I was on my way to Miss Svenson because I felt I needed to be reminded of my manners in public. I have this problem that I love to look up ladies’ skirts and feast my eyes on their stocking tops and their thighs and pants (what colour are they?). I do not blame myself for this desire in itself; after all it’s natural, isn’t it? The race would not survive if men did not lust after women; and that particular sight is a big turn on.
But, of course, I realise that women dislike it as there is so much more that one ought to consider, and cherish, in a woman’s personality than merely lusting after her person. But men are inherently crude; well, I am. This is why I go to Miss Svenson. I hope her attention to my bare bottom will remind me of my duty to keep my eyes to myself. She is the best, the setting is stylish, the music classical and soft.
So there I was on the train, sitting on the seats that go along the length of the train, not across. This is a dangerous position for me as girls opposite with very short skirts are not always careful and I get a view I ought not to seek or to have. The train was pretty empty; it was near noon on a warm day. Opposite me sat a lady, smartly dressed in stylish suit, jacket and matching skirt to the knee; not a pencil skirt but one of those pleated ones – it was very pretty and to my taste.
She gathered together her things, a handbag and a shopping bag, and was obviously going to get off at the next stop as was I. I do not know exactly what happened but she stumbled as she was standing up. Perhaps her shoe caught something or she tilted her ankle. Anyway, she fell to her knees and her skirt caught the seat’s armrest and was pulled up, exposing her thighs and her black stockings and her briefs – very brief they were too. As I was also getting up at the same time I was quite close to her and of course could do nothing but try to catch her and help her up. I caught her elbow with one hand and her waist with the other and lifted her to her feet. She looked up at me with gratitude in her eyes but then I looked at her legs, which are very shapely, the stocking tops, the white thighs and her pink briefs. I longed to kiss those thighs. I looked for a second too long and my feelings of pure lust may have shown on my face. Her expression became very severe as I saw when I glanced back at her eyes. All confusion, I hastily tried to unhitch her skirt and pull it down but she pushed me away, smoothing herself down with an elegant sweep of her hand. She had, I noticed, a very curvaceous figure.
“I’m so sorry,” I said but she turned away and walked down the carriage and out of the door as soon as the train stopped. I followed but not closely as I did not want to frighten her. She might have thought me a stalker or something. I lost sight of her and put the episode from my mind. I was too early for my appointment, so stopped and had a small espresso to kill some time and get into a proper frame of mind for my interview with Miss Svenson.
I stood in front of Miss Svenson’s door and took a deep breath, psyching myself up for what was to come. No doubt Miss Svenson was going to be very severe with me as I did not seem to learn my lesson for very long. It was only a short time since I had been to her with the same problem. I rang. The door opened noiselessly and Miss motioned me in with a sharp glance of her eyes. “Go through,” she said in a strict tone. I did so and had the shock of my life for standing at the further wall was the lady from the train.
“Miss Prendergast is here to observe proceedings” said Miss Svenson following me into the room. She saw us staring at each other and realised we were acquainted in some way.
“This is the man on the train I was telling you about,” said Miss Prendergast. “The one who had the impertinence to gaze at my underwear when it was accidentally exposed. I am extremely glad that there was no one else on the train who saw. I must say though, I shall do more than merely observe – oh yes, a lot more! When you have finished with him I’ll teach him to lust after me.” The room swayed a little as I realised what I was in for.
“Undress as usual,” commanded Miss Svenson. “I shall deal with you first. Then Miss Prendergast will have her turn at civilising you. Stand in the corner when you are ready.” She busied herself collecting the instruments she needed for the task, a range of straps and paddles. I shivered in anticipation, undressed and went to the corner.
The session with Miss Svenson went as usual, starting with four dozen hand spanks while I was over her knee and continuing with the various implements including her favourite split strap, the tawse, which has been mentioned in her blog. In between each of the instruments, the paddles etc, came more OTK hand spanking. Each spanker was combined with a different stance; sometimes I was bent over a chair, sometimes I had to stand up straight. Even this thrashing, however, did not stop me admiring Miss Prendergast’s figure and especially her legs, long and elegant. In between each session I had the opportunity to look at her, sideways out of lowered eyes of course. If she had seen me I shudder to think what she would have done. My buttocks would have been purple not just red.
It all culminated in a dozen strokes of the cane. I did notice, however, that the severity of all the blows, by whatever means, had increased a lot from previous appointments. The two ladies had obviously been discussing my behaviour and gravely disapproved of it.
Indeed, Miss Prendergast interjected her opinions as to how hard each blow should be and exactly where on my bottom. She sat opposite us while I was OTK and could see areas that were not as red as they might be. Finally, in order to try to obtain a breather, I apologised as abjectly as I could to both, Miss Prendergast for not averting my gaze from her beauty while we were in the train and Miss Svenson for not learning my lesson quickly. I hoped they would give me five minutes to recover a bit. They did not.
As soon as Miss Svenson had finished the last, hardest stroke Miss Prendergast poured some soothing oil over my bottom and rubbed it in. She then took up another cane, a more severe one. “As you are in the proper position over that sofa arm for a caning I’ll start with that,” she said, “I may give you more strokes at the end.” She suited the action to the word and gave me six more at what was obviously her maximum strength. Of course, I had to thank her for each stroke and count them, which I took care to do as I did not want to increase the length of the punishment at that point. She also liked me to beg for the next stroke and again I obliged, although I had to do so with a quaver in my voice as I struggled to absorb the pain. Striving though I was to comply with her orders and accept the much deserved punishment, I had to admire the symmetry of her procedure. She reversed the order of the instruments that Miss Svenson used; the tawse, a couple of paddles and a strap, all used just as strongly and putting me in the same posture. She did not, however, have me over her knee for hand spanking between each instrument. It was clear that the last thing was to be the OTK spank. I looked at her arms and hands; the arms were well muscled as I realised also from my stinging bottom, and her hands were small. This meant the impact area on my buttocks would be small and so the smack more concentrated, the pain increased. OTK spanking is both my best and worst thing. I love the humility, and the intimacy, of the position but the agony can be worse. I feared it would be this time. “OTK now,” she said, “I’ll give you four dozen on each buttock.”
The trouble was as Miss Prendergast sat on the upright chair she lifted her skirt to her waist and then bade me bend over her knee. It wasn’t fair.