One of my bottoms has unfortunately not been behaving himself. As part of his punishment, I asked him to write an account of his punishment session, for all to see. Did he learn his lesson? I’m going to let you decide…
“Recently I was summoned to an appointment with Miss Haldane. This took me a bit by surprise because although I have visited her several times, I had never been summoned before. The appointment was a lot earlier than I had planned and caught me a little on the hop because I had fallen behind on one of my performance improvement plans. I had hoped to regain some motivation for the work I was doing, take a different approach and then get back on track before the next session. This was now not possible. Based on prior experience and the fact that my performance can be tested I thought it best to let her know of my lack of progress in advance of the meeting. I knew this would not go down particularly well and had a certain amount of dread prior to the meeting.
As someone not unduly burdened with false modesty, Miss Haldane had made it evidently clear that she had achieved a considerable amount in a relatively short time. And this had been borne of clear thinking and purpose, hard work, determination and bravery. My rather lackadaisical, make-it-up-as-you-go-along-and-hope-for-the-best approach didn’t cut much ice. And to be honest, that was why I needed her: to help me move up a few gears and make the best of my potential. The long drive, which was less fraught than normal, and the fact that it was a nice day eased my nerves a little, and I was generally looking forward to seeing her. Those of you who have experience of Miss Haldane will know that her expression and opening words on greeting tend to give a strong indication of what is coming, and I got the distinct impression I would be made to suffer quite severely for my shortcomings. An arsenal of heavy-duty punishment weaponry on the coffee table provided another clue. She didn’t want to see my report or listen to how well the other area of improvement was going. Oh dear!
As usual, the first part of the meeting was quite convivial, sitting in the garden, drinking a nice cup of tea and engaging in entertaining chit chat. I would happily have dragged this out to take up the entire appointment, but then she said, ‘Shall we get started? A rhetorical question, because I didn’t have a choice. I was ordered to strip down to my pants and told to bend over a large wooden kitchen table. Curiously, this had an A4 notepad and pen positioned in front of me. Miss Haldane started off with a few cane strokes that had me whimpering straight away. I’m not the bravest of people and I know what she can do, so I was quite quickly in a bit of a panic. I know also that there is very little point in pleading with her once she is set on a course of action. I had already resigned myself to a hard beating but couldn’t help muttering for divine intervention. She pulled down my pants and my sense of panic multiplied several times. She explained that the notepad was for me to write lines. I can’t remember exactly what I was to write, but it was a lengthy sentence based on not carrying out the agreed performance plan and not informing her of this fact immediately. I started to write as the punishment continued. It became increasingly difficult to concentrate as the cane strokes cut into me. She told me that the strokes would continue until I had finished 6 lines. This may sound simple, but the strokes were hard with random amounts of time between them. Some of the strokes bit into my backside with such force that there was almost a delayed reaction while they fried my nerve endings and pain radiated through my flesh. I found it hard to write while this was happening. Then the cane would be placed across my bottom again and I would immediately start to panic. It’s possible that my handwriting was becoming less legible. Sometimes the next stroke was quite rapid, which increased my sense of terror. Sometimes there would be a tap-tapping of the cane on my bottom that made me make involuntary movements as I anticipated the next stroke. These movements were to earn me additional cane strokes.
I finished the lines and breathed a sigh of relief. But then she gave me another sentence, similarly lengthy and admonishing as the previous one, that was also to be written out six times. I don’t know if she changed canes, but the modus operandi was similar with her varying the length of time between strokes, their placement and which side she would administer them from. At one point I was in such a state that I think I started laughing due to hysteria. With the lines completed, she then dished out the additional punishment for moving – six or seven strokes that I had to count and thank her for. She rubbed my bottom a little (she doesn’t allow me to do it), which I was grateful for, but then set about me with a small leather paddle (I think that’s what is was, because I was made to face forward). This was comparatively pleasant, but I was glad when it was all over, or so I thought.
Confusingly, I was ordered over to a large rug and told to kneel and hold out my hands. I noticed,with an escalating level of fear, that she was holding a large, meaty leather tawse. I had encountered this beast before and couldn’t bear the thought of having my hands beaten with it. I was relieved when she simply placed it across my outstretched hands and proceeded to give me a stern lecture. It was not, unfortunately, the end of the beating. She told me to bend over, head touching the carpet, bum in the air, presented for a severe pummelling with the aforementioned tawse. Several times I twisted onto the floor, only to be ordered to get back into position. I was in a bit of a state; possibly a fairly unedifying, grovelling spectacle. Unusually, Miss Haldane seemed to take pity on me for a moment and gave me a glass of water. It could be, however, that this was to get me refreshed for more punishment. I was told to resume the position and was beaten with another of her canes. Plenty of swishing to increase the dread. The caning finished with counting and thanking her for the last six strokes.
I then waited on my knees in front of her. She looked down at me with considerable disdain and I awaited another lecture. Instead she took me completely by surprise by slapping me across the face. In fact, it was less of a slap than an open-handed thump that rattled my jaw and resonated through my skull. Ever a fan of alliteration, I pondered how such a pocket-sized pugilist could produce that power. I then remembered that physical fitness was one of her areas of expertise and that she worked out several times a week. I was awoken from my reverie, and mild concussion, by a hug. The ordeal was definitely over. I had got the message that she was not happy with my behaviour; and I admit my punishment was well deserved.
It was then almost like a switch had been turned and we settled down to another cuppa and a pleasant chat. On the car journey home, I reflected on what had occurred and the messages she had given me. I will, as ever, attempt to take these on board, as I know that she’s right and I don’t relish a similarly brutal thrashing. Human nature being what it is, however, I cannot promise that I will not lapse. That’s partly why I need to see someone with her unique set of skills. She is more than happy to steer me onto the correct path.
Later that day, I inspected the damage and it was not a pretty sight and very sore. Several days later, the dull ache is still a reminder. I need to get my act together before the next summons.”