Sobbing in the Schoolroom – Sarah’s Lesson
An prompt start to my day today with class commencing at 10am sharp. A wide eyed, eager school girl (male) presented herself to me ready to begin her lessons – there are many for her to learn. She sat waiting in the corner, hands on her head. The air was filled with anticipation and fear as I entered the classroom.
A previous homework assignment had been submitted via Twitter update – some of you may have seen the submission on my feed. While Sarah sat at her desk with her eyes lowered, I paced back and forth examining the homework. The only sound coming from a ticking clock and my heels against the cold, wooden floorboards. The scrutiny began.
A total of 500 lines written – “I wear Miss Kendal’s marks with pride.”
A total of six errors throughout:
– Scruffy paper, torn from a book.
– Punctuation missed.
– Messy margins, with none on some pages.
– Titles not centered or underlined.
– Early submission, evidence of rushing.
– Cigarettes in clear view on submission photo.
Together we identified each error and listed them on the blackboard. I could sense Sarah’s growing disappointment in herself and her attempts. As instructed, she opened her new school exercise book and wrote the date at the top of the page. The pencil shook in her hand. She was well aware that this was only the beginning for her.
Her homework was unacceptable and she knew it. Silly excuses and childish outbursts earned her a rap across the knuckles and six from a junior cane over her school skirt. My low tolerance for improper behaviour was quickly becoming apparent to Sarah. Dictated ‘Homework Rules’ were taken down and a re-submission date was set.
With her homework torn up before her, Sarah was placed back in the corner to await uniform inspection.
She found herself earning a silver star, with only one minor adjustment required. A target was set to achieve a gold star for uniform in her follow up inspection during our next session.
Any feelings of joy from this achievement were short lived; Sarah was informed she would be attending a private detention in my study immediately after our lesson was concluded. She knew exactly what this meant – the cane.
Shaking with dread at what was to come, Sarah lay across the school bench. She hadn’t been far from tears during lesson time and it wasn’t long before they began to flow. Her punishment was absolutely necessary, loathed as she was to admit that.
After placing a junior and senior crook handled cane in her view, I left her for a time so she could weigh up exactly what was about to happen to her.
Awarded ten strokes of the cane for each error made on her homework, a total of sixty strokes, delivered cold.
I tested my canes behind her, rolled up my right sleeve and exposed her bottom ready. Faint marks already showed from the six she had received during lesson time. These lenient strokes were about to become a distant memory – no more protection afforded by her school skirt and knickers.
To my pleasure, the tears continued to fall throughout the caning. Strokes were delivered with increasing intensity, using both junior and senior cane.
A short break and switch of cane after each set of twenty; a chance for me to admire the stripes as they begin to layer.
The incessant sobbing and wailing managed to earn Sarah additional strokes towards the end of her punishment.
A very broken and sorry young lady lay across my bench by the time her caning was over. Her faced drenched in her own tears. Murmurs of ‘thank you Ma’am’ barely able to cross her lips.
Once her punishment was complete and our roles had been dropped, we shared a long cuddle. A tear or two make it’s way on to my shoulder and I felt her breathe a huge sigh of relief.
She had made it.
A six week long wait since her last session. Countless time spent thinking about what was coming, knowing she would get the release she truly needed.
She sat dazed for a time and we shared a wonderful moment of quiet together.
When she was ready, she changed back into her street clothes and joined me for tea and laughter-filled conversation.
Targets for her next lesson are re-addressed briefly and, once back into a safe head space, she leaves my premises with her head held very high.
Sarah’s school journey is only just beginning…
These sessions are tailored to the individuals I am playing with. No session will be repeated like for like and, indeed, cannot be due to the nature of the relationships I have with the persons in question.
Names have been changed to protect identity. Consent has been granted for photographs and blog entries to be published.