School Reunion

It was late and was relieved to see a light still on in the school office. I knocked and entered, expect­ing to see my old head­mistressís sec­re­tary. But I was in for a shock.

ëElsa!í

Elsa Sven­son had been a pupil at the school when Iíd been there. A girl I had both idolised and feared.

She looked up and I saw a flick­er of pleased recog­ni­tion in her eyes. NonethelessÖ

ëMiss Svenson,í she cor­rect­ed, her voice stern.

I blushed, but smiled in delight. Elsa had been a Year 10 girl when I arrived as an eleven year old, and stayed on through the sixth form before going to uni­ver­si­ty. She was seen as unusu­al and quirky, and although qui­et as a sixth for­mer had a rep­u­ta­tion for being eager with her pre­fec­tís plim­soll. How­ev­er I had been cap­ti­vat­ed by her pow­er and pres­ence when I was 15. I felt she was fond of me too, even if she would nev­er show it ñ oth­er than by mak­ing sure my bot­tom felt her dis­ci­pline reg­u­lar­ly, and were accom­pa­nied by long telling offs — and odd­ly, her gen­er­al views on life. It was the only way I got to spend time with her, so I rel­ished it. It was over­whelm­ing to see her again ñ and odd­ly thrilling to find myself still under her power.

ëSor­ry. Miss Svenson,í I cor­rect­ed myself. ëAre you teach­ing here now?í The excite­ment and delight must have been clear in my voice.

ëI am Head­mistress here now! I joined the school straight from university.í She paused, gaz­ing at me with obvi­ous mem­o­ries in her mindís eye. ëWell, Tim­o­thy, it is nice to see you again. The last time I saw you, you were scam­per­ing out my door with your hands clamped to your bot­tom. Such a cute 15 year old at the time. Well, what can I do for you?í

I stam­mered my reply, still blush­ing at her com­ment. ëI phoned the school last week,í I said. ëI need a copy of my exam scores. For a course I want to attend.í

ëOh dear, lost the orig­i­nals, have you? That was very sil­ly of you was­nít it?í

I flushed again. Obvi­ous­ly, Elsa Sven­son had not lost the plea­sure she got from mak­ing boys under her pow­er squirm. I liked it but it always made me red­den. All my feel­ings were com­ing back to me; the embar­rassed delight of being called to her study-room and being beat­en bare bot­tomed by her plimsoll.

ëOk, fol­low me and Iíll look up your file.í She stood up and led me through into the Head­mistress­es study — her study — imme­di­ate­ly going to the large fil­ing cab­i­net in the cor­ner. Her crisp white blouse tucked into an extreme­ly tight black skirt, which hugged her bot­tom in the most tan­ta­lis­ing way before flar­ing out into pleats below her knees ñ she had put on weight since I last saw her and it suit­ed her well. Her style had a smart but old fash­ioned feel about it that went well with the weight gain and I saw it was even pos­si­ble to see her panty line thus reveal­ing that she favoured full cut under­wear — anoth­er aspect of her quirk­i­ness no doubt. I was open­ly star­ing at her bot­tom until I noticed with hor­ror that behind the cab­i­net was a mir­ror that allowed her to watch me. I did not know if she had seen, and could only hope she had not thought to look up, but nonethe­less when she came back to sit down, I found my face was burn­ing and it was hard to look at her.

ëHere you are; fun­ny that I nev­er thought to look up your file before. You did­nít do very well did you!í She said, and then noticed my face. ëAre you all right, Tim­o­thy? You seem flustered.í

ëIím fine, um Miss Svenson,í I said quick­ly. ëIt is prob­a­bly just rec­ol­lec­tions of the head­mistress going to those files while I wait­ed here,í I added. It was an off the top of my head excuse, but as soon as I said it, I wished I hadnít.

ëReally?í Miss Sven­son mur­mured, stand­ing up again. ëHow many times did you have to vis­it the head­mistress I wonder?í She returned to the cab­i­net, and spent a few moments rif­fling through the dis­ci­pline papers, which required her to bend for­ward. I tried to look any­where but at the seat of her tight skirt and total­ly failed.

ëHow interesting,í Miss Sven­son said, stand­ing up and look­ing at me in the mir­ror, mak­ing it quite clear to me that I could be seen. ëYou seem to have incurred a fair num­ber of vis­its here over the years you were here. I see Mrs Steel had cause to cane your naughty bot­tom a num­ber of times.í She paused to turn and look at me direct­ly, before adding, ëWhat a very sore bot­tom you must have had! All those can­ings along with the slip­per­ings I had to give you. I remem­ber now how often you had lines on it.í

My face must have been crim­son, but I said noth­ing. She grinned in obvi­ous plea­sure, and turned back to the files. After a few more moments of flip­ping through them, tut­ting, she gasped. ëGood heav­ens! Well, well, well. It says here that you left with­out set­tling a final dis­ci­pli­nary matter!í

ëDid I?í I tried to sound casu­al, but I was of course well aware of what she was refer­ring to.

ëA twelve stroke can­ing avoid­ed by your departure?í

I tried to look surprised.

ëOh, Tim­o­thy, now please donít pre­tend you did not know,í Miss Sven­son went on. ëMrs Steel nev­er told me who it was but I recall it because she was most irri­tat­ed and ñ stay­ing touch as I did and do ñ it came up in con­ver­sa­tion. She said she had nev­er had a stu­dent fail to present him­self for a thrash­ing, and the inci­dent was a thorn in her side.í

Her voice was now show­ing signs of grow­ing annoy­ance, and I start­ed to feel dou­bly uncomfortable.

ëSome­how it comes as no sur­prise to dis­cov­er it was you.í She peered down at me stern­ly. ëCon­sid­er­ing the upset this caused, you should know that on her behalf I am extreme­ly cross!í

ëIím sorry,í I mut­tered. She did not look impressed though, so I added, ëMrs Steelís can­ings were always so painful, it was hard not to miss that last one when I knew I had the chance.í

ëI under­stand that. She was no less strict with me.í She smoothed her skirt over her bot­tom as she said this. ëHow­ev­er, I can proud­ly say that I nev­er weaselled myself out of one! Shame on you!í

I looked at my lap, and after a moment Miss Sven­son came and sat on the edge of the desk, right in front of me. ëWell, how for­tu­nate that I dis­cov­ered it while you were here. For now we can cor­rect the mat­ter, right now!í

ëW- what do you mean?í I stuttered.

ëI mean that I can give you the twelve strokes of the cane you missed all those years ago.í

I jumped to my feet. ëYou canít do that!í

Miss Sven­son stood up, her face full of fury. ëSit down!í she demanded.

Over­whelmed by her force, I obeyed. As soon as I had, we both knew she had won ñ just as she always did.

She walked to the door and locked it. ëIím sure we donít want any­one walk­ing in do we?í she said in expla­na­tion as she came back to the desk. Now, I want you stand up and bend over the bench with your hands grip­ping the bar tight. Do it now.í

She stood out of the way and like an automa­ton I did as I was told, shocked to find myself back over Mrs Steelís can­ing bench. My legs felt like jel­ly when I saw her walk to the cane cup­board and take out a senior cane. When she turned back to me, I heard her tut. ëNow Tim­o­thy. We both know that Mrs Steel gave pri­vate can­ings on the bare bot­tom so I expect to see those trousers and pants to be lowered.í

My face burn­ing with shame, I stood up and undid my belt, loos­ing my trousers and push­ing them along with my pants down before bend­ing over again.

ëLike most adult men, of course you need a good sound can­ing, and not just because you missed one all those years ago. You need one because it will do you the world of good. I am of the opin­ion that all adult males should have the cane applied to their bot­tom on reg­u­lar basis. In the last few years I have had oppor­tu­ni­ty to cane a num­ber of men and when I do, I do it with the inten­tion of mak­ing the recip­i­ent expe­ri­ence agony in his bot­tom at the time, and con­sid­er­able dis­com­fort when he sits for sev­er­al days after­wards. This is what you can expect from me. Do you understand?í

ëYes Miss Svenson,í I answered meekly.

ëGood. Now do you remem­ber the rules?í

Yes, Miss.í

ëRe­cite them then.í

ëìNum­ber one, I will count each stroke. If I mis­count or you do not hear, you will begin again. Num­ber two, I will not adjust my cloth­ing or rise from my posi­tion with­out per­mis­sion, or you will begin again. Num­ber three, I will not rub my bot­tom after pun­ish­ment, or you will begin again. Num­ber four, I will thank you on com­ple­tion of the pun­ish­ment, or you will begin again.îí

ëGood boy! I am so glad to see you remember.í

ëYes Miss,í I answered.

ëGood.í Miss Sven­son then picked up her cane and swung it back and forth, mak­ing it hum through the air. ëNow, take your can­ing well or we will repeat it.í

Miss Sven­son took up posi­tion to my left. I felt her line the cane against my bared bot­tom and sec­ond lat­er heard it swish up and back. It cut into my but­tocks like a line of fire and I let out a loud yelp. Miss Sven­son was obvi­ous­ly deter­mined to give me the sever­est can­ing she could. I knew I was going to suf­fer at her hands.

ëOne Miss,í I said obediently.

ëGood boy. Now here comes the second.í

The next fol­lowed and I howled and squirmed, but man­aged to count and stay in place. The next two were the same. How­ev­er, num­ber five struck me low down in the crease where my thighs meet my bot­tom and I lost con­trol and leaped to me feet. I quick­ly dropped back down but it was too late.

She tut­ted as she walked back around the desk and sat down. She crossed her legs, the cane flex­ing in her hands. ëThat is com­plete­ly unac­cept­able. I will not allow the set to be inter­rupt­ed. In a moment I will begin again, but I want you to con­sid­er that you already have five painful welts across your bot­tom, but are no near­er to the end.í Then she paused for a moment, before learn­ing for­ward and ask­ing, ëTell me, how does that make you feel?í

I was sweat­ing with the pain and my bot­tom was already very sore, so I answered hon­est­ly when I said, ëIím worried.í

Miss Sven­son frowned. Then stood up very swift­ly, swept around the desk, laid an almighty swipe across my bot­tom and said ëMISS!í

I squirmed and curled my leg. ëMiss, Miss!í

ëGood boy.í Miss Sven­son came and sat down fac­ing me again.

ëIím sor­ry, Miss,í I said more quietly.

ëThank you. That is bet­ter. I insist on good man­ners at all times. Now I am glad to hear you are wor­ried. You should be wor­ried. I want you to be wor­ried. I want you to be so wor­ried, that you are absolute­ly focused on my wish­es. Do you understand?í

ëYes Miss.í

ëGood. Then we will try againí. She stood up and resumed her posi­tion. ëYou will count the next stroke as num­ber one. Do you understand?í

ëYes Miss Svenson,í I said obe­di­ent­ly, try­ing to get into the right head space to get through it with­out mak­ing anoth­er error.

ëGood boy. If youíre lucky, you will walk out of here with only 18 welts on your bot­tom, but do not doubt that I will begin again if I need to.í

Miss Sven­son lined up and let fly the next stroke.

I screeched out my protest as the fire already in my bot­tom was re-lit.

Num­bers two, three, four five, and six arrived with­out hic-cup, spaced even­ly with per­haps a ten to fif­teen sec­onds in-between, but sev­en caught me by sur­prise and my hands came away from the edge of the desk. I groaned as I heard her sigh and tut, and walk back to sit down.

ëYou were doing so well. Now you have a thir­teen welts on your bot­tom. One more than you should be leav­ing here with, but yet again I am going to have to begin again, and that means you will have at least twen­ty five strokes to try and sit on tonight.í

ëI donít think I will be sit­ting tonight, Mis­sí I gasped, squirm­ing to try and relieve my throb­bing bottom.

ëOh but you will be,í she told me calm­ly. ëYou will, because once we have man­aged to make it through this old busi­ness, you are going to take me out to for din­ner and tell me all the things youíve been up to over the years. I cer­tain­ly donít think you should expect my atten­tion to your old debt with­out a dis­play of grat­i­tude, do you?í

I was stag­gered. Her arro­gance was amaz­ing, but as equal­ly attrac­tive — and my heart leaped that she might wish to spend time in my com­pa­ny. ëNo, Miss. That would be love­ly, Miss. Thank you.í

Miss Sven­son smiled. ëGood,í she said, still smil­ing at me, a man bend­ing over the desk in front of her, his red stripped bot­tom stick­ing out behind him. She leaned back; the epit­o­me of wom­an­hood, regard­ing me with inter­est and amuse­ment. ëHow is your bot­tom now, Timothy?í

ëItís very very sore Miss,í I replied.

She stood up and turned to walk to the mir­ror behind her. Exam­in­ing her fig­ure in it. Run­ning her hand over her stom­ach and the high waist of her skirt. The cane hang­ing down from the oth­er hand as she did, tap­ping gen­tly against her shin. ëYes, I imag­ine it is. But I must tell you that it most cer­tain­ly deserves to be. All men should be caned. Hard and regularly.í She glanced over her shoul­der at me. ëDo you like me can­ing you Timothy?í

ëI, I donít know Miss.í

ëThat is a curi­ous answer to per­haps a curi­ous question,í she said, turn­ing to face me. ëYou say you donít know?í

ëNo Miss. It hurts ter­ri­bly yetÖ it does not feel wrong. I feelÖ cared about I think.í

ëHmm. Inter­est­ing. You are right of course. When a woman canes a man, she does care about him. She would not both­er oth­er­wise. Oh, I will admit there is plea­sure in can­ing for can­ingís sake, for the art of it, but what is real­ly plea­sur­able is can­ing a man one wis­es to improve. One which she feels a desire to have an invest­ment in. See­ing him respond and fol­low oneís direction,í she went on. ëWhat do you think of that, Timothy?í

ëI think any man would be very lucky, Miss. To have such a ded­i­cat­ed guide and mentor.í

Miss Sven­son was obvi­ous­ly delight­ed with my reply. ëIn that case, I think I had bet­ter start that train­ing straight away, donít you?í Her voice then changed to become one both lov­ing yet very stern. ëStick your bot­tom up and out, Tim­o­thy, and call out the num­bers clear­ly. I have decid­ed to be extreme­ly severe with you. I have deter­mined to beat you very hard. I am going to have you back here every week and make you the man you should be!í

Yes Miss,í I said nervously.

 

 

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