It happened in school. And it changed my life entirely.
The teacher came into the class and she was furious. The exercise showed clearly that quite a few fellows hadn’t done their homework. Consequently, the ones who had failed had to expect the teacher’s cane.
According to her rule, the number of mistakes were paid by the number of smacks equally. This time, four boys were to get it severely. Expecting that, they begun to weep.
For the first time, I felt that mix of fear and excitement. I couldn’t help it. I knew very well how it hurts when one gets the cane – very well. Also my governess had used the cane as a ‘magic helper’ to bring a boy back to ‘normal’. She knew how to cure a temper tantrum! In her eyes, she was justified to do so and she felt always in the right mood to do so if necessary.
Her slogan was: “Boys’ bums and canes are friends and one never should mess up a good friendship.” And she did her best to keep this friendship really warm!
When the teacher called the first boy to come to her, she took her short cane from her drawer. And that meant OTK. Of course, nobody ever dared to resist such a call. When the culprit came close, this tall powerful woman grabbed him by his arm, sat herself on a bench and pulled the weeping boy over her ample lap. His bottom was in the right position over her left knee.
Now the boy began to cry, to beg and to promise never to be lazy again, as we all do in such a position. Full of fear, he wriggled his legs – but it was in vain. Her eyes were fixed on the helpless, exposed behind. She stretched the boy’s pants tightly over his cheeks.
Seeing his squirming bum, my excitement became stronger and stronger – and this time in an embarrassing, sweet way. I just couldn’t help it!
She touched the boy’s bum with the cane – it looked like a caress. But then ‘shorty’ did its job! It did just what it was supposed to do. My God – that smack! And it smacked again and again.
She gave it to him in her own rhythm, regardless of his screams. And his bottom was dancing over her knee accordingly. It took all our attention.
I was not scared at all. Paradoxically, I felt for the first time this sweetness growing in my pants while this strict woman was caning. It felt like an intoxication of my senses. I pressed my thighs together, afraid I might wet my pants.
Anxiety and lust mixed, I closed my eyes and whispered to myself: “Noooo…please..noooo..! Don’t spank me!” And while whispering, I imagined my beloved governess coming towards me and with a low voice and a loving smile in her face saying that it was ‘time to meet your little friend again…’
And it was as if I could feel the meeting under my seat. The sound of the smacks and the helpless crying of the boy made it. To observe this strict woman punishing the behind over her knee did it. She looked as if she were ready to cook a good meal. And that can take a woman’s concentration!
Remembering my governess’ caring for me in a similar way, I felt contained and well guided on her lap, in spite of the pain.
It got stronger and stronger . . . and finally it happened. It was like an unavoidable embarrassing explosion. And that became a flame which inspired all my future life.