‘Oh stop moaning, you silly bitch.’
Miss Svenson stopped dead in her tracks outside the staff room door. She could hardly believe her ears. The language of the gutter! And used by one of her own teachers! As she marched into the staff room to investigate, shaking with fury, the full gravity of the situation became clear. The man using this offensive term – one which the well-bred Miss Svenson regarded with utter abhorrence – was none other than Michael Dean, the head of the English department. And the object of his abuse was Miss Prendergast, the new geography teacher.
What were they talking about? Miss Svenson didn’t know and didn’t care. NOTHING could excuse such revoltingly sexist language by any man, let alone a man in a position of authority, responsible for teaching children how to behave. It called for exemplary punishment and, my God, she intended to administer it.
‘I want to see both of you in my study after school,’ she said, sweeping out of the room like an avenging fury. She was still so angry when she reached the sanctuary of her study that she took out her senior cane and swished it angrily through the air, like a tennis player preparing for action.
At the appointed hour, Mr Dean and Miss Prendergast presented themselves outside her study, and the no-nonsense Miss Svenson got straight to the point.
‘If you think I am going to tolerate a male teacher speaking to a female teacher in that manner, Michael, you have another think coming. I am going to cane you, severely, and as you are a grown man, you will get a man-sized punishment – twenty-four strokes, pants down.’
‘But, Miss Svenson – ’
‘No arguing! I have made my decision and I intend to stick to it. Miss Prendergast, I am extremely sorry that you have been treated in this way, but at least you will have the satisfaction of seeing the wrongdoer get his just deserts. You will witness the caning, at close quarters. In fact, you can assist me by preparing Michael for his punishment. Will you kindly remove all his clothes except his shirt and underpants?’
‘But, Miss Svenson – ’
‘I said, no arguing! Proceed, please, Miss Prendergast.’
The young geography teacher needed little prompting. She undressed Mr Dean as directed, making sure that the process was as humiliating as possible, then led him to the punishment bench, bent him over, lifted his shirt out of the way, and on the instruction ‘Bare his bottom’ from Miss Svenson, lowered his underpants to the top of his legs.
‘Thank you, my dear,’ said Miss Svenson, impressed by her proficiency. ‘Now where would you like to view the punishment from? It’s up to you.’
‘I think…’ Miss Prendergast hesitated, then whispered. ‘I’d really like to see his face as you cane him, if that’s all right.’
‘Of course,’ said Miss Svenson. ‘He will NOT be smiling. I can promise you that.’
And so it was arranged, with the strategically seated Miss Prendergast looking Mr Dean straight in the eyes as the cane lashed down on his backside. But there were to be two more twists in the tale.
‘Please, Miss Svenson,’ said the young geography teacher, after the first twelve strokes had been administered, ‘could I change my position? I would rather like to see the marks of the cane. I have never seen a caning before.’
‘Of course, dear,’ said Miss Svenson, who prided herself on the accuracy, as well as the severity, of her canings. With Miss Prendergast in her new position, she laid on the remaining twelve strokes with cold, calculated fury. Then, on impulse, she turned to the other woman.
‘Do you think Mr Dean has learnt his lesson? Or would you like to reinforce it?’
Miss Prendergast’s response was immediate. ‘I would certainly like to reinforce it. Michael, get over my knee. Miss Svenson, pass me your slipper.’
For the next five minutes, the woman who had been called a bitch belaboured the already sore and striped bottom of the man who had called her a bitch until he was begging for mercy.
2012 Story Competition fourth entry by Michael!
2012 Story Competition third entry by Thomas!
Harry rolled out of bed, rubbed his eyes and threw open the curtains. The morning sun was already high in a cloudless sky and burning down fiercely. He muttered a mild curse under his breath. Harry knew that he would have to complete today’s job in that stuffy airless attic room. If only he had been allowed to work late the evening before! But the architect had insisted he come back today. It was even worse that he couldn’t get into the building until midday as they had some meeting going on for the whole morning.
He took a cold shower to freshen up and dusted himself liberally with talcum powder before dressing. As he ate his cereal he decided to stroll down to the corner shop and buy a cold drink and a sandwich for later, so he would be able to work through to finish as quickly as possible. A couple of hours’ work he reckoned, then at least he would get his money.
It was worrying that there was nothing else lined up for a couple of weeks. A lot of his regulars were away on their holidays, and others were on an economy drive as a result of the recession. Property maintenance came lower on the budget than other more important items of expenditure. He badly needed to get something else to tide him over.
Despite these worries he whistled cheerfully as he strolled down the street, although he felt a bit uneasy. With the idea of keeping as cool as possible, that morning he had dispensed with the normal boxer shorts and tee shirt he wore under his painting overalls. His mates called it ‘going commando’ and he was not used to the feeling of vulnerability such a state of undress induced in him.
‘Morning Pat!’ he called out as he entered the shop. The proprietor, who was serving a customer at the till raised his hand in acknowledgment.
‘Just the very man,’ replied Mr. Patel. ‘This is the chap I was telling you about,’ he continued, addressing the lady at the counter, then turning back to Harry, ‘come over and be introduced. I may have some business for you.’
Was this to be his lucky day after all? Harry hurried across and offered the lady his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you madam. Harry Thomas is the name, builder and decorator.’
The lady shook his hand firmly and smiled. ‘Elsa Svenson, delighted to meet you too. Mr. Patel was just telling me that you do alterations as well as general painting. You see I have recently moved into the area and my house needs a good facelift. First of all it needs painting inside and out, and later on I will be thinking of putting in a new bathroom and kitchen. Is that the sort of thing you could do Harry?’
She spoke with a slight accent and Harry reckoned that, with her blonde hair, she was probably originally from Scandinavia, although she had excellent English.
‘Right up my street Elsa’. He suddenly realised the possible mistake he had made, being a bit too familiar by using her first name but, then again, she had addressed him as Harry, and she continued to smile. So he decided to strike while the iron was hot.
‘Do you live far from here?’ he asked, ‘because I have an hour to spare and could take a look right away if it suits you.’
‘Excellent! It is only a few minutes’ walk and I really want to begin the refurbishment as soon as possible. Are you busy at the moment?’
‘As it happens I could start first thing tomorrow morning – that is if you’re happy with whatever I quote of course.’
She settled her bill, thanked the shopkeeper again politely and they strolled together chatting amiably. Harry found out that she had just retired and moved from the next suburb to make a clean break from her previous life. He saw that the house was indeed rather run down as they walked up the front path.
‘Would you like some tea?’ she asked as she unlocked the front door.
‘That would be lovely Elsa, thank you.’
She showed him into the front room and suggested he have a look round since this was the first area she wanted painted.
‘If I accept your quotation for this room, I will see if I like your work. Then we can talk about the rest. Please make yourself at home. I will put the kettle on.’
Harry glanced around the room. A large number of framed photographs almost covered one wall, so he carefully removed one of the pictures to check the condition of the plaster underneath. As he replaced it he couldn’t help noticing that it was dated the previous year, was a school photograph and his potential client sat in the centre of the front row. Scanning the other photographs, he saw that they were all of the same school and covered a number of years. Turning towards the doorway he swung back the door back to reveal a tall vase with a Chinese pattern. It contained a couple of umbrellas, an ivory handled walking stick, a shooting stick and three more slender rattan sticks of varying thickness with crook handles. Harry grinned and deftly slipped the middle one out of the stand. He flourished it in the air causing it to flex and make a distinctive swishing sound. No doubt about it.
He heard the rattling sound of crockery coming towards the door, and hastily tried to replace the stick where he had found it, but it snagged half way back into the stand and was left protruding rather obviously. He quickly pulled out a pad and began to jot notes resuming his quiet random whistling. The lady entered carrying a tray laden with teapot, milk jug and cups which she placed on the coffee table. Harry could not help noticing that there was a third cup on the tray.
‘Milk and sugar Harry?’ she asked politely.
‘Please, just a dash of milk and two sugars. I like my tea quite strong. Now how exactly would you like the room redecorated, so that I can work out a fair price?’
‘Oh! In here, just plain white ceiling and a bland emulsion on the walls. You can see I have a lot of the surfaces covered. And the woodwork rubbed well down and repainted white gloss. I think that does it. Quite simple really.’
Harry made a note.
‘Elsa,’ he continued, ‘do you mind if I ask, were you the famous headmistress at Rushdown School? I couldn’t help spotting the school photographs.’
‘Why yes, Harry. By why is it you say “famous”?’
‘Well I went to Millview, this side of town and there we all knew about the strict lady that ran our nearest competitor. Tough regime they said, but amazing results both in exams and sports. I often wondered what you might really be like.’
‘I am not sure about “tough”, but I certainly insisted on proper discipline. It was the main reason I took early retirement you know,’ she continued wistfully. ‘When they banned corporal punishment, I somehow knew I didn’t want to continue.’
‘Really! We didn’t see much of that at Millview. I had the slipper once or twice in juniors, but then we got a new headmaster who didn’t believe in physical punishment.’
‘Oh yes, Mr. Edwards. A nice man, but I think he was a bit weak.’
‘That’s right, Mr. Edwards. He stopped the use of any form of smacking when I went up to senior school, so I never really knew much about it. By the way, I couldn’t help noticing that you have some souvenirs of your time at school.’ Harry pointed at the umbrella stand.
The lady glanced at the stand, noticed the one piece out of place and grinned.
‘Yes Harry, and.….?’
‘I see that you have three canes there. Why did you need more than one?’
‘Oh, that’s easy,’ she replied indulgently. ‘The thin whippy one was for the youngsters, or a first time. They tell me it stings a great deal, but doesn’t really do much damage. The medium one, the one which is sticking out there,’ she pointed at the umbrella stand and gave Harry a knowing look, ‘was my favourite. Not only does it hurt at the time of the caning, but it leaves quite some bruising and the pain can last for upwards of a week.’
‘And that thick one?’ queried Harry, seemingly fascinated by her explanation.
‘I wasn’t keen on using that one,’ she replied. ‘It was for repeat offenders only. Those boys, because it was mainly the boys, who were sent to me five or more times in a term, had a special punishment reserved for last assembly. Sometimes there were none, but usually one or two. And I used to beat them with the heavy cane in front of the whole school – six of the best. Those pupils had marks which lasted until the beginning of the following term and they found it very difficult to sit anywhere comfortably during the school holidays.’
‘Wow’ said Harry, ‘that sounds pretty tough to me.’
‘Perhaps,’ she replied indulgently, ‘but, as you said yourself, my school produced some very good results and, on the whole, the children were in favour of the system. They knew the limits and what to expect if they strayed.’
Harry sipped the last drops of his tea, seemingly hanging on her every word.
‘Anyway, I suppose I should let you know my price for decorating this room, but before I do, perhaps I could ask you for a favour? I would certainly give you a bit of a discount if you agreed.’
‘And what favour might that be Harry?’ she enquired, rather mystified.
At that moment the doorbell rang.
‘Oh Harry,’ she said as she stood up, ‘would you mind waiting a moment? I was expecting a visitor.’
‘Not at all Elsa,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘Go ahead please.’
A few moments later, Miss Svenson appeared back in the room accompanied by a younger woman.
‘Harry, may I introduce Miss Prendergast, a former colleague?’
‘Nice to meet you Miss,’ he replied shaking her by the hand.
‘Miss Prendergast was my deputy at Rushdown and a tower of strength I must say. She also felt she had to move on for similar reasons as my own. You see she was also quite a believer in proper discipline.’
Miss Svenson poured her guest a cup of tea.
‘Alright Harry, now let’s carry on. You were about to ask me for a favour I think, so that I could have a discount on the painting job.’
‘Well…er.…it’s a bit embarrassing now Miss Prendergast is also here.’
Harry thought for a moment.
‘But I suppose, because she was with you at the school, it doesn’t make a lot of difference.’
The two women sat patiently, waiting for this mysterious explanation.
‘I was wondering whether you would give me just a couple of whacks just so I knew what it would have felt like. You see I never got the cane at school, although I am sure I did plenty of things to deserve it, and I have always been a bit fascinated.’
Miss Svenson and Miss Prendergast gave each other knowing looks.
‘Harry, you just don’t understand at all do you?’ said Miss Prendergast, sipping demurely at her tea.
‘A visit to Miss Svenson at our school was something mystical, a ritual experience. You had been sent to “see” the Headmistress and you knew you were in for a telling-off and probably a walloping. But would it be the slipper, or the strap or most likely one of her canes? But which one, and whatever the implement, how many strokes? These thoughts run through your mind as you wait outside her door. Then you are called into the study. You try to judge her expression. Is she just stern or does she look really angry? You try to apologise for your misdeeds but you are not to be forgiven. She gives you a lecture then selects a cane. Oh no! That looks like the senior dragon, her favourite; and they say it hurts like mad. You are told to take down your trousers and touch your toes. You are frightened now as you bend over, but you feel a certain absurdity as you see your trousers or shorts round your ankles.
‘Any sense of humour quickly evaporates though as you hear footsteps approaching. Next you feel a few light taps against your buttocks. She is judging the right distance, finding her target to get the maximum effect. With the tip of her cane she flips your shirt tail up and out of the way. You realise you have no real protection from your underwear. Then there is a pause.
‘It seems like a very long pause then.….Swishhh.….…..Crack! The fiery pain is unimaginable and shoots simultaneously down your legs and up your spine. You catch your breath and grit your teeth. Another pause, then those sounds again and you can’t believe the agony can be even more intense. You stifle a yell but your body jerks upwards. Can she possibly hit you any harder? How many more strokes? Can you possibly last the ordeal without crying out? You hear her speak.
“Stay down. If you can’t keep still, hold onto your ankles.”
‘You now have to wait for the next one and how long will you have to wait? The anticipation continues.’
As she spoke Miss Prendergast smiled at Harry but he had the distinct impression that she was teasing him at least a little.
‘So you see Harry,’ Miss Svenson now interrupted, ‘a caning isn’t just a matter of getting hit across the backside with a stick. However, now that you understand a little more about it, I don’t think we would have any objection to sharing a taste of the experience with you, would we Miss Prendergast, particularly for old time’s sake?’
‘Absolutely not Miss Svenson,’ Miss Prendergast replied, once again giving her former colleague a knowing look.
Harry was by now a little bemused.
‘Well OK then ladies, what do we do now?’
‘Well Harry,’ Miss Svenson continued, ‘ as I understand it, you are going to give me a quote for the painting of this room and, if I am happy with the price, you will have the chance of doing a substantial amount more work on the house as I indicated. You have said that, if I oblige you with this little “favour” you will discount your price.’
‘That’s it Elsa, I’m sure you’ll like my work.’
‘I also have confidence in mine,’ she replied with a smile.
‘There are of course a few rules we have to follow, those that applied when I ran the school. Miss Prendergast will remain here of course. It was a requirement of the Local Education Authority that at least two members of staff should be present whenever corporal punishment was to be administered. Actually Miss Prendergast often used to assist me. Sometimes she had to hold the younger ones down and if more than one or two children required beating, we sometimes took turns. Some of the kids were even more frightened of her than they were of me. Apparently she had a special flick of the wrist technique. Occasionally if more than six strokes were allotted, we worked together. You see I am left handed whereas she is right, so we could swing from both sides.
‘ Also, for authenticity, there will be no more “Elsa” until we are finished. You will address me as Miss Svenson and I will use your surname. Is that allright so far?’
‘Yes Els.… , sorry, Miss Svenson,’ said Harry beginning now to be more than a little apprehensive.
‘Fine, in which case you should now go out into the hallway and shut the door. When we are ready, I will call you in for you to give me your price and to receive the punishment I decide is appropriate. There will be no arguments.’
Harry turned towards the door.
‘Oh, and one last thing,’ Miss Prendergast joined in again.
‘You will understand that outer clothing had to be removed. The girls took it on their knickers and the boys across the seat of their underpants. So those overall trousers will have to come off.’
He closed the door behind him. What had he let himself in for? Those two ladies were evidently enjoying his discomfort and, if he stuck by their rules, he might suffer a considerable amount more discomfort. He glanced at the front door which suddenly looked inviting. But he badly needed the work. And it was he that made the original suggestion. Dare he give up now? But those canes looked pretty fearsome and he was by no means certain they would stick to the couple of whacks he had suggested. And to cap it all, he had left his underclothes off that morning. He glanced at the front door again, then turned to the one he had just exited. What should he do?
Then, from inside the room, he heard a clear voice, slightly accented.
‘You may come in now Thomas.’
2012 Story Competition second entry by Chris C!
I stood nervously as I handed Miss Svenson the letter from Miss Prendergast. I knew I had done wrong, however I had no idea what was going to happen, I felt very nervous as this was my first visit to headmistress at my new school.
Miss Svenson sat behind her desk and started to read the note in scilence and it seemed to take her an age
Miss Svenson
I am sending this boy to you after the following incident that occurred when I had to take the boys P.E. lesson as Mr Johnson was unexpectedly taken ill yesterday.
The lesson had gone fine until I counted the boys in and then out of the changing room and I found I was one boy short. I shouted in to the changing room as I did not want to enter and find an undressed boy however there was no answer. As I listened for a reply I could hear the shower was still running, thinking that may be I had miscounted I thought I better enter the changing rooms, switch the shower off and later give the class a lecture on wasting water, what with the recent drought warnings.
I walked into the changing room and rounded the corner into large communal shower room and to my surprise saw a boy through the steam with his back to me. He was right under one of the shower heads on the far wall, leaning with his left arm above his head and his right arm was going up an down. I innocently thought that he had maybe injured his leg during the lesson and he was trying to rub it better.
I called out to the boy and asked if he was alright, however with his ears full of water and the noise of the shower he did not hear me. I decided to go up behind him and tap him on the shoulder. As he spun around and saw me he immediately stopped his rubbing however it was too late and lets just say it wasn’t water that was dripping down my pleated gym skirt onto my bare legs.
Horrified I told him to get dressed straight away and to come straight to my office once he had done so, which to be fair to him he did. He seemed very embarrassed and remorseful when I questioned him on what he thought he was doing, however this incident can not go unpunished and due to the severity of the circumstances I thought it would be best to involve your expert hand.
There was no pornographic material involved so the boy must have been fantasising about something, the thought of which disgusts me as everytime he is in my more usual English lesson he seems to pay more attention to my legs and breast than Henry V. Or if I turn my head when I’m writing on the black board I often find him stareing straight at my bottom.
I would therefore like you to punish him for the following 3 reasons:
Firstly for indulging in the pleasures of the palm. Secondly for subjecting me to such disgusting violations during the above incident and my lessons; and thirdly I want you to cane his bare buttocks until the boy tells you what he was fantisising about so we can address this abnormal behaviour
Kindest regards
Miss Prendergast
Miss Svenson looked up at me and a shot of adrenaline went through my veins as her stern eyes met mine, my head immediately bowed down and I found myself stareing at my shoes. She said nothing and cooly reached for the telephone, her slender finger tapped the buttons and seconds later she broke the grim science.
Miss Prendergast.…yes I agree this is a severe case and I agree to carry out the first part of the punishment, however you should join me for the last.…ok I’ll see you soon
My mind was racing a two part punishment? What was going to happen?
Miss S “Do you know what happens to naughty boys at this school?”
“N..no”
Miss S “No Miss” she shouted “and you won’t find the answer on your shoes, look at me when I’m talking to you”
“y…yes miss” I looked up as the dominant figure behind the desk stood up and looked down on me like I was a worm
Miss S “Naughty, disgusting, little boys like you must be punished, and punished severly. Here we use corporal punishment, do you know what that is boy?”
“No miss” I replied “my previous school used detention and lines as punishment”
Miss S “Well boy you’ll not want to know, but because you’ve been a dirty, horrible little boy I’m going to tell you and you wont like it even half as much as detition or lines”
Pausing for dramatic effect she then started to speak and as the words came out of her mouth I could not believe what I was hearing
“Corporal punishment is very simple thing boy. Punishment of the body for the wrong doings of the mind in the hope that if the mind strays again the punishment of the body will be remembered to prevent future wrong doing. It’s a short, sharp shock, however in this case it may not be so short, but it will be sharp and it will be a shock I can assure you that. It is a punishment and it is meant to and it will hurt! Do you understand boy?!!”
I quaked in fear “I, I think so miss”
Miss S “don’t worry too much all will become painfully clear all too soon for you my lad” “Now stand in the corner with your nose against the wall, think about what you have done, think about what is going to happen and don’t move a muscle until I tell you to address me again”
I shuffled across to the corner of the room, pressing my nose against the cold plaster sent a shiver through me as guilt and fear reached my brain.
Standing for what seemed like forever i could hear cupboard doors and desk draws being opened and closed and items being put down on the desk. My eyes strayed and my head turned a little as I tried to see what my mental tormentor was doing.
“nose in the corner, eyes front, don’t move a muscle”
There was no argument
High heels clicked on the floor and her dreaded voice called out
“Come to the front of the class and stand here” she pointed to the floor just to the left of a chair she had moved to the front of the desk.
She was holding a long, thick two tailed strap
“For pleasures of the palm you will receive 12 stokes of the tawse on the offending palm, if you ever grab down there again then you will think of this first, hold out your hand, count the strokes and thank me after each stroke”
I held out my quivering hand and waited. She placed the cool heavy leather on my palm, raised her elbow and waited.
Then it came. A low swishing sound, a loud slap and me then blowing on my palm, in real pain
“if you don’t get your hand back up, count out loud and thank me now, then it’s extra strokes”
My arm lifted slowly “one, thank you”
“one, thank you miss” she bellowed
This continued until all 12 terrible strokes had been carried out, my eyes were red with tears
Thinking this could not get any worse, I then caught a glimpse of her desk and saw a size 12 plimsole and a yellow crooked handle cane. My heart sank and my mind was confused I thought this was a punishment in two parts. My train of thought was soon interrupted as the next command was barked out as she sat down on the chair and smoothed her lap
“drop your trousers and bend over my knee”
“w..what miss”
“I will not repeat my self again, drop your trousers and bend over my knee”
I fumbled with my shorts and obeyed, going over her knee as my shorts dropped around my ankles. I could feel the warmth of her body against my bare legs and the softness of her hand as it brushed against my buttocks as she lifted the tail of my shirt. Somthing began to stir.
But then it began, the size 12 raining down on my buttocks relentlessly with constant verbal chastisement about treating women with respect and to stop being a filthy minded little boy. I don’t know how long it went on for but I was sobbing and begging by the end
I was sent shuffling back to the corner, but then strangely, to my mind as I thought it was all over, given the instruction
“drop your pants then eyes front, nose to the wall”
I was ashamed red faced and red cheeked and then I heard a knock at the door, I remembered the cane and then heard Miss Prendergast’s voice, which after a short whispered conversation with Miss Svenson barked at me
“front of the class boy and bend over the desk”
I turned around, hands trying to cover my naked bulge, to looks of disgust and dissapointment
“well boy we are just going to have to thrash that out of you, aren’t we” she turned and grinned at Miss Svenson as I shuffled over to the desk and bent over.….….…
I stood nervously as I handed Miss Svenson the letter from Miss Prendergast. I knew I had done wrong, however I had no idea what was going to happen, I felt very nervous as this was my first visit to headmistress at my new school.
Miss Svenson sat behind her desk and started to read the note in scilence and it seemed to take her an age
Miss Svenson
I am sending this boy to you after the following incident that occurred when I had to take the boys P.E. lesson as Mr Johnson was unexpectedly taken ill yesterday.
The lesson had gone fine until I counted the boys in and then out of the changing room and I found I was one boy short. I shouted in to the changing room as I did not want to enter and find an undressed boy however there was no answer. As I listened for a reply I could hear the shower was still running, thinking that may be I had miscounted I thought I better enter the changing rooms, switch the shower off and later give the class a lecture on wasting water, what with the recent drought warnings.
I walked into the changing room and rounded the corner into large communal shower room and to my surprise saw a boy through the steam with his back to me. He was right under one of the shower heads on the far wall, leaning with his left arm above his head and his right arm was going up an down. I innocently thought that he had maybe injured his leg during the lesson and he was trying to rub it better.
I called out to the boy and asked if he was alright, however with his ears full of water and the noise of the shower he did not hear me. I decided to go up behind him and tap him on the shoulder. As he spun around and saw me he immediately stopped his rubbing however it was too late and lets just say it wasn’t water that was dripping down my pleated gym skirt onto my bare legs.
Horrified I told him to get dressed straight away and to come straight to my office once he had done so, which to be fair to him he did. He seemed very embarrassed and remorseful when I questioned him on what he thought he was doing, however this incident can not go unpunished and due to the severity of the circumstances I thought it would be best to involve your expert hand.
There was no pornographic material involved so the boy must have been fantasising about something, the thought of which disgusts me as everytime he is in my more usual English lesson he seems to pay more attention to my legs and breast than Henry V. Or if I turn my head when I’m writing on the black board I often find him stareing straight at my bottom.
I would therefore like you to punish him for the following 3 reasons:
Firstly for indulging in the pleasures of the palm. Secondly for subjecting me to such disgusting violations during the above incident and my lessons; and thirdly I want you to cane his bare buttocks until the boy tells you what he was fantisising about so we can address this abnormal behaviour
Kindest regards
Miss Prendergast
Miss Svenson looked up at me and a shot of adrenaline went through my veins as her stern eyes met mine, my head immediately bowed down and I found myself stareing at my shoes. She said nothing and cooly reached for the telephone, her slender finger tapped the buttons and seconds later she broke the grim science.
Miss Prendergast.…yes I agree this is a severe case and I agree to carry out the first part of the punishment, however you should join me for the last.…ok I’ll see you soon
My mind was racing a two part punishment? What was going to happen?
Miss S “Do you know what happens to naughty boys at this school?”
“N..no”
Miss S “No Miss” she shouted “and you won’t find the answer on your shoes, look at me when I’m talking to you”
“y…yes miss” I looked up as the dominant figure behind the desk stood up and looked down on me like I was a worm
Miss S “Naughty, disgusting, little boys like you must be punished, and punished severly. Here we use corporal punishment, do you know what that is boy?”
“No miss” I replied “my previous school used detention and lines as punishment”
Miss S “Well boy you’ll not want to know, but because you’ve been a dirty, horrible little boy I’m going to tell you and you wont like it even half as much as detition or lines”
Pausing for dramatic effect she then started to speak and as the words came out of her mouth I could not believe what I was hearing
“Corporal punishment is very simple thing boy. Punishment of the body for the wrong doings of the mind in the hope that if the mind strays again the punishment of the body will be remembered to prevent future wrong doing. It’s a short, sharp shock, however in this case it may not be so short, but it will be sharp and it will be a shock I can assure you that. It is a punishment and it is meant to and it will hurt! Do you understand boy?!!”
I quaked in fear “I, I think so miss”
Miss S “don’t worry too much all will become painfully clear all too soon for you my lad” “Now stand in the corner with your nose against the wall, think about what you have done, think about what is going to happen and don’t move a muscle until I tell you to address me again”
I shuffled across to the corner of the room, pressing my nose against the cold plaster sent a shiver through me as guilt and fear reached my brain.
Standing for what seemed like forever i could hear cupboard doors and desk draws being opened and closed and items being put down on the desk. My eyes strayed and my head turned a little as I tried to see what my mental tormentor was doing.
“nose in the corner, eyes front, don’t move a muscle”
There was no argument
High heels clicked on the floor and her dreaded voice called out
“Come to the front of the class and stand here” she pointed to the floor just to the left of a chair she had moved to the front of the desk.
She was holding a long, thick two tailed strap
“For pleasures of the palm you will receive 12 stokes of the tawse on the offending palm, if you ever grab down there again then you will think of this first, hold out your hand, count the strokes and thank me after each stroke”
I held out my quivering hand and waited. She placed the cool heavy leather on my palm, raised her elbow and waited.
Then it came. A low swishing sound, a loud slap and me then blowing on my palm, in real pain
“if you don’t get your hand back up, count out loud and thank me now, then it’s extra strokes”
My arm lifted slowly “one, thank you”
“one, thank you miss” she bellowed
This continued until all 12 terrible strokes had been carried out, my eyes were red with tears
Thinking this could not get any worse, I then caught a glimpse of her desk and saw a size 12 plimsole and a yellow crooked handle cane. My heart sank and my mind was confused I thought this was a punishment in two parts. My train of thought was soon interrupted as the next command was barked out as she sat down on the chair and smoothed her lap
“drop your trousers and bend over my knee”
“w..what miss”
“I will not repeat my self again, drop your trousers and bend over my knee”
I fumbled with my shorts and obeyed, going over her knee as my shorts dropped around my ankles. I could feel the warmth of her body against my bare legs and the softness of her hand as it brushed against my buttocks as she lifted the tail of my shirt. Somthing began to stir.
But then it began, the size 12 raining down on my buttocks relentlessly with constant verbal chastisement about treating women with respect and to stop being a filthy minded little boy. I don’t know how long it went on for but I was sobbing and begging by the end
I was sent shuffling back to the corner, but then strangely, to my mind as I thought it was all over, given the instruction
“drop your pants then eyes front, nose to the wall”
I was ashamed red faced and red cheeked and then I heard a knock at the door, I remembered the cane and then heard Miss Prendergast’s voice, which after a short whispered conversation with Miss Svenson barked at me
“front of the class boy and bend over the desk”
I turned around, hands trying to cover my naked bulge, to looks of disgust and dissapointment
“well boy we are just going to have to thrash that out of you, aren’t we” she turned and grinned at Miss Svenson as I shuffled over to the desk and bent over.….….…
2012 Story Competition first entry by Peter!
I was on my way to Miss Svenson because I felt I needed to be reminded of my manners in public. I have this problem that I love to look up ladies’ skirts and feast my eyes on their stocking tops and their thighs and pants (what colour are they?). I do not blame myself for this desire in itself; after all it’s natural, isn’t it? The race would not survive if men did not lust after women; and that particular sight is a big turn on.
But, of course, I realise that women dislike it as there is so much more that one ought to consider, and cherish, in a woman’s personality than merely lusting after her person. But men are inherently crude; well, I am. This is why I go to Miss Svenson. I hope her attention to my bare bottom will remind me of my duty to keep my eyes to myself. She is the best, the setting is stylish, the music classical and soft.
So there I was on the train, sitting on the seats that go along the length of the train, not across. This is a dangerous position for me as girls opposite with very short skirts are not always careful and I get a view I ought not to seek or to have. The train was pretty empty; it was near noon on a warm day. Opposite me sat a lady, smartly dressed in stylish suit, jacket and matching skirt to the knee; not a pencil skirt but one of those pleated ones – it was very pretty and to my taste.
She gathered together her things, a handbag and a shopping bag, and was obviously going to get off at the next stop as was I. I do not know exactly what happened but she stumbled as she was standing up. Perhaps her shoe caught something or she tilted her ankle. Anyway, she fell to her knees and her skirt caught the seat’s armrest and was pulled up, exposing her thighs and her black stockings and her briefs – very brief they were too. As I was also getting up at the same time I was quite close to her and of course could do nothing but try to catch her and help her up. I caught her elbow with one hand and her waist with the other and lifted her to her feet. She looked up at me with gratitude in her eyes but then I looked at her legs, which are very shapely, the stocking tops, the white thighs and her pink briefs. I longed to kiss those thighs. I looked for a second too long and my feelings of pure lust may have shown on my face. Her expression became very severe as I saw when I glanced back at her eyes. All confusion, I hastily tried to unhitch her skirt and pull it down but she pushed me away, smoothing herself down with an elegant sweep of her hand. She had, I noticed, a very curvaceous figure.
“I’m so sorry,” I said but she turned away and walked down the carriage and out of the door as soon as the train stopped. I followed but not closely as I did not want to frighten her. She might have thought me a stalker or something. I lost sight of her and put the episode from my mind. I was too early for my appointment, so stopped and had a small espresso to kill some time and get into a proper frame of mind for my interview with Miss Svenson.
I stood in front of Miss Svenson’s door and took a deep breath, psyching myself up for what was to come. No doubt Miss Svenson was going to be very severe with me as I did not seem to learn my lesson for very long. It was only a short time since I had been to her with the same problem. I rang. The door opened noiselessly and Miss motioned me in with a sharp glance of her eyes. “Go through,” she said in a strict tone. I did so and had the shock of my life for standing at the further wall was the lady from the train.
“Miss Prendergast is here to observe proceedings” said Miss Svenson following me into the room. She saw us staring at each other and realised we were acquainted in some way.
“This is the man on the train I was telling you about,” said Miss Prendergast. “The one who had the impertinence to gaze at my underwear when it was accidentally exposed. I am extremely glad that there was no one else on the train who saw. I must say though, I shall do more than merely observe – oh yes, a lot more! When you have finished with him I’ll teach him to lust after me.” The room swayed a little as I realised what I was in for.
“Undress as usual,” commanded Miss Svenson. “I shall deal with you first. Then Miss Prendergast will have her turn at civilising you. Stand in the corner when you are ready.” She busied herself collecting the instruments she needed for the task, a range of straps and paddles. I shivered in anticipation, undressed and went to the corner.
The session with Miss Svenson went as usual, starting with four dozen hand spanks while I was over her knee and continuing with the various implements including her favourite split strap, the tawse, which has been mentioned in her blog. In between each of the instruments, the paddles etc, came more OTK hand spanking. Each spanker was combined with a different stance; sometimes I was bent over a chair, sometimes I had to stand up straight. Even this thrashing, however, did not stop me admiring Miss Prendergast’s figure and especially her legs, long and elegant. In between each session I had the opportunity to look at her, sideways out of lowered eyes of course. If she had seen me I shudder to think what she would have done. My buttocks would have been purple not just red.
It all culminated in a dozen strokes of the cane. I did notice, however, that the severity of all the blows, by whatever means, had increased a lot from previous appointments. The two ladies had obviously been discussing my behaviour and gravely disapproved of it.
Indeed, Miss Prendergast interjected her opinions as to how hard each blow should be and exactly where on my bottom. She sat opposite us while I was OTK and could see areas that were not as red as they might be. Finally, in order to try to obtain a breather, I apologised as abjectly as I could to both, Miss Prendergast for not averting my gaze from her beauty while we were in the train and Miss Svenson for not learning my lesson quickly. I hoped they would give me five minutes to recover a bit. They did not.
As soon as Miss Svenson had finished the last, hardest stroke Miss Prendergast poured some soothing oil over my bottom and rubbed it in. She then took up another cane, a more severe one. “As you are in the proper position over that sofa arm for a caning I’ll start with that,” she said, “I may give you more strokes at the end.” She suited the action to the word and gave me six more at what was obviously her maximum strength. Of course, I had to thank her for each stroke and count them, which I took care to do as I did not want to increase the length of the punishment at that point. She also liked me to beg for the next stroke and again I obliged, although I had to do so with a quaver in my voice as I struggled to absorb the pain. Striving though I was to comply with her orders and accept the much deserved punishment, I had to admire the symmetry of her procedure. She reversed the order of the instruments that Miss Svenson used; the tawse, a couple of paddles and a strap, all used just as strongly and putting me in the same posture. She did not, however, have me over her knee for hand spanking between each instrument. It was clear that the last thing was to be the OTK spank. I looked at her arms and hands; the arms were well muscled as I realised also from my stinging bottom, and her hands were small. This meant the impact area on my buttocks would be small and so the smack more concentrated, the pain increased. OTK spanking is both my best and worst thing. I love the humility, and the intimacy, of the position but the agony can be worse. I feared it would be this time. “OTK now,” she said, “I’ll give you four dozen on each buttock.”
The trouble was as Miss Prendergast sat on the upright chair she lifted her skirt to her waist and then bade me bend over her knee. It wasn’t fair.
From Miss Blackstock’s Diaries…the last entry.
Thursday 21 January
What a topsy-turrvy day It started in the worst possible fashion when I slipped on the ice in the school drive, fell and sprained my wrist. Matron gave me a pain-killing injection, but as it was my caning arm, I could tell I would be badly handicapped if I had to administer corporal punishment. The same thought must have struck Bracken, who was sent to me mid-morning for cheeking the geography master, Mr Contour. I could see him simpering as he stared at my caning arm, which was bandaged and in a sling. What to do? Though I say it myself, I came up with an absolute brainwave, asking my wayward secretary Celia if she would do the honours. From the vigour with which she laid on the stripes – six absolute screamers – she is obviously a natural. I must use her again next time my arm is sore.
‘This, sadly, was the last of Miss Blackstock’s diary entries. I don’t know why she suddenly stopped keeping a record of her days as headmistress — or even whether she remained as headmistress. My theory, after exhaustive research, is that she may have married and moved south of the river. Records at the Marylebone Record Office for that year indicate that a Miss Blackstock got married to a Mr Rodwell from East Dulwich in the spring of that year. That of course would have made Miss Blackstock Mrs Rodwell, as it was virtually unknown for married women to use their maiden names professionally. What did Mr Rodwell do? Did they have children? Were they very much in love? One can only guess. But I do find it significant that, by 1957, there was apparently a Mrs E Rodwell SCO on the staff of the Penge Penal Institute, only a short bus journey from East Dulwich. SCO stood for Senior Correction Officer, so it looks as if the headmistress who had wielded the cane and strap with such vigour on errant schoolboys may have found a new outlet for her skills. Corporal punishment was still used in some boroughs of South London in the 1950s: not just in schools, but in other, quasi-judicial contexts. I am doing my best to unearth documents relating to the Penge Penal Institute and, if I am lucky enough to find some, shedding light on Mrs Rodwell’s role there, I will post them on this site in due course.’
A New Story Competition!
Miss Svenson’s spanking story competition!
This is how it works you must get creative and write a spanking story which includes Miss Svenson and with a new twist also Miss prendergast. It obviously must be your own work and you must agree to have it published on my website. If you wish you can include a drawing or a photo but it must be your own copy right. The best story will win a free 40 minutes spanking session with two strict ladies. Please send your story on a word document marked story competition to me and we (Miss Prendergast and I) will pick the lucky winner.Deadline is 1st of June but I will start publishing stories as soon as I get them.
Come on boys and girls…what are you waiting for this is your chance to show us how good you are!
From Miss Blackstock’s Diaries:
Tuesday 19 January
Will boys never learn? I had put up a large notice on the board, entitled SOCKS, warning boys that anyone who didn’t wear the school socks in the prescribed fashion, pulled right up, could expect ‘serious consequences’. Did I have to spell out what I meant? Not twenty-four hours after I posted the notice, I caught Ross Junior – one of the dimmer boys in the Remove, which is saying something – with his socks around his ankles, summoned him to my study, flexed my cane, told him to take down his trousers and he had the cheek to look surprised, even indignant! I gave him six of the best for not wearing his socks properly and four ‘extras’ for being a total moron. Harsh, but effective, I fancy, judging from the tears welling up in his eyes.
From Miss Blackstock’s Diaries:
Sunday 17 January
One of my most rewarding days in my entire teaching career. Peter McElwaine, who left last summer and now has a well-paid job in a local building society, came round to have tea with me and, in the course of a most cordial conversation, THANKED me for not sparing the rod! ‘I hated it at the time,’ he told me, ‘but the great thing about you, Miss Blackstock, was that you never flogged a boy without good cause. Firm but fair: that was your motto.’ He then reminded me (I had completely forgotten the incident, I am ashamed to say) of the time I strapped him for running in the corridor. ‘I’ve never run in the corridor since,’ he said, with a cheeky wink. Was it my imagination or was their nostalgia in his eyes as he contemplated my leather strap, hanging in its usual place?
From Miss Blackstock’s Diaries:
Friday 15 January
It is still the first week of term and I have had to deal with a most disconcerting incident in the showers. I heard giggling as I was passing, went to investigate, and to my absolute horror, found Watkins and Wrigglesworth, whom I had given six of the best not half an hour before, comparing their stripes. Unbelievable behaviour! Call me naive, but I had always imagined that a boy unlucky enough to be on the receiving end of my senior cane would display a decent penitence for at least the next twenty-four hours. This almost boastful parading of well-marked bottoms seemed disrespectful of the entire process. I gave the little toerags a further six of the best apiece, with plenty of follow through, but how do I know they won’t go off and compare the NEXT set of marks? I feel almost physically sick at the prospect.