her muscles to momentarily relax, Miss Svenson commenced the punishment with considerable gusto and customary aplomb, spanking each ripe sphere alternately with a rapid tattoo of sharp stinging slaps. The invigorating sensation prompted Lucy’s rouged lips to form a perfect circle, as time and again on impact she emitted and almost inaudible “Oh!” And much to Miss Svenson’s pleasure, a glorious pink tinge to rival any sunset had already been applied to the luscious buttocks at her mercy.
The secretary managed to summon sufficient resolve to endure her hand-spanking in a manner her Headmistress found most impressive. Although as Miss Svenson reached for the strap, she knew such resolve was about to be sorely tested in every respect!
‘Thwip!’ ‘Thwap!’ ‘Thwip!’ ‘Thwap!’ – Oh, how Lucy now moaned with gay abandon, as the hefty strap lashed its scorching torment across her already tender seat, each stroke delivered with such satisfying precision by Miss Svenson, across the central ‘sweet spot.’ And as the thrashing intensified, the young woman achieved an almost dreamlike state, whereby she could no longer tell where her own body ended and that of Miss Svenson’s began: it was as if spanker and spankee had truly become as one, until the heavenly proceedings reached a natural cessation, a crescendo of whipping where both woman were breathless and all passion for punishment spent.
The melodic lilt with which Miss Svenson now addressed Lucy, as she stood struggling to regain her composure, was received as gratefully as a soothing balm: “I am extremely proud of you, Miss Spencer, you endured your punishment with great fortitude and I now believe you possess all the attributes necessary to become a highly-valued member of my staff.”
With that, Miss Svenson offered to be kissed the immaculately-manicured hand that had so freshly whipped the young secretary and as Lucy pressed her ruby lips to the flesh, every fibre of her being was flooded with adoration for the indomitable Miss Svenson.