Miss Elsa Svenson’s “World Of Reparation.”
A novel of fiction.
By: Andrew Morgan
Episode one: The Interview
Wednesday morning had been arduous and fraught with annoyances that began very early. The clocks changed that morning as a prelude to summer, and daylight savings time heralded a domino effect of delayed appointments, mainly caused by those who hadn’t prepared adequately for its arrival. Even the daylight was an hour late today, Miss Svenson pondered. Tardiness not even she had the power to correct. The irony was not lost on her as she sat waiting impatiently for her last interviewee to arrive. Fifty minutes late and unbelievably, not even a phone call. She glanced at the small antique clock, which looked slightly out of place on her modern desk and found some solace in the regularity of the metallic tick tock sound. She was an old fashioned woman at heart.
A small puff of air wafted through the open glass door into her windowed office, briefly disturbing the neatly stacked sheaf of resumes on her desk. She was a woman of clarity and perception who saw through people with ease. She noticed everything. Looking up from her papers, she watched with interest as the handsome young man hurried down the corridor towards her, brief case under his arm, blond hair tousled over his forehead and tie askew. His suit was somewhat wrinkled and ill fitting. A tad too small as if he he’d grown out of it. He was sweating a little and very out of breath.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he panted dabbing a cotton handkerchief to his brow “I do apologize, the agency just called me this morning and I had to scramble. I got here as fast as I could”. He gushed forward, hand thrust out ready to shake. I’m Rodney, are you Mrs. Swanton?”
“Miss Svenson” she corrected him, eying the outstretched palm with dubious caution, it still held the damp handkerchief in it. She couldn’t decide whether to be amused or irritated, but either way her face was impassive. She placed the pen she had been writing with deliberately down on the desk parallel to her writing pad and looked him up and down. Ignoring his proffered hand she gestured him to take a seat in the chair opposite her desk. She made a mental note to check his “lateness story” with the agency. None of the others she’d seen yesterday had been late.
Standing there looking at the hanky in his own hand Rodney was suddenly uncomfortable realizing how silly he must look. He retracted it quickly and in doing so accidently rapped his knuckles on the corner of the desk causing the hanky to fall to the floor. Wincing but trying not to show it, he bent over to pick it up. He whisked it out of sight into his pocket and sat down awkwardly crossing his legs. The pants were definitely too tight. He had only been in her office for a minute but already this woman completely unnerved him.
Miss Svenson had never employed a male secretary before and she wouldn’t usually entertain such an idea in her line of business, but the previous candidates had lacked the experience she was seeking and several things in his resume intrigued her. His last name for one.
“Overlapp!” she announced curtly. Hearing his name said in that tone startled him enough to sit bolt upright. “That’s an unusual surname, have you ever researched its genealogy?“ This first question caught him off guard. “Well, no, not really”. I think it’s Hungarian or Swedish or something. It’s usually spelled with an umlaut on the O, but my laptop doesn’t have that character set so I had to do without. I didn’t think anyone would notice.”
“Hmm.” she murmured, “It says here that you have had extensive experience of managing the appointment book for a Family Therapy Practice?” “Yes I have he proclaimed enthusiastically, I was with Doctor Allopa for six full months and she had a very busy practice. I always kept her client appointments on track. I would think this job would very much be the same?”
The interview continued for some thirty minutes during which time she asked numerous questions about his experience and was quite pleased with the answers he gave. But there was one particular question on her mind. “Rodney?” she asked, “what interests you about this job? You do understand the nature of the business I’m in don’t you? The kind of therapy I do? I’m assuming you did your due diligence and looked me up online before you came to interview didn’t you?” This caught him off guard, “Oh yes Miss Svenson,” he fibbed, I’m extremely interested in this field of work, and I think I could learn a lot under your guidance. She gave a wry smile. Rodney took that to mean things were going his way so he thought he’d bolster her impression of him by adding… “Well as you know, its a difficult job market out there and there aren’t too many positions like this for younger men with my level of experience, I’m hoping someone of your stature and prominence would take me under their wing so to speak.” “Well, you are right about that,” she said quietly under her breath, “not many jobs like this at all.” Take you under my wing? She thought to herself. Be careful of what you wish for, you might just get it.
He was obviously bright and quick witted, and his attempt at honest disclosure was endearing if not a little manipulative, and, if he could indeed type 80 words a minute as his resume said, and if really did have exceptional organizational skills, she was leaning towards offering him a probationary period. There was just one thing she needed to do before making her decision. “Rodney, would you mind giving me just a minute and wait in the adjoining room, I need to make a brief phone call.”
He stood in the room next door and could see her through the glass as she paced the floor, talking intently on the phone. She had closed her door so he could not hear the conversation but he could see her clearly. She had been sitting before, so now standing and turning he was suddenly struck by how disarmingly attractive she was. Her blonde hair pulled back tightly into a bun, her white silk blouse buttoned to the top and a small cameo brooch offsetting the line of her neck. The blouse was tailored, starched, and it tapered with conforming darts under her ample bust line and then tucked neatly into the waistband of her black knee length skirt. The skirt could not possibly have followed her contours more perfectly. As she turned her back to him he noticed its pin stripes running vertically down and curving outwards like small ripples on a pond as they framed her shapely rear. The term “Harmonic Convergence” popped into his head as he fixed his gaze on the split hem. She wore stockings with a single black seam that lined the back of each leg. Each seam disappeared into the heel of a shiny black stiletto shoe. My goodness those legs, he thought, she must spend a lot of time in the gym to stay so fit, his mind wandered back to thoughts of a beautiful PE teacher he had a crush on when he was a school boy. He remembered her penchant for pommel horses and plimsoles. Why am I thinking of that? he asked himself silently, the room appeared to warm a little and he found himself loosening his tie. Unsure how long he had been lost in reverie he glanced up only do find Miss Svenson staring right at him through the glass. His face flushed with embarrassment and a feeling of “being caught red handed” sent adrenalin rushing through his body. He took a deep breath trying not to look so guilty. Surely she couldn’t possibly know where his thoughts had been could she? Her piercing eyes lingered on him a few moments longer then distracted by something the person on the other end of the phone was saying, she retracted her gaze, nodded her head twice as if an agreement had been reached, then frowning slightly she put down the phone. She looked serious.
He watched her walk into the room. “So” she began, “you’d like this job would you?” A wave of relief came over him. “Yes, absolutely, I’d love to work for you, and I’m available immediately?”
“Right then, follow me, there is something I need to show you first, and a couple of things we need to discuss before we make that final decision. It’s almost in the bag, he thought smiling inwardly.
She strode ahead leading him down the bright corridor and out through the door to the street. They crossed a small a courtyard with cobblestones, passed an arch and emerged into a mews. Ascending the stone steps to an old Victorian style city home, they paused at a tall black lacquered wooden door and she inserted a key. “These are my “Private” offices she said. “No one comes here except myself, my clients, and invited guests.” He was intrigued.
Once inside it was like entering another era. It was a sizeable house with an oval marble entryway, a circular staircase winding up to the left and a wide corridor with dark teak walls leading straight ahead. Numerous rooms with closed doors lined each side. Despite the marble, the house felt warm and sophisticated yet homely. It was almost masculine with a feminine ambiance. It was dimly lit with amber glowing fixtures. Electric lighting for sure, but designed to give a low glow and feeling of the warmth of candlelight. “This is my study,” she said opening one of the heavy teak doors, “it’s the room where I conduct my therapy sessions.“ It was inviting.
17th century art hung in several places on the walls, each piece framed with the thick gold leaf coated wooden frames they used in those days. The vaulted ceilings were curved and the carpeting was plush, absorbing the sounds of the room almost completely. A large chesterfield sofa and two matching high-sided armchairs made a U shape around a thick glass topped coffee table. They faced a substantial well-used brick fireplace. Her antique cherry wooden desk with black leather inlay stood out from one side of the room with its bowed golden claw foot legs supporting its solid weight. A large wing backed Queen Anne leather chair sat waiting behind the desk. By far the most imposing piece of furniture in the room was an enormous double door armoire that stood at least seven feet tall and was wider than any wardrobe he had seen before. It looked centuries old yet gave him the impression of being custom built for some specific purpose. If pressed to describe the room, the words that would spring to mind would be “invitingly austere.” Oddly there were two pieces of furniture that seemed rather out of place as if they’d been moved in here from their usual location in other rooms. One was a plush red velvet covered straight-backed dining chair; the other was an ordinary kitchen stool. The stool was tucked in a corner, and the chair was situated prominently in the center of the room directly under a chandelier.
“All right Rodney,” she began. “Down to business. This is my place of work, but it’s also my sanctuary. I come here to think and often don’t wish to be disturbed. Your job working for me would be multifaceted. Yes there is an administrative side to it: keeping the books, answering the phone, filtering my email, monitoring the website etc., but because of the nature of my business, “You did say you’d researched and understood clearly what it is I do here didn’t you?” “Yes absolutely Miss Svenson.” “Good, well as I was saying, because of the nature of my business I need someone I can trust to be discrete and diplomatic on the phone when arranging appointments with my clients. I need that person to be honest, diligent and always on-time. I don’t tolerate excuses, and most of all I ask for complete truthfulness from my employees. In return I provide a secure job, a salary far above the market norm, and a congenial structured environment to work in. How does that sound to you?”
“Well, Miss Svenson, Elsa, is it alright if I call you by your first name?”
“No it certainly is not, I prefer formality here and expect respect at all times so please always addressed me as “Miss Svenson.” Is that understood? “Yes, yes Miss Svenson,” I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. It sounds more than fair and I would very much like to accept this job with you.”
“Alright, then there is only one thing standing in our way and that’s to ascertain whether you really are all those things you described.”
“Firstly I need to inform you that the phone call I made was to the agency. My very good friend Alma, Mrs. Mater as you may know her, owns and manages it and she knows me extremely well. I asked her what she thought of you and she said she liked you, and that she sent you to me because despite your limited experience and some weaknesses she thought you were worth the effort. She felt quite strongly that with “my kind of direction” you could be molded into a valuable employee. When I asked what weaknesses, she said that you have a tendency to get ahead of yourself and make mistakes but instead of admitting to them as a mature person would, you attempt to cover them up with small fabrications and avoidance, and it gets you into trouble. The term “sweeping them under the carpet” was mentioned. Is this true? Rodney was surprised by the directness of her voice and the pinpoint accuracy of her volley. She didn’t mince words. He didn’t quite know what to say? “Well I, ah, um, I think that if you… I mean to say… perhaps I’m a little uh,” she cut his mumbling short with a hand gesture. “Well then let me ask you this,” she continued. “Alma tells me that she arranged this interview for you two days ago, which is the same time she booked it with me. But you said when you arrived, 50 minutes late, you had only been called this morning. Would you be speculating that my friend is not being truthful with me?“ Rodney was not enjoying this line of questioning at all. It was embarrassing and his face showed it. She was standing there with her arms crossed looking pointedly at him for an answer but the only thing that came from his mouth was the sound of a deep intake of breath. He was about to try to say something in his defense, but before he could she loosed another broadside… “And another thing Rodney, you’ve said that you completely understand the line of business that I am in. You’ve researched it so you feel confident working in this arena, correct?” “Well, yes, I mean well not exactly, I mean I’ve worked for a therapist before so I know what’s involved….” Again she stopped him… “Really? do you? But if you only got called this morning and you were in such a rush to get here how could you possibly have had the time to research anything?” Rodney was mortified, he felt so small he didn’t know which way turn. She had him locked up in logic from which there was no escape. He was too embarrassed to look directly at her. He looked down at his shoes, shuffled his feet, tried putting his hands in his pockets and taking them out again, it felt like he was 13 years old again and in trouble.
“Well let’s try one more thing then” she said. “Why don’t you go to the armoire and open it, I think things will be much clearer for you if you do.” Abashed but thankful for the momentary reprieve from her scrutiny, he did as he was told. Feeling her eyes boring into the back of his head, he marched over to the imposing piece of furniture, grasped the two wrought Iron handles at the same time and swung both doors wide open. What he saw inside made him take two steps back and gasp. On the inside of each door was a neat row of British school canes in perfect parallel lines just like billiard cues. The left door held straight ones and the right door held crooked handled ones. Nine on each side in groups of three, each held in place by sprung metal clips. There was a number engraved in large numerals above each one. They also differed in size. Three short, three mediums, three very long on each side, and they got noticeably thicker the further down the row they were.
In the center of the armoire were rows of hooks from which hung an array of other implements of discipline. It was overwhelming but at first glance it seemed like a gun aficionado’s collection but instead of arms there were Paddles and Straps, Hairbrushes and Rulers. The wardrobe was a disciplinarian’s dream and a “schoolboy’s” worst nightmare.
He turned to her completely lost for words. Unable to utter a sound he simply looked at her transfixed mouth wide open.
She moved towards him and put her hand on his shoulder. “Close your mouth Rodney it’s impolite to gape,” she whispered, her voice so close to his red blushing ear he could feel her breath on his neck. “I can see by the look on your face I have my answer. You are at liberty to leave now if you wish.”
Every part of his consciousness was impelling him to “Bolt for the door,” but inexplicably he didn’t. His mind said go but something visceral was compelling him to stay put.
Almost two full minutes elapsed in silence and he simply stood immobile. “Well” said Miss Svenson, breaking the silence, “you seem to be caught at an impasse, a dilemma for sure. Let me help clarify your choices and you can decide from there what to do. Hear me out before you say anything more. Once I’ve finished I’m going to let your actions speak for you, then I’ll let my actions speak for both of us.” He nodded his assent. “Here is the way I see it” she began. “I like you Rodney, despite your obvious shortcomings” I think you are a good boy at heart, and I trust my friend Alma’s instincts. If I do take you in hand and give you the right direction, you could indeed become a fine upstanding man and an excellent employee, so I am willing to take a chance on you. But only under the following understanding”.
“You came here today very late without the courtesy of calling to inform me, and when you arrived you lied about why. You were unprepared for the interview and you lied about that too. On top of that I have doubts about your personal hygiene. Offering me that soiled handkerchief debacle was quite disgusting, and your attire will need to be attended to if you are to represent me here. A suit that fits and is properly cleaned and pressed shows maturity as well as a modicum of self-awareness. As I said before, truthfulness is paramount in my book, yet you seem to think “fibbing” is acceptable behavior. You lack self-discipline Rodney, and in my experience people who lack “Self” discipline need others with stronger characters than themselves to provide that discipline. I lieu of that they spend their lives directionless and rarely achieve their potential. I’m offering you my guidance and the opportunity to grow Rodney, but it will take effort on your part. Pay close attention to my words now. This is what I do. I’m a professional. I help people change. People pay a lot of money for my guidance and correctional expertise, and you young man have happened upon it by chance. I hope you understand the opportunity that lies in front of you as well as its intrinsic value.”
Rodney remained transfixed. Something in him stirred. He was viscerally attracted to her directness, her clarity. He felt small and ashamed yet strangely compliant. He began to understand that the offer she presented was not simply a job, but a path. Clear direction from a stranger he had just met, but one who seemed to understand him better than he knew himself.
“You need discipline Rodney, and right now you need to be “Disciplined”. Not tomorrow or some time in the future, but starting right this minute. I said your next actions, not words, would be your answer, but they will in fact also be the defining moment that starts to shape your future. So it comes down to one of two choices, you either walk through that door and leave, or you turn in the other direction, walk to the armoire, take the number 12 cane from its place and bring it here to me. If you decide on the latter I believe you understand full well what that implies.”
The next moments were a blur. Not because of the speed of his actions, in fact everything seemed to happen in slow motion, but because he really couldn’t remember how one moment he could be standing there listening to her seductive commanding voice and the next he was penitently handing her the crooked handle cane she had requested with both hands. Obviously he had come to some kind of subconscious decision that led him to this point. It came as no surprise to her however. She had recognized his character the moment he set foot in her office. It was just a matter of leading him down her well-traveled. She was now in the role she had embodied for years. That of “Professional Disciplinarian.”
“So you’ve made your choice. Very well.“
“Firstly “ she said, “let’s broach the issues of cleanliness and attire. Take that awful handkerchief out of your pocket, unfold it so it’s just two layers thick and hold it in the palm of your hand. Stretch your arm out to me at shoulder height.” He did so very nervously. He’d seen it at school, but he had never personally experienced corporal punishment before. She brought the cane up, looked him right in the eye and said, “You deserve this young man, let this be a lesson to you.” With that she brought the cane down across his palm with a resounding thwack. He really wasn’t ready for how much it would actually hurt. “Ouch” he exclaimed loudly, “ouch Miss” his automatic reaction was to shake his hand back and forth rapidly and blow on it. The displaced handkerchief floated to the floor. “Pick it up she commanded, with your other hand.” He kept blowing on his right hand as if that could ease the sting, and bent over to pick up the hanky with his left as instructed. As he did so he was immediately aware of the tightness of his trousers stretching over his buttocks and how his jacket rode up his back slightly, revealing his taught backside. Miss Svenson was one step ahead of him, she had been waiting for this moment and before he could adjust his stance she raised the cane high in the air and brought it down smartly across the center of his bottom. Thwack… Yow, he almost jumped in the air landing bolt upright clasping the hanky over his head like an Olympic torch carrier. He did a little uncontrollable dance, shifting weight from foot to foot as a second wave of pain seemed to sear across his bottom. “Hold out your left hand” she said, “and be thankful that your handkerchief and your trousers are providing you some protection. I assure you, you are about to learn a valuable lesson.” He held the hanky out as far away from himself as he could, palm stiffly upwards, but this time he knew what he was in for. It was a sobering thought. She waited till he was composed. Swish, thwack, ouch, and the hanky once again floated to the floor. “Bend down slowly and pick it up she said again… with your other hand, and, keep your feet together and bend at the knees.” He did as he was told. No surprises now, he knew exactly what was coming and he wasn’t to be disappointed. Tight trousers meant his buttocks protruded prominently, his jacket rose up and the fabric covering his bottom offered little protection, just a clearer target. Feet together meant a proper disciplinary position, and bending at the knees proffered his bottom to her as if asking for it. Again the cane came down across his bottom equally on both cheeks but this time half an inch lower. Yow. He couldn’t stop himself from uttering that yell, and he jumped up to perform his little dance again. She allowed him that indiscretion for now but he would soon learn how to hold his position without constant direction. For now her instructions rang out clearly. “Hold your hand out again please,” she said, “you know what to do now. You are learning the order of things.” “Your hand please…”
Three cane strokes on each hand and six across his bottom. She had done it slowly and methodically giving him enough time in between each stroke to feel the sear as it landed. Each stinging sharply then subsiding and blending into pure heat after it struck. He was beside himself standing very uncomfortably not wanting to tear up, and needing desperately to rub his bottom. At one point he had reached back to feel it, perhaps subconsciously to protect it, but that only brought attention to his sore hands as well. She had immediately put a stop to that and instructed him to remove his hands and to maintain the position. She had been so accurate as to ladder the cane strokes perfectly within a six-inch section of his bottom. Not one stroke had overlapped, and as bad as his bottom was hurting, both of his hands hurt worse. In any event it may have been his pride that took the biggest hit.
“Rodney,” she said. “Take the cane and put it back.” Relieved that it was over, he did as he was told. Walking gingerly towards the cabinet he could feel where his trousers rubbed his welted skin. He placed the cane into its holder and with a gentle click it was back where it belonged. I’m throwing that damned handkerchief away as soon as I leave here, he thought to himself.”
He turned to walk back and she stopped him with her authoritative voice. “Please bring me the white Ivory handled hairbrush from the shelf on the left.” His heart sank and a pang of dread ran through his body as he stopped in his tracks. It’s not over, he realized.
His mind was racing so fast he didn’t have time to admire the beautiful hand crafted design this antique brush had been blessed with. All he knew was that it was solid, heavy, and had a long handle.
“Miss Svenson” he began to stutter, “I really think I’ve understood your point, and it’s obviously not necessary to… “ “Rodney!” she cut him off once again with her curt expletive, “this is my province, not yours, its not up to you to say when we are finished, that is entirely my prerogative. Believe me we are not finished. Now come over and stand next to this chair, we need to deal with the question of your tardiness and your lies.”
“I’m sure you’re thinking your punishment has been harsh but I assure you has not. Yet. The cane you just felt was one of my shorter lighter ones, and I allowed you to retain the protection of your pants and indeed that handkerchief. I believe you understood the point I was making? In fact I was quite lenient with the strength of which I caned you. Even though it may have felt hard to you, you received it at only quarter of the strength I am able to deliver should I choose to. You are simply not used to being punished. What I wanted was for you to experience Corporal Punishment in the traditional sense the way you would have in school, had they done their jobs properly and caught you out. Now I’m going to have you experience “domestic discipline” as your mother should have done at home. You seem to have managed to go through your entire youth getting away with anything you wanted to, using your boyish charms and smile to avoid the repercussions most people experience. That means you never grew up. Well now you are a young adult, and it needs to stop”
His protests had fallen on deaf ears so he gave up his argument. He had no defense. She was right, he’d fibbed, lied. Twenty minutes ago those two concepts had seemed worlds apart but he now knew they were one and the same thing in her eyes. She sat on the chair and looked up at him. He glanced down at her lap trying to avoid those piercing eyes and strict demeanor. From his vantage point her skirt seemed taut as she smoothed it down with both of her hands readying it for him. She adjusted her sitting position by drawing her legs up straight and parallel, knees together, heels together. Her skirt rose up above the knee line revealing those beautiful stockinged legs and as she parted her knees just slightly it stretched even tighter forming an ironing board like platform over which he would soon be arched. She took the hairbrush from his hand and told him to remove his jacket, fold it neatly, and place it over the back of the sofa,” she said. “Now come here and stand to my right,” she commanded. “Clasp your hands together and place them on top of your head.” He did as he was told without question. She placed the brush on her lap for a moment and turned her torso toward him. Grasping his belt buckle in both hands she undid it, then his top trouser button, and then she unzipped his fly. With a quick tug his trousers fell to his ankles. Give me your wrist she said, and as he did so she clasped it in an iron grip. He felt a hand on the back of his upper thighs pushing him forward at the same time as she tugged on his wrist, he was immediately pulled off balance as he landed roughly across her knees. Now the sight of her tight lap had been replaced with a view of only her ankles and high-heeled shoes. His nose was only a few inches off the thick carpet, as were his feet.
He had little time to think about how embarrassing this position was. She began to scold him immediately. “Rodney, you told me lies to my face and you got caught plain and simple, and in my book that makes you a very, very naughty boy. You need a wake up call, literally and figuratively, and you are going to get a thorough spanking on your bare bottom. Do you understand me young man? Answer me quickly when I ask you a question. “Yes Miss Svenson” he mumbled from somewhere down below her. Louder and clearer please she admonished, YES MISS SVENSON he almost shouted. “That’s much better.”
With that she pulled his underpants down over his upturned bottom and yanked them harshly all the way to his ankles. Not wanting his shirttail to be in the way of what was to come, she rolled it neatly up past the small of his back. There, that’s better, she thought, a perfectly round bare bottom ready and waiting, there would be no protection now. She couldn’t help admiring the shape that only youth could offer as she glanced at her previous handiwork, six well spaced red stripes, not too deep not too light. A message sent and a message received. Now he was about to receive another message, loud and clear. She took her time, knowing that the more he waited in anticipation the more the lesson would sink in when delivered. She placed the palm of her hand lightly on the center of his bottom and he flinched gasping at the light touch. Miss Svenson wanted him to know what a thorough spanking was all about. In her eyes he was just another naughty little boy in a grown man’s body being made to take his rightful position across a strong woman’s knee. Helpless, contrite and obedient. This time she wouldn’t stop until he felt true remorse.
And so it began. The first grouping of swats was placed deliberately across the center of his bottom exactly where the cane strokes had landed. They were timed rhythmically, they were hard, and judging by his reaction, they felt excruciating. She knew the pain the caning had inflicted had had sufficient time to subside and that anything landing on the same spot would be felt twice as much. She was right. Rodney’s head reared up, his back arched and his pelvis ground into her lap but there was nowhere for his bottom go to escape the stinging rain. Her technique was expert. Her arm high in the air bringing the brush down swiftly and just at the end of the stroke she’d whip her wrist so that the brush cracked down sharply. Time and time again it descended onto Rodney’s blazing bottom. Miss Svenson wielded the hairbrush with absolute precision and conviction, and the solid ivory hairbrush was the perfect instrument to make her point.
Time and again the room resounded with a loud SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, and each time the brush was raised it left behind an ever-reddening oval mark. When each part of his bottom was red enough for her satisfaction, she moved the target to fresh ground. One cheek at a time in an alternating pattern till his entire bottom was flaming red and very sore. Even the tops of the backs of his legs were unmercifully attended to.
From the moment the spanking had started, Rodney was unable to stop writhing and wriggling over her lap so she simply grabbed his right wrist, bent it across the small of his back and held him firmly in place with a strength and technique that came from years of experience. He was in another world where rational thought no longer mattered. All that went through his mind was how to survive the spanking without bursting into tears. If that was his goal, then he was in for a battle of wills because it was entirely Miss Svenson’s intention to make him cry. He needed to be put in touch with his deeper feelings. She had the upper hand, the strength and all the time in the world. As the spanking continued it became harder and harder to maintain his stoic attitude. As the minutes ticked by and the swats continued to fall, his breath started come in huge intakes of air followed by gasps and squeals, and the sounds he made filled the air and sounded like sweet music to Miss Svenson’s ears.
She knew it was the right moment. She could tell when he was on the brink. She started scolding him as she spanked. “You have been a very, very naughty boy Rodney, you need to change your ways. You have become accustomed to getting away with your fibs and indiscretions, but now you see what happens when naughty boys get found out. This punishment has been long overdue.” She continued to spank him, and Rodney’s gasps began to change tone to a discernable whine. His body language seemed to alter accordingly. Instead of stoic and resilient, it started to feel accepting and contrite. She knew she was getting very close.
“You have difficulty admitting when you are wrong don’t you Rodney?” Swat! “Answer me young man” Swat. I’m waiting,” Swat. A small voice emanated from somewhere near her feet “ Yes”. Swat… “Yes what?” “Yes Miss Svenson” “What Rodney, I can’t hear you. “ “Miss Svenson”, he said, “ I, I, can’t admit when I’m wrong.” “Good we’re getting somewhere,” she said, “well now you are about to. I want to hear you apologize to me in your own words do you understand?” “Yes Miss Svenson. “Louder”… “YES MISS SVENSON.” And with that, the spanking ceased. His bare bottom was crimson red all over and the flaming heat emanating from it was intense. She transferred the brush to her other hand and put her free palm softly on his bottom. Feeling the gentleness of the moment he stopped writhing and he let out a deep breath, almost melting with relief. She still held him firmly in place and even adjusted his body a little over her lap to force his head closer to the ground and causing his bottom to rise higher. The message was clear. She could spank again at any moment.
“I’m waiting,” she said, “what do you have to say for yourself?”
“I’m sorry Miss Svenson” I’m truly sorry. He surprised himself with the depth at which he meant it. The apology didn’t come just from his mouth it came from somewhere deep within his chest and he let out a slight sob. “Yes” she said. “What are you sorry for?” Another sob, I’m sorry he sniffed catching a lump in his throat, I’m sorry I told you lies. I’m really sorry I disappointed you,” I’m really sorry I… I…, and then the floodgates opened. It was as if years of pent up guilt and emotion all came pouring out at one time. His sobs turned into deep rhythmic crying and the tears began to flow. They streamed down his face and onto the carpet below. She continued to rest her hand on his flaming bottom as she felt the contrition in his deep sobs course through her own body.
“Now Rodney” I want to make sure you really mean what you say so I’m going to give you twenty more very hard swats, and after each one I want you to apologize to me out loud so we can clear the air. I want you to say these very words. “I’m sorry Miss Svenson, I have been a naughty boy and I lied to you. I promise I won’t do it again.” Say it for me now! …. Swat. Owww. I’m sorry Miss Svenson, I’ve been a naughty boy and I lied to you. I promise I won’t do it again.” SWAT… I’m sorry Miss Svenson…. I’m sorry Miss Svenson… I’m sorry Miss Svenson…. he began to cry again and didn’t stop until long after it was over….
———-
It was almost evening as Rodney rounded the corner and walked slowly down the street on his way home. The sounds of the traffic and pedestrians seemed crisper somehow, clearer, and the lights of the city seemed to have more colour to them. He rounded the corner and descended the steps leading to the Underground Tube Station. He felt the warm rush of tunnel air whoosh over his face, pushed forward by the train as it screeched to a halt at the platform. He boarded. Nearly all the seats were taken so he decided to stand. Tucking his briefcase under his left arm he reached up to grasp the looped strap to hold on. Ouch he exclaimed loudly and let go as he felt the sensation in his hand. He quickly transferred the case to his other arm and held on with his free hand, “Ouch again, that one hurt too. Several eyes looked at him. He noticed someone had vacated a seat next to an attractive young woman so he took the opportunity, half smiling at her as he sat down. “Ouch”, he exclaimed involuntarily and stood right back up again. “Are you OK?” she asked frowning. “Yes, yes I’m fine” he gasped sitting gingerly down again “Thank you for asking.” He was about to say “Just a little back trouble” but he thought better of it. He was done with making up stories. “How was your day?,” she asked, wishing to engage him in conversation. “Oh fairly uneventful really. Well actually I did land a rather good job today.” ”Really? Well that’s not uneventful is it?” she said, “that’s something special, congratulations you should go out and celebrate tonight, when do you start?” “Oh, tomorrow morning. But I don’t think I’ll be out late tonight, got to get a good night’s sleep, early start and all that.” “True” she said, you want to make a good impression with the boss on your first day don’t you? He looked at her, shifted his weight slightly and winced. “Yes, you’re absolutely right, best not to be late on my first day.”
To be continued…..