Yes, I
suppose I do like to take it seriously.
I’m always uncomfortable when I see dommes who are all latex and boots in what’s
supposed to be a school scene, you know?
Actually,
I’ve got a client who can’t get enough realism. We discovered this online
tuition outfit – puts you in touch with a tutor to take you through a whole
GCSE course, and at the end of it you take the exam and everything. He used to
send essays and tests off to some lady in Macclesfield, and she’d mark
them.
Then we had a system: the strap
for less than 18/20, the cane for less than 14/20. We had a strict rule for how
many strokes, and any additional lines or detention punishment. You know – so it wouldn’t be me as a Mistress
deciding; it would all be about the schoolwork.
And then he’d take the proper exam at the end of it – you can do it online these days. With more punishment – obviously! – for any grade less than an A.
So it was all working out fine, he was doing course after course. Getting so many qualifications! Languages, sciences, all sorts of
things. I think he was quite a high-flying lawyer, though, so I don’t suppose a few more GCSEs did him that much good. Anyway, one day it went a bit
wrong. He’d accidentally included some kind of email to me about his next
session, in one of the packages of essays for her. So I come down one morning, and there’s this
nicely spoken lady on my doorstep, demanding very politely to know what the
blankety-blank is going on!
Of course,
she had the address because we’d used this one for the deliveries. He used to
come here, and I’d open the envelope right there and read out the grades and
any comments in front of him – with all the implements on display. A bit difficult for me, actually, not to be in
control of a session like that. He might have 19/20 and just be sent into the
bathroom for a hand-job, or he might have 12 or so and need a good caning
followed by lines and detention. Made it
hard to plan my day.
Well, I couldn’t leave her standing there so I asked her in for tea and at first I wasn’t going to say anything.
Client confidentiality and all that. But
then I thought – you know, in a way we’ve been involving her in this thing
without her consent. It’s not really fair. So without giving her his real name,
I told her everything.
She went
white! But she listened to it all in
silence. Showed her the room with the
whipping bench and the canes and things like that. She looked pretty shocked, but she was quite
calm. Calm and quiet. She’d once given him just 9/20 for a piece of
work – that was the worst grade he’d ever had – and she asked me what he’d got
for that, so I said 36 with the cane and writing seven hundred lines in
detention. But she didn’t say anything… just nodded and reached out, gently
touched one of the canes as if she was thinking about what it must have been
like for him. She asked a few more
questions, but I think she was just being polite by then. She wanted to leave, so we quickly finished
our tea and off she went.
And, as luck
would have it – or bad luck if you like – he was just arriving for a
session. He turned the corner of the
road just as she was coming up to the end.
He told me their eyes met. Of
course, he didn’t know what to think at the time, didn’t know who she was, but
when I got here I told him all about it. And he said that when their eyes met,
he knew that she knew it was him! Isn’t
that weird!
Anyway. We thought that would be that, so I started
looking around for another online tutor. But then he got a message asking where
his essay on Cromwell’s reforms of the legal system was, as part of his GCSE on British constitutional history, so he wrote one up
quickly, and sent it off.
Came back
covered in red ink. 8/20 for content
minus 4 for lateness. I’ve never given
anyone such a beating. He literally
could not sit down for a week – which was a shame, as he had several thousand lines to write. Fortunately, his next essay was a bit better: he’d have got 15 if she hadn’t taken a few points off for messy handwriting.
He got a starred A for that subject, when he finally came to take the exam. Examiner’s report said it was the best script he’d ever seen. Well, I suppose he is a lawyer. He hasn’t done quite as well on any since, although it’s rare he doesn’t get at least an A, nowadays.
Funny how
things turn out sometimes, isn’t it?
Anyway, can’t stand here talking all afternoon. So what it’s going to be today? The cane for masturbation, was it? Right then, you go and get into your uniform, and I’ll set up in here.
End
Note for foreign chaps: GCSEs are the exams English* pupils take when they’re fifteen or sixteen. But those of us whose emotional and sexual development is eternally stuck at that age could take more of them at any time, I suppose.
Note for everyone: all of these lovely pictures are of Miss Porter, of the English Governess site. I hope she isn’t cross with me for using them like this. That would be just awful…
*Note for pedants. Yes ‘English’ not ‘British’. Well, English and Welsh. They do it differently in Scotland. That’s why the story above does not mention tawses.
And – finally – here’s a bonus caption, also voiced by the divine Miss Porter, bearing some rather unsettling news!
