Miss Elsa Svenson

Spanking & Caning in London with Miss Elsa Svenson

 

Archive for September, 2012

 

No Laughing Matter

Thursday, September 27th, 2012

No Laugh­ing Mat­ter

By Claris­sa

She could hear the hub­bub from halfway down the cor­ri­dor – a groundswell of noise punc­tu­at­ed by the occa­sion­al peal of out­right laugh­ter. It was of course com­ing from Miss Har­g­reaves’ Latin class. Miss Har­g­reaves was new to the school, in fact new to teach­ing, and her lack of class­room con­trol had been the talk of the staffroom for weeks. Despite her out­stand­ing aca­d­e­m­ic ref­er­ences, it seemed she could not han­dle the class­room sit­u­a­tion – well, one class in par­tic­u­lar, and one girl.

Miss Sven­son lis­tened at the class­room door a few moments: she heard a few muf­fled nois­es then an abrupt ‘Sit down at once!’ from Miss Har­g­reaves, fol­lowed by a pause then anoth­er peal of rau­cous laugh­ter. Miss Sven­son pushed opened the door and stepped swift­ly into the class­room – a stiff silence fell instant­ly on pro­ceed­ings. One look at a flushed and dis­tressed Miss Har­g­reaves, and a tall blonde girl still stand­ing, said it all. Miss Sven­son threw a fero­cious glance around the room then barked ‘Miran­da Spears, fol­low me!’ Miss Sven­son turned on her heel as the tall blonde girl made her way slow­ly out of the class. Miss Sven­son kept ahead of the girl, past the geog­ra­phy room, the his­to­ry room, down the main stairs with their gleam­ing mar­ble balustrades, along anoth­er cor­ri­dor to a fine oak door marked ‘Head­mistress’ in shiny brass let­ters. Miss Sven­son entered her study, keep­ing the door ajar, and wait­ed for the school­girl. Against her bet­ter judge­ment, she was furi­ous – she knew she shouldn’t take this out on the girl (even though she had had to deal with her before) but it would be dif­fi­cult. After a few moments Miran­da Spears appeared at the door. ‘Come in’ boomed Miss Sven­son. The girl entered and stood silent­ly in front of the Head. Miss Sven­son didn’t look up imme­di­ate­ly, try­ing hard to com­pose her feel­ings. After a short while, ‘Do you have any­thing to say?’ The girl didn’t respond. Miss Sven­son stood up – ‘I am going to give you six strokes of the cane, but I want you to know I will repeat the stroke if you don’t respond to me dur­ing the pun­ish­ment – do you under­stand?’

 

The girl looked a lit­tle non­plussed, but didn’t reply. ‘You’ve been here before,’ con­tin­ued Miss Sven­son, ‘assume the posi­tion!’ The girl took off her blaz­er and bent her body care­ful­ly over Miss Svenson’s pol­ished wal­nut desk. Miss Sven­son pulled back the girl’s blue pleat­ed skirt then made her way to the cor­ner cup­board, from which she pro­duced a long, crook-han­dled cane. A few prac­tice swish­es then wham, down on the girl’s exposed behind. ‘Do you think it’s fun­ny to humil­i­ate peo­ple?’ she demand­ed; no reply from the girl. Down came the cane again, and again, the same ques­tion. Still no response. The cane again, then a sti­fled ‘please’. ‘Please what?’ demand­ed Miss Sven­son. No response. The cane again, this time hard­er than ever – ‘Do you think it’s fun­ny to humil­i­ate peo­ple?’ This time Miss Sven­son paused; she could already see the can­ing had inflict­ed some seri­ous marks and, although angry, she did not wish to thrash the girl with­in an inch of her life. She raised the cane again; then heard a qui­et ‘No’. ‘No what?’ demand­ed Miss Sven­son. ‘No, I don’t think it’s fun­ny to humil­i­ate peo­ple’ from the girl. The cane again – five strokes now. The girl gasped then buried her head in her arm. ‘So you will apol­o­gise to Miss Har­g­reaves?’ the cane one more time, and anoth­er gasp from the girl, fol­lowed by a muf­fled ‘Yes.’ Miss Sven­son looked at the girl, her head was still buried in her arm, her behind, although obscured by her knick­ers, still revealed the tell-tale ridges of a good hard can­ing. ‘Get up and adjust your dress’ com­mand­ed Miss Sven­son. The girl got up, and pulled down her skirt. ‘Face me’ con­tin­ued Miss Sven­son. The girl turned round – her hair was dishev­elled and, for the very first time, she looked on the verge of tears. Miss Sven­son couldn’t help smil­ing to her­self at this; after all, it was no laugh­ing mat­ter.