Miss Elsa Svenson

Spanking & Caning in London with Miss Elsa Svenson


Archive for November, 2012


Christmas cards etc…

Saturday, November 24th, 2012

It’s that time of the year again and obvi­ous­ly I am delight­ed to receive Christ­mas cards from my naughty  boys.…

but please check with me first so you have the cor­rect postal address.

Sad­ly some cards, let­ters and even pack­ets nev­er reached me as the address was wrong.

Although I very much appre­ci­ate receiv­ing well wish­es and Christ­mas cards it will not help your sit­u­a­tion next time you are bent over my knee…

With regards

Miss Elsa Sven­son


What did Miss Svenson say ?

Saturday, November 24th, 2012



A painful memory

Sunday, November 18th, 2012

A painful mem­o­ry

By Claris­sa

The fan on her desk shud­dered to its sec­ond unsched­uled halt of the morn­ing, and Miss Sven­son was assailed by the heat of the day. It had been a record May, with tem­per­a­tures reg­u­lar­ly reach­ing into the eight­ies: even her nor­mal­ly cool office was start­ing to stul­ti­fy. She took the fan in her hands and shook it gen­tly, but this time it remained unmoved. She stood up with a sigh, not­ing with dis­plea­sure that the leather strap that hung by her office door had some­how loosed from its moor­ings. She picked up the strap and start­ed tap­ping it uncon­scious­ly against the palm of her hand.

Sud­den­ly, she was back 30 years, back at Blue Mead­ows, a school for the daugh­ters of ex-pat colo­nials and diplo­mats, some 20 miles out­side Nairo­bi. There she was, stand­ing at the front of the class, as the geog­ra­phy teacher, Miss Hen­der­son, bran­dished a tawse before her. ‘Hold out your hand, Elsa,’ then whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. She curled back her fin­gers in sym­pa­thy.

Now she was in the office of the head­mistress, a grey-head­ed Scotswoman called Miss Firth. ‘Bend over, girl’; ‘Bend over; Bend over; Bend over.’ Three times she had been in Miss Firth’s office that term, and on the fourth, she was sus­pend­ed.

So, what have you been binned for this time?’ asked her step­fa­ther cool­ly, tak­ing a swig from his large tum­bler of whisky.

For swear­ing – in Swahili.’

Well, we can’t have you talk­ing like a local can we?’ he con­tin­ued, slam­ming his glass down on the table.

Wham, wham, wham. She couldn’t remem­ber how many times he rained down the cane, nor the colour of the dress she was wear­ing, nor the weave of the fab­ric into which she clenched her fists, all she could remem­ber, she thought with a pang, was the sound of his cold, venge­ful anger.

Penge Penal Institute, 15 December, 6–30 pm

Sunday, November 18th, 2012

Penge Penal Insti­tute, 15 Decem­ber, 6–30 pm

DCO Pren­der­gast dis­ci­plined for neg­li­gence amount­ing to seri­ous pro­fes­sion­al mis­con­duct. A Penge youth, 18, hav­ing been sen­tenced to 36 strokes of the heavy strap, to be admin­is­tered by SCO Rod­well, it tran­spired that there was no such strap on the premis­es. When SCO Rod­well asked for an expla­na­tion, DCO Pren­der­gast replied that she had bor­rowed the strap to chas­tise her teenage daugh­ter, Har­ri­et, then omit­ted to return it to its usu­al place in the strap-box. She apol­o­gised pro­fuse­ly for the over­sight. SCO Rod­well informed DCO Pren­der­gast that, although her pre­vi­ous record was exem­plary, such slip­shod behav­iour could not be tol­er­at­ed. After she had pun­ished the youth with the medi­um strap in lieu of the heavy one, increas­ing the num­ber of strokes to 48, she put Miss Pren­der­gast over her knee, lift­ed her skirt and spanked her with the utmost vigour, ‘as a reminder to be more care­ful in future’.




Miranda — part three

Monday, November 5th, 2012

Miran­da part three

by Claris­sa

Miss Sven­son regret­ted her words almost as soon as she had uttered them. Yes, Miran­da Spears was a par­tic­u­lar­ly obsti­nate pupil, and might well respond to the dou­ble humil­i­a­tion of being dis­ci­plined by a man, but it was a prac­tice of which Miss Sven­son did not gen­er­al­ly approve. But Spears’ inso­lence had got to her; so there it was, she couldn’t change it.

She sent the girl out of the room while she pre­pared to make the phone call. As she con­tem­plat­ed her options, an image of Don­ald Rudd, head­mas­ter of Till­wood, came to mind. Although now in his late-fifties, and in need of con­stant glass­es, he was well known for still being able to lay down a par­tic­u­lar­ly pow­er­ful can­ing, some­thing of which he was inor­di­nate­ly proud. She picked up the phone.

Hel­lo again Elsa,’ came Rudd’s voice, ‘have you had any luck with my lit­tle prob­lem?’ ‘Yes indeed,’ replied Miss Sven­son, ‘I have iden­ti­fied the offend­ing fifth for­mer.’ ‘That’s excel­lent news,’ came the reply, ‘may I ask what you pro­pose doing with her?’ Miss Sven­son cleared her throat then went on, ‘Actu­al­ly, Don­ald, I was won­der­ing whether a dose of med­i­cine from you might be more effec­tive in this instance, with the offend­ing boy a wit­ness to her trou­ble.’ Before she had time to catch her breath, Rudd came back with an enthu­si­as­tic ‘That’s a splen­did idea – six of the best with the senior?’ Miss Sven­son hes­i­tat­ed; no doubt this is what he had giv­en the cap­tain of the rug­by XI, indeed, twice that num­ber, but it was not what she want­ed for Spears. ‘No, Don­ald, I think six with the strap from your strong arm should work won­ders.’ ‘You’re too kind,’ replied Rudd immod­est­ly, ‘of course, I agree.’

Miss Sven­son put down the tele­phone and called in the girl. She had no doubt Miran­da Spears would resent her more than ever, but it was a nec­es­sary pun­ish­ment and, she knew in her heart, a just one.

Miranda — part two

Sunday, November 4th, 2012

Miran­da part two

by Claris­sa

Do you enjoy Shake­speare, Miran­da?’ asked Miss Sven­son of the tall school girl who stood before her. The girl didn’t reply, but flicked back a strand of fair hair, betray­ing a slight ner­vous­ness. ‘Well, do you?’ con­tin­ued the head, fix­ing the girl with her light blue eyes. ‘Yes, Miss,’ came the mut­ed response.

Miss Sven­son stood up and walked towards her study win­dows. The win­dows revealed a scene of some dev­as­ta­tion: branch­es felled by wind and rose bush­es beat­en down by rain; she would have to tell Mr Jef­freys, the head gar­den­er, to take an urgent look at this, Miss Sven­son thought to her­self.

Is The Tem­pest a par­tic­u­lar favourite?’ Miss Sven­son asked at last. ‘Well, I was named after one of the lead char­ac­ters,’ flashed back the girl.

Don’t be so inso­lent,’ boomed Miss Sven­son turn­ing around, ‘you know exact­ly what I am talk­ing about!’ The girl flushed just slight­ly, and looked down at the floor.

I’ve had Dr Rudd on the phone, who has been telling me all about your the­atri­cal prowess,’ con­tin­ued Miss Sven­son. No reply from the girl.

Yes,’ went on Miss Sven­son, ‘most impres­sive.’ Still noth­ing from the girl.

You are not going to deny it was you with that boy from Till­wood, or that you were unaware such unchap­er­oned encoun­ters were entire­ly against the rules?’ Still no response from the girl: this was typ­i­cal, thought Miss Sven­son.

Look me in the eye,’ she com­mand­ed; the girl com­plied. ‘Are you going to deny it?’ A moment’s hes­i­ta­tion, then ‘No, Miss.’ Miss Sven­son breathed an inward sigh of relief: Miran­da Spears real­ly was the most obsti­nate pupil.

Are you going to cane me?’ asked the girl sud­den­ly, rais­ing her gaze from the floor.

Don’t be so inso­lent,’ thun­dered Miss Sven­son, ‘it is for me to tell you such things, not for you to ask!’ The girl looked down again.

But no, I am not going to cane you; or strap you; or slip­per you; or put you over my knee and spank you.’ Still no response, though Miss Sven­son detect­ed a def­i­nite red­den­ing of the girl’s com­plex­ion.

What I am going to do is ring up Dr Rudd and tell him about our lit­tle con­ver­sa­tion. And, on this occa­sion, as I find you so exceed­ing­ly dif­fi­cult, I am going to ask him to decide what to do with you.’

Now the girl looked def­i­nite­ly per­plexed.


No Miran­da,’ assert­ed Miss Sven­son, ‘that’s enough ques­tion­ing for now. I am sure you will Dr Rudd will have all the answers you need.’


Miranda — part one

Sunday, November 4th, 2012

Miran­da part one 

by Claris­sa

It real­ly was the most filthy day thought Miss Sven­son as she lift­ed her eyes from the gov­er­nors’ report and lis­tened to the rain lash­ing at the mul­lion win­dows and the wind scur­ry­ing around the rooftops: the most filthy day, and prac­ti­cal­ly dark out­side, even though it was only 11 o’clock in the morn­ing.  She turned back to the report, only to be inter­rupt­ed by the ring of the tele­phone. ‘Yes?’ she enquired some­what testi­ly. It was her sec­re­tary, Edith: ‘Sor­ry to trou­ble you Miss Sven­son, but I have Dr Rudd on the phone.’

Don­ald Rudd, head of Mill­ward, the boys’ school prac­ti­cal­ly adjoin­ing Cams­ford House.  If Camsford’s grounds yearned for the sea, Tillwood’s pulled in the oppo­site direc­tion, its out­er reach­es skirt­ing the coun­ty town of Shrew­ton.

Put him through,’ con­tin­ued Miss Sven­son. ‘Hel­lo Elsa,’ came a loud voice, ‘it’s Don­ald.’ Miss Sven­son winced slight­ly at Rudd’s infor­mal­i­ty, but fol­lowed suit: ‘Hel­lo Don­ald, how may I help you?’ ‘Well,’ con­tin­ued the head­mas­ter, ‘I do have a slight prob­lem I am hop­ing you can assist me with. Yes­ter­day after­noon, before prep, one of my pre­fects caught one of my fifth form boys with one of your girls – just talk­ing you under­stand.’ ‘Car­ry on,’ con­tin­ued Miss Sven­son. ‘I saw the lad first thing this morn­ing, hav­ing giv­en him a night to con­tem­plate the prospect of our meet­ing. This nor­mal­ly opens them up but this time, despite six of the best for being out-of-bounds, and anoth­er six for meet­ing up with this girl, the boy refused to dis­close her name.’ ‘I see,’ said Miss Sven­son. ‘I have giv­en him a week’s deten­tion for his trou­ble, but I don’t real­ly want to pun­ish him fur­ther; you see, he is cap­tain of the rug­by XI.’ Anoth­er slight wince from Miss Sven­son, then ‘Did your pre­fect have a descrip­tion of the girl?’ ’Most cer­tain­ly,’ con­tin­ued the head­mas­ter with gus­to, ‘excep­tion­al­ly tall with long fair hair.’ ‘Any­thing else?’ ‘As a mat­ter of fact there was some­thing else: when the pre­fect asked the girl what she was think­ing of, she replied “O won­der! How many good­ly crea­tures are there here. O brave new world. That has such peo­ple in’t!” which, if I’m not mis­tak­en, is a slight­ly trun­cat­ed line from Shakespeare’s’ ‘The Tem­pest,’ inter­rupt­ed Miss Sven­son abrupt­ly. ‘Yes, that’s right, The Tem­pest. Now you see my prob­lem: I do need to find out this girl’s name and, I imag­ine, so do you: any ideas?’ Miss Sven­son wrin­kled her nose slight­ly and lis­tened again to the lash of the rain. ‘I believe I do: I’ll get back to you, if that’s OK?’ ‘I would be most grate­ful,’ con­tin­ued Rudd, ‘you will let me know the out­come?’ ‘I will,’ assert­ed Miss Sven­son; ‘Good morn­ing, Don­ald.’ ‘Good morn­ing, Elsa.’

Miss Sven­son returned the receiv­er to its cra­dle, rest­ing her hand there a moment. She picked it up again: ‘Edith, could you ask a pre­fect to fetch me one of the Upper Fifth?’ ‘Of course, Miss Sven­son,’ came the slight­ly crack­ly reply, ‘who?’ ‘Miran­da,’ con­tin­ued Miss Sven­son; ‘ask them to fetch me Miran­da Spears.’


Friday, November 2nd, 2012


By Claris­sa

From time to time, head­mistress Miss Sven­son had to deal with mis­be­hav­ing girls dur­ing the school day, but, most­ly, girls were sent to her after the end of lessons, lin­ing up, nose to the wall, out­side her office. This was by no means a dai­ly occur­rence, but it cer­tain­ly hap­pened often enough to keep her spank­ing arm in good fet­tle.

Today, she only had one girl wait­ing out­side her office: a fourth for­mer, and first-time offend­er. At pre­cise­ly 4 o’clock, the girl knocked on her door. ‘Come in,’ com­mand­ed Miss Sven­son, the door swing­ing back to reveal a slight girl with fair hair tied up in a pony tail. ‘Come here,’ said Miss Sven­son, point­ing to a spot direct­ly in front of the desk. The girl moved for­ward as Miss Sven­son glanced again at the note from Miss Simms detail­ing a num­ber of uni­form vio­la­tions.

Miss Sven­son looked up at the fourth for­mer and stud­ied her a moment. ‘Well,’ she said at last, ‘I am glad to see that you have tak­en the trou­ble to look smart for me, Jemi­ma.’ The girl said noth­ing. ‘Still,’ Miss Sven­son con­tin­ued, ‘it doesn’t excuse the dis­grace­ful list of uni­form vio­la­tions I have before me, does it?’ ‘No, Miss,’ came the awk­ward reply. Miss Sven­son shook her head then stood up. ‘Go and fetch me that chair,’ she said, indi­cat­ing a straight-backed wood­en chair, ‘and put it in the mid­dle of the room.’ The girl didn’t move. ‘Go on,’ assert­ed Miss Sven­son, com­ing out now from behind her desk. Chair in place, Miss Sven­son sat down and smoothed her skirt. ‘Come here,’ she said to the girl, ‘and bend over my knee.’ The girl looked strick­en with pan­ic but did as instruct­ed. ‘I am going to spank you for five min­utes with my hand; do you under­stand, Jemi­ma?’ ‘Yes,’ came the reply, and with that Miss Sven­son flung down her hand onto the seat of the girl’s skirt. ‘Do we wear our ties knot­ted and tidy or loose and unruly?’ she demand­ed. ‘Knot­ted and tidy,’ came the reply. Anoth­er spank from Miss Sven­son; ‘Do we wear our shirts hang­ing out from our jumpers or neat­ly tucked in?’ ‘Tucked in,’ came the reply as Miss Sven­son start­ed to deliv­er a vol­ley of spanks, the girl slight­ly wrig­gling in response.

After about two min­utes, Miss Sven­son stopped the spank­ing and lift­ed back the girl’s skirt. Silence, then a thun­der­ous ‘What colour are school knick­ers, pink with pur­ple stripes?’ ‘No, Miss,’ came the mut­ed reply, the girl’s body vis­i­bly sink­ing into Miss Svenson’s lap. ‘Stand up,’ said Miss Sven­son; the girl com­plied. ‘Go and fetch me the slip­per from the cor­ner cup­board.’ The fourth for­mer was close to tears now, but did as instruct­ed. To her hor­ror, on open­ing the cup­board door, she dis­cov­ered two canes – and noth­ing like a slip­per. She turned to Miss Sven­son. ‘It’s the black gym shoe,’ Miss Sven­son assert­ed with some annoy­ance, ‘a reg­u­la­tion item which, you are about to find out to your cost, is a most par­tic­u­lar part of school uni­form.’