Mis­tak­en Awak­en­ing Ö..A Mod­ern Fable.

 

Alone in her apart­ment, Miss Elsa Sven­son pre­pared for her first appoint­ment of the day. She had plen­ty of time, but ever the per­fec­tion­ist, she want­ed to devote some time to adopt­ing exact­ly the right per­sona and mannerÖÖ..

Steven was a ìnew­bieî, inas­much as heíd nev­er expe­ri­enced a can­ing, but had always fan­ta­sised about being told to ìbare and bendî by a strict head­mistress flex­ing a length of rat­tan pur­pose­ful­ly. Heíd often tried to put fan­ta­sy into real­i­ty, and had found numer­ous ìmistress­esî adver­tis­ing their ser­vices. These tend­ed to be either leather-clad dommes, hook­ers who hap­pened to have a cane ( usu­al­ly of the Anne Sum­mers type) or elder­ly har­ri­dans that should have retired years ago.

Heíd just about giv­en up on find­ing an intel­li­gent and sophis­ti­cat­ed lady, who not only looked but act­ed the part, and was only inter­est­ed in authen­ti­cal­ly can­ing his bot­tom. That was until the hap­py day when heíd googled ìLon­don SpankingîÖ.and found the won­der­ful Miss Svenson!

Her front-page mes­merised him, from her pic­ture to her intro­duc­tion, which struck such a chord in him that he knew she was the one heíd been look­ing for. A cou­ple of emails were exchanged, and an appoint­ment had been made.† A week before the appoint­ed day, heíd typed a let­ter out­lin­ing his wish­es, and had post­ed it to Miss S. Heíd also includ­ed the fee, explain­ing that he real­ly need­ed to be ìin roleî from the moment he rang her doorbell.

It was this very let­ter that Miss Sven­son was now re-read­ing. It was very spe­cif­ic as to his require­ments, but respect­ful­ly so. ìAu­then­tic scholas­tic atmosphereÖ.î she read. ìWell,î she thought , ìthe fact that Iím sit­u­at­ed in an old school build­ing should please himÖ..and that walk through the foy­er and up the stairs to my door should real­ly focus his mind!î

ìÖ..12 of the very bestÖ.î

ì† Ö..feel prop­er­ly punishedÖ.î

ìOh, Steven. Be care­ful what you wish for!î she mused with a wry smile, as she con­tin­ued to fine-tune the details of the ses­sion in her mind.

Her thoughts were rude­ly inter­rupt­ed by the buzzing of the front-door inter­com. She glanced at her watchÖ.12.40. He was 20 min­utes ear­ly! She could­nít prac­ti­cal­ly keep him wait­ing that long, but she would impress on him the fact that in her book, ear­ly was as bad as late. Steven would be get­ting a few more than the 12 he was expecting.

ìYes?î she spoke into the inter­com, a trace of gen­uine annoy­ance in her voice. ìHel­lo, itís SteÖ.î said a strange­ly chip­per male voice in response. ìYou are ear­ly, young man!î she inter­rupt­ed him sharply. ìHow­ev­er, I am ready to deal with you now, so come up, knock on my door and wait.î

 

With that, she turned on her heel, donned a scholas­tic gown, select­ed a crook-han­dled senior cane, and adopt­ed her most stern ìhead­mistressî vis­age, rather too eas­i­ly. Exact­ly two min­utes after the knock on her door, she opened it and ush­ered in a rather sur­prised-look­ing Steven.

ìIím sor­ry, butÖ.î began Steven, sound­ing a lot less chip­per, prob­a­bly at the sight of the gowned and cane-flex­ing† Miss S stand­ing implaca­bly before him. That kind of reac­tion was com­mon with first-timers, once they knew that a fan­ta­sy was about to become painful real­i­ty, and Miss S knew the best way to counter those nerves was to exert her total authority.

 

ìYou WILL be sor­ry, young man. Very sor­ry indeed!î coun­tered Miss S.† ìBut Iím here toÖ..îhe attempt­ed to con­tin­ue. Miss Sven­sonís look grew even more severe. †Play­ing the reluc­tant school­boy was one thing, but this need­ed to be nipped in the bud.† ìEnoughî she announced firm­ly. ìWe both know why youíre here, and that is to have your bot­tom caned. And that is pre­cise­ly what is now about to occur. Go and stand thereî she instruct­ed, empha­sis­ing the order by point­ing at her desk with the for­mi­da­ble cane.

ìOk, fair enoughî replied a rather crest-fall­en Steven. ìFair enough??? You impu­dent urchin, how dare you? You will speak only when asked, and you will address me as MISS. Understood?î

ìErr, yes Mis­sî he replied, as he stood against her desk, seem­ing­ly unsure what to do next. ìTurn around, you sil­ly boy. Itís your bot­tom Iím about to pun­ishî from Miss S cleared that up for him, fol­lowed by her trade-mark ìbare your bot­tom and bend over the deskî under­scored with a swish of her cane.

ìErm, I donít understandÖ.err..Missî said Steven in a fal­ter­ing voice. Miss S gave† an exas­per­at­ed sigh. ìI mean, low­er your trousers and pants, bend over and present your bare bot­tom for a can­ingî she said, in mea­sured tones, as though she was speak­ing to a sim­ple­ton. ìIf I have to do it for you, youíll feel my strap first.î

With a shrug and a soft ìoh my gawdî that did noth­ing to soft­en Miss S, he com­plied, and soon a bare bot­tom was indeed offered for her atten­tion. †ìFinallyÖ.î she mut­tered, as she advanced on the tar­get. Tap­ping his bot­tom with the cane to line up the first stroke, she con­firmed the sen­tence and gave the cus­tom­ary instruc­tions and warn­ings, before draw­ing back the cane and whip­ping it down hard across the very cen­tre of his bot­tom. The clas­sic ìmark­erî open­ing gam­bit, where the oth­er strokes would be just above or just below it. Apart from the final îspe­cialî of course, but that was for later.

The first stroke elicit­ed a sat­is­fy­ing gasp, and a wrig­gle, but to his cred­it he retained posi­tion, and uttered the required ìOne thank you, Miss Sven­sonî com­mend­ably quick­ly. He clear­ly was deter­mined to avoid penal­ty stokes at all costs, as he con­tin­ued to behave as instruct­ed while Miss S paint­ed lines of fire across his cheeks. Miss S allowed her­self a smile as she pre­pared the 12^th strokeÖhe thought it was the last, she knew it was­nít. Six more with her strap to fol­low. He would be exact­ly on-time in future.

She lined up the† ìspe­cialî, which was always deliv­ered in what she termed the sweetspot, the crease between but­tocks and thighs, and with that bit of extra wrist-action for which she was famed. This would be the stroke he would feel most and longest when­ev­er he sat down for quite a while. As heíd annoyed her with his atti­tude ear­li­er she decid­ed to enhance the ele­ment of sur­prise by lin­ing up the stroke on the first ìmark­erîÖÖbe­fore actu­al­ly deliv­er­ing it exact­ly where she intend­ed.† The result was of course as expect­ed. He shot up like a scald­ed cat, hop­ping from foot to foot, and fran­ti­cal­ly try­ing to rub away this fresh new hurt. In short, mak­ing a spec­ta­cle of him­self, but they all did, every time. Thatís why she nev­er award­ed a penal­ty on the ìspe­cialî, except for swearing.

 

Even though he had­nít count­ed the stroke ( he could­nít, to be fair) once heíd stopped his lit­tle dance, Miss S informed him his 12 of the best was con­clud­ed. Steven bent again, but this time to pull up his nether gar­ments, and had almost re-dressed when he was interrupted.

 

ìNot so fast, young man. Thereís still the mat­ter of your appalling time-keep­ing. Bare and bend again. Per­haps† a dozen with the strap will teach you that 1.00 means 1.00pm.î said Miss S, icily.

ìIím sor­ry Miss, but the card my office sent said 12.40, and thatís when I got here. Thought it best to be on time in the cir­cum­stances. But Iím not argu­ing Miss, of course Iíll do as you say. Shall I fetch the strap for you?î. And with that, Steven began to low­er his trousersÖÖ

Some­thing began to wor­ry Miss S, and she was­nít accus­tomed to the sen­sa­tion. ìWhat card? What office, Steven? What circumstances?î

ìThe card from British Gas, Miss. Iím Steven Palmer, a Senior Cus­tomer Rela­tions Man­ag­er. Hereís my ID. Itís about us cut­ting off your gas for sev­er­al days last month in error. I was detailed to apol­o­gise in per­son, and give you a com­pen­sa­tion cheque. I told my fool of a PA to noti­fy you.î

ìOh dearî replied an aghast Miss S. ìIf Iíd been informed, Iíd have arranged anoth­er time. You see, Iím a pro­fes­sion­al Dis­ci­pli­nar­i­an, and I pun­ish dis­cern­ing gen­tle­men on request when they need it. I have a first appoint­ment with a client named Steven at 1.00pm! I thought you were him, arriv­ing ear­ly! Iím so sor­ry, are you ok?î

ìA pro­fes­sion­al disciplinarian?î replied the man from the Gas Board. ìWell, youíre cer­tain­ly very good at it. And yes, Iím sur­pris­ing­ly fine, thank you Miss, albeit rather sore. †From the tone of the com­plaint let­ter you wrote, I expect­ed you to be annoyed, but I cer­tain­ly was­nít expect­ing you to demon­strate† in quite that man­ner. But please donít wor­ry, Miss. I do under­stand the mix-up, and per­haps we should keep this between our­selves? Oh, hereís your cheque.î

ìWell thank you very much, Mr. Palmer, thatís good of youî said a relieved Miss S.

ìSteven, pleaseî, he replied. ìAc­tu­al­ly, it should be me thank­ing you. I was sur­prised by your reac­tions to say the least. But there was some­thing about your man­ner, your author­i­ty that just melt­ed me. And I found myself unable to do any­thing oth­er than what I was toldÖ.and that was excit­ing, even the can­ing. I have to con­fess, when you said you were going to use the strapÖ.I actu­al­ly WANTED you to!î

ìThatís very inter­est­ing, Steven. Per­haps we should dis­cuss itÖ..but anoth­er Steven will be here for his appoint­ment in 10 min­utesî† Miss S remind­ed him.

ìAh, right.† I hope for his sake heís spot on time!î† said Steven P., rub­bing his bot­tom, and smil­ing. ìBe see­ing you Mis­sî he said as she showed him out­ÖÖand Miss S felt that she prob­a­bly wouldÖÖ

 

As this is a fable, there is a moral. And that isÖn­ev­er under­es­ti­mate the pow­er­ful effect of a strong deter­mined woman on the male of the species.

 

 

 

 

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