Miss Svenson sat at her kitchen table, idly stirring her coffee. She glanced at the clock but it was still not yet 10 past 9. 5 past 9, just before her rather dull but oh so English neighbours in the house to the left would have gone for the day, the wife to do whatever it was middle aged women did all day whilst their husbands worked, something worthy with a charity no doubt. And the husband, well off to the job that kept them in their lifestyle of 2 sons at university and 3 foreign holidays a year.
10 past 9, marking the time Miss Svenson could go for her morning stroll around the garden. Nude of course, so commonplace in her native Sweden, but rather too liberal for the prim and proper next door neighbours she feared.
The sound of an engine starting and then slowly disappearing lifted her mood and with her other neighbours in the south of France for several months, she started undoing her dressing gown and let it slip off her body onto the floor. She took a mouthful of coffee and, picking up the secateurs lest she find any plants in need of tending, opened the back door and walked into the early morning sunshine.
The cool air on her body made her think wistfully of her homeland and the freedom one was granted there and she began to idly wonder from bush to bush, taking in the fragrance of her garden. A movement in the corner of her eye distracted her, just a brief flutter and then nothing. She lingered over a Rhododendron that seemed to be on the wane and there again, a movement of material, from her prim and proper next door neighboursí window. She looked intently at the windows, but could not distinguish anything in particular when there, again, a slight tug on the curtain. A peeping tom next door! But how, when she had heard their departure? Then it struck her, Mrs Prim and Proper had gushed with pride about how one of their sons was soon to be back from university for the holidays. The little swine, he had caught her at her leisure and rather than decently averting his eye after the first no doubt accidental glimpse, had sought a second and third view of her nakedness. She strode indoors, pulled the dressing gown around her and, stopping only to put her slippers on and put her house keys in her gown pocket, walked out of the house and strode next door.
She rang two, three, four times on the doorbell before it opened slowly and a young man in his twenties stood before her, clad in shorts with the remnants of an erection diminishing, pressed against the material.
“Erm hi” he spluttered “Mum and Dad are out at the moment, i can take a message”.
“You most certainly can” said Miss Svenson sternly, “You can leave the message that I am most unhappy their son is a peeping tom and i want to know what punishment they will be giving you.”
The colour drained from his face as he realised his curtain twitching had been seen.
“Wait, erm, no” he bumbled “That’s really not necessary, i’m really sorry, it wonít happen again”.
“You can be sure of that; I shall ask your mother if she knows her son is a pervert, whether her friends at the local Womenís Institute know.”
“No, please, you can’t, i’m really very sorry, how can i make it up to you” he pleaded.
Miss Svenson’s tone softened and her mind wandered to the contents of the third drawer in her bedroom side dresser. “Well” she said slowly, “If you were punished to my satisfaction then perhaps there would be no need to involve your parents at all.”
“Yes, yes, that is fine” he blurted in relief.
“Very well”, Miss Svenson barked, “Come with me at once”.
The young man followed her with some trepidation, wondering what sort of menial task or housework he would have to do.
Once inside her house, Miss Svenson closed the front door and turned on the miscreant. “Such an affront to my dignity deserves a suitable punishment, one you will not readily forget by this afternoon like mere yard work. I shall be treating you as if you were my own son caught in such an act…”
A puzzled look crossed the student’s face and the look turned to one of shock as she continued “…tell me, have you ever been spanked”
“Spanked?” he said in a daze
“Yes boy, spanked, paddled, caned, tawsed, slippered… has your mother ever had occasion to punish you properly?”
“My, er, my mother doesn’t believe in it.”
“Well my boy, i do and i will neither spare the rod, nor spoil you to teach you a lesson”. She grasped his ear and twisting, led him upstairs to her boudoir. “I am going to punish you and next time you approach a curtain with the promise of a naughty view, i can promise you your backside will start to sting instinctively.
She cajoled him into a corner of the room, facing a full length mirror. After pulling his shorts down and away from his feet, she spread his feet wide and made him grip his ankles such that his gaze would be on the carpet between his legs. She examined his unmarked, taut bottom and reflected on the fun she was about to have.
“I will be punishing you with a variety of instruments” she said in a stern voice “and after i have shown you the instruments, we shall begin. I expect no backchat from you, any lip or wriggling or pulling away and we shall be talking to your mother when she returns.”
“Ok” he said.
“and from now on, you will address me only as Miss Svenson, when answering me you will start Miss Svenson and then say what you have to say, is that clear And in this house we say yes or yes Miss Svenson, not vulgarity like ìOKî, is that understood?
“Yes, I mean Miss Svenson, yes”.
“Good” and smiling to herself she went over to the dresser and, pulling open a drawer, began to select the instruments she would use this morning. A favourite rubber soled slipper, a tawse, a light paddle, a particularly flexible and whippy cane and an old wooden ruler. Ahh, and a present she had received from a friend back home that very week, a lovely birch.
She walked over to the boy and slowly, placed the instruments one by one between his feet. An involuntary flinch was noticed on a couple of items and Miss Svenson felt the severity of the crime and the punishment was starting to be brought home to him.
She pulled up a chair and placed it in the middle of the room. “Come here” she said “and lay over my lap”. “I will not be jumping straight to the instruments that will give you most cause for reflection, I must prepare you for that first”.
Gingerly he laid himself over her lap, still somewhat aroused she noticed. “well, she thought to herself “We’ll see about that”.
Arranging him on her lap, she pulled one of his arms up behind his back to lessen any wriggling and addressed the quivering buttocks. “Sometimes I will expect you to count the blows, if you do this incorrectly, then I will start again and again until you get it correct. Am i clear?”
“Yes Miss Svenson” he said meekly.
She started off at a fast pace, peppering both buttocks with well judged thwacks from her hand, such that he could not guess where the next was coming from. 20, 30, 40, 50 swats from her and he was already starting to move around in some discomfort.
“Have you learnt your lesson?” she asked dryly.
“Yes Miss Svenson, it won’t happen again Miss Svenson” he panted.
“we’ll see”. Fetch me the slipper and the paddle. He took himself off her lap, the stinging spanking dispelling his impudent arousal and picking up the items, sheepishly handed them back to her.
“Resume the position” she ordered, and he did so. The old rubber soled gym slipper was next on the agenda and again she swatted his buttocks evenly, but not too hard, lest she overdo it and deny herself the pleasure of the cane and birch. 50 methodical strikes from the slipper was a change of pace for the boy and he started to squirm around on her lap, restrained by her grip on his arm. “Struggling will not help you” she muttered and she laid the slipper beside her and picked up the paddle. The cool breeze on the buttocks before each stroke was followed with a harsh sting and the student began to cry out occasionally. Miss Svenson ignored his cries and completed the 50 strokes with the paddle she felt he merited.
“Stand back in the corner in the position” she commanded. and he returned to the stress she had originally placed him in. His bottom glowed red, but Miss Svenson knew that her duty was incomplete and only after the application of some other instruments might the extent of his misdemeanour be brought home to him.
She positioned a large bolster pillow onto the mattress at the foot of her bed and positioned him over it, face on the mattress, legs spread and bottom in the air.
“We move now to the latter stages of your punishment” she said coldly, “but do not think the end is in sight yet, there is more opportunity for reflection yet”.
“Yes Miss Svenson” he said meekly.
She picked up the tawse and felt the smoothness of it against her hand. ìThis is a tawseî she instructed him, ìan original Lochgelly, not that you would appreciate its provenance. You may well come to appreciate the workmanship howeverÖî, and with that, laid a fierce stripe across his cheeks. He visibly jumped and it must have dawned on him this was again a change in the level of admonishment.
“I would like you to count out these strokes for me, stating my name and the number of strokes after each blow.”
“Yes Miss Svenson”
She laid another stripe on him.
“Miss Svenson, One”
“That is incorrect” she chuckled, “that was the second blow, so we must start again.” Miss Svenson raised her arm and began administering the blows again.
“Miss Svenson, One”, “Miss Svenson, Two, “Miss Svenson, Three”, “Miss Svenson, Four”, “Miss Svenson, Five” ‚“Miss Svenson, Six”, “Miss Svenson, Seven”, “Miss Svenson, Eight”, “Miss Svenson, Nine”, “Miss Svenson, Ten”.
With each blow his reply became more faltering and the shock and pain in his buttocks could be heard in the trembling tone of his voice.
She looked closely at his buttocks, now almost blisteringly red, no blood drawn given her skill, but the skin had been taken almost to its limits.
Almost.
“To finish I will give you a taste of my homeland, and I don’t mean some some nonsense you might buy in Ikea. I have a friend who makes fine birches and as my luck would have it, I have received a new one today, made of willow rather than hazel luckily for you, but it will be rather breathtaking i’ll wager. As before, i would like you to count.”
ìTen strokes young man, and then i think we are done here.î
She thought he breathed a sigh of relief, but perhaps was just stealing himself for this new unknown. She felt the texture of each twig and then whipping her arm quickly, swished the birch across his bottom.
“Miss Svenson, One”, “Miss Svenson, Two, “Miss Svenson, Three”, “Miss Svenson, Four”, “Miss Svenson, Five” ‚“Miss Svenson, Six”, “Miss Svenson, Seven”, “Miss Svenson, Eight”, “Miss Svenson, Nine”, “Miss Svenson, Ten”.
As he reached seven, eight, nine, she could sense she had taken him to his threshold and with the tenth blow, she felt him break, she had accomplished he goal, he would remember this punishment for some time to come.
“I shall leave the cane for another day I think, but rest assured, any repeat of today’s behaviour and it will be brought into play and I may consider caning you in front of your mother.
“No, no, i’ll never let this happen again, I swear Miss Svenson.”
“Very well then, begone and reflect on what you have learnt today” The naughty young man slowly walked downstairs and gingerly walked around to his parent’s house and the presumed relief of ice on his now bright red cheeks.
A new day and Miss Svenson went to her porch to fetch the paper. “Hullo” said Mirs Prim and Proper from next door. “How are you Miss Svenson?”
“Well my dear” she replied, “but a little sore in my arm for some reason today.”
“Must be something going around?” Mrs Prim replied “young David has been in bed all yesterday and this morning, says he feels very sore and unwell.”
Miss Svenson smiled to herself “well, I hope he gets well soon,” and as she walked back to her front door she paused. Looking up she saw David peeking at her from behind the curtain, a faint smile on his lips. Perhaps, Miss Svenson mused, one lesson may not be enough with this one. But that is another story…