Of all the days to over­sleep, this was not the one. He had been sum­monsed to Miss Sven­son’s study 9 a.m. Sharp that very thursday

morn­ing. He raced out of the house and just man­aged to catch the bus as it pulled away. 8.50 traf­fic. Milk float. Dust cart. Lol­lipop lady. Had no one ant idea how dim a view Miss Sven­son took when pupils she had demand­ed report to her arrived late?

8.57 he jumped off the bus and raced up the hill, his mouth dry, a knot deep in the pit of his stom­ach and a sense of nau­sea and pan­ic, for he knew he would now be late.

Miss Sven­son ran the school fair­ly but firm­ly. She had cer­tain stan­dards which she expect­ed all stu­dents to adhere to and if they did­n’t they could expect to be dealt with in a thor­ough­ly tra­di­tion­al, firm man­ner. Miss Sven­son was a fair mind­ed lady who under­stood that school was a learn­ing expe­ri­ence for stu­dents who were encour­aged to learn from their mis­takes. That said, rude­ness, shod­dy work eth­ic and poor time keep­ing had no place in her school, indeed in her world.

And so it was on this crisp bright autumn morn that Mike was expect­ed to arrive on time and explain a com­plete lack of Maths home­work which includ­ed a project he should have com­plet­ed over the hol­i­days. And now his befud­dled, mum­bled, pathet­ic excus­es would be giv­en to Miss Sven­son late. She was sure to take out her annoy­ance on his bare bottom.

9.03, He reached the school gate and beyond it the sol­id oak dou­ble door which creaked open. Silence. A hawk­ish woman of slight, spindly build wear­ing a light grey lambs wool jumper, a black pen­cil skirt and black cardi­gan appeared in the office door way. “Young man.” She stated.

“I, I, I have a 9 o’clock appoint.……” He stammered.

“I know” she retort­ed. “You are late.† A whole four min­utes late.† Miss Sven­son will take a very dim view.” There was no emo­tion in her voice, but rather a resigned air of “you will bring these things upon your self.”

“Very well, up you go.” She continued.

He walked the length of the entrance hall, each step echo­ing off the bare stone wall. Library qui­et pre­vailed. An air of calm, con­trolled learn­ing. He approached the stairs. He swal­lowed. His mouth bone dry. His stom­ach one big knot. Des­per­ate for the toi­let but no time. Per­haps Miss Sven­son would under­stand. He doubt­ed it. He began to climb the stairs. The echo of each step loud­er than its pre­de­ces­sor. His heart­beat pound­ing, drown­ing out all oth­er sound. His heart now in his dry mouth. †At the top of the stairs he turned to his left and walked as if on auto pilot to the door of Miss Sven­son’s study. He knocked 3 timid knocks and almost imme­di­ate­ly the door swung open and there to the right, hold­ing the door wide open, stood Miss Svenson.

“Michael.…” she said and motioned him to enter the room.† She closed the door and ges­tured to him to take a seat in the only leather arm­chair in the room.† An uneasy silence descend­ed in the room. Miss Sven­son slow­ly but pur­pose­ful­ly walked over to a sin­gle, upright wood­en chair, hitched her skirt up very slight­ly, very ele­gant­ly and sat down, quite upright knees tight togeth­er. She drew a deep breath and sur­veyed the pupil before her as if to see if there were any signs of regret, remorse or a plea for forgiveness.

With a resigned air that said we all know why we are here, she said “Michael, I have received a note from your maths teacher. Very dis­ap­point­ing. No effort on your part. And you show me no respect either; you are late. How do you think that makes me feel? Do you real­ly have so lit­tle regard for your teach­ers, for the school, for your own self esteem??? I intend to teach you a les­son for once and for all. I was tempt­ed to make an exam­ple of you in front of the whole school. What do you think?”. She spoke slow­ly, in a con­sid­ered man­ner with the very slight­est trace of a Scan­di­na­vian accent. With­out wait­ing for his reply she con­tin­ued “such is the dis­re­spect and dis­re­gard that you have shown I have invit­ed Miss Jones to join us, so she may bare wit­ness to your pun­ish­ment. So she may at least ben­e­fit from hear­ing your sobs and screams. So that you may both know what lies in store if you ever dis­re­spect miss Jones or any oth­er mem­ber of staff ever again.

“Yes Miss Sven­son,” came the all too sheep­ish reply.

At that very moment the door knob turned and Miss Jones entered the room and closed the door behind her in what appeared to be one unin­ter­rupt­ed movement.

“Good morn­ing, Miss Sven­son” she said air­i­ly before turn­ing to the stu­dent with a stern look of con­tempt on her face. “Thank you for your note, Miss Jones,” Miss Sven­son said “and thank you for mak­ing time to join us. Stand up, young man” she said rais­ing her voice in Michaels direc­tion only very slight­ly. He stood up and the uneasy silence again returned to the room. Miss Sven­son also stood, and the two women slow­ly, men­ac­ing­ly approached him. Silence bro­ken only by the tap of their heels on the wood block floor: they cir­cled him, slow­ly in oppo­site direc­tions rather like lioness­es cir­cling their prey. He felt sick and des­per­ate­ly need­ed to spend a penny.

“Please Miss Sven­son,” he blurt­ed out, “but I do need to spen.….”

“Be qui­et.” Miss Sven­son snapped. “Only speak when you are spo­ken to.” She returned to her wood­en chair in the mid­dle of the room and resumed her posi­tion there on. She again looked at Michael almost with an air of pity. “You know only too well what you can expect, don’t you?” She said in con­cil­ia­to­ry tone.

He sniv­elled “yes Miss Svenson.”

“Then take down your trousers.…” He began to fum­ble ner­vous­ly with the fas­ten­ing. “Oh for God’s sake” hissed Miss Jones and with the speed of light ripped apart the fas­ten­ing so in an instant his trousers fell to the floor, gath­ered in a crum­pled mess around his ankles.† “That’s more like it” said Miss Sven­son, a tone of sat­is­fac­tion in her voice. She took a fresh­ly laun­dered hand tow­el, unfold­ed it †and spread it square­ly over her lap which she then pat­ted with the flat of her right hand. “Come” she com­mand­ed and in what seemed like a sin­gle sweep which was clear­ly very well prac­tised she took his right wrist and laid him flat across her lap and with­out a moments hes­i­ta­tion “thwack, thwack, thwack” rang out, his pants pro­vid­ing scant pro­tec­tion from Miss Sven­son’s no non­sense deliv­ery. Now he felt the index fin­gers of both her hands locate with­in the waist­band of his pants and slide down his thighs and ulti­mate­ly his legs, in one action as if glid­ing along rails. The pants were now on the floor and his bare bot­tom a sight for both ladies to behold, laid out on Miss Sven­son’s lap. Thwack, thwack, thwack.…. A fur­ther three pow­er­ful swats rained down on his bare bot­tom, each leav­ing the rel­e­vant but­tock trem­bling. He sensed Miss Sven­son had grit­ted her teeth in her deter­mi­na­tion to meter out an appro­pri­ate lev­el of pun­ish­ment. He glanced across the room to see Miss Jones stand­ing, arms fold­ed, watch­ing the spec­ta­cle unfold before her. Thwack, thwack, thwack, a fur­ther three blows. Miss Jones looked on with sat­is­fac­tion flick­er­ing across her face, jaw set with grim deter­mi­na­tion that this boy would learn his les­son no mat­ter what.….

Thwack thwack thwack three more slaps hard­er and in much quick­er suc­ces­sion than pre­vi­ous­ly and then again †thwack thwack thwack. He had a good view of Miss Sven­son’s shape­ly legs as he peered between the chair legs. They were clad in clas­sic, seemed silk stock­ings and his eyes fol­lowed the seems down their entire, won­der­ful length to the black patent high heel shoes. As with every­thing about Miss Sven­son, there was an ele­gant beau­ty, an effi­cien­cy which said “per­fec­tion” to all the world for that was the stan­dard, her stan­dard and she expect­ed noth­ing less from anyone.

Thwack thwack thwack yet anoth­er three slaps rained down. He knew by now his bot­tom was emit­ting a steamy hot, red glow. He not­ed how, with every slap she deliv­ered, Miss Sven­son raised his bot­tom to meet her falling hand by rid­ing her feet up on the ball of each foot. It occurred to him that she put every ounce of effort into the expert deliv­ery of every swat mak­ing each one count. Now he sensed blades of deli­cious, hot burn­ing pain across each but­tock where each of Miss Sven­son’s fin­gers left their blaz­ing red hot tell tale where they land­ed. He felt tears prick­le the back of his eye­balls. He bit his lip. Was that it? How much more did she intend to dish out??

The swats con­tin­ued to rain down on his bare bot­tom: his legs were stretched out straight so Miss Sven­son was spank­ing the full round of his bare bot­tom. “Stand up now” she said as she gen­tly mas­saged each but­tock. He stood as he had been told to. Miss Sven­son calm­ly walked over to a blan­ket box to her right and picked up a leather pad­dle. “Face the wall” she instruct­ed calm­ly, then guid­ed him so his arms were raised above his head, braced against the wall. His feet were about 50cm away from the wall. Miss Sven­son rucked up his shirt tail reveal­ing to her plea­sure the full round­ed­ness of his pert bot­tom, which by now was not just bright red but radi­at­ed a glo­ri­ous warmth. Thwaaaack, as the pad­dle hit the tar­get with an almighty crash, he caught his breath and rose up on the ball of both feet. Pause. Thwaaaack, anoth­er strike to the oppo­site but­tock. Again he caught his breath. He could begin to feel the imprint of the imple­ment sear­ing the sides of his bot­tom. Anoth­er Thwaaaack, fol­lowed by anoth­er, then anoth­er, then anoth­er. And with each he caught his breath and rose still high­er on his toes. His bot­tom was on fire. Miss Jones was grin­ning with delight, Miss Sven­son’s jaw was set in grim deter­mi­na­tion. On and on the pad­dle deliv­ered each swat with increased inten­si­ty. He was now fight­ing to con­trol his blad­der. He knew he had to.….….

Pause.

Miss Sven­son cupped and gen­tly mas­saged each but­tock in turn and whilst doing so leant for­ward so her lips aligned with his left ear. “Sore?” She enquired. “Yes” came the sniv­el­ling reply.

“Oh real­ly,” she taunt­ed, “well we shall have to see.…”. She pat­ted his bot­tom almost, it seemed, with a slight hint of affection.

“My poor lit­tle boy, such a sore bot­ty,” she whis­pered in his ear. And as she did so, she curled her toe so as to hook out from under a near­by arm chair an embroi­dered kneel­er. In one smooth move­ment she placed her left foot on the kneel­er and firm­ly pulled him over the flat of her thigh. Miss Jones now ben­e­fit­ed from the full on view of his glow­ing red bare bot­tom. Thwaaaack, Thwaaaack, Thwaaaack, this time with the back of an oval hair­brush which deliv­ered a deep pen­e­trat­ing sting matched only by the deep gloss of the dark wood handle.

Thwaaaack, Thwaaaack, Thwaaaack, yet a fur­ther three blows, the sec­ond of which caught the top of the back of his legs and just touched the rear of his scro­tum. An elec­tric shock shot to the pit of his stom­ach, knot­ted it for a moment and then the third swat brought the focus of his atten­tion back to his arse: it now felt so red, so hot, so prick­ly hot that it was his bot­tom no more! It was his arse.

Thwaaaack, Thwaaaack, Thwaaaack.† Thwaaaack, Thwaaaack, Thwaaaack. “There,” announced miss Sven­son with more than just a hint of sat­is­fac­tion in her tone of voice. “That was twelve good ones with the brush and my good­ness what a red bot­tom you’ve got..†† Stand up now and rest a while”. †It was as though she was a lit­tle sur­prised that he could take such a sound hid­ing with­out more com­plaint. Was she impressed? Unlike­ly he thought. As he stood up his eyes met miss Sven­sons momen­tar­i­ly. Then both their eyes fell to the floor. In an instant and to his absolute hor­ror and embar­rass­ment they notice, simul­ta­ne­ous­ly a small dark patch on the very bot­tom right hand cor­ner of his shirt!! Oh dear, for a split sec­ond the con­trol of hIs blad­der had failed him! Tut, tut, tut was miss Sven­sons muf­fled response. It seemed she under­stood. She fixed him with her stare, but he felt cer­tain he saw a flick­er of gen­tle kind­ness danc­ing in her eyes.

“Now,” she said slow­ly, thought­ful­ly. “Under the cir­cum­stances I think it only right that we offer Miss Jones an oppor­tu­ni­ty to vent her anger on you aswell.…† †In a moment I want you to bend over and touch your toes. I will then invite Miss Jones to step over here and join us. Do you under­stand?”. Slow­ly, thought­ful­ly, sheep­ish­ly he con­firmed his affir­ma­tion. When would this end? He asked him­self. His bot­tom was now so red, so on fire that he had lost any sense of pain; instead it was pure red hot heat.….

“Good,” Miss Sven­son con­tin­ued, “now Miss Jones, if you’d just like to .……” She did­n’t need to fin­ish the sen­tence, Miss Jones was already there.

Pic­ture the scene: Michael bent over touch­ing his toes, bare bright red bot­tom exposed to all the world. To his left Miss Sven­son and to his right Miss Jones. Both admir­ing their intend­ed tar­get with eager anticipation.

Silence. Wait. Breath. His heart beat pound­ed in his ear, in his head. His very vision seemed to throb. His mouth was still dry. Both ladies were draw­ing in breath with just a frac­tion of excite­ment. Still they wait­ed, it was as though they enjoyed the spec­ta­cle of his bare bot­tom and want­ed to savour it!

Then, with­out a word each lady took up her posi­tion, each at either side of him. Each lady gen­tly braced her­self with one hand on the small of his back. He sensed a smile flash across the cor­ners of each of their mouths, much as to ask of the oth­er “shall we?”. And so they did, each lady focussed on the red cheek near­est her; smm­maaaack, smm­maaaack, smm­maaaack. Some strokes land­ed in tan­dem with the oth­er and some did not!† It mat­tered not. Both ladies grit­ted their teeth and rat­tled out swats as though each might be the last and there­fore real­ly had to count. On and on and on they went with almost mechan­i­cal effi­cien­cy, some swats land­ed mid cheek, some to one side, some to the oth­er. Occa­sion­al­ly one of the ladies would catch the top of the back of his leg: those swats seemed to deliv­er a spe­cial, intense sting which did­n’t quite ease off before the next slap land­ed square­ly on the appro­pri­ate buttock.

And so they con­tin­ued until each lady had deliv­ered 125 sound whacks and now a tear or two ran down his cheek. “There,” announced Miss Sven­son with an air of con­tent­ment. He stood up. He felt gid­dy. “Get dressed,” said Miss Sven­son “and we shall have a lit­tle chat”.† He gath­ered his pants and trousers and put them on. The cool cot­ton of his pants cra­dled his sore bottom.

He took a seat in the cor­ner of the leather sofa, tak­ing care to low­er him­self gen­tly. Miss Sven­son sat at the oppo­site end of the sofa and Miss Jones in the leather armchair.

“Now,” Miss Sven­son began, “I think we can all agree that was a very worth­while way to learn your les­son.† Rest assured next time I will invite a select­ed audi­ence so more of your cohort will under­stand how I deal with peo­ple who behave in the man­ner you have. And you may take note, I am sure there will be a next time as expe­ri­ence has taught me that boys such as you usu­al­ly need to be seen sev­er­al times before they tru­ly under­stand the error of their ways”. He swal­lowed. The thought, the indig­ni­ty of boys and girls who he con­sid­ered to be his friends watch­ing him being spanked by Miss Sven­son filled him with hor­ror. Or did it? He was unsure. Miss Sven­son, how­ev­er, had lit­tle doubt that she would be see­ing him again soon in the not so dis­tant future.…

“Now off you go to class. Which sub­ject have you this morn­ing?” Asked Miss Sven­son with a note of con­cil­i­a­tion in her voice.

“Maths with Miss Jones,” he replied still fight­ing back the tears.

“Then I sug­gest you go with her now,” Miss Sven­son con­tin­ued “thank you both: a good morn­ings work, I’m sure you’ll agree.….”

Miss Jones thanked Miss Sven­son and they part­ed com­pa­ny with con­tent­ed smiles.

Miss Jones walked down the cor­ri­dor, down the stairs and across the play­ground with him. Although they did­n’t speak it was an easy, com­fort­able silence. They entered the Maths block and approached the class room door. Before open­ing it, Miss Jones took hold of his upper left arm “well done” she said, “now we shall start over”. Their eyes met and she not­ed a smile which said “no hard feel­ings” play across his face.

She released his arm and dug all four fin­gers and the thumb of her right hand deep into his right but­tock. At the same time she threw open the class­room door and the stu­dents with­in fell silent. He fol­lowed her in. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Log­a­rithms.….” Began Miss Jones.….….…..

 

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