In my sec­ond year at a senior all boyís school I was tak­en to see Miss Elsa Sven­son for my first can­ing, by one of the few female teach­ers, in what was oth­er­wise an all male environment.

I was­nít used to females and over a peri­od of sev­er­al weeks after join­ing her French class our rela­tion­ship had dete­ri­o­rat­ed. The final straw was fool­ish­ly using my biro as a rice blow-pipe dur­ing one of her lessons. Secret­ly despite our fre­quent clash­es I found her pres­ence strange­ly intoxicating.

She was a slim attrac­tive woman with shoul­der length auburn hair, in her mid­dle or late twen­ties, who wore per­fume and smart fig­ure hug­ging just below the knee length skirts. The high heeled shoes that she wore made click­ing sounds on the hard floors of the school cor­ri­dors, so that we could hear her progress as we wait­ed in antic­i­pa­tion out­side the class­room for her to arrive and open the class­room door. As she strode con­fi­dent­ly along the cor­ri­dor, leav­ing behind her a trail of fra­grant per­fume, the con­tours of her bot­tom undu­lat­ed mes­mer­iz­ing­ly beneath the tight restrains of her skirt; some­times it was even pos­si­ble to see an out­line of sus­penders and stock­ing tops beneath the tight mate­r­i­al. This was all very dis­turb­ing to our poor lit­tle ado­les­cent minds.

There were a lot of emo­tion­al con­flicts at an all boyís school to resolve dur­ing this time. The threat of cor­po­ral pun­ish­ment, threat­ened our emerg­ing sense of man­hood, and hung like a Sword of Damo­cles over our heads. Use of the cane or more often the slip­per or plim­soll on our upturned bot­toms, as a form of cor­rec­tion for even the most minor of trans­gres­sions was fre­quent. Our only hope was that some­how the female of the species would not be present or ful­ly aware of our vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty to these humil­i­at­ing pun­ish­ments. As a mat­ter of hon­our we tried to remain sto­ical as these pun­ish­ments were admin­is­tered, but it was not always pos­si­ble and our one abid­ing hope was that they would at least take place in private.

Con­se­quent­ly as she marched along the cor­ri­dor in front of me on our route to Miss Sven­sonís office my mind was in tur­moil. My out­ward appear­ance of non­cha­lant indif­fer­ence was dif­fi­cult to main­tain. Inward­ly I knew that I was in seri­ous trou­ble and fac­ing a cri­sis to my per­ceived rep­u­ta­tion that would be dif­fi­cult for me to sur­vive. My heart was pound­ing and my mouth felt dry. I want­ed to run away in the oppo­site direc­tion but knew it would be point­less and my only option was to some­how per­suade Miss Sven­son that this was an iso­lat­ed, one-off, unfor­tu­nate mis­un­der­stand­ing for which I could apol­o­gise. I was weigh­ing-up my chances of con­vinc­ing her suf­fi­cient­ly enough, to avoid the cane. My bot­tom twitched invol­un­tar­i­ly, as I tried to imag­ine what it would feel like.

There were two doors to Miss Sven­sonís study; one door was used as a for­mal entrance and was manned by his sec­re­tary and the oth­er was gen­er­al­ly used as an exit onto the cor­ri­dor that led to the school classrooms.

As we entered the recep­tion area which led to Miss Sven­sonís office Miss Sven­sonís sec­re­tary looked up from her typ­ing and my heart began pound­ing so hard, I thought that I would faint. I had for­got­ten that there would be the added humil­i­a­tion of the school sec­re­tary being a wit­ness to my plight. The sec­re­tary cast me what seemed to be a know­ing glance and a smile, as Miss Lewis explained that I had been dis­rup­tive in her class and that she had brought me to see Miss Sven­son. Point­ing at the lamp illu­mi­nat­ed above the entrance to his office she told Miss Lewis that Miss Sven­son was occu­pied and we would have to wait. I low­ered my head in an attempt to con­ceal my face which was burn­ing red with embarrassment.

As we stood wait­ing in silence, bro­ken only by the clack-clack of the sec­re­taryís type­writer and the clunk of a large school clock on the wall; from with­in Miss Sven­sonís office we could just make out the muf­fled sound of a raised voice. This was fol­lowed by a silent pause and then some very dis­tinct though slight­ly muf­fled sounds, which were repeat­ed sev­er­al times. There was a fur­ther silence then after sev­er­al min­utes what seemed to be the sound of a door open­ing and clos­ing fol­lowed by foot­steps in the cor­ri­dor outside.

Short­ly after this the light that had been illu­mi­nat­ed above the door to Miss Sven­sonís office went out and I could hear the sec­re­tary speak­ing over her inter­com and telling Miss Sven­son that Miss Lewis had brought me to see her. She then nod­ded towards us and told us that we could go in.

Miss Lewis intro­duced me to Miss Sven­son and began to explain, in a very mat­ter of fact way, as though the sen­tenc­ing for my actions should be obvi­ous, the rea­sons why she had brought me to see her. When she had fin­ished Miss Sven­son turned to me and asked me if I had any­thing to say.

My ear­li­er thoughts on explain­ing my actions seemed sud­den­ly futile, my hands were trem­bling and I felt I was going to faint. I want­ed to fall on my knees and plead for clemen­cy but I could­nít with Miss Lewis there.

I could hard­ly speak but I just man­aged to say ìNoî; with­out too much of a tremor in my voice.

Miss Sven­son replied that he had a rem­e­dy for hooli­gans; with that he point­ed to a school desk which was con­ve­nient­ly placed in front of a win­dow in the cor­ner of his office; ìGo over to that desk and bend-over he com­mand­ed; stand on tip toe, bend right over the desk, and push your bot­tom out towards me, if you break your posi­tion, stand-up or oth­er­wise make a fuss before I am fin­ished, I shall take down your trousers and cane you on your bare bot­tom; do I make myself clear she boomedî

ìYes Miss!îI replied; in a trem­bling voice

I looked towards Miss Lewis; hop­ing that she might depart now that my sen­tence had been pro­nounced but she was smil­ing and it became obvi­ous, she had no inten­tion of leav­ing the room

My legs were shak­ing as I bent across the school desk; I held tight­ly onto the far end of the desk and resolved myself to stay­ing in posi­tion and not cry­ing out. There was what seemed to be a long pause and I became inti­mate­ly aware of my raised bottom.

I tried to look behind me to check what was caus­ing this delay, just then Miss Sven­son stood up from her desk and I could glimpse her walk­ing pur­pose­ly towards me hold­ing a thin yel­low cane firm­ly in her hand. With­in an instant I could feel light taps across the seat of my tight­ly stretched trousers, as she adjust­ed her posi­tion in readi­ness for the onslaught.

There was yet anoth­er long pause; ìStay in posi­tion and no fussî, she boomed

There was a loud whoosh and a resound­ing thwack as the delayed shock from the first stroke of the cane swept across my back­side like a mas­sive hor­nets sting. At the same exact moment, in the back­ground, the clack-clack of the type­writer halt­ed abrupt­ly and I realised that the school sec­re­tary was prob­a­bly lis­ten­ing. After a long inter­val of around 15 or 20 sec­onds, the type­writer began to clack-clack again and at almost the same instant the sec­ond stroke land­ed. Again the type­writer paused and I knew for sure that the sec­re­tary must be listening.

The gap between strokes caused me to reflect deeply on each new weal and the actu­al­i­ty of my posi­tion. Bent over a school desk and being thrashed sound­ly by Miss Sven­son on my exposed bot­tom, in front of Miss Lewis and with­in earshot of the school sec­re­tary. All of them with soft shape­ly bot­toms safe­ly ensconced with­in silky smooth panties and smug­ly free from any pos­si­bil­i­ty of such a humil­i­at­ing childís punishment.

I resolved not to cry out and won­dered how many strokes I was going to get. Miss Sven­son seemed to inter­pret my silence as inso­lence and gave me a fur­ther very force­ful, two strokes on top of the cus­tom­ary six. Each stroke from the thin springy cane pen­e­trat­ed eas­i­ly through the thin cov­er­ing of my trousers.

After eight strokes and fol­low­ing a fur­ther long pause she com­mand­ed me to ìstand-up, adjust your­self, now turn round and offer your apol­o­gy to Miss Lewisî

ìYouíre on-report young manî; she continued

She held up an offi­cial look­ing form and told me I had to get it signed at the end of each les­son for the next four weeks. ìBring youíre signed report here to my office every Fri­day morn­ing for the next four week­sî; she said.

ìIf there is any repeat of your ear­li­er hooli­gan­ism, I shall cane you againî;

ìDo I make myself clearî; she said

ìRight dis­missed, and on your way out ask my sec­re­tary to enter your name into my pun­ish­ment bookî

As we walked back into the recep­tion area each of the long wheals that had formed across my bot­tom felt like raised tram lines and I moved stiffly. I tried to grin and look nor­mal as though noth­ing much had hap­pened but my face was flushed and it must have been obvi­ous that I had just been caned.

The sec­re­tary had a perky expres­sion on her face and seemed to be squirm­ing in her seat as if to mim­ic my dis­com­fort. I moved towards her and asked her if she could enter my name into Miss Sven­sonís pun­ish­ment book. Open­ing the book she made an entry than turned it around and asked me to sign. The entry read ìNaughty boy giv­en six of the best by Miss Sven­sonî. My hand was shak­ing as I gripped her pen and signed

I felt mor­ti­fied with shame that both Miss Lewis and the school sec­re­tary knew I had just been caned over Miss Sven­sonís school desk and had a very sore bot­tom; but I did­nít feel like arguing

 

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