Ken was out in his run­ning gear

He had watched Miss Sven­son (the New Head) unload her car and have the men car­ry her stuff into her Study.He pulled his mobile out and called Bill who had left last Term

Hi Bill. Ken here

I have just seen her-She’s quite small, great fig­ure (big­gish boobs and one of those curvy bums)

 

Ken lights a cig­a­rette and leans against the wall

Old Bug­ger Baines left at the end of Term- I think his array of canes, slip­pers and stuff went too

Old sexy draw­ers Sven­son won’t use them I hope!!

LOL

She will prob­a­bly be nam­by pam­by lib­er­al type, she comes from Scandinavia!!

 

(What Ken had not realised was that unlike Har­ry (bug­ger) Baines, Elsa Sven­son the new Head­mistress enjoyed fresh air.  She had opened the bal­cony win­dow and was stand­ing a few feet above Ken’s qui­et cor­ner. She had indeed dis­cov­ered the Baines spank­ing equip­ment and rel­ished the fact that Scan­di­na­vian val­ues could be imposed with such imple­ments against those deserv­ing young bottoms.

 

(Elsa was “old school” and used pad­dles, slip­pers, straps and canes to dis­ci­pline her flock back home- she remem­bered only too well the humil­i­a­tion of her own spankings)

 

This brat on his phone made her so cross-he was big­ot­ed, arro­gant and aggres­sive.† He smoked and he obvi­ous­ly had lit­tle respect for Females

 

She lis­tened on as Ken bragged about how unruly he would be, how heíd sev­er­al con­quests over the hol­i­days and how he expect­ed more in the school staff quar­ters this com­ing term

 

“Yes” he said on his mobile “I’ll get in and take some pic­tures of her knick­ers draw­er for you . I’ll check out he bra size too LOL”

 

He stubbed out his cig­a­rette and hid the stub in the flowerbed

 

“She must be out now as most pupils come back in an hour-as you know I was ear­ly as I had demer­its from last year and had to open up

I’ll go now and get the evi­dence!! LOL”

 

With that Ken went in and up the back stairway

he went into room 18-the Head­’s study and to the dress­ing room

the chest of draw­ers had two small top draw­ers and he pulled them open.. Chortling to him­self he laid 2 pairs of knick­ers on the top of the chest, just stand­ing back to take a pic­ture he heard a creak of the wood­en floor, he looked round and saw Miss Svenson

He was amazed as he thought she was out

Hel­lo

She spoke quietly

And who have we here?

.…..

Umm†Hello Miss

I am Ken Pretto

I errî

 

Yes Pret­to?† You were what?

Well I ummm..

Let’s come away from my per­son­al draw­ers shall we?† Put my under­gar­ments away-as you found them

 

Her heels clicked on the wood­en floor as she returned to the “work­ing” part of Her New study.

Miss Sven­son sat in the chair behind her desk

 

You are used to attend­ing this room I think Pret­to?† You will help me under­stand some features

Yes Miss

Miss Svenson’s†smile broad­ened as she detect­ed a flick­er of fear

Open the cup­board please Pretto

 

Ken knew what was there before, but thought it would be gone. He opened the cup­board and iden­ti­fied the plim­soll, the leather soled slip­per, the tawse and straps and the 6 canes lean­ing against the back wall-noth­ing had gone.

 

I heard you on the phone you sil­ly boy

I am a stricter dis­ci­pli­nar­i­an that any man you may have met before.

I know how Mr Baines used to deal with you, in the show­er first and then over the tow­el rail

She laughed

Well, I won’t be doing that Emp­ty your pockets

 

Ken took out his phone and some change and his handkerchief

 

The cig­a­rettes and lighter too pleaseî Barked Elsa

 

Put the chair in the mid­dle of the room, bend over the back and grip the seat both sides

 

Elsa took the plimsoll

 

12 with this for using foul words to your friend on the phone

The slip­per struck hard with a rapid deliv­ery of†6 hard strokes to each alter­nate cheek

Ken’s jog­ging pants offered lit­tle pro­tec­tion and the burn­ing sen­sa­tion engulfed him in no time

Elsa enjoyed the feel­ing of pow­er over this “tough” sixth former

She walked round and faced him

 

Mr Baines as good as that?

 

That was hard­er than he ever spanked Miss

 

Good

 

Smok­ing

20 on the bare backside

Elsa pulled his jog­gers down to expose bare but­tocks, already reddened.

 

WALLOP

She laid the plim­soll on hard­er and paused after each 5

 

Stand in the cor­ner and won­der what I will do next — your ref­er­ence to me in a smut­ty way to your†friend†upset me.† I also am astound­ed at your audac­i­ty in touch­ing my clothes.† Put your hands on head and face the wall.

 

Ken was in that mixed emo­tion state that was so embar­rass­ing.† He had no pro­tec­tion on his bot­tom which was smart­ing with the slip­per spanking

As he stood fac­ing the cor­ner he heard the cup­board door hinge squeak and the sound of items being moved around.† He still pic­tured the attrac­tive lady and felt some stimulation

 

swishî the sound of a cane being swept through the air

ìHm­m­m­m­mî Miss Sven­son could be heard approv­ing­ly murmuring

 

The door buzzer went

Hel­lo Yes Siri-Anne, do come up. You may enjoy this

 

Swish, swish anoth­er cane was rest­ed against the wall

 

Stay still Pretto

Miss Sven­son opened the door and called In here Siri

 

What on Earth?!!î A strangerís voice rang out.

 

This is one of my pupils Siri Anne.You remem­ber my meth­ods at the school in Oslo?  You must do, that pert bot­tom of yours felt the birch more than once?  Any­way, heís been very sil­ly and I am about to cane him

Pret­to. Lay across the arms of those 2 sofas.Bottom high in the air

 

Ken shuf­fled across and lay over a tow­el placed for him to rest on.

 

Good Miss Sven­son took one of the canes. For touch­ing my under­gar­ments.† 12 stokes this side, then face the oth­er way for 12 more

 

But Miss We only get 6

 

Elsa laughs

 

Real­ly?!!

 

12 hard strokes are soon ring­ing down

After 8 Elsa stops and runs her hand over his sore bottom

 

Look Siri Anne how his white cheeks are all stripey. The red blotch­es were from this  WALLOP  the slip­per thwacks down across his sore bottom

 

And the stripes swish, swish, swish, swishî 4 more hard cane strokes on the same spot , each time the tip of the cane catch­ing his right cheek dead cen­tre as it fol­lows the hard impact of the cane.

 

Wow Siri Anne sounds breath­less they do have an effect

 

Ken you must face the oth­er way.† As you know I cane left hand­ed so we need spread

 

The ladies walk away to com­pare their shoes, both expen­sive high heels from Design­er Shops while Ken moves gin­ger­ly round. He lays the oth­er way and waits.

 

Elsa shows Siri Anne the dif­fer­ence between the canes. One slight­ly wider and less springy

 

Let’s see if the effect is the same

 

Miss Sven­son holds the cane across young Pret­toís bot­tom.† ì12 more this side but Ken, I want your bot­tom high­er and more pro­nounced please.† Stick it higherî

 

The next 10 min­utes are ago­nis­ing for poor Ken.† Elsa lays each stroke care­ful­ly and slow­ly.† She mea­sures her swing and ensures the delay between each stroke dif­fers so as to keep the boy guessing.

 

In some moments she chats to her friend and then applies a series or sin­gle strokes.† At last all 12 strokes have been applied.

 

Go and wash your tears young manî Ken goes to the bath­room and wash­es his face to remove the tears. He looks in the mir­ror at his flam­ing bottom.

 

On re enter­ing the room his jog­gers back in place he finds the Ladies hold­ing a small leather strap and a hair­brush respec­tive­ly. They are laugh­ing and sniggering.

Oh Pret­toî They turn and face him.

 

Next time we are both going to deal with you.† Siri Anne is your new matron and will be help­ing keep you in line.

 

They laugh and Ken is dismissed.

 

He is going to try to behave this Term.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Walsh entered Ms Sven­son’s office and hand­ed her the pun­ish­ment note. She read it and said:

“Well Walsh. I see that once again you†continue to dis­rupt the class­es and cause† trou­ble to the teach­ers. I con­sid­er myself to be a fair head­mistress, so before I cane you I will give you the oppor­tu­ni­ty to explain yourself.”

 

“What is the rea­son for this dis­grace­ful behaviour?”

 

“Oh that’s easy!” answered Walsh. “I think the teach­ers in this school are incom­pe­tent!” He laughed loudly.

 

“Incom­pe­tent?” exclaimed Ms Sven­son in amazement.

 

“Yes!” answered Walsh. He laughed again and added: “Includ­ing you, Ms Sven­son! Ha! Ha! Ha!”

 

“Hmm”, sighed the Head­mistress as she select­ed her strongest cane. “We shall see how com­pe­tent I am at pun­ish­ing you then. Bend over that chair!”

 

Walsh laughed again and bent over. He was sur­prised when she pulled down his trousers and underpants†leaving his bare but­tocks exposed. Then again what did he have to fear? She was after all only a woman and a mem­ber of the weak­er sex, was­n’t she?

 

How wrong he was. The Head­mistress drew back the cane and brought it down on†his bare but­tocks with all her might.

 

“Aaaargh!” shout­ed Walsh in agony, as he rose with the shock.

 

“Get back down!” shout­ed the Head­mistress or you’ll get extra strokes!”

 

Wash grit­ted his teeth and grabbed the legs of the chair for the remaining†eleven excru­ti­at­ing­ly painful strokes. He was not laugh­ing now.

 

Mer­ci­ful­ly the Head­mistress final­ly laid down the cane. Walsh was whim­per­ing pathet­i­cal­ly as he pulled up his trousers.

 

“Well Walsh! Let this be a les­son to you. I will not tol­er­ate inso­lence in my study or dis­rup­tive behav­iour in my class­rooms. I want you to go back now and apol­o­gise to the teach­ers you offend­ed! If I see you here again, it will be 24 strokes”

 

“Yes Ma’am,” he sim­pered. “Thank you Ma’am”.

 

He meek­ly shuf­fled out of the study with his back­side on fire with the pain.

 

 

 

 

Miss Sven­son sat at her kitchen table, idly stir­ring her cof­fee. She glanced at the clock but it was still not yet 10 past 9. 5 past 9, just before her rather dull but oh so Eng­lish neigh­bours in the house to the left would have gone for the day, the wife to do what­ev­er it was mid­dle aged women did all day whilst their hus­bands worked, some­thing wor­thy with a char­i­ty no doubt. And the hus­band, well off to the job that kept them in their lifestyle of 2 sons at uni­ver­si­ty and 3 for­eign hol­i­days a year.
10 past 9, mark­ing the time Miss Sven­son could go for her morn­ing stroll around the gar­den. Nude of course, so com­mon­place in her native Swe­den, but rather too lib­er­al for the prim and prop­er next door neigh­bours she feared.

The sound of an engine start­ing and then slow­ly dis­ap­pear­ing lift­ed her mood and with her oth­er neigh­bours in the south of France for sev­er­al months, she start­ed undo­ing her dress­ing gown and let it slip off her body onto the floor. She took a mouth­ful of cof­fee and, pick­ing up the seca­teurs lest she find any plants in need of tend­ing, opened the back door and walked into the ear­ly morn­ing sunshine.

The cool air on her body made her think wist­ful­ly of her home­land and the free­dom one was grant­ed there and she began to idly won­der from bush to bush, tak­ing in the fra­grance of her gar­den. A move­ment in the cor­ner of her eye dis­tract­ed her, just a brief flut­ter and then noth­ing. She lin­gered over a Rhodo­den­dron that seemed to be on the wane and there again, a move­ment of mate­r­i­al, from her prim and prop­er next door neigh­boursí win­dow. She looked intent­ly at the win­dows, but could not dis­tin­guish any­thing in par­tic­u­lar when there, again, a slight tug on the cur­tain. A peep­ing tom next door! But how, when she had heard their depar­ture? Then it struck her, Mrs Prim and Prop­er had gushed with pride about how one of their sons was soon to be back from uni­ver­si­ty for the hol­i­days. The lit­tle swine, he had caught her at her leisure and rather than decent­ly avert­ing his eye after the first no doubt acci­den­tal glimpse, had sought a sec­ond and third view of her naked­ness. She strode indoors, pulled the dress­ing gown around her and, stop­ping only to put her slip­pers on and put her house keys in her gown pock­et, walked out of the house and strode next door.

She rang two, three, four times on the door­bell before it opened slow­ly and a young man in his twen­ties stood before her, clad in shorts with the rem­nants of an erec­tion dimin­ish­ing, pressed against the material.

“Erm hi” he splut­tered “Mum and Dad are out at the moment, i can take a message”.

“You most cer­tain­ly can” said Miss Sven­son stern­ly, “You can leave the mes­sage that I am most unhap­py their son is a peep­ing tom and i want to know what pun­ish­ment they will be giv­ing you.”

The colour drained from his face as he realised his cur­tain twitch­ing had been seen.

“Wait, erm, no” he bum­bled “That’s real­ly not nec­es­sary, i’m real­ly sor­ry, it wonít hap­pen again”.

“You can be sure of that; I shall ask your moth­er if she knows her son is a per­vert, whether her friends at the local Wom­enís Insti­tute know.”

“No, please, you can’t, i’m real­ly very sor­ry, how can i make it up to you” he pleaded.

Miss Sven­son’s tone soft­ened and her mind wan­dered to the con­tents of the third draw­er in her bed­room side dress­er. “Well” she said slow­ly, “If you were pun­ished to my sat­is­fac­tion then per­haps there would be no need to involve your par­ents at all.”

“Yes, yes, that is fine” he blurt­ed in relief.

“Very well”, Miss Sven­son barked, “Come with me at once”.

The young man fol­lowed her with some trep­i­da­tion, won­der­ing what sort of menial task or house­work he would have to do.

Once inside her house, Miss Sven­son closed the front door and turned on the mis­cre­ant. “Such an affront to my dig­ni­ty deserves a suit­able pun­ish­ment, one you will not read­i­ly for­get by this after­noon like mere yard work. I shall be treat­ing you as if you were my own son caught in such an act…”

A puz­zled look crossed the stu­den­t’s face and the look turned to one of shock as she con­tin­ued “…tell me, have you ever been spanked”

“Spanked?” he said in a daze

“Yes boy, spanked, pad­dled, caned, tawsed, slip­pered… has your moth­er ever had occa­sion to pun­ish you properly?”

“My, er, my moth­er does­n’t believe in it.”

“Well my boy, i do and i will nei­ther spare the rod, nor spoil you to teach you a les­son”. She grasped his ear and twist­ing, led him upstairs to her boudoir. “I am going to pun­ish you and next time you approach a cur­tain with the promise of a naughty view, i can promise you your back­side will start to sting instinctively.

She cajoled him into a cor­ner of the room, fac­ing a full length mir­ror. After pulling his shorts down and away from his feet, she spread his feet wide and made him grip his ankles such that his gaze would be on the car­pet between his legs. She exam­ined his unmarked, taut bot­tom and reflect­ed on the fun she was about to have.

“I will be pun­ish­ing you with a vari­ety of instru­ments” she said in a stern voice “and after i have shown you the instru­ments, we shall begin. I expect no backchat from you, any lip or wrig­gling or pulling away and we shall be talk­ing to your moth­er when she returns.”

“Ok” he said.

“and from now on, you will address me only as Miss Sven­son, when answer­ing me you will start Miss Sven­son and then say what you have to say, is that clear And in this house we say yes or yes Miss Sven­son, not vul­gar­i­ty like ìOKî, is that understood?

“Yes, I mean Miss Sven­son, yes”.

“Good” and smil­ing to her­self she went over to the dress­er and, pulling open a draw­er, began to select the instru­ments she would use this morn­ing. A favourite rub­ber soled slip­per, a tawse, a light pad­dle, a par­tic­u­lar­ly flex­i­ble and whip­py cane and an old wood­en ruler. Ahh, and a present she had received from a friend back home that very week, a love­ly birch.

She walked over to the boy and slow­ly, placed the instru­ments one by one between his feet. An invol­un­tary flinch was noticed on a cou­ple of items and Miss Sven­son felt the sever­i­ty of the crime and the pun­ish­ment was start­ing to be brought home to him.

She pulled up a chair and placed it in the mid­dle of the room. “Come here” she said “and lay over my lap”. “I will not be jump­ing straight to the instru­ments that will give you most cause for reflec­tion, I must pre­pare you for that first”.

Gin­ger­ly he laid him­self over her lap, still some­what aroused she noticed. “well, she thought to her­self “We’ll see about that”.

Arrang­ing him on her lap, she pulled one of his arms up behind his back to lessen any wrig­gling and addressed the quiv­er­ing but­tocks. “Some­times I will expect you to count the blows, if you do this incor­rect­ly, then I will start again and again until you get it cor­rect. Am i clear?”

“Yes Miss Sven­son” he said meekly.

She start­ed off at a fast pace, pep­per­ing both but­tocks with well judged thwacks from her hand, such that he could not guess where the next was com­ing from. 20, 30, 40, 50 swats from her and he was already start­ing to move around in some discomfort.

“Have you learnt your les­son?” she asked dryly.

“Yes Miss Sven­son, it won’t hap­pen again Miss Sven­son” he panted.

“we’ll see”. Fetch me the slip­per and the pad­dle. He took him­self off her lap, the sting­ing spank­ing dis­pelling his impu­dent arousal and pick­ing up the items, sheep­ish­ly hand­ed them back to her.

“Resume the posi­tion” she ordered, and he did so. The old rub­ber soled gym slip­per was next on the agen­da and again she swat­ted his but­tocks even­ly, but not too hard, lest she over­do it and deny her­self the plea­sure of the cane and birch. 50 method­i­cal strikes from the slip­per was a change of pace for the boy and he start­ed to squirm around on her lap, restrained by her grip on his arm. “Strug­gling will not help you” she mut­tered and she laid the slip­per beside her and picked up the pad­dle. The cool breeze on the but­tocks before each stroke was fol­lowed with a harsh sting and the stu­dent began to cry out occa­sion­al­ly. Miss Sven­son ignored his cries and com­plet­ed the 50 strokes with the pad­dle she felt he merited.

“Stand back in the cor­ner in the posi­tion” she com­mand­ed. and he returned to the stress she had orig­i­nal­ly placed him in. His bot­tom glowed red, but Miss Sven­son knew that her duty was incom­plete and only after the appli­ca­tion of some oth­er instru­ments might the extent of his mis­de­meanour be brought home to him.

She posi­tioned a large bol­ster pil­low onto the mat­tress at the foot of her bed and posi­tioned him over it, face on the mat­tress, legs spread and bot­tom in the air.

“We move now to the lat­ter stages of your pun­ish­ment” she said cold­ly, “but do not think the end is in sight yet, there is more oppor­tu­ni­ty for reflec­tion yet”.

“Yes Miss Sven­son” he said meekly.

She picked up the tawse and felt the smooth­ness of it against her hand. ìThis is a tawseî she instruct­ed him, ìan orig­i­nal Lochgel­ly, not that you would appre­ci­ate its prove­nance. You may well come to appre­ci­ate the work­man­ship how­ev­erÖî, and with that, laid a fierce stripe across his cheeks. He vis­i­bly jumped and it must have dawned on him this was again a change in the lev­el of admonishment.

“I would like you to count out these strokes for me, stat­ing my name and the num­ber of strokes after each blow.”

“Yes Miss Svenson”

She laid anoth­er stripe on him.

“Miss Sven­son, One”

“That is incor­rect” she chuck­led, “that was the sec­ond blow, so we must start again.” Miss Sven­son raised her arm and began admin­is­ter­ing the blows again.

“Miss Sven­son, One”, “Miss Sven­son, Two, “Miss Sven­son, Three”, “Miss Sven­son, Four”, “Miss Sven­son, Five” ‚“Miss Sven­son, Six”, “Miss Sven­son, Sev­en”, “Miss Sven­son, Eight”, “Miss Sven­son, Nine”, “Miss Sven­son, Ten”.

With each blow his reply became more fal­ter­ing and the shock and pain in his but­tocks could be heard in the trem­bling tone of his voice.

She looked close­ly at his but­tocks, now almost blis­ter­ing­ly red, no blood drawn giv­en her skill, but the skin had been tak­en almost to its limits.

Almost.

“To fin­ish I will give you a taste of my home­land, and I don’t mean some some non­sense you might buy in Ikea. I have a friend who makes fine birch­es and as my luck would have it, I have received a new one today, made of wil­low rather than hazel luck­i­ly for you, but it will be rather breath­tak­ing i’ll wager. As before, i would like you to count.”

ìTen strokes young man, and then i think we are done here.î

She thought he breathed a sigh of relief, but per­haps was just steal­ing him­self for this new unknown. She felt the tex­ture of each twig and then whip­ping her arm quick­ly, swished the birch across his bottom.

“Miss Sven­son, One”, “Miss Sven­son, Two, “Miss Sven­son, Three”, “Miss Sven­son, Four”, “Miss Sven­son, Five” ‚“Miss Sven­son, Six”, “Miss Sven­son, Sev­en”, “Miss Sven­son, Eight”, “Miss Sven­son, Nine”, “Miss Sven­son, Ten”.

As he reached sev­en, eight, nine, she could sense she had tak­en him to his thresh­old and with the tenth blow, she felt him break, she had accom­plished he goal, he would remem­ber this pun­ish­ment for some time to come.

“I shall leave the cane for anoth­er day I think, but rest assured, any repeat of today’s behav­iour and it will be brought into play and I may con­sid­er can­ing you in front of your mother.

“No, no, i’ll nev­er let this hap­pen again, I swear Miss Svenson.”

“Very well then, begone and reflect on what you have learnt today” The naughty young man slow­ly walked down­stairs and gin­ger­ly walked around to his par­en­t’s house and the pre­sumed relief of ice on his now bright red cheeks.

A new day and Miss Sven­son went to her porch to fetch the paper. “Hul­lo” said Mirs Prim and Prop­er from next door. “How are you Miss Svenson?”

“Well my dear” she replied, “but a lit­tle sore in my arm for some rea­son today.”

“Must be some­thing going around?” Mrs Prim replied “young David has been in bed all yes­ter­day and this morn­ing, says he feels very sore and unwell.”

Miss Sven­son smiled to her­self “well, I hope he gets well soon,” and as she walked back to her front door she paused. Look­ing up she saw David peek­ing at her from behind the cur­tain, a faint smile on his lips. Per­haps, Miss Sven­son mused, one les­son may not be enough with this one. But that is anoth­er story…

 

I have received a lot of good sto­ries †- well done to all for this.

The last date to sub­mit a sto­ry for this com­pe­ti­tion will be Mon­day 20th of June. If you haven’t writ­ten your sto­ry yet don’t wor­ry there will be a new com­pe­ti­tion in Sep­tem­ber and any sto­ries received after 20th will be saved for the sec­ond competition.The prize for the best sto­ry in the Sep­tem­ber com­pe­ti­tion will be the same — a free 40 min spank­ing session.

MISS SVENSON

It was 11AM, I was stay­ing at my mumís and Iíd only just got out the show­er and dressed. The rain was pour­ing down out­side and I’d resolved to have a lazy day indoors. I had my girlie mags and a wad of tis­sues at the ready as I knew no-one would be home until at least 3PM. Then came the knock at the door that would change my day completely.

I opened the door to find Miss Sven­son, a fam­i­ly friend, stand­ing there some­what bedrag­gled in the rain. Miss Sven­son is a love­ly woman, a schoolmistress with old fash­ioned val­ues but a great sense of humour. She is about 10 years old­er than me, and she has the most fan­tas­tic fig­ure and stun­ning looks with long shape­ly legs and breasts that super­mod­els a frac­tion of her age would kill for. Her blond hair nor­mal­ly ablaze around her head and shoul­ders was now hang­ing in strands due to the rain. I realised I could­nít leave her stand­ing in the rain but how could I ask her in with the girlie mags and tis­sues strewn all over the table where I had fool­ish­ly left them. I had to think quickly.

Hi Miss Sven­son, come in out of the rain, I think you bet­ter go right up to the bath­room and get dried off, shall I make some tea? I said.

Yes, hel­lo Tom­my, she said, OK Iíll just go up and dry off and yes I could do with a cuppa.î And off up the stairs she went.

Relief, I thought, now I can get rid of the evi­dence, and the mags and tis­sues got stuffed into a draw­er out of sight while I went and put the ket­tle on.

Miss Sven­son was back down stairs in a few min­utes and she looked as though sheíd nev­er been in the rain, her blond hair swirling around her head and shoul­ders and look­ing stun­ning as usu­al. As we sat and drank tea she told me sheíd just come to drop some things off for my mum. I told her my mum would­nít be back until 3PM but she said it was ok and put a pack­age on the table for her say­ing she would have to go soon any­way. As she sat back she crossed her legs reveal­ing an expanse of white creamy thigh above her stock­ing top and I could­nít help but gaze at the shape­ly legs that I was in the per­fect posi­tion to see. Miss Sven­son must have noticed me look­ing at her legs because she uncrossed them and smoothed her skirt down as she leaned for­ward to put her teacup back on the table. As she did so I was treat­ed to anoth­er won­der­ful sight as her ample cleav­age came into view once again. Sit­ting back she said, ìWell then Tom­my, I bet­ter be off,î and stand­ing up she said, oh, could I bor­row an umbrel­la, I know your mum keeps one in here.î And to my hor­ror she indi­cat­ed the draw­er where I had stuffed the girlie mags and tissues.

Before I could say a word she had opened the draw­er and with a small gasp she saw the mag­a­zines and picked them up. She looked at me and must have seen by my face that they were mine.

She said, My Good­ness Tom­my, Iím sur­prised at you.î wav­ing the mag­a­zines around she went on This is some­thing I’d expect of a naughty lit­tle boy not a grown man.

I was so embar­rassed I did­nít know where to look or what to say, I just sat there dumbstruck.

What would your moth­er say? she con­tin­ued, ìbut per­haps I should­nít tell her eh? She’d be so embar­rassed, per­haps I should just deal with you myself.

I looked up at her in sur­prise but she con­tin­ued, do you know what I do with naughty lit­tle boys? I put them across my knee and give them a good old fash­ioned long and hard, bare bot­tom spank­ing. Yes, a spank­ing Tom­my, thatís right, across my knee with trousers and under­pants down, yes on the bare bottom.

The thought of me being spanked across her knee flashed through my mind, Iíd nev­er been spanked in my entire life and now it was a very real prospect, but then no, Miss Sven­son might have old fash­ioned val­ues, but she also has a sense of humour, she could­nít be seri­ous, could she? Well, could she?

She must have seen the look of increduli­ty in my face because she then said, ìYouíd bet­ter believe it Tom­my, because you have been a very naughty boy, not just for hav­ing these mag­a­zines but the way youíve been look­ing up my skirt and down my blouse all the time Iíve been here. She was right of course, I had been. She went on, As you have been a very naughty boy I am not just going to spank you, Iím going to give you a taste of my old school strap before you go over my knee.

As I said before Miss Sven­son was a schoolmistress and although the strap had been banned many years before she still kept her old one and even if she had­nít used it in years it looked as though I was about to find out whether she could still wield it as well as she used to.

Yes, Tommy,î she said reach­ing into her bag from which she pulled a long leather strap that split into 2 thongs for the last 8 inch­es or so ìthe strap, she said swing­ing it down on to the sofa, ìIím sure youíve had this before.

She was right of course, I had. At school the strap was tra­di­tion­al­ly giv­en on the hand as pun­ish­ment for var­i­ous rea­sons and I had received my fair share before it was banned.

Come here, said Miss Sven­son, draw­ing the strap through her hands. Sheep­ish­ly I stood up and walked over to her, I could­nít think of any rea­son not to, and I held up my hand to receive the strap. She laughed and said, ìOh no Tom­my, not on the hand, take down your trousers and bend over the sofa.

I was hor­ri­fied, there was no way she could mean it, but then DO IT NOW!î she yelled and I knew she was seri­ous but I still could not do as she said. Sud­den­ly she grabbed a hold of me by the belt, which she undid, then she undid my flies and pulled my trousers down to my ankles. She then pushed me into a bend­ing posi­tion over the sofa where she held me with one hand on my back while she placed the strap across my bot­tom over my under­pants. She lift­ed the strap high and swung it down through the air to land WHACK! across both cheeks of my bot­tom, she swung again and again it land­ed with a resound­ing WHACK! again and again, WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! a total of six times across both cheeks of my bot­tom which was now sting­ing madly.

She lift­ed her hand from my back and as I start­ed to get up she said smart­ly, Stay where you are,î and I felt her fin­gers slide into the waist­band of my under­pants and she pulled them back, bar­ing my bot­tom, ìnaughty boys like you who donít do as they are told deserve to be pun­ished on the bare bot­tom, she said, lay­ing the strap across my bare bot­tom, the cold leather felt nice and cool on the bare skin, she con­tin­ued, ìIím going to teach you to do as youíre told and remem­ber when I tell you to take your trousers down in future you will do it!î and with that she drew the strap its full length across my bare bot­tom and brought it swing­ing down through the air until it land­ed THWACK! across both cheeks of my bare bottom.

I yelped and tried to leap up but her hand pushed me back and kept me there as she said, ìOne dozen I think Tom­my, to teach you to do as you’re told, and the strap came down again and again THWACK! and THWACK! onto my bare behind. My bum was real­ly on fire now and I still had nine to go and sure as her word, the strap land­ed again, and again, THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK in quick suc­ces­sion on my burn­ing but­tocks. Only three more to go now and I was try­ing not to yell out or even cry as I could feel my eyes welling up but more strange­ly I could feel anoth­er sen­sa­tion, I was get­ting an erec­tion, but then THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! went the strap on my bare bot­tom and it was over, but my erec­tion was still throb­bing in my pants.

My bum was ablaze now as she pulled my pants back over my bot­tom, which she then smacked with her hand as she told me to get up. I stood up and bent to pull up my trousers when Miss Sven­son stopped me by say­ing, Leave those alone, there is still the not too small mat­ter of your spank­ing to be dealt with, you are not get­ting away with that so eas­i­ly. So I left my trousers around my ankles and she said, I hope you have learned a les­son today Tom­my and that when I tell you to do some­thing from now on I expect you to do it right away, am I mak­ing myself clear! I nod­ded dumbly.

I could­nít believe that this woman, only 10 years old­er than myself, was talk­ing to me like this after giv­ing me 18 whacks with a strap across my bot­tom the last 12 of which were on the bare bot­tom and over and above that she now intend­ed to put me across her knee and spank me! Miss Sven­son care­ful­ly rolled up her strap and put it away in her bag. Look­ing at me she said, Well Tom­my, Iíve giv­en you a good thrash­ing with my strap but as you deserve I am now going to put you over my knee and spank you long and hard, come here.

With that she sat on the sofa and brought me round to her side. She imme­di­ate­ly pulled down my under­pants expos­ing my man­hood, then slid up to the edge of her seat caus­ing her skirt to ride up her exquis­ite thighs reveal­ing a glimpse of sus­penders above her stock­ing tops, stretched taut across her milky thighs. Over my knee! she snapped and pulled me across her lap, as her hand came down with a loud and tin­gling SMACK! across my bare bottom.

First SMACK! on one cheek, then SMACK! on the oth­er cheek and SMACK! again on both cheeks again and again and again, SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! while I squirmed across her knee. My bot­tom was burn­ing but her hand con­tin­ued the relent­less spank­ing, SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! as she spanked me until I lost count of the smacks she was rain­ing on my bare bot­tom. She final­ly stopped after about 15 min­utes or so and what must have been over a cou­ple of hun­dred smacks and she told me to get up. Miss Sven­son then stood up and turn­ing me around land­ed anoth­er very hard SMACK! with her hand on my bare bot­tom, ìRight Tommy,î she said, ìpull up your pants and trousers, and I real­ly do hope that you have learned your les­son today, because if I find you mis­be­hav­ing again or not doing as you are told I will have no hes­i­ta­tion in tak­ing down your trousers and under­pants again and putting you across my knee for anoth­er good long hard spanking.î And with that and a wink she put on her coat and left.

 

My name is Janet Jones and I have just fin­ished my first day as a Trainee Cor­rec­tion Offi­cer for the Female Judi­cia­ry Coun­cil. In our Female dom­i­nat­ed world this is the depart­ment that admin­is­ters alter­na­tive pun­ish­ment to errant males through the courts rather than send­ing them to prison.

I spent my first day in the job observ­ing Miss Sven­son who is high­ly regard­ed by the coun­cil in terms of her cor­rec­tive capabilities.…I now know why. I’ll nev­er for­get how she han­dled the first unfortunate†man who was sent to her office for cor­rec­tion. He knocked on the door ner­vous­ly and Miss Sven­son dressed in a sharp tight busi­ness suit com­mand­ed him to enter and to stand in front of her. He had a let­ter in his hand which he sheep­ish­ly hand­ed over. Miss Sven­son intro­duced me and informed†him that I would be observ­ing his pun­ish­ment as part of my train­ing pro­gramme. Open­ing the let­ter she read out the ver­dict of the court:

The defen­dant, Peter John­son, has been found guilty of acts against females name­ly grop­ing and pinch­ing bot­toms on the Lon­don Under­ground. He has been sen­tenced to 24 strokes of the strap; 12 strokes of the hair­brush; and unlim­it­ed addi­tion­al strokes at the dis­cre­tion of the cor­rec­tion officer.

“Well” said Miss Sven­son, “some­one is in for a very sore bot­tom! Shall we get started”.

She ordered him to unbut­ton his trousers and drop them to his ankles and marched him over to the high backed chair in the mid­dle of the room. She told him to bend over it with his head low and his bot­tom high in the air. I placed myself on a chair about 6ft away which gave me a great view of his back­side. Miss Sven­son then tucked her fin­gers into the waist­band of his box­ers and slow­ly pulled them down to his knees reveal­ing a very white bot­tom. She ran her fin­gers over his cheeks as she told him “You have a very nice bot­tom, per­fect for spank­ing, but I’m†afraid it is going to look and feel very dif­fer­ent by the time I’ve fin­ished with you. Your pun­ish­ment will hurt, you will cry and you cer­tain­ly won’t be able to sit com­fort­ably for a long while”

She walked across to a table and select­ed a short thick strap. She walked back over to John­son and ran the strap across his bum cheeks before tak­ing a cou­ple of paces back. She raised the strap above her head and brought it down as hard as she could. The room was filled with a loud crack, and a cry of “owwwwwww” and a vivid red mark appeared at the top of his left buttock.†Miss Sven­son raised her arm again and brought it down with anoth­er loud thwack. John­son kicked his legs and cried out as a bright red strap mark appeared at the top of his right but­tock. She repeat­ed the process anoth­er 22 times, slow­ly and method­i­cal­ly work­ing her way down his bot­tom to the top of his thighs leav­ing his entire back­side a mass of red welts.

Miss Sven­son gen­tly caressed his bot­tom say­ing “you took that well but let’s see how you get on with the sec­ond part of your pun­ish­ment”. She walked back over to the table and replaced the strap. She picked up a rather large wood­en bath­brush and slapped it against her hand before stroking it over his red hot bot­tom. “This time I am going to con­cen­trate on 2 parts of your bot­tom and let’s see how calm you stay then boy”.

She took a step back and brought the brush down hard on his left but­tock on the sen­si­tive area just above where the thigh and bot­tom meet. The sound was duller as the wood­en brush con­nect­ed with flesh, and the results were spec­tac­u­lar: a loud cry from John­son; kick­ing legs; and a dark brush shaped mark on his bot­tom. She raised the brush again and repeat­ed the process on the right side with the same results. I almost felt sor­ry for John­son as I looked at the state of his bot­tom, but then remem­bered what he had done.

Over the next 5 min­utes Miss Sven­son car­ried out the remain­der of the pun­ish­ment, each time bring­ing the brush down on the same area of John­son’s but­tocks. John­son was†shouting and kick­ing his legs wild­ly with all mod­esty for­got­ten, and his low­er bot­tom was look­ing very bruised and sore.…but still no tears.

Miss Svenson†again ran her hands over his bot­tom which†covered in deep marks and welts, and she had a look of deter­mi­na­tion in her eyes. She†told John­son to stand up, and then sat down on the chair before order­ing John­son over her knee. She asked me to fetch the oth­er hair­brush from the table. This was small­er than the bath­brush, but was thick­er and heav­ier, and as I hand­ed it to Miss Sven­son she had a smile on her face. She ran the brush over his bot­tom and told him:

“You are going to regret not cry­ing ear­li­er. I am going to spank you as†hard and as fast as I can for 2 min­utes and I Guar­an­tee that you will be cry­ing at the end of it. Janet can you come round to the front and hold his arms in place”

Miss Sven­son then pro­ceed­ed to do just that.†The hair­brush must have land­ed on John­son’s back­side over 100 times dur­ing those 2 min­utes. He kicked and screamed and after about 30 sec­onds the tears start­ed to roll down his cheeks. As the final vol­ley of spanks land­ed he was cry­ing like a baby and Miss Sven­son had a look of tri­umph on her face. She asked me to go to the table and fetch a jar of cream, and to rub it into John­son’s well spanked bot­tom. It was fiery hot to the touch and cov­ered in bruis­es and dark angry welts. It was then that it dawned on me that I was going to be able to do this to errant males in the future and a huge†grin appeared on my face as well.

I learned a lot from Miss Sven­son that day, and I will nev­er for­get Peter John­son and his well spanked bottom.

 

Car­o­line glanced over towards my desk and, on being sure Miss†Svenson was not look­ing, slipped me a note that I hur­ried­ly put in my pock­et. It had been two days since we had skipped Sci­ence with old Mrs Cartwright. She nev­er marked the role any­way. My mind went back to the 45†minutes
with Car­o­line. She was only a year old­er than me but she act­ed like she was five years old­er. I sus­pect a lot of her knowl­edge came from the books her broth­er Derek had under his bed but at the end of the day how she knew was not as impor­tant as the fact that she did.

45 min­utes is a long time when you are doing some­thing that you know will get you into seri­ous trou­ble if you are caught. We were already on a warn­ing after the for­mal ball evening where we did not get back till after three in the morn­ing. That had been close. Miss Sven­son seemed to know that some­thing had gone on but could not prove it, so it was dire warn­ings all round, a threat to call our par­ents and even the promise of a senior cane mak­ing it’s acquain­tance with our bottoms.

Miss Sven­son was the new Head and a com­plete­ly dif­fer­ent ket­tle of fish to Mr Wil­son. Mr Wil­son had been there for over 23 years, he seemed only inter­est­ed in golf and left the dis­ci­pline side of things to his deputy who seemed to admin­is­ter deten­tions rather than can­ings. We had liked it like that. But Miss Sven­son was dif­fer­ent so I do not know what made me say ‘yes’ to Car­o­line and sneak out with her dur­ing school time. Even two days lat­er \I still shiv­ered with†either the excite­ment of the 45 min­utes or the fear of get­ting caught.

I fin­gered the note in my pock­et and glanced towards Car­o­line. There was that know­ing smile around the edge of her lips and her eyes twin­kled. ††She had said she would write and tell me what she want­ed next time, and she would go into detail!. The note almost felt hot in my pock­et and I could not wait to go to the loo to have a quick read.

But then came the words: James, please come to the front of the class this moment†and give me what­ev­er it was that Car­o­line just passed to you. I went†cold, the room went qui­et and even Car­o­line turned white. You could have heard a pin drop. James, I am wait­ing. Slow­ly I stood up, my mind rac­ing, did \I have anoth­er note in my pock­et, some­thing \I could exchange for the real thing. As I walked for­ward I knew I was in†serious trou­ble. I had no idea what the note said but \I knew it was not going to be good.

Miss Sven­son held her hand out.’ Hur­ry up boy’ she said, ‘I have not got all day. Slow­ly I hand­ed the note over. Miss Sven­son glanced at the note, her cheeks seemed to blush a lit­tle, and she took a sharp intake of breath.
Her next few†words seemed to echo around the room, again and again. ‘I will see you†and Car­o­line in my office after study time’. This time you have gone too far.

It was only 2pm, still an hour and 15 min­utes before the final bell and it seemed that every sin­gle per­son in the 5th form had heard the news. Why is that bad news trav­els fast and good news just mean­ders?. I tried to see Car­o­line at the lunch break but she was sur­round­ed by what seemed to me all the girls in the 5th†form. Just what had she writ­ten in that damn†note?. If Miss Sven­son’s† face was a† book I think I read the last three chap­ters of a nov­el where it had all gone wrong for the hero. She looked shocked sand her jaw had devel­oped that set look…the same kind of look she showed when the sixth for­m­ers were caught at the strip club just off the High street. No one knows to this day how it was that Miss Sven­son knew they were there but† it was in local folk­lore how she had sim­ply walked into the club and dragged the two out by their ears!

Why did Car­o­line not switch her mobile on?. Even a text would be a com­fort. All I could hear now were my ‘so called’ friends call­ing.… one thank you Maam,.…. two thank you Maam. All the†way to 12 and then falling about with laughter.Yeah…hilarious.!
My par­ents had decid­ed on a school that still prac­tised CP because they were ‘old school’. Always going on about how stan­dards had dropped and what the young gen­er­a­tion need­ed a was a dose of real­i­ty spelt C A N E.

Seemed ok at the time. I had nev­er even been spanked as a child. Not that I was a goody two shoes, but rather, that I had not been caught. All cold com­fort now as the real­i­sa­tion began to sink in.† Just what had she writ­ten on that note?. She had a fer­tile imag­i­na­tion, hands that knew exact­ly where to reach and lips that were soft like a ripe peach. But what had that note said? I shud­dered as my imag­i­na­tion ran down dark and dan­ger­ous roads.

Was there any­way I could get my hands on that note? Was that pos­si­ble?. Miss Sven­son had put the note in her hand­bag and that was in the staff room. The staffroom that was usu­al­ly ful­ly of teach­ers. Sud­den­ly my mind raced. The oper­a­tive word was ‘usu­al­ly’. There was a time that room was emp­ty but did I have the nerve to make that happen?

There was only one occa­sion when all the teach­ers cleared the room. It had hap­pened when O’Brien had been dared to break the fire alarm. He had been promised†a pack­et of cig­a­rettes. He was only 13 and there was no way he could fool the shop­keep­er he was 18. He was hard pressed to be seen as 13! So the fire alarm was worth the risk.†He does­n’t think so now of course. He was caught just a few hours lat­er behind the bike shed with half the cig­a­rettes gone and him look­ing very green in the face. It was only a mat­ter of a few min­utes and his oth­er cheeks were red!. No one had ever received 12 from the Head. And with the senior drag­on cane. O’Brien was heard yelling all the way down to the riv­er where tourists thought they were wit­ness­ing a murder.

I had to get to that note and make it dis­ap­pear. The Alarm was the only way. I would wor­ry after­wards about what Miss Sven­son would think. It was too much to hope that she would believe she had mis­placed the note if I could get it…†it but if she did not have the proof then there was a good chance noth­ing could be done. If any­one was in trou­ble it should be Car­o­line. I knew which alarm to break. The one just out­side the gym was out of sight, yet close enough to the back win­dow of the teach­ers room. The more I thought about it, the more I was sure I could pull it off. The trou­ble was, I was ready to believe any­thing. I had seen her face and hav­ing some idea of the things Car­line might have writ­ten I was absolute­ly sure that† I would not be sit­ting for a month if I did not get that note.

But I had to sur­vive the last les­son and in the 15 min­utes before we were due to meet Miss Sven­son† had to make it all hap­pen. It was going to be tight. My mind thought up and dis­missed a dozen options.†The†biology teacher was dron­ing on about††how far med­ical sci­ence had come and yet again was say­ing how well his replace­ment hip was work­ing. Bet­ter than the orig­i­nal and no one knew.

My ears pricked up. ‘Replace­ment’, and ‘no one knew’. It was a ‘Eure­ka’ moment and all of a sud­den I knew how I was going to get away with it. There was no need to steal the note at all. †This sto­ry was going to have a hap­py ending.†I smiled to myself. This was not going to be easy but it could work.

By the time I man­aged to get my heart rate down to some­thing resem­bling nor­mal­i­ty I had† moved from a’ Eure­ka moment’ to a plan. I would sim­ply get the fire alarm to go, wait till the staff room emp­tied, replace the orig­i­nal note with a new one and I’d be† free as a bird!. It was a mas­ter­ful plan. First things first. I now had but a few min­utes to write a replace­ment note. I had seen enough of Car­o­line’s writ­ing to copy her style. But what to say?

My dear James ( a good start I thought…her note would have said.…I can see your P…throbbing…well you get the idea) I write this note with more than a tinge of sad­ness. You are of course quite right. Our school­work must come first and much as I love you I know that study is so impor­tant. It is not every day that we have teach­ers of the cal­i­bre of Miss Sven­son and we must take advan­tage of it. So although my heart beats strong­ly for you I will put these feel­ings to the side. All my love Car­o­line xxx.

I read it back aloud. It was bor­der­ing on ‘over the top’ but it would fool Miss Sven­son. She loved stu­dents who stud­ied hard. It was her Scan­di­na­vian mind set. Rumour had
it she received her degree in geog­ra­phy before she turned 20 (on a side note…she does­n’t look 50)…must be the lack of sun?.

The moment had arrived. it was now a mat­ter of tim­ing. And it was going to be’ fine’ tim­ing at that. It was three min­utes past 3 and stu­dents were pour­ing out the door to go home and laugh­ter filled the hall­ways. Old Mr Williams, the care­tak­er, was on school cross­ing patrol. He loved that…dirty old bug­ger. Still , you take your thrills where you can at that age. The prin­ci­pal was in the music room get­ting ready for orches­tra prac­tice. She had been a flute play­er until the† Botox in her lips had gone a lit­tle wrong. Now they resem­bled half oranges. Almost a good look, but not quite.

It was the moment of truth.….I hit the alarm, and bells began to ring, stu­dents walked briskly to the near­est exit. They had prac­tised it enough times. The teach­ers did the same thing…out they came.….and thru the win­dow \I could see that they were all leav­ing, except† Miss Weaver. Bloody Miss Weaver, was it all going to come unstuck because of her? My heart began to race, the up she got and out she went. I had ‘but†moments’ in which to sneak into the room and work out which was Miss Sven­son’s bag. My hands were shak­ing but there it was…the offend­ing note. Just as \I was about to exchange the note \I heard a sound behind me. My heart stopped. All I could hear was the alarm ring­ing and it seemed as if time had skid­ded to a halt. Slow­ly \I turned around. But to my relief all I saw was a cur­tain flut­ter­ing in the open win­dow \I had used. Thank­ing stars \I did not know exist­ed I made the swap keep­ing my eyes on the flut­ter­ing cur­tain that had† got me going!…then I retreat­ed. I had done it!.…but some­thing did not feel quite right..

Job done!.Success. I had beat­en Miss Sven­son. There was no way I could now be caught and† pun­ished. The alarm was reset. The care­tak­er mut­ter­ing about yet anoth­er false alarm. The teach­ers mean­dered back into the staff room and \I found myself in the qui­et of the toi­lets. There was just one ques­tion to be answered. Just what had Car­o­line writ­ten that had made Miss Sven­son turn such a shade of green?.….I opened the note and to my hor­ror began to read† ‘My Dear James’,…I now†knew what I had not checked…oh shit.

 

Angela Jones B.A. Dip. Ed. looked over her steel rimmed spec­ta­cles at her class­room full of pupils and saw that once again Hen­ry Bak­er was try­ing to dis­tract one of the girls from her lessons by pulling sil­ly faces. Hen­ry, stay behind after class, I want to have a lit­tle chat with you, Miss Jones said in a loud enough voice to stop any more non­sense for the rest of that lesson.

She had been con­cerned about young Hen­ry for some time; he had, in the past been a help­ful and pleas­ant young man who was gen­er­al­ly pop­u­lar with both the pupils and the rest of the staff †but for the last few months he had been show­ing signs of going off the rails; late for lessons, star­ing out of the win­dows, †and even answer­ing back to teach­ers on occa­sion. †Miss Jones had spo­ken to him, tried rea­son­ing, explained that in the long term he might get into more trou­ble than he expect­ed and, if this behav­iour con­tin­ued, or even became worse, the school would have to seri­ous­ly con­sid­er hav­ing him removed. His par­ents, who were respectable, upstand­ing peo­ple, would be dev­as­tat­ed. While Hen­ry was being told this he appeared con­trite and apolo­getic but a day or two lat­er it would start all over again. She was fond of the boy and did not want to see him get­ting any deep­er into trou­ble than he already was. What was she to do for the best.„

Miss Jones made some enquiries among oth­er mem­bers of the staff and ascer­tained that his behav­iour was the same in the oth­er class­es as well. One of the teach­ers also said that she had seen Hen­ry hang­ing around the streets with some old­er boys who were known to be ëbad sort­sí and often egged on the younger boys to do bad deeds such as pet­ty shoplift­ing and dam­ag­ing plants in the park, activ­i­ties which could draw the atten­tion of the police and even the juve­nile courts. Miss Jones decid­ed that some­thing need­ed to be done.

Some­times, to her amuse­ment, some of the pupils asked Miss Jones to tell them about the old­en daysí, mean­ing her time at school when she was a child, which she was hap­py to do. This set her think­ing, what would they have done about young Hen­ry in the old­en days?

She knew that one can get almost any­thing one wants these days on the inter­net so she start­ed look­ing for that some­thing in par­tic­u­lar which she thought would help. She typed in her require­ments and watched as the many web­site sug­ges­tions came onto her screen. Most of them were quite unsuit­able, (did peo­ple real­ly get up to that sort of thing) and some were quite shock­ing. Thigh high leather boots! Exposed nip­ples! Good­ness me, no! But she per­se­vered and even­tu­al­ly (after hav­ing had a whole new world opened up to her) she came across one she thought might be suit­able. That same evening she sent an email to Miss Elsa Sven­son explain­ing the sit­u­a­tion and ask­ing if, per­haps, she, Miss Sven­son, might be able to help. Miss Jones went to bed that night hop­ing that the lady would answer positively.

The very next morn­ing there was an answer to her email say­ing that Miss Sven­son would be hap­py to see the young man and that she should send him along with a note explain­ing in more detail what, exact­ly, the prob­lems were which need­ed to be addressed.

Three days lat­er, on a bright Spring after­noon Hen­ry found him­self approach­ing a build­ing which looked as though it had once been a school. He was clutch­ing a let­ter from Miss Jones to be deliv­ered per­son­al­ly to Miss Sven­son, And donít you dare be late,î were the last words he heard as he was leav­ing school on a wel­come break from his usu­al Thurs­day after­noon lessons, this lit­tle adven­ture was much bet­ter than dou­ble maths. He rang the entry­phone buzzer and a pleas­ant female voice asked what he want­ed. He explained that he was here to deliv­er a let­ter and he was told to come in and giv­en direc­tions to the cor­rect door. He found it eas­i­ly enough and rang the bell.

A nice look­ing lady, smart­ly dressed and with blonde hair opened the door and told him to come in and to take off his shoes and jack­et, as he was doing this she was lock­ing the door and putting the key in the pock­et of her skirt. He thought this was odd but there is no account­ing for grown-ups. She ush­ered him into a room off the hall­way and said, You have some­thing for me?î Her voice was warm and friend­ly. He hand­ed her the enve­lope and was told to wait as she went into anoth­er room. As she was out he glanced around the room and saw that there was a plain chair in the mid­dle of the room and a sofa and an old arm­chair at the side; on the sofa were some imple­ments he was­nít famil­iar with, he was­nít sure what they were, there were some yel­low sticks and some things that looked like lit­tle oars or pad­dles and a slip­per. For rea­sons he could­nít explain he start­ed to get an uneasy feel­ing. He felt a lit­tle faint so he sat down on the near­est chair. The lady came back into the room and said, in a voice which was much sharp­er than pre­vi­ous­ly, Have you been invit­ed to sit down?î He was con­fused by this so he stood up. ìI think that you and I have some seri­ous talk­ing to do. She sat on the plain chair and beck­oned for him to come and stand beside her, which he did. She reached out to his waist­band and with­in sec­onds had his belt undone and his trousers half way down his legs, she pulled on his arm and he stum­bled and fell across her lap. She put one hand on the back of his head and held it there. Hen­ry strug­gled and kicked and wrig­gled but he was held down. She let him strug­gle for a lit­tle while and when he start­ed to slow down she gave him three very sharp smacks on his bare bot­tom. They stung and he start­ed to strug­gle again but it was in vain, he start­ed to hear her voice com­ing to him from a great dis­tance and his heart felt like it was pump­ing out of his chest.

…you will be still and you will lis­ten to what I have to say. If you calm down and take what is com­ing to you this will all be over a lot more quick­ly. If you make a sil­ly fuss the same things will hap­pen but it will take longer and be more severe. Is that understood?î He did­nít know what to say so he thought it safer to say nothing.

Wrong!

Smack! Smack! Is that understood?

Yes Miss.

Good. Stand up.

He stood up, and waited.

Now, I have here a let­ter from your teacher telling me all about what you have been up to and I am not going to allow it to con­tin­ue. Is that understood?

He knew bet­ter this time. Yes Miss.

Go and stand in that cor­ner while I get things arranged.

Oh God! What was she going to do now? Per­haps he could make a run for it but he had seen her lock the door and the key was in her skirt pocket.

He turned briefly to see what she was doing. Did I say you could turn around? Come here. Bend over.î She pushed on the back of his neck and he went for­ward, his trousers were still half way down his legs, she reached out side­ways and got hold of that oar shaped thing and hit him quick­ly, six times on his bot­tom. He yelped.

Now, go and do as I say. Noth­ing more and noth­ing lessî.

He was back in that cor­ner in no time.

What hap­pened after that is all a bit of a blur in his mind but she read some­thing from the list that was in the note she held in her hand.

Miss Jones says that you have been late for lessons three times in the last fort­night, for that I am going to give you eight strokes of the pad­dle. Oh, so the oar shaped thing had a name, thought Hen­ry. Bend over and grip your anklesî. The first stroke shocked him with its sting and he almost jumped up but man­aged to stop him­self, he had found out what hap­pens when you donít do what Miss Sven­son tells you to do. With each stroke Miss Sven­son told him that being late for lessons was a very bad idea and it would do him no good in the future if he was to fall behind in his lessons. Each stroke stung more than the pre­vi­ous one and he was­nít sure that he could stay down but stay down he must and stay down he did. After the eighth stroke she stopped. Hen­ry straight­ened up and start­ed to rub his poor, painful bottom.

I donít remem­ber telling you to stand up, nor do I remem­ber telling you that you could rub your bot­tom. Four more strokes for dis­obe­di­ence. Bend over again.

Oh no! It was so unfair. Smack. Smack and two more smacks. His knees were weak he was going to stum­ble and fall then he heard her voice say­ing in more gen­tle tones, Alright, you may stand up now.

Gin­ger­ly, Hen­ry straight­ened up remem­ber­ing that she had not giv­en him per­mis­sion to do any­thing else.

Go back to the cor­ner and think about what your actions have made it nec­es­sary for me to do. Put your hands on your head and keep them there until I say otherwiseî.

Hen­ry con­cen­trat­ed on keep­ing still and grad­u­al­ly felt the pain start to recede slight­ly as the min­utes ticked by. He could hear Miss Sven­son mov­ing around the room behind him but he did not dare to turn round.

At last she said, ìCome here. Her voice was soft­er, more gen­tle and Hen­ry realised that there were warm salt tears on his cheeks. He turned round and saw Miss Sven­son though tear filled eyes, she was stand­ing by the old arm­chair near the win­dow. As he approached she said , ìIt gives me no plea­sure to have to do this but many peo­ple are con­cerned about you and do not want to see you led astray by old­er, more uncouth boys. We have only your best inter­ests at heart and will do what­ev­er is nec­es­sary to get you back on the straight and nar­row. Some­times you have to be cru­el to be kind in the longer termî.

Hen­ry found that the tears in his eyes could no longer be held back and the salty metal­lic taste in his mouth became stronger as he sobbed.

ìI am going to fin­ish off with six strokes of the cane and then I will try to com­fort you and explain why you must change your ways before it is too late.

ìBend over the back of the chair and do not move exces­sive­ly or I will repeat the pre­vi­ous stroke, I can, and will, con­tin­ue to do this until you get it right.

Hen­ry mis­er­ably did as he was told and thought it odd that it was the words of con­cern and kind­ness rather than the harsh words of admon­ish­ment which caused the flood­gates to open and caused him to cry uncontrollably.

He felt four light taps and realised with some hor­ror that she was gaug­ing her dis­tance. The first stroke made him gasp and he could­n’t believe the pain. He held on to the edge of the chair with white knuck­les and grit­ted his teeth. The pain did­n’t actu­al­ly get any worse with the next five strokes but it last­ed longer. Miss Sven­son was­nít speak­ing, she was con­cen­trat­ing on what she had to do. Then it stopped. He stayed in posi­tion for some time† until he heard her say, Now, stand upî, and she came to him and held him gen­tly, all the time telling him that every­thing was going to be alright just as long as he went back to how things used to be. Hen­ry’s sobs were mak­ing his body shake and shud­der and he hoped his tears were not stain­ing Miss Sven­sonís cloth­ing. As his sob­bing sub­sided he realised that he did­nít real­ly enjoy all that hang­ing about with those rougher boys and that what he real­ly want­ed was the approval of Miss Jones and, even more sur­pris­ing­ly, he found that he also want­ed the approval of Miss Sven­son. He want­ed her to like him.

Miss Sven­son held the note between her fin­ger and thumb and delib­er­ate­ly dropped it. Hen­ry watched as it flut­tered down like an Autumn leaf and land­ed on the floor as though it were the sym­bol of some­thing that was over and done with.

A few days lat­er Miss Sven­son received an email which said, ìThank you for see­ing Hen­ry the oth­er day, I donít know what went on between you two but he has been unchar­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly qui­et for the last few days, as though he is mulling some­thing over. I will mon­i­tor his behav­iour over the next two or three weeks to see if he needs a return visit.

I hope you are enjoy­ing this beau­ti­ful Spring weather.

With warm regards,

Angela Jones (Miss)