The New Headmistress
Introduction
The ‘The Elms’ Private Boarding School is located not far from a small town in
Southwest Germany. At the time of this story, the early sixties, I had
been a student there for two years. It was not a large school: about forty
students of both genders, all between 13 and 20 years old. They came from
all parts of Germany, some even from abroad, the only thing they had in common
was that this school was their last chance: all of them had been expelled from
one or more other schools, not for their lack of intellectual abili-ties, but
rather because of repeated violation of rules and regulations. They were
not - to put it mildly - a teacher’s delight! But ‘The Elms’ was a school
designed to cope with exactly that sort of pupils.
‘The Elms’ was then owned and run by a couple who was nearing the age of
retirement. The Headmaster was assisted by one male and two female
teachers. There was also a matron, a maid, a caretaker whose wife was also
in charge of the laundry, and a stable master and stable boy, because ‘The Elms’
offered horse riding facilities to its students as well as to people from
outside the school. School and house rules were very strict. Any
offence was liable to be punished by detention (in very light cases) or by
caning or strap-ping. In order not to disrupt lessons unduly, teachers and
the rest of the staff (except the stable boy, of course) were allowed to
administer a maximum of two dozen strokes with either the strap or the cane, but
only on the covered bottom. This was a relatively light punishment, to
which we got used rather quickly and which we learned to accept without fuss.
Serious offences were dealt with by the
Headmaster. The punishment could then exceed the 24 strokes und was in
most cases applied to the bare bottom.
Things changed dramatically, however, when the Headmaster and his wife decided
to retire and to sell the school! At that time I was about seventeen years
old. The new owner was a young woman who had a reputation of utmost
strictness. We had noticed her before on several occasions, when she
arrived in a dark green British sports car, but we had, of course, no idea who
she was. She was rather tall, about 5 feet ten on flat heels, with a slim
but well-trained body. Her handsome face was framed by shoulder length
chestnut coloured hair. She had an obvious preference for leather wear: on
al-most every occasion she was seen wearing pants, skirts, jackets or long coats
and al-ways gloves made of very soft shiny leather!
Part One: A new Era
The announcement was made on a Friday afternoon. The teachers had ordered
us to assemble at the gym at 3:00 pm in gym shorts and T-shirts. The
Headmaster and his wife were already there when the students arrived, beside
them stood the beautiful un-known lady. She was dressed in black leather
riding-breeches and a wide-cut white cot-ton shirt with sleeves rolled up above
her elbows. Her long legs rose out of a pair of laced-up black leather
riding-boots. Her beautiful hair was tied in a severe knot. In her
right hand she held a pair of elbow-length gloves made of soft black leather.
She looked absolutely stunning!
The teachers and the rest of the staff had taken their position a few yards
beside her. I was a bit surprised to see a vaulting horse placed in the
centre of the gym hall. At one end the horse’s legs had been shortened,
the horse therefore was slightly tilted.
Our Headmaster addressed the assembled students and explained that he and his
wife wanted to retire from teaching and had sold ‘The Elms’ to Frau Dr. Bergmann
(in German a PhD is also addressed as ‘Herr Doktor’ or ‘Frau Doktor’) who would
be in full charge as of today. He gestured to the hitherto unknown lady
standing beside him. She took charge right away and addressed us: “Dear
students, I’m very pleased to take on the management of this school and I am
certain we will all get along very well, IF you are prepared to study under
strict discipline and to obey all of my orders and those of my staff immediately
and without discussion. You all know why you are attending this school.
‘The Elms’ is your only chance to achieve a decent ‘Abitur’ (German final exami-nation.
Entitles to be admitted to an university) and I am going to help you with the
task, with absolute strictness, if necessary! I have worked as a teacher
in very strict boarding schools in Germany and England for several years
after graduating from teacher-training college. Now I have achieved my
long-time goal of running my own school. When I say ‘strictness’ you must
know that every offence will be punished without mercy with the cane, the strap
or the whip! You are already used to corporal punishment. Your
teach-ers and the rest of my staff will have the right - as before - to
punish you when ever necessary - and - believe me, it will be necessary - by
applying up to 24 strokes with the strap or the cane to your covered bottom.
All these ‘on the spot’ punishments have al-ways been recorded in your personal
file. In future you will be awarded one demerit point for each caning or
strapping applied by a teacher or a member of my staff. Ten demerit points
automatically warrant a whipping in my quarters and you may be assured that on
these occasions your pants will come down! These whippings will always
take place on a Saturday. On Friday lunchtime at the latest, the culprit
will find a notice in his or her cubby-hole stating the time when to present
himself or herself to me in my study for punishment. Girls who have their
‘time’ will have their punishment adjourned for one week. If one of you
has the bad luck of achieving ten demerit points after lunch on a Friday he will
have the whole next week to look forward to his whipping. Now I would like
to give you a sample of the kind of whipping you may expect if you don’t behave.
Gregor, would you please step forward?”
The boy she had addressed blanched visibly and took a few steps forward to stand
before the new Headmistress. “I noticed that you have nine ‘on the spot’
punishments re-corded. We will advance your extra whipping to today, so
everybody can see I mean business. Because your whipping is not going to
take place in private, you may keep your shorts on. They are not going to
help you much anyway! Position yourself in front of the ‘horse’, please!
Mrs K.” she turned to our PE instructor, “I’m sure you keep a nice, whippy cane
here?” - “Certainly, Miss, I will get it,” Mrs K. replied, smiling with delight.
She opened one of the cupboards positioned along the wall of the gym hall where
the PE equipment was stored and - after some rummaging - retrieved a cane about
three feet long and of the thickness of a little finger. She flexed it
approvingly into a semi arc be-tween her hands. “Perfect!” the
Headmistress exclaimed, “that is exactly what is needed to improve little girl’s
and boy’s behaviour!”
Gregor was told to position himself over the horse. His bottom was now the
most ele-vated point of his body and perfectly poised for the cane. Then
the Headmistress asked four boys to kneel down beside Gregor’s hands and feet
and to hold them down firmly. Finally she turned again to Mrs K. and asked
her to pull the boy’s shorts very tight, which Mrs K. did with visible pleasure:
she stepped towards Gregor and took his head between her well-trained thighs,
then she pulled his shorts with both hands so tightly that they almost
disappeared between his buttocks. If this was not to be a bare bottom
caning, it sure was going to be the next best thing! The Headmistress
stuck the cane between her left arm and her body and began to put on her long
leather gloves very slowly. It was the first time we witnessed this
ritual, which was obviously designed to postpone the beginning of the execution
and thereby to increase the culprit’s fear. We would later learn that Frau
Dr. Bergmann considered fear to be an important part of any punishment. At
that time ladies always used to wear gloves in public, even in summer.
Ever after when I saw fine leather gloves on a lady’s hand or could even see her
putting them on, I felt a tension because I always associated leather gloves
with a severe bare bottom caning.
Gregor’s punishment was about to begin. The Headmistress took her position
to his left, swished the cane through the air a couple of times and aimed for
the first stroke. CRACK! She had placed the stroke on the top of
Gregor’s bottom. We heard him suck-ing in air but he just managed to
suppress a cry. He was a well built fellow who could take a lot. There was
no way, however, to withstand the Headmistress’s onslaught! Af-ter the
fifth stroke he began to groan softly and after she had applied the tenth, she
had him where she wanted. She had aimed for the sensitive spot where the
bottom meets the thighs. Gregor cried out in agony. A shadow of a smile appeared
on the Headmis-tress’s face, and Mrs K. who still held on to Gregor’s shorts
with an iron grip,
showed her satisfaction quite openly. Dr. Bergmann placed the next ten
strokes evenly, beginning at the bottom and ending at the top of Gregor’s
buttocks. Poor Gregor did his best to bear the pain stoically, but could not
avoid crying out loudly when the cane hit him particularly hard.
When twenty strokes had been applied mercilessly with the regularity of a Swiss
watch, the strict cane-mistress awarded a short break to Gregor and to herself.
After five min-utes she switched sides and the punishment continued. She
used backhand strokes now, but they did not look easier to bear. All of us -
teachers and students alike - watched this powerful demonstration in silent awe;
we almost dared not to breathe. No doubt: any punishment we had witnessed
before paled in comparison to this severe whipping. We all realised the
dawn of a new era for us students!
After Dr. Bergmann had striped Gregor’s bottom another twenty times ferociously,
she gave a curt nod to Mrs. K and the four students who held on to his arms and
legs. They released him and Gregor stood up with difficulty.
She ordered him to thank her for his punishment by kissing her gloved right hand
which still held the dreaded cane. His words were
interrupted by sobs as his lips touched the leather. The Headmistress dis-missed
the students with a stern warning that everyone would suffer the same or even
more if she deemed it necessary!
Part Two: My Punishment Day
Chapter I: An enema
Three or four month had passed when - on a Tuesday evening - I found a small
envelope in my cubby-hole. It was addressed to me in a neat handwriting I did
not recognise, but a nauseating premonition began to rise. I ripped open
the envelope with trembling hands and extracted a small card on which I read my
name and below it: ‘Saturday, 9.00 a.m., report to me for punishment’. The
note was signed by the Headmistress. I felt my blood drain from my face.
Since Gregor’s memorable whipping a few of my fellow stu-dents had been summoned
to Frau Dr. Bergmann and news that ‘the new Head’ was a merciless punisher had
travelled fast. Just how merciless I would learn in four days! Sick from
fear I tried to gather more details from those who already had experienced the
cane from the Headmistress, but the more I learned the more my fear
grew.
I spent an almost sleepless night from Friday to Saturday. In my dreams I
saw the Headmistress - dressed in leather from head to toe - whipping boys’
bottoms pitilessly with canes and whips.
Saturday came and at 9.00 a.m. sharp I stood in front of Frau Dr. Bergmann’s
office and knocked at the door. “Herein!” (“Come in!”). My heart beat
furiously as I entered her tastefully furnished study. The room was dimly
lit, only the lamp above her huge desk spread a brilliant light and shone on the
beautiful dark hair of the Headmistress who seemed engrossed in her work.
“Come here!” she said without lifting an eye. I moved towards here desk
slowly and stood in front of her. From this short distance
I was able to recognise the file she was studying - it was my own!
After several minutes - which seemed like eternity to me - she shut the folder
and rose. While she rounded the desk to approach me I had the first chance
to look at her more closely. She was wearing an al-most ankle-length wide
swinging skirt made of the softest dark green leather, topped by a tight navy
coloured woollen sweater that firmly encased her firm bosom. Below the
leather skirt I could glimpse a pair of highly polished black leather boots with
flat heels. Her trade-mark shiny
long black leather gloves were lying on the desk top beside a rather formidable
looking about two and a half feet long plaited black leather riding crop.
The Headmistress looked at me silently for about a minute. Finally she
said: “I dare say I haven’t seen such an impressive list of violations for quite
some time. I’m surprised you have not earned your ten demerits before.
Your bottom seems to be very eager to meet with my cane. Let’s see:
repeatedly late for class, not tidied your room, sassed your teachers, not done
your homework - you seem to be quite a handful. But today your going to account
for your offences and here the accounting is done with the help of my cane!
Wasn’t there something else?” she asked thoughtfully, opening my file again.
“Ah, yes, here it is! Tell me, young man, how often do you masturbate?”
I felt the blood rush to my face. “I - I - ah, er - never really, I mean -
ah, hardly ever,” I stammered asham-edly. SLAP, SLAP. She slapped my face
hard left and right. “Don’t you dare to lie to me!” she thundered.
“Do you want me to summon Mrs F. (the caretaker’s wife) and the maid to refresh
your memory?” She had picked up the crop and flexed it menacingly between
her hands. “Or I can whip the truth out of you, if that’s the way you
prefer it. Well then, how often?” Barely audible I admitted that I
masturbated daily. “Why not tell the truth right away?” she smiled
satisfied. “We found enough stains in your linen and your underwear to
convict you. But you could have saved yourself a lot of trouble with a quick
confession, believe me! Today I am going to cure you of your disgusting
habits, I can assure you!”
Frau Dr. Bergmann sat down behind her desk again and made a few notes in my
file. Then she picked up her black leather gloves and slapped them lightly
against the palm of her left hand. “Right,” she said, “it’s time to
announce your punishment. For the ten demerit points you will receive
three dozen strokes with the senior cane. After that we will deal with
your masturbation. And finally you will receive forty strokes with the
dres-sage whip for lying to me. You can look forward to a few very
interesting hours.” She glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner.
“I guess we will be through around one o’clock. By the way, I excused you
for lunch today. Now, I want you to go downstairs to the bathroom and
strip completely. Wait there for me. I suppose you have head from
the other students what happens there first, haven’t you?” Indeed, news
had travelled fast: Prior to a whipping the Headmistress always administered a
punishment enema. I had never before had an enema and was therefore very
frightened. She looked at me sternly. “You know what I am talking
about?” - “Yes, ma’am,” I replied timidly. “Well, say it, then. I
want to hear it from you!” - “I-I -er- I will get a p-punishment enema, ma’am,”
I stammered. “Very good, my boy, a punishment enema (she rolled the word
appreciatively on her tongue as if she was tasting a rare wine). Have you
ever had one? No? Oh, then you really have something to look forward
to. I know students who would rather have a double ration with the cane if
they could avoid the enema. But I know no mercy there! There is
nothing better to prepare naughty little boys for their punishment than a nice
soapy enema, you will see. Right, then, off to the bathroom with you!”
she said and gestured to a small spiral staircase in the corner of her study.
Anxiously I descended the narrow stairs that led to a small corridor with three
doors. One of the doors was labelled ‘Bathroom’ the second ‘Punishment
Room’. There was no label on the third door. Entering through the
first door I found myself in a spacious white tiled room without windows.
As I looked around I noticed the usual bathroom furniture: a wash basin with a
large mirror above it, a glass shower cabin, a toilet, cupboards, a chest with
several drawers, a chair. No bath tub. The room was spotlessly
clean, almost clinical which increased my fear. Quickly I stripped and
folded my clothes on the chair. The bathroom was quite warm, also the
floor tiles. I waited.
After a short while the door opened and the Headmistress entered, leather gloves
and riding-crop in her right hand. “Ready?” she asked, measuring my
coolly. “Yes, ma’am” I said. She placed gloves and crop on the top
of the chest, opened one of the cupboards and retrieved a long white
rubber apron which she put on. The apron covered the front of her beautiful
leather skirt completely. Then she took a pair of bright red rubber gloves
from the top drawer of the chest and pulled them on slowly. The gear for
the enema was in one of the other cupboards: a cylindrically shaped glass
recipient with engraved measurements able to hold about two pints of liquid.
From the bottom a length of thin black rubber hose
protruded maybe seven feet long ending in a six inch tube made of hard
rubber. Between the hose and the tube was a small tap to regulate the flow
of wa-ter. Frau Dr. Bergheim attached the recipient to a hook on the wall,
about 6 feet from the floor. Then she filled a jug with hand-warm water,
cut a walnut-sized piece of soap from a large block with a knife and added it to
the water. She found a spoon and stirred the solution until foam started
to appear. The jug was emptied into the enema recipient and she carefully
opened the tap to release the air trapped in the hose. “We want to fill
your tummy with soapy water, not with air, don’t we,” she explained cheerfully.
“Ready now. Get down on your knees, spread your legs and bend forward.
Elbows and arms on the floor, head down and stick your bottom out. Don’t
clench your buttocks!” She slapped my right buttock hard with her rubber
gloved hand. “Don’t clench,” I said. “Do I need to get the crop right
now?” The slap seemed to have released my tension. She was
satisfied. Out of the
corner of my left eye I saw her greasing the enema tube with Vaseline, then I
felt her greased finger probe and lubricate my anus. She withdrew her
finger and slowly inserted the tube. “Now hold still! I’ll start the
flow. Don’t dare to move an inch!”
Carefully she opened the tap. I felt the soap suds entering my bowels. An
unpleasant pressure and a dragging pain started to build. More water.
I felt my tummy swelling. There was a gargling noise in my intestines.
“P-please, stop, I’m bursting!” I whined. She laughed, further opening the
tap to increase the flow of the liquid. Finally my tummy had taken the
whole enema. The pain was terrible. The Headmistress found a rubber
plug, thumb-thick about five inches long, in one of the drawers and showed it to
me. The plug had leather straps and buckles attached to one end, so that -
once in-serted in the anus - it could be fixed. “I’m going to pull out the
enema tube now and insert this plug. Be careful! If you let out a single
drop, I’ll give you an even bigger en-ema!” she warned me. After
inserting and attaching the anus-plug she ordered me to stay in my position. She
removed the rubber gloves and left the room.
Waiting was an eternity. Words cannot describe the pressure in my tummy.
The most severe whipping could not be as bad as this (well, that is what I
thought then!). Cold sweat appeared on my forehead. At last the door
opened again and Frau Dr. Bergmann entered. “Please, ma’am, please I can’t
bear this any longer!” I begged, “it hurts so terribly and I
urgently must …” - “Be quiet! How dare you?” she hissed. “You have had
your enema exactly twenty minutes. Actually I was going to remove the plug
now. But now I will extend your punishment to thirty minutes. This
should teach you to obey and only to talk when you are asked!” She turned
and left the room.
My suffering continued. At last she came back. This time I was wise
enough to shut up. “Well, how did you like it?” she asked my brightly.
“I’m going to remove the plug now and you can go to the loo. After that
you will receive a rinsing enema. Relax, you will not have to keep that long,
it’s just to rinse the soap out of you. She put on her red rubber gloves
again and removed the plug from my anus. Gingerly I tiptoed to the toilet
and sat down. When I had finally emptied my bowels, I thought my
intestines had been turned inside out, but I was glad not to feel that terrible
pressure anymore. Meanwhile the Headmistress had prepared a fresh enema
with clear water. The whole procedure started again, but this time she let
me go to the toilet as soon as I had taken all in. “You can have a shower
afterwards.” she said. “Take your time! When you’re finished
you will proceed to the ‘Punishment Room’. Have a look around there at
your leisure. You may touch all the implements you will find, if you like.
That might give you an idea what I have in store for you.” She discarded
the rubber gloves, hung the rubber apron back into the cupboard and left the
room.
Chapter II: Warm-up
Curiously I opened the door to the ‘Punishment Room’ . The inside of the
door was pad-ded like you sometimes see in a GP’s office. Behind the door
was a second one, also padded. It was absolute dark except for an
illuminated light switch. I flicked the switch on and immediately the room
was bathed in brilliant light from several spotlights embed-ded in the ceiling.
Closing the door behind me I looked around, my heart beating fast. What I
saw made me hold my breath. The room was rather large, maybe 16 by 20 ft
and about ten feet high. There were no windows but the air was quite
fresh, so I guessed there was an air-conditioning set somewhere. The
wall opposite the door was mirrored from top to bottom which made the room
appear even bigger. The other walls were lined with cork plates to make
the room sound-proof. On the wall to my left near the mirror there was a
wooden ladder, a little over three feet wide, the strong rungs maybe eight
inches apart; the kind you see in gym halls. Next to it was a large clock
with a second hand. Opposite you could see a large selection of spanking
implements hung neatly on hooks fixed to the wall: riding crops in various
lengths, dressage whips, paddles made of dark gleaming wood or thick leather,
cats o’nine tails, carpet beaters, braided rawhide crops, single tail and multi-thonged
whips, dog-whips, and so on. In an umbrella stand stood a
dozen or more rattan canes in various lengths and strengths, some with crooked
handles, others with straight leather covered grips.
A peculiar piece of furniture stood in the centre of the room. It was a long
narrow leather padded bench. In the middle it was raised. At the sloping
ends leather cuffs had been attached. A broad leather strap was fastened
on the side. I had never seen a whipping bench before but I recognised it
easily enough as such. Secured at hands and feet with the leather strap
fastened tightly above my bottom, I would not be able to move an inch to avert
the strokes of the cane. Two comfortable looking leather armchairs, a low
coffee table and an antique mahogany chest completed the furniture of the
‘Punishment Room’.
While I was still admiring the interior of the room and was anxiously testing
several of the canes for their flexibility, wondering which one she would use on
my bottom, I heard her voice behind me: “Well, my boy, I hope you have had
time to take a good look around. Let’s now proceed to the main attraction of
today’s punishment. I did promise you three dozen strokes with the senior
cane, didn’t I?” My head whipped around. Frau Dr. Bergmann was standing at
the door, dressed the same as before in her study: long wide green leather
skirt, navy sweater, gleaming black
leather boots. In contrast to be-fore she had piled up her beautiful chestnut
hair severely. In her right hand she held her black leather ‘punishment’
gloves which she slapped against her left palm several times while she looked at
me. “Yes, ma’am, three dozen strokes,” I replied, almost trembling from
fear. “Actually, that is pretty mild for a list of offences like yours.
Well? What are you waiting for? Get yourself over the whipping
bench!” Hastily I complied. She put her gloves down on the
coffee table and secured my hands and feet firmly with the leather cuffs.
Then she buckled the strap across my rump very tightly. The way the
whipping bench was positioned I would be able to watch my own caning in the wall
mir-ror if I lifted my head. The Headmistress went to the umbrella stand
and took her time to select a cane. At last she seemed to have found one
that suited her purpose: three feet long and perhaps half an inch thick.
“That is exactly what I need to stripe you bot-tom,” she said with a thin smile.
She laid the cane down on the table. Slowly she pulled on her gloves.
Satisfied that she had smoothed out even the tiniest wrinkle, she stepped to the
wall and took a sturdy black leather paddle of oval shape from a hook.
“For the warm-up,” she informed me. Quickly she stood beside me and swung
the paddle hard across my right buttock. She paddled in short intervals,
aiming for the same spot five or six times before changing to the other cheek.
Very soon my poor bottom felt like it was on fire! I could not suppress a
loud groan at every stroke, but that seemed only to encourage her to hit me
harder.
In the mirror I watched my own paddling. Although the pain built up to an
almost un-bearable level, I could but admire the grace of her movements as she
whipped me in a steady rhythm. Her right arm rose and fell with the
regularity of a clockwork and her follow-through would have won her a cup at a
tennis tournament! She kept on paddling my cheeks and thighs until I cried
out for mercy. At last, after what seemed an eternity to me, she stopped.
“Thank you, ma’am,” I whined, “thank you!” - “Who said I have finished?”
came her reply. “I was only catching my breath (HER breath! What about
MINE?!). Stop crying like a baby, that’s not going to help you at all.
I know exactly what naughty boys like you need!” And again that terrible
paddle landed on my bottom which was by now radiating heat like a stove.
After what had probably been well over one hundred swats she stopped and hung
the paddle back on its hook.
Chapter III: The caning
“Right,” the Headmistress said, “I will now explain to you the rules of your
caning. You had better listen carefully because I am not going to repeat
myself. You will receive thirty-six strokes with the cane in intervals of
exactly one minute. Thus you will have ufficient time to recover between
two strokes. Need I say that I will apply the strokes with full force?
To make it a bit more interesting for you, I will blindfold you, so you will not
see the strokes coming down. Now, pay attention: from the first
stroke to the last I do not want you to utter a single sound, do you understand?
No sound at all. I demand absolute self-control! For every sound I hear
you will receive a demerit point and for every demerit point you will receive
three extra strokes. Should you accumulate eight demerits or more, I will
use this braided rawhide crop instead of the cane. Believe me, you don’t want to
feel that!” She had taken the crop from the hook and was holding it in her
gloved hands. Then she swished it through the air in front of my face a
couple of times. The high-pitched whistling sound was absolutely terrifying.
“One more thing,” she added, “I want you to count the strokes silently.
When I have finished the three dozen, you will say ‘thirty-six, thank you,
ma’am’. But be careful: if you miscount and thank me BEFORE you have
received the full lot, I will start again. Any questions?” - “No, ma’am,”
I said. “I would have thought not. Well then, let’s begin!” She
blindfolded me with a thick black cloth and said comfortingly: “In a little more
than half an hour you will have it behind you, if you behave well.”
The first stroke exploded on my bottom. The pain was beyond anything I had
ever ex-perienced before. It was as if a white-hot wire had been placed on
my skin. I could not suppress a piercing cry. I had seen her with
her cane in action before, but the strength with which she had delivered that
stroke was unbelievable. “One demerit point,” she informed me quietly.
“If I were you I would try to control myself and not to cry out after every
stroke. A hundred and eight strokes with the rawhide crop is not something
you really want, believe me, even if I would spread it over several sessions!”
I believed her! During the interval before the second stroke she tapped my
bottom several times lightly with the cane and laid it across both cheeks as if
to take measure for the next stroke. My fear grew immensely. Then
the second stroke. Somehow I managed to take it with-out crying, also the
next several strokes. At some point, however, the pain was too strong and
I emitted a small groan. “Demerit number two” came her prompt announce-ment.
Another problem I had was not to miscount. To be on the safe side I decided to
allow for five extra strokes. I wanted to avoid stopping her at 35 and
having her start again. Forty-one strokes still seemed a better option
than over seventy. At last the re-leasing “thirty-six, thank you, ma’am”
came from my lips. The Headmistress took the blindfold from my
eyes. “You have received exactly thirty-nine strokes,” she told me.
So much for my planning! “I noted seven demerit points, that means
twenty-one extra strokes with the cane. To make a change I will apply them
lengthways. That should produce an interesting pattern. But before
that I will grant you a break of five minutes. Frau Dr. Bergmann put the
cane on the table and sat down in one of the armchairs. Slowly she peeled
off her gloves and placed them on her lap, stroking the soft leather caringly.
The break passed too quickly. Without saying a word the Headmistress put
on her gloves again and picked up the dreaded cane. “This time you may cry
if you want,” she in-formed me. “Also, you don’t have to count, all you
have to do is to present your bottom. That should not be too difficult,” she
laughed. Stepping in front of me, she lifted the hem of her leather skirt
with her left hand and stuck my neck firmly between her boots. Then the
cane rained down again. No one minute intervals this time! The strokes
followed each other quickly alternating on the left and right cheek and thigh.
The pain was worst where the tip of the cane made contact with the lower part of
my thighs! Every stroke caused me to howl, but that did not deter my
tormentress. I felt the vicelike pressure of her boots increasing around
my neck: apparently she was quite aroused, and she put even more force into her
strokes. After she had slashed the last of these fiendish strokes on my
buttocks she freed my head and began to release me from the whipping bench.
She seemed quite excited. “Get up and into the corner!” she told me and
left the room rather in a hurry. On my way to the corner I glanced at the
clock. It was 11:37 a.m.
Chapter IV: The Punishment For Self-abuse
I stood in the corner for about three quarters of an hour before the
Headmistress re-turned. “Come here!” she ordered, We have to discuss your
habit of masturbating. To-day I will allow you to relieve yourself, but I
want to watch it. Also I demand that you tell me exactly what you think
while you are doing it. When you have ejaculated you will receive a severe
punishment for your clandestine self-abuse. Come on, kneel down be-fore me
and begin!” She pulled on her gloves again. I hesitated and prayed
for the ground to open and swallow me up. It didn’t. “Well,”
she said, “what are you waiting for? Wait, I’m going to help you!”
She picked a slim cane from its hook, only twenty inches long and not thicker
than a pencil, and swished it through the air. “I’ll warm up your dirty
little paws, you will lose your scruples to wank yourself off very quickly, be-lieve
me. Hold out your left hand!” She gripped my wrist hard with her
left hand and slashed the little cane down across my palm and fingers. “One,
two, three, four… stretch out your fingers or you will get it on your knuckles!
Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten!” The cane strokes burned like fire on
my palm and fingers. “Other hand!” Another ten sizzlers. “You
think you can do it now?” she asked me and exchanged the cane for a black
leather riding crop. “Kneel down and begin!”
I did as she had told me and began to stroke my dick. The sight of this woman
dressed in severe leather made me become hard very rapidly. From time to
time she tapped the crop against her leather skirt or her boots and smiled at
me. “Looking at a leather clad lady seems to be quite a turn on for you,”
she remarked. “Are you perhaps dreaming of ME in leather when you play
with yourself in bed?” I felt the blood rushing to my head as I nodded.
Shortly after my semen spurted out and covered the floor. “You see? It
works. Get a towel from the top drawer of that chest and clean this up!
After that go and wash yourself in the bathroom and get back here quickly, or
else…!” I made it in four minutes.
“Next time you want ‘to take matters in your own hands’ you will drop a note in
my let-ter-box. I will - sometimes - allow you. Sometimes, of
course. I will not. In the future I will always watch you doing ‘it’,
there will be no more ‘clandestine operations’. Now I will administer the
punishment for your past sins. Let it be a warning to you!” She
gestured to the whipping bench and told me to sit down at the foot-end with my
legs spread, feet on the floor and hands behind my back. After she had
secured my legs at the corners of the bench using the leather cuffs, she
produced a pair of steel hand-cuffs from the ma-hogany chest and clicked them
around my wrists. “I will give your butt a rest and punish the part of
your body that is nearest to the ‘offending organ’, I mean the inside of your
thighs,” she announced.
Frau Dr. Bergmann went to the wall where the punishment implements were lined up
to chose a suitable instrument for my paddling. I gasped in
horror when I saw her choice: it was sort of a paddle made of heavy tan
leather, maybe 3/8 of an inch thick and twelve inches long. It had the shape of
a large human hand. Holes had been drilled into the ‘fin-gers’ and the ‘palm’ to
prevent air cushioning the fall of the paddle. It was a frightening
instrument to look at and I could imagine the damage it would inflict to the
tender skin of my thighs. The Headmistress had noticed my look.
“Yes,” she said, “this ‘leather hand’ is exactly what is needed to cure naughty
little boys like you of their disgusting habits. I promise you the marks
of this instrument will remind you of your ‘sins’ for the next three weeks!”
I watched her as she smoothed her gloves again carefully. Satisfied there
were no wrin-kles on the shiny black leather, she stepped to my right side and
laid the cold heavy leather of the paddle on the inside of my right thigh, very
near the upper end. She raised her arm high above her head and slammed the
leather down with snake-like speed. The stroke rang out like a pistol
shot. I registered an immense burning pain and gasped loud. “How
does it feel?” she asked with a satisfied smile, not expecting an an-swer.
Then she continued. Stroke after stroke fell on my thigh in intervals of
three or four seconds. The enormous heat building up in my skin was unbearable.
Secured to the bench I could not escape. I threw my head back and cried
out my pain which did not seem to move her. The ‘leather hand’ produced
angry red blots on my skin which soon turned crimson and dark blue. After
fifteen merciless strokes she changed sides and punished my left thigh in the
same manner without losing a second. Tears were running down my cheeks and
I was sobbing loudly. When she had untied me I was almost un-able to rise.
She sent me to the corner ‘to reflect on my behaviour’ and left the room.
Chapter V: Whipped For Lying
I almost jumped when I heard her voice behind me: “We have to deal with
the matter of your lying to me now. What did I promise you for that?”
I turned around to look at her. She was standing before me in her
wonderful leather skirt, gloves dangling from her right hand. “F-forty
strokes w-with the d-dressage whip, m-ma’am.” I almost choked saying it.
“Ah, yes, the dressage whip (she visibly enjoyed pronouncing the word
‘dressage’). Well, that is certainly something for you to look forward
to.” Stepping to the wall, she chose among the several dressage whips that
hung there in a row. She decided on a vicious looking very thin black one,
about three and a half feet long. It was made of fi-bre-glass and had a
length of whipcord attached to its tip. Forty strokes with this in-strument
would be hell! The Headmistress slowly started to put on her gloves again,
the whip tucked under her left arm. Swishing it through the air several
times and then bend-ing it into a full circle to demonstrate its flexibility,
she said: “I don’t think that you will EVER lie to me again after this
whipping. Now, face that ladder, stay three feet away from it, spread your
legs! Wider, yes, that’s good! Grip the rung, no, not that one, the one below,
yes, exactly. Move back one step and stick out your bottom! Stay where you are
and don’t move until I tell you!”
I was now standing before the leather with my upper torso in a horizontal
position. Out of the corner of my right eye I noticed her taking up her position
dead behind me. She laid the tip of the dressage whip on my right flank to
take her measure. I realised she was going to whip the one area that was
not bruised and wealed yet: the outside of my buttocks and thighs. I felt
the whip being lifted and a split second later the first stroke exploded on my
skin. The whipcord bit into my soft skin. The pain was unbelievable.
I let out a piercing cry but remembered - just in time - not to let go of the
ladder. In the mirror to my right I saw a long bright red weal erupting on
my flank. It turned dark red almost immediately. “One,” I heard her
count. I watched her turning slightly to the left and preparing for a
backhand stroke on my left side. The second stroke hit me on the same
level as the first. Again I could not suppress a howl. I gripped the
ladder with all my strength. I trembled and felt sweat starting on my
forehead and under my arms. Through a cloud of fog I heard her count:
“Two”. “Yes,” she added, “this is the right way to cure little boys of
lying to their teachers. You’re welcome to tell the other students in your
class how lying is treated here, maybe it will make them think twice!”
The strokes fell alternating right and left. My whip-mistress took her time.
She placed the strokes with astonishing (under different circumstances I might
have said ‘admira-ble’) precision, each one just below the preceding one.
At least she gave me a few min-ute’s break after the first ten strokes.
When I felt her taking measure with the whip I closed my eyes in desperation,
but during the short intervals between two strokes I felt compelled to look into
the mirror to my right. I was fascinated by the pattern of weals she was
applying on my buttocks and thighs. The weals on the top had already
swollen and turned dark blue, but not a single one had burst.
Unmoved by my cries of pain the Headmistress counted the strokes and seasoned
the procedure with mocking remarks, while I squirmed under her whip.
Finally she stopped. The last weal appeared just inches above my left
knee; the outsides of my buttocks and thighs were marked with twenty parallel
weals on each side, it looked like she had drawn them with a ruler.
In the mirror I watched the Headmistress as she hung the whip
back on the wall. She inspected the result of her punishment work from all
angles while I was still trembling and sobbing. After a few minutes she
said: “Get up, we are finished.” I rose with diffi-culties.
She extended her right hand to kiss it and smiled at me. “You may show me
your gratitude for your punishment.” I fell on my knees before her and
pressed my lips on the soft leather of her gloves wetting it with my tears.
Epilogue:
Sixteen years later I met Frau Dr. Bergmann unexpectedly at a teacher’s congress
(yes, I had meanwhile become a teacher myself). She had hardly changed.
If possible she was more beautiful than I remembered her. Apparently her
preference for leather had not changed either: her hour-glass figure was encased
in a smart black leather suit, she was wearing black stilettos and black leather
gloves. When I told her my name she remem-bered her former student well
and during the first coffee break we separated from the crowd and retired to an
alcove. Conversation turned to the topic of discipline and corpo-ral
punishment very quickly and Frau Dr. Bergmann admitted to me that while she had
liked teaching, she had enjoyed punishing students even more. “I was
always looking forward to punishment Saturdays,” she told me, stroking the
gleaming leather of the gloves she had placed in her lap with her perfectly
manicured hands. “The sound of a cane or of leather striking bare skin was
the most beautiful music in the world for me. Still is, for that matter.”
Because of the change of laws regarding corporal punishment in schools she
had sold ‘The Elms’ two years ago and was now tutoring private pupils her own
house in a town not too far from were I live. “I am teaching adult
students only. People who want to brush up their English or French or have
problems with concentration in their jobs. They all agree with my old
fashioned discipline methods, of course. I do not charge them much, I have
always had enough means to live in style.”
I decided there and then something needed to be done on my French and that my
con-centration had not been to good lately.