by Susan Thomas
The Woman walked down the corridor as so many had walked before her... carrying a birch. She had no idea where she was, nor yet how she had come to be in this place, but she did know why she was there: it was to be punished. She had only a very vague idea about what she had been doing before she was "summoned" to this place to be met by The Housekeeper.
Had you questioned The Housekeeper, she would have told you that the women were often confused. They came from their office desks, from soulless production lines, from energetic classrooms, from their beds where they had been sleeping (these were the most confused as they still thought they were dreaming) and even from their baths, whereupon they arrived naked and dripping.
The women were from every conceivable type of background, and they varied in age and looks, in educational attainment, in aptitude and attitude. There was only one thing they shared in common... their feeling of guilt. It was their guilt that made the summons possible.
The Housekeeper who met them was a motherly sort of woman. Plump and kind, she dealt with their confusion with endless patience. A few made a pretence of not understanding why they were there, but she lowered her glasses, and gave them such a penetrating, albeit understanding look that they soon gave up such folly. Although most asked questions, very few received answers, instead they were given short instructions.
"Take this birch and walk straight down the corridor to the very end. There you will find the door to the Study. Make sure you knock and wait until you are invited to come in. It would be very rude to The Gentleman just to barge in."
Many of the women had never seen a birch before, but all were able to work out what it was for, all understood the nature of the punishment they were about to receive. The Housekeeper warned them that they would have to receive their punishment on unclothed skin. "The Gentleman will tell you what to take off. I don't know what he will say because it depends on the nature of your error. It may be that you will have to strip off completely. Don't be embarrassed if you have to do that, he is like a doctor you know."
The corridor was really quite unusual: clearly Victorian it had a tiled floor along its entire length. An intricate pattern of red, black and green tiles stretched out giving a feeling of spaciousness. The walls were half panelled but unusually the panelling was painted a classic cream colour: the wallpaper above was a rich William Morris. There were very few paintings or ornaments but instead small tables along the length carried vases filled with flower arrangements. The feeling was of warmth and light. It was corridor that normally would invite dalliance but not for the women. They had a birch to deliver and guilt to be dealt with.
The Woman had reached the study door and hesitated. It was not fear of punishment for she knew that the torment of the birch could never equal the torment of the guilt she carried. Her hesitation was to ensure that she was carrying herself well: shoulders back, head up and tummy in just as her grandmother had taught her. She knocked and heard the words, "Come in." The voice was not at all harsh; it was deep, pleasant and carried both authority and kindness.
The Woman entered the room, and held out the birch to the gentleman who stood there, but he made no effort to take it so she cradled it much as one would a baby. He was tall, with dark hair going grey that was brushed right back from his forehead. He was undoubtedly good looking but it was his presence that one noticed most. He had an enormous authority, but combined with a deep understanding and compassion. No woman would ever have lied to him, not because of fear, but simply because it seemed so futile.
The room was huge, and opposite the door was a large bay window that overlooked a garden. It was lined with built in bookcases, all with glazed doors to protect the books. A large fireplace was against one wall with two deep leather armchairs. In the bay was a large desk with a number of books and papers on it, and in the large carpeted space in the middle of the room was a large, extremely solid table. It had nothing on it at all and no chairs for anyone to sit on and work at it. The Woman instinctively knew why it was there.
The Gentleman looked at her with sadness. He would question her, although he already knew why she was there, and then he would chastise her. Most of the women screamed and cried (although very few cried for mercy), the noise of their chastisement echoing down the corridor and through the oak doors to reach The Housekeeper's ears. She would smile... nothing nasty at all, it was a smile of understanding. She knew exactly what they were going through, and would say, "It is for your own good, dear."
The Gentleman questioned all the women in much the same way. He found women to have a much greater sense of guilt than men, but they still needed to be questioned before punishment. The purpose of the questioning was firstly to establish precisely what it was they had done wrong so that they could understand and acknowledge the reality of their errors, and not just carry a vague guilt. After that, they had to accept responsibility for their errors; in that, they were no better than men.
"So little progress over the centuries," he thought. "What was it Eve had said? 'It was the serpent that made me do it.' Today it is usually the husband or boyfriend that they blame."
Having accepted the responsibility, it was a short step to repentance. When that was achieved, he proceeded swiftly to the punishment that would give them the release that they needed.
He looked fondly at The Woman before him. He had to spend so little time questioning her for more than most she had a clear understanding of her errors and responsibilities. Nevertheless, he must punish her severely, for her errors were grievous ones.
"You understand that I must chastise you severely? It is for your own good."
The Woman nodded. She was calm as she stood with a natural grace that made her beautiful.
"You must remove all of your clothes, your errors demand it. Fold your clothes neatly and place them on an armchair. Then I wish you to stand in the corner, holding this book that I shall give you. In it I have already written the details of your errors and the punishment to be given you. You may keep it so that it can serve both as a reminder and a warning."
The Woman nodded. She stooped to remove her shoes, and placed them neatly under one of the armchairs. Her hands went to the buttons on her blouse, and she began to undo them. It was as if she was drugged, and she couldn't seem to hurry, but just slowly and methodically undid the buttons. The Gentleman made no attempt to look away. She removed her blouse and folded it before placing it on the seat of the armchair. Her long blonde hair flowed over her shoulders. She had slim broad shoulders, and her skin was flawless and creamy. Without her natural grace and carriage she was beautiful, but the combination was breathtaking. The Gentleman watched her undress with the appreciation normally reserved for a great work of art.
The Woman's hands went to the button and zip on her hip, and loosened her skirt. It was a fine quality wool skirt with a lining that made a rich swishing sound as she lowered it and stepped out of it. For some reason, she seemed to think that she had to undress in the same spot in which she had stood while he questioned her. This meant that for every item she removed, she needed to walk over to the chair to place the clothing. The Gentleman enjoyed watching her move; the precise grace she brought to the simplest of movements was a joy to watch. She was now clad only in a cream-coloured bra with matching panties. Unusually (most of the women wore tights), she was wearing a suspender belt that matched the rest of her underwear and a pair of stockings. This remaining clothing seemed to accentuate her excellent figure, and drew the eyes to the movement of her shapely bottom.
Now The Woman undid the clasps, and extending each leg in turn, removed the stockings. The actions were almost poetic, and the bare legs justified the poetry. Slim and shapely, they had the same flawless cream as her shoulders. Now she reached behind her to undo the bra; The Gentleman held his breath, hoping that her breasts would not disappoint. They did not. They were perfection in shape and colour with beautiful roseate nipples. As she walked back to her spot clad only in her panties, The Gentleman took in her fi
gure, and thought that he had never had such a beauty here in his study. Her hands went to the last remaining item of clothing, and she slipped them gracefully down her legs before stepping out of them. She showed no trace of embarrassment even though The Gentleman stared (a rare occurrence for him) intently at that area they had covered. She was not shaven but neatly trimmed, and the colour of her hair was golden; any man looking at her could not fail to be aroused.
The Gentleman stepped forward, and gave her the book. It had her name handwritten on the front in a beautiful flowing script. "Take this and stand in that corner. Hold the book to your heart as a symbol of your repentance. I shall tell you when it is time for your chastisement to commence."
Meekly, with head bowed, she took the book, and walked to the corner. The Gentleman watched her shapely bottom glide across, and began to wonder if she might not be the one he could ask to be his wife. She was intelligent and beautiful, and he longed for someone to share the burden of his work and (of course) his bed. The thought of The Woman sharing his bed was suddenly very appealing. He took himself in hand immediately; first came his duty to The Woman. If she took her punishment well then that was the time to think of other things.
"It is time," he called. "Please step over to the table." He indicated to her that she should stand at one end and bend over, holding on to the far side.
The Woman looked doubtful as the table seemed so big. As if reading her mind, The Gentleman said quietly, "It will be perfect for you. It is perfect for each woman that takes her punishment here."
For the first time a look of anxiety crossed her face, and The Gentleman feared a flaw in her perfection. However, he was reassured by her words. "You won't spare me will you? You will chastise me severely." He smiled approvingly; indeed she did seem to have the ideal qualities to be his wife.
She bent across the table, and gripped the far edge as instructed. The Gentleman stood to her left and rested the end of the birch in the centre of her right bottom cheek. He took a step back, raised the birch, and brought it down with a strong smack. A huge mark appeared on her bottom, and she gave a soft gasp. The Gentleman liked the familiar sound of swishing that the birch made as it went through the air and the shrack sound as it smacked across the bare bottom. He gave her the second smack with no interval and again the soft gasp; her right bottom cheek was already quite red as he gave her the third. The cheeks moved in response to the smack, not as a cane produces, but with results that are much more evident.
The Woman continued to gasp softly for each of the first twelve smacks. The Gentleman changed sides in order to ensure that her left cheek was amply punished. Throughout the twelve smacks he gave in this position, The Woman gave soft gasps from time to time. Then he returned to her left side, and began again. At each swish-shrack of the birch, her bottom became more red and inflamed with a criss-cross of fine red lines with tiny deeper red marks that looked a little like blood spots. As he proceeded to administer the third batch of twelve smacks, The Woman's gasps became more noticeable, and the very still position she had held was lost to the jumping movements of her bottom and the clenching and unclenching of her hands. After forty eight strokes, The Woman's bottom was highly inflamed, with nothing to be seen of the creamy soft skin. Instead, there was a tracery of harsh red lines with clear blood spots forming.
The Gentleman took a fresh birch, and now applied the swish-shrack of the birch to the back of her thighs until he had transformed them to the same condition as the cheeks of her bottom. Swish-shrack... swish-shrack... at each smack in this part of the punishment, The Woman cried out, and her legs jumped and trembled. Finally, he felt the punishment was near its end. He took another birch from the container, but this one was different in that it had only three switches in it. Each of the switches bound together was about a quarter of an inch thick, and it was a fearful looking thing.
"My dear," he said, "your punishment is nearly at an end. I shall give you nine more strokes with this more severe birch and then it will be over. You have done well."
There was little wind resistance with this birch, and The Gentleman delivered the first stroke with considerable force on an already highly punished bottom. The Woman's head shot up, and she screeched. She screeched and wailed throughout the nine blows, and no wonder, for the punishment was severe. "But no more than you deserve my love..." thought The Housekeeper as she waited by the door of the study.
The Gentleman interrupted The Woman's cries. "Your punishment is over," he announced, "and my Housekeeper shall minister to you."
The Housekeeper entered, and no mother could have been kinder as she soothed and comforted The Woman. She had brought with her a bowel of water, towels and lotion, and these she applied as The Gentleman sat at his desk and wrote. The Housekeeper helped her charge to dress, but the panties were not put on.
By the time she was dressed, The Woman had regained her composure, but it was clear from her face and posture that she had been soundly chastised. The Gentleman approached, and she held out her hand, intending to shake his hand and thank him. Instead he took her hand gently in his, and bowing, kissed it. "My dear," he murmured. "It has been an honour and privilege to give you your punishment. Before you go, I have a letter that I would be pleased if you would read when you feel that you have recovered."
The Housekeeper started and looked quickly at her employer, who inclined his head in response. The Housekeeper smiled; suddenly she was sure that this house would have a Mistress as well as a Master. Taking her charge gently by the arm, she led her back into the corridor but The Woman turned at the door. She smiled at The Gentleman as he stood by his desk, and indicating the letter and the table in one gentle, fluid movement she said, "Thank You."
When the door had closed, The Gentleman stood, finding that his thoughts were replaying her undressing, but this time the setting was his bedroom. He indulged the pleasant train of thoughts for quite a while until, his hopes high, he returned to the papers on his desk. As he read, he knew that soon he would be issuing another young woman a summons to join him in The Study.
All Hallows Evening
It was 1965 when I took up my first teaching post in a village school with just four small classes: two infant and two junior. The Headmistress took the top juniors, and I took the lower. In a corner of the site was a small house for the Head, but since she was living in a brand new bungalow at the edge of the village, I was allowed to rent the house quite cheaply. Not every young woman wants to live in the country, but the life suited me, and after only a few weeks I was already totally involved with all the rhythms of the village. I had been very involved with the Harvest Festival, and now it was going to be Halloween - the day before All Saints' Day. Halloween was not much celebrated in England in those days, being regarded as either a vulgar American custom or a strange Scottish one. However, there was some discussion about it, and usually schools would get the children to write some stories about witches and such like. The children in my class asked me whether the bad sprits really were abroad on October 31st, and I said they were not. "Some naughty boys are of course, but that's all." They all laughed, and I gave Halloween very little more in the way of thought, which may well have been a mistake.
The chairman of the board that ran the school was Sir John Thornton, who was the local landowner and a very rich man. He was just forty, having come into his inheritance at the premature death of his father. He was rather keen on me, and was always inviting me to little social events where he was very correct and formal, but plainly anxious to go further. I, however, being eighteen years younger than him, was not too keen on going further and took no hints. Then he invited me to come along to his house on All Hallows' Evening for supper and to listen to some records he had just bought, including The Danse macabre by Saint-Saëns.
"We could play it at midnight if that is not too late," he suggested.
Now that may sound rather dull, but actually he was very good company and his suppers delicious, so it was arranged that I wo
uld arrive at nine o'clock that evening. Our experience that night changed life for both of us.
It was a cold clear night with the leaves littering the roads sounding crisp and frosty as I walked on them, and I was glad to get into the warmth of his house. He was using a little parlour that night; there was a warm fire burning in the hearth, and the light shone on ornaments and pictures, making them all look cheerful. He already had some music playing and a lovely supper spread out on a small table in one corner. Even the corners tucked away from the light seemed friendly and full of promise. He gave me a glass of sherry, and I sat down near the fire while he sat opposite.
I took one small sip of the sherry and a ripple ran across my sight. For a moment, everything was distorted, and I heard mischievous and malicious laughter away in the distance. When my sight cleared, the room was oddly different, although everything was the same. The colours seemed harsher, and the light from the fire frightening, not friendly. Dark corners held fearful promise, and the supper table looked somehow unwholesome. Sir John himself seemed different; he looked more assertive and confident. He was looking at me in a controlling and manipulative manner, almost one of cruelty. "Now my dear we are alone at last, and I have a little question that I have longed to put to you. Were you spanked as a child and teenager?"
What a ridiculous question that was! Few children growing up in the fifties were not spanked at home and school. I had been a 'good girl' and so avoided the ruler, slipper and cane at school, although all were in frequent use, but at home my mother had ensured I remained good with her hand and a wooden spoon. When I answered that I had, he questioned me about my experience at some length, and I felt uncomfortable but powerless to stop this odd conversation.
"Well Miss Clark, are you using corporal punishment at the school?" I had no need and told him so. I was perfectly capable of controlling a class of children without spanking them.
