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BDSM and the Ageing Process

It’s been over 50 years that I’ve been involved with BDSM in one way or another. There have been some respites in there, there have been times when I’d never heard of nor know what BDSM was. But that doesn’t change the facts at all.

 

In My Early Teens

In my early teens I found that if I stripped off then tied myself up with lots of belts, luggage straps in fact, that an orgasm wasn’t far away. In those days long before the internet the whole BDSM thing was completely hidden from my 14 year old self.

But it happened. I was drawn to that experience totally without prompting and in an absence of external information. It was in me, part of me, and to my young self it was a secret that affected me and my relationships.

In My Twenties And Thirties

In my twenties and thirties nothing really changed other than marriage, raising a family, changing jobs, buying a house and all the normal family things. All of a sudden I was a husband, a father, and a ‘responsible person’ compared to my teenage years. WOW. Those were huge changes, anyone would say that, but my BDSM was a constant, always there, lurking and never gone.

In those years the opportunity for self bondage reduced so they were few and far between. Also in those years the internet rose from nothing to having a ubiquitous presence in homes. That presence brought me BDSM information and of course BDSM porn.

In My Forties - Things Started To Change

In my forties things started to change. Was it life’s stresses? Could I keep these needs within myself all this time without the solace of disclosure? Was it the family hitting an age that brought some kind of internal needs within me to the fore? Or was it that I just could not deny it any longer? It was all of them.

I also had my first ever experience of depression which was, or so I was told, as a result of some trauma. I suspect there was also the stresses from repressing my BDSM self contributing to this.

Looking back, trying to say “this one thing was the cause” is wishful. It’s also therapeutic as it gives something to focus on and then pin your hopes on a simple solution. We are not simple things, humans, we live in a world that changes over time and we change. There are myriad inputs into us, and expecting to localise into a simple cause-and-effect type scenario is, again, wishful. It would be nice tho!

In My Mid Forties

This was not a great time. The stresses on me left me teary, shaking, washed out and suicidal. My doctor put me on anti-depressants and overall, life was pretty awful and colourless.

In my mid forties I had my first ever counselling session and what a revelation it was. I told someone about my special needs, a process that left me shaking.

But that first counselling session was amazing. I opened myself up for the very first time to anyone.

My surprise then, and vividly remembered 2 decades later, to being told “why don’t you do it?” and then “I can’t understand why you don’t” and the final, “it doesn’t make you any less of a person, doesn’t hurt anyone else and will help you.”

Those words from a psychologist changed my life. My views of the world and myself changed.

If I could know something decades earlier (pther than BitCoin going up to dramatically in price) this would be it – see a counsellor.

In My Late Forties

I had my first BDSM session in my late forties which was one of the most remarkable times of my life.

It came a long 30 years after my first ever encounter with self bondage in leather straps. Those decades of silent quivers and keeping it all a secret took their toll.

I still remember knocking on the terrace house door after the 30+ years of self doubt, worry and wonder. Then I heard definite high heels clacking on the tiled corridor, the door opening then being greeted with “Welcome Slave” by a dominatrix. My first ever.

That very first session was so remarkable. I was taken to a place I didn’t know existed, I was given what I wanted and more importantly, what I needed. I had chosen extremely well with a dominatrix who understood people like me, newbies with definite needs, and she was able to make the session special.

I remember sitting in the car after the session thinking two things; I wished I had a pound of frozen peas to sit on, and, when can I have the next session.

I told the psychologist about it and how successful it was. It delighted her that the experience lived up to the anticipation.

Not long later I opened up to my wife about my special needs. To this day, so many years later, she still does not understand. All she sees is the pain and the strangeness of it. She has not got the inner need, but she is supportive of me. When I need a session, sometiomes she tells me to go have it even before I make my mind up.

In My Fifties

In my fifties I had regular BDSM Sessions. They all followed a similar process based around corporal, bondage, belt and leather fetish. I found them to be wonderfully restorative, addictive, and something I needed.

I collected a lot of gear. Many straps, tawse, an amazing prison strap and lots and lots of belts. I do love my belts.

Looking back, this is the decade I’d have again rather happily (and I’d invest in BitCoin, also rather heavily).

My regular sessions were great and I got a lot out of them. I found life was rather pleasing, everything was kind of coming together quite well. My mental health was great.

In My Sixties

Now in my sixties my BDSM side has changed a little along with me.

My sixties started badly with the lockdown and pandemic. It was not possible to have a session for nearly 2 years and that hurt. I did feel badly affected by the lockdown, so this may well have been a factor.

My need for a session has reduced from the nearly once a month rate to just a few a year now.

At the same time, this last few years my mental health has deteriorated such that I suffer regular depressive bouts and the occasional and loathed panic attacks. If these are related to a reduction in sessions I don’t know. Maybe there is a cause-effect relationship but at the moment it is hard do define.

A Few Comments

Over the years I’ve talked to the Mistresses both before and after my session.

One thing that has been said to me more than once is that it is a part of me and won’t go away.

This is from people in the industry who deal with many clients on a daily basis. Many of the mistresses I see are tertiary qualified, some with psych, some in business, some with qualification in legal areas. They are not stupid or ‘touting for trade’, so I feel theirs are honest comments. The upshot is “I am as I am and it’s not going to change.”

Within myself I feel it is waning a little, but it is absolutely still there. I can feel it growing as time passes, then when I’m in a session I absolutely feel the self same massive relief.

I’m led to believe not much will change as I head into old age, BDSM wise.

My wife once commented when I said I was having a session that she thought I’d grown out of it. No, that has not happened.

 

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Trikki Update – From The Heart

Wrist Bondage

The year 2022 was not great for me. I’m inclined toward depression which was a problem for me then, and added to that has been the new and rather unpleasant experience of panic attacks.

“Why?” I ask myself. I can’t find a real reason other than maybe it is a culmination of things like getting older, financial uncertainty and not having as much money as I want and the feelings of my mortality.

I had some illness which comparatively speaking is nothing major and compared to others around me was quite mild. But to me it mattered, it shook me.

I remember coming into 2022 thinking that after the last two terrible pandemic years that 2022 could not be worse. I felt positive and upbeat. But it didn’t last. It seemed to be a long cold year that just dragged on and on. I felt it was a year without colour, without pleasure, a year where I struggled to find direction and satisfaction. I think in hindsight that 2022 was indeed worse than the 2 previous.

I had 2 BDSM sessions in 2022 which for me was not a lot. Maybe that was a contributing factor in that my internal balance was not as it should have been, that my special needs weren’t being met. Or was it that I felt so crap that BDSM sessions just didn’t happen?

But now we are 3 months into 2023. Work has been busy, my health has been kind of OK yet I’ve hardly posted anything here.

What About BDSM Sessions?

Again, I’m keenly feeling the absence of a BDSM session, so I’m booking myself in for 13 April with the Mistress I’ve been seeing for the last few years.

She’s exceptional and gets right into the whole corporal with fetish and bondage things.

I like ‘theatre’ in my sessions, the Mistress telling her slave she is going to ‘give you a strapping‘ and she is ‘going to use my belt on you‘ – all that kind of thing. Coming as it does from a drop dead gorgeous leather clad Mistress in a BDSM dungeon it is amazing.

I’m going to ask that it be heavy with an excess of belting, strapping and tawsing and caning. She has her own prison strap, and I have one, I think there will be some comparisons done. I want to really be extended, pulled out of my comfort zone. Bring it on.

What's Coming?

It all depends on my mood and time. If I can lift myself out of this doldrums of the spirit I regularly find myself in, expect quite a lot more content.

I am so close to finishing some stores – see below – and maybe some more regular posts on various BDSM things will happen. BDSM and the ageing process comes to mind as it is topical for me.

Just recently I heavily updated the post “How To Give A Hand Strapping” – it is worth a look as it now has links to videos on the topic. There is a post for that coming in a day or less.

In truth… I have absolutely no idea what next month holds, let alone the rest of the year.

What About Stories?

Over the last 12+ months I’ve written quite a lot. The two main genres have been the female led marriage and self bondage. Both have quite a bit of belt bondage and corporal making the sex rather steamy.

Keep your eyes out for them. I’ll publish some snippets here reasonably soon – with full novels on Amazon to follow.

For now – stay safe – play sane.

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Updated How To Give A Hand Strapping

There is no doubt in my mind that a hand strapping or tawsing is one of the most personal and powerful experiences in BDSM between a Mistress (or master) and slave.

I have updated my popular and long post on this “how to give a hand tawsing” – and added some links to videos.

Some notes on this topic follow.

Yes, hand strapping is something I get in my BDSM sessions from a Mistress (dominatrix) and have done so for nearing 20 years now. The whole topic of hand strapping and tawsing is deeply evocative for me.

What Is Hand Strapping And Tawsing

In its simplest form, a Mistress stands in front (or to the side) of a slave.

Slave is told to raise his hands, palm up, often with one hand supporting the other, often at full stretch.

The Mistress then uses a leather strap or a tawse (a strap split for half it’s length once or more times) and brings that down on the palm of the slave.

Slave is told to swap hands, or to keep that same hand up – for more strokes.

Here is a short clip of a Mistress using her tawse.

Why On Earth Is This A Thing?

It is human nature to be contrary and a victim to our emotions and special needs. Hand strapping and tawsing is indeed one of this times and things.

I’m drawn to it, I’m pushed away from it, I need it, I wonder at myself how on earth I could need it. When I’m getting my hands strapped I feel the pain and struggle to accept it yet when it is over I regret it has finished and look forward to it again. I feel that special internal quiver when I think about it.

Hand strapping works at many levels;

  • It forces submission, probably more than other BDSM activities. You are controlled, deeply submissive, when a Mistress is in front of you using her strap.
  • I feel the ‘exposure’ of hand strapping. My BDSM is extrememly private to me, yet here I am facing someone who is dressed in fetish and going to use a strap on me. That is impossible to ignore.
  • You must face your punisher. You must look at her standing there with her strap or tawse and know what’s coming. That seldom happens in BDSM.
  • Facing the Mistress as she is using her strap focuses the mind, there is no hiding, no subterfuge, no doubt about what is happening. It takes courage and strength to hold up the hand for the next stroke when the last was so painful, the hands are red and shaking, and you know the next one will be hard.
  • If there is a leather fetish happening, or a need for humiliation, or a need to be dominated, then hand strapping and tawsing is one of the more powerful BDSM activities.
  • It can be deeply embarrassing. Imagine standing, or kneeling, maybe stripped naked and in front of a woman Dominatrix or Mistress. She commands, she controls and she uses a strap on you and you have to take it.
  • It can be intensely painful. The hands are generally soft and quite sensitive, yet you must offer them up to a painful strapping. That can be bad enbough, but a heavy leather tawse can be devastatingly painful.
  • In days gone by a strap was used in schools for discipline. Hand strapping can take us back to those times.

How Hand Strapping Fits Into BDSM Sessions

I can only speak of my own sessions which are based around leather fetish, bondage and corporal punishment. I recognize these activities are only a small part of the full gamut of BDSM.

In my sessions, they proceed like this.

  • At the start of the session I’m naked, kneeling and in belt bondage. Mistress enters, then gives me a hand strapping. She’ll use a number of straps, belts and then the tawse.
  • Then Mistres clips my wist cuffs to a suspension bar and lifts me up onto my feet. I’m in the middle of the dungeon and facing a mirror so I can watch Mistress.
  • This section of the session starts off with Mistress taking off a belt, folding it over then strapping my bum rather hard. My warmup is a belt strapping. She’ll then swap belts for others, each time taking a belt off then putting another on.
  • Then she’ll use maybe a tawse on my butt, a prison strap and even a cane.
  • As I am gagged and watching Mistress in the mirror I find it a particularly chathartic experience, enduring, watching Mistress and taking the corporal punishment she is giving me.
  • After this I’m taken down from suspension, back on my knees and Mistress again straps my hands and uses the tawse as well.
  • Then I’m usually bent over a whipping bench, strapped down, and Mistress repeats the belting, strapping, and caning.
  • This is now getting close to the end of the session and at this time Mistress uses the cane, or canes, harder, maybe after another hard prison strapping. After all the belting and strapping to my bum it is losing a bit of sensation so the cane is plied harder and really gets in deeply.
  • While I’m on the bench a few times Mistress, will release my hands. I’ll have to hold them out and Mistress with give me another hand strapping. It may only be a few strokes, or may be her belt, or a tawse or a simple leather strap. Or it may be six of the best.
  • After coming off the bench it is back on my knees for afinal hand strapping. This one usually is at the absolute limit of my endurance and of course Mistress uses the extr apainful XH tawse leaving me devastated.

With that the session is over and I feel particularly ‘spent’ and satiated. No, there is no orgasm or hand relief, I find that a heavy corporal session is just too engrossing for that to happen.

I do feel like I’m a new person. Relaxed and almost spaced out.

I’m in the dungeon which is a place I identify with quite strongly, I’ve had a lot of corporal, I’m floating and deeply unto another mind-space. My butt is red striped and maybe bleeding from overlapping cane strokes and my hands are really quite red.

And right at that moment I am disappointed it’s over. I usually wish I could stay in the dungeon for another hour, in bondage strapped up tight and gagged as the feelings of deep internal satisfaction infuse me. Maybe one day I will do that. Maybe.

For Much More Information

Take yourself to my other posts – search this blog and the internet.

As before this is the link to my previous article on how to give a hand strapping or tawsing.

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Session Booked for 28 October 2022

Ms Smeet

Choosing the featured image was difficult. I’ve used them all before I am sure – but the one of the dominatrix in the dungeon does my upcoming session BDSM justice.

I wonder – where else can you read about real BDSM sessions? It is a very private activity – not many people admit to them.

I’m halfway tempted to take my camera to this next session and ask Mistress to snap a few pics. Maybe some before and after pics of my butt?

Anyway. Back to topic.

So after far too many months of not having a session, I booked myself in to see Mistress on Friday. My wife pushed me a little – as she knows I’m feeling pretty low. I am prone to depression and while I don’t think I’m there yet, it’s feeling like it’s looming unless I do something.

By the time this is published I’ll most likely be sitting at a cafe coming down from the most extraordinary of experiences a person can have. And my bum will look like it’s been well strapped and caned, because it will have been!

Can you imagine having something so special, so central to your life, that you think about far too often – and then you make it come true. Well, that is what Mistress will be doing for me on Friday.

She is a superb Mistress for many reasons. Perhaps for the BDSM it is that she listens, she interprets my needs and wants really well and she clearly enjoys her profession. She gets right into the session and being with her in the session is special.

Her personality really brings it home. We meet, we have a lovely chat, she is just plain delightful to talk to. Then in session she is the strict leather clad dominatrix disciplining her slave.

How Will The Session Proceed?

I’ve been having sessions for nearly 2 decades now. Each has been different and all have strong similarities.

I think this will be a ‘standard’ kind of session.

Lots Of Strapping

many tawse

Plenty Of BDSM

bdsm

All sessions start similarly.

I’ll meet with Mistress and we’ll chat. We’ll discuss what I want in the session and then Mistress will lead me to the dungeon. I’ll setup my gear, have a shower, prepare myself then await Mistress.

This is the most delicious of times, the waiting. I’ve arrived. It is going to happen. I can feel myself changing.

All my senses will be sparking off. My hearing will be acute, my mind will be firmly in the dungeon as I wait. The scent of all the leather gear will be strong and I’ll feel the self-bondage I’m in pushing me into the universe of sub-space even before Mistress arrives.

When Mistress enters she’ll start off with a hand strapping. She’ll use a light school strap, standing right in front of me wearing wide leather belts that push deep into my fetish and into my fantasy. Then she’ll strap me. The strap will flick up onto my palm and lay there for a moment. Then she’ll pull it back and off. Maybe she’ll repeat that, Maybe not. Then the strap will crack down, I’ll try to show no reaction, and she’ll strap me again and again. Then she’ll use something else, maybe the end of a belt, maybe a light tawse, and she’ll use it harder and harder. Then she’ll use the XH tawse and I know she will destroy me. That is what an XH tawse wielded with power does.

After that… well that depends on me posting an update. But there will be a lot of bondage, belting, tawsing, strapping, caning and prison strapping. It will be the full corporal experience. When I made the booking, I told the reception person I was wanting ‘excessive corporal‘ which made her chuckle.

The time in session will be sadly over far too soon and I know I’ll be disappointed when it’s over. The drive away from the venue will be ‘floaty-sad’ for me as I know I won’t be having another session soon and I know I’ll be missing it more and more as the weeks pass.

I’ll be playing safe and hard – ‘Trikki

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BDSM and Site Popularity

I created Silent Quivers, this site, a few years ago as a place to publish stories and provide some topical information on the BDSM kink I enjoy.

I had high hopes it would help people, as well as perhaps to entertain.

I also set about putting up what I thought was helpful information for people like me who maybe struggled with this secret passion.

I know this internal battle I feel between the logical side and my fetish and kink needs gives me a lot of trouble. At times I truly am almost quivering in my need. I had that for over 3 decades before I had my first ever BDSM session.

So Where Is This Site Going?

I don’t know. I don’t have a real plan. I wish I did. I am kind of using this post to help me make up my mind.

I’ve had a lot of pleasure from a few people who contacted me and thanked me for the information, taking the time, and showing them there are others out there like themselves.

There is no advertising on the site – and I do get approached for that. Not advertizing is deliberate – this is about something that is so private and dear to me and I don’t want to pollute or degrade the experience for others. But some money would be nice!

Some days I feel like scrapping the site and saving the hosting fees. At others I quite enjoy writing a post and then updating it later.

I’ve gone months without posting, and then post a few things in a week or two (like now). I have no schedule and that probably shows.

I have met a few people like myself through this site, only males, which is a little disappointing. But it really is pleasing when contact is made.

Some are into caning, others into hand strapping and tawsing and there are even a few domestic discipline readers (note to self – I must finish the story I have on this topic). But there is always a common theme of corporal punishment filling a need.

I do enjoy all the comments and feedback I get. Maybe if this dries up I’ll delete the site.

Why No New Stories?

It has been a while I’ll admit.

I absolutely enjoy writing about BDSM and my special kind of kink focused stories. I have a huge collection of them partially written, not finished, waiting for me to do some work on them. You get the idea!

Yes. I start something then don’t finish. That’s a huge problem.

For example, the “Femdom Riding Academy” is 12,000 words, and “Whip Mistress Transitions” is another 12,000 words, and “Naughty Solo Nancy” is 38,000 words. “Cyber Red Wire” is 35,000 words. I even wrote a “TED Talk” and re-wrote it 4 times detailing my life into these silent quivers – the journey from teen to senior. I gave the talk a half dozen times in a private time as if I was presenting to an audience, tweaking it for delivery and flow. That was challenging and enlightening.

The problem is I start, slam out thousands of words then something else comes to mind and I move on to work on that for a time.

Sorry! If you are wanting stores, they are there, just not finished. Yet.

Maybe if I got a little more encouragement I might finish some.

How Popular Is Silent Quivers?

I get anywhere from 20 to 100 impressions a day. This is the number of times the site comes up in an internet search and is shown to someone.

Google reports I get from 10 to 20 clicks a day for the last 2 months which results in an average of 13.3% clicks to views. Prior to that clicks could be as low as zero and as high as 20 again but the percentage was similar, and it is similar over 12 months.

These last few months have been more steady with higher regular clicks per day. I have no idea why that is happening – but the site is slowly growing. I think it is doing about double the traffic from 2 years go approx.

I’m looking at the most popular postings that are found by searches. It varies between three common searches.

Hand tawsing and strapping – is a very popular search. These lead to informative real life articles as well as fiction.

Cold caning – is another popular search and the posts on this get more trafic than most. I have one more in the pipeline for posting in a week or so (a fine plan that!).

Stories comes a close third. Users of the site probably search for one thing, then move to the stores to see what it’s all about.

But It is All About The Journey

Yep. I forget that so often.

I had my last session maybe 6 months ago now. I only had 2 during 2021 and COVID, work, depression and enduring life’s burden does weigh heavily on me.

Today I was feeling pretty low. The ‘black dog of depression‘ has been snapping at my heels for a while now. I commented to my wife I really am missing my secret hobby (she knows exactly what this is) and she told be to ‘just go and get it done‘ for which my love for her just blooms.

My fear is that I am feeling it would be an escape at this time of my life, putting my head in the sand. I would be just avoiding some of the issues we are facing and not addressing them properly.

Then again it would centre me, relieve me of stress and make me feel calm and relaxed and balanced again. I coul face the world with bright eyes, a calmed mind and a new attitude.

Damn! I’m arguing with myself again, never a great sign of mental balance because that is how I feel.

I truly envy those who can ‘just go and get things done‘ and storm through life without these silly internal conflicts.

But I do need the escape.

Silent Quivers helps in all this. I agonize, I write, I blather on about life and needs and kink – and it helps. Maybe it is a kind of public agony column and diary?

Just writing those words above makes me think.

If You've Read This Far....

You need a medal for perserverence!

Silent Quivers will be around for another year – the hosting fees are due soon and I’ll pay them. I’ll re-evaluate next year.

Thanks for being here.

Play safe, play sane – ‘Trikki

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Real And Fantasy BDSM Posts

I hope that the lines between fact, real life and fiction in this site have not become blurred.

I was recently contacted by a reader. I was slow, very slow in responding – then I got an email that I felt was the result of the reader feeling I had ignored him, or I am a complete faker. ‘Fake’ was the word used. He sounded rather upset at me.

I freely admit I was slow – and there are reasons I won’t go into – but I was slow.

Well, I then sent an apology, went into some detail about what I’ve been up to – and of course I’ve heard no more from this person.

Maybe my email went into his spam folder- so I won’t judge.

I also emailed a Mistress wanting a slave for a photo shoot. She didn’t respond either.

HANDS UP!

Red Hood Hand Strapping

Fake? Fiction? Role play? Does it matter?

Role Play And BDSM

Role play is something I love – and it bears zero relationship with real life. I just love the strict mistress ordering me to put up my hands then she measures the belt, the strap, the tawse across my hands then she uses it. It is all about my fantasy and my needs for corporal punishment.

To live out the fantasy, to make it come true and have it meet expectations is so powerful.

Speaking From the Heart

I do tend to agonize far too much over this BDSM thing that has been in my life for half a century now.

I would hope those posts, just like this one, are easily seen and understood to be about a real person and a real life.

Real life can be such a difficult place to inhabit. Sometimes my need for BDSM controls me in its strength. It truly is my silent quiver, my secret passion.

My logical brain that is the me for my everyday persona of being a husband, a brother, a father all go counter to my needs for BDSM and what I need in that BDSM. This causes mental friction, a mental imbalance.

I know if I go without it I get cranky and ‘difficult’ my wife says. Then when I have it, I find the attraction to be massively lessened and I question my sanity – but that doesn’t last long as the need rises again.

Why on earth would someone want to be put into tight leather bondage then be given corporal punishment by a dominatrix, given it so hard that the skin often breaks and bruises last a week? That feels soo illogical, yet it also becomes so necessary for me.

The answers to that can only be understood properly by someone like myself who needs that experience. All I can do is give the same answers many ways, over many different posts and hope they make sense.

Sure my BDSM is a retreat, an escape, an endorphin rush, a slaking of the deep fetish – but it is absolutely a strong need that waxes and wanes as time passes.

For me my BDSM sessions with a great Mistress turn fantasy into reality for a short time. They are immersive, filling me totally, leaving me completely surrendering to the experience. Nothng else, no one else, the session with the Mistress and the bondage and corporal are everything .

It could almost be called the ultimate escape.  The sessions being a sensory and emotional overload.

My fantasy of being in tight leather belt bondage then to be disciplined by a strict leather clad dominatrix is so very strong. Mistress makes it happen.

I once saw BDSM sessions described as ‘Private Theatre’ and there is a strong element of truth to this.

Is this fake of me writing about my bdsm sessions? No. I doubt I could write about this for so long and in so manty ways if I was making it up.

I sit here now thinking about my previous session, and about my next session. I am seriously debatiung if I should have anothe cold caning and cold prison strapping session. That extreme experience is calling me. Yet at the same time I want to see the Mistress take a belt off, fold it over then use it. I want to prolong the experience, and the contradictions within me make it difficult.

I feel the need within me deep and strong making itself felt all through me. I long for that drive to the venue, that wait in reception for Mistress, our discussion is a highlight, then that short walk as I follow Mistress into the dungeon. I long for that anticipation of each phase of having a session.

Of course my stories are another matter entirely. While they may have some small basis in fact, in real life, they in general are massively the works of kinky fiction.

Play safe, play happy – ‘Trikki.

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Recovering from various and dreaded viruses

Well it happened at long last. Not long after my last post I started to feel poorly, then worse, then of course the RAT test showed the line. Yes. I was in covid-land and not a happy camper

The first few days were awful, really awful. Even having the light on in the bedroom was difficult and the headache was a killer. But at about day 4 I started to feel better and by day 7 I was fine and the RAT test said I was pretty much free of it.

So that was a delight (not) and someting to get past. I’d joined the ranks of covid surviors. I suppose it could have been worse.

Then, after a few weeks of final recovery and feeling rather pleased with myself, I of course for the flu. And it was worse than the covid. I was a full week plus bed ridden and pretty much incapacitated. Then another three weeks was required before I could push the mower and do the gardening again. The slow recovery felt like glandular fever all over again, but eventually it wore off.

So that was it for the year I thought. Of course. How could I have more I said to myself.

And of course how wrong I was. Silly me. I got another virus of some kind, vastly less bad than both the previous but enough to stop me from working and using the computer. By day 6 I was feeling better but a little light headed. Again, it was a full 2 weeks to recover.

So What Comes Next?

Hopefully no more of these little monsters!

How can something so small cause so much trouble (and yes I know the reason) – it just all out of proportion though.

Dreaded Virus

I’ve had a few emails from readers – thank you. I’ll address those shortly. A recent one was quite disjointed and reminded me of me – of course – when times of great need bring a certain scattiness to my writing.

I’ve noticed that hand strapping and tawsing has been the most searched for thing that lands readers on this site.

I of course thought there would be little interest – and just like catching yet another virus – how wrong I was. Therefore, I’ll publish some more on this at regular intervals.

One thing I could do at times as I recovered was work on some writings. For some reason the domestic discipline female led genre has really been appealing. I’ve got a few stories of a few thousand words each in the pipeline. I’ll publish snippets here and probably publish the full stories on Amazon under the Trikki Watson label.

Finally, and after just coming out of a lovely self bondage session that’s left me floating and happy, I’ll be having a pro-domme session as soon as I can. I am really tempted to prolong it a little and have some ideas for new things. After having sessions since 2005, finding new things for sessions can be tricky.

play safe, play happy  – Trikki’

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Depression – Anxiety – Panic Attacks

Alone In A Crowd

Depression, Panic, Anxiety And BDSM

Feeling crap? Did the COVID thing leave you feeling lost, vulnerable and depressed? Has life lost its shine?
I’ve written about this before, probably a few times. This is a much longer version with little kink – just a few top view type references.
I have deliberately not re-read those older blog posts. This is about me now, how I have been functioning with my now-time perspectives. There may well be contradictions if you compare blog posts. As I feel right now, I am sure there should be.


This is hard, emotionally and intellectually, particularly now as I’m not feeling the greatest.

Admitting some things that are usually kept internalized is difficult. I do tend to go into denial and suffer in silence till it all gets too much just like it did in April and May. This is about my mental health journey this year. It has not been a great journey.

I’m writing this as partly an exercise to look within myself to more better know and understand – and also in the hope it may help others. If so, then that makes it all worthwhile. Some feedback would be appreciated.

On that, feedback, I do get some, maybe a few emails a month and that sustains me particularly in the dark days when life does lose its vibrancy and pleasure.

The Year 2022

I’d like to put the blame for my low moods on the pandemic and lock-downs and the changes to society we’ve seen in the previous two years. As I get older I fear change. It rocks my reality a bit as maybe I’m becoming less flexible. But the pandemic caused changes that were particularly trying. I noticed it gave people a sense of paranoia, distrust, and fear. The fear was awful. If you were out in the street, no one would come near you and any contact at all was shunned. That is not the kind of normal life I grew up with.

But I can’t blame the pandemic much as I want to. It was a factor, not the root cause.

I’ve always had a weakness for depression and I’ve had the very occasional panic and anxiety attack years before the pandemic. So the pleasure of having something external to blame is denied me.

I’ve always looked at blame as a negative trait, a negative experience. It tries to shift responsibility away from ones-self and gives power over myself to someone or something else. I am responsible for me, for my journey and that has always been a mantra.

I can understand the relief, the release, the pleasure and the raw desire of not having myself held responsible for problems or for how I feel. But that is wrong. I can’t in honesty try that route.

I’m sure the pandemic was a contributor though. It hit a nerve, a receptor in me, it was the thin edge of the wedge that pried up the lid of Pandora’s box of mental health issues.

I came into year 2022 reasonably happy and looking forward to a better year. I said to myself, “2020 and 2021 have been awful. 2022 cannot be worse,” and that was the starting point. I came into the year feeling positive.

I had the mental image, this idyllic image of 2022 being happy, a rebuilding year full of positives.

Over the following weeks as we came out of the slump from the pandemic and came to terms with the new face of society dealing with COVID I just didn’t bounce-back. The economy seemed to be nervous to say the least then that too started to lift, but the lift was short termed and meager.

Sometimes I hate the media. They love to make a prediction of recession and doom and gloom. They seem to almost gloat in it, and then I just have this feeling they promote it so much that it comes true. I could do without that.

But my spirits started to get better. I started to feel like it was all going to be good.

Then Ukraine happened late February and that was upsetting.

Then soon after that for some reason, and I know I have no right to feel poorly, my moods darkened. It became a spiral downward where the feelings of impending doom grew. I could feel a tremor in my chest at times that lasted maybe a half hour, a tremor of deep anxiety and panic. It wasn’t a heart attack, but it felt like all the worst cases of nerves I ever had condensed flood into me.

I could feel like I was almost vibrating. I felt that a panic attack was happening and it was threatening to take over.

If you said it was like adrenaline but in a bad way, you’d be right.

Of course with me being the cave-dweller that I am (and regrettably so) I did nothing about it. Ahh dear, you’d think I’d have learned by now. The symptoms started to pile up over the following months till diarrhea, stomach upset and being ‘nervy’ were all happening day in-day out.

My mental health was poor. I was struggling.

One thing I found particularly strong was the absence of “joy” – there was none. Life was filled with black and whites and grays, the color was missing. The things I’d done previously that gave me pleasure really didn’t call. I wanted to retreat, to somehow escape from the darkness filled with panic and anxiety.

Also there was a listlessness to me. I couldn’t finish tasks, I struggled to be productive.

Giving Up The Power

Looking back, I gave up power over myself. I let other factors dominate me, pull me back, to dominate and control me.

“Get a grip on yourself” is terrible advice as it is damn near impossible and totally misses how a person is able to deal with the issues internally, but it would have been the cure.

Mental health skews our perceptions, my perceptions. I see and experience everything through a filter that is unhealthy and not based on reality. My emotions sit on a wobbly foundation. What was normal becomes a problem, what is real is diminished and then unfounded fears loom up and assume significance.

The Dark tunnel – In my worst days

I once said that I felt like there was a huge dark tunnel in front of me.

Like the side of a mountain with a dark tunnel going into it.

I am standing stock still some distance away, totally still, my arms and legs not moving.

I can’t move. Yet I am being pulled toward this dark tunnel. And that is terrifying.

It is as if I just had to be there. My legs weren’t moving, the landscape is pulling me in like on a travelator.

I found that damn scary. The inevitability of it all, the lack of control, the powerlessness of it sucking me into oblivion.

Being An Observer – Not a participant

Another aspect to depression I felt was that I became divorced from first-person reality.

I looked in on myself. I felt like a spectator to my life, as if things around me weren’t all that real or all that important.

I could have happily walked away from my life and gone into a monastery if I had truly believed I would have left those feeling behind. Or if I had the opportunity.

Sometimes self harm has not been far away.

That ‘dark tunnel’ feeling I had was both first-person – I was experiencing it directly and it was terrifying. Yet strangely at the same time it was also third person – I was looking down on it as it happened to me. It was a duality of feeling.

Again. I had this duality of self happening. It it was not a good experience.

Professional Help – My Doctor

My doctor is absolutely the very best person, and the very first person I go to when it all gets to the point that my life strategies aren’t working.

Seriously.

If you feel it is all a bit of a problem – then my strongest advice is to go there quickly.

Talk Therapy

I was skeptical. I was quite wrong.

A few years ago I discovered how effective this is. I can understand why my doctor recommended it, and I can understand why it can be so effective for so many people.

Talking about my anxiety, panic and depression helped. I found a great psychologist who I bonded with and the experience was great.

The thing is, she saw my life from a different viewpoint, from a far better connection to reality. Me describing what was happening in my life, with the words coming out of my own mouth in responses to her questions were powerful. In answering, me myself and I affirmed that life was not that bad. But it took a while.

Below this and at the foundation, now that I think about it, she pushed my intellectual and analytic side to the surface. That took over from the poorly functioning emotional side and it saw life much more clearly. That was no small thing.

She has the ability to ask questions that make me reflect, analyze, think about what truly is happening around me and to challenge my emotionally compromised perceptions.

Her question, “What do you really have to feel panic about” was so correct and topical.

It was blindingly simple, so simple my mental state just could not cope with doing that by itself.

It was a bit stark too, I was feeling awful and I felt so challenged by the simple question. How could she not know? And my answers were telling and stupid. Then they got better. She pulled and pushed at me to get that mental shift I needed.

Her viewpoint of me having a loving and supporting wife and family, being professionally employed with good prospects and having a lifestyle that was not filled full of trauma really was enviable to her, and I suppose to so many others.

I truly am blessed with the relationships around me. I couldn’t see it.

What she did was to make me realize that the reality I had been feeling was false. This was a direct attack on the root cause of my depression and panic etc attacks.

Her questions and my answers stabbed a bright shaft of logic, of actual reality into the deep dark places that I’d been living in.

That was a good experience. I came out of each therapy session feeling positive and feeling that life really wasn’t so bad.

And that was late in 2019. How the years fly. I still remember my last visit and feeling pretty good about myself.

Then The Pandemic

It was a slow slinking stealthy kind of decline I felt, I suffered. There was no one thing, no one day that I can say “this was the day.”

We don’t go out a hell of a lot, we are an inward looking family but all of a sudden we couldn’t even go out to dinner or travel or go shopping – as most shops were shut and we had a distance limit on travel.

As the days of shock at lock-down turned into weeks then months then years it eroded me. It wore me down. I was weakened I think. My stable base became wafer thin.

Yes. That analogy I used of it being the thin edge of the wedge that found a weakness in me is true and correct.

It Is Like A Cancer

I was going to say a fire that smolders then flares up time and again, or similar. But cancer is such an ugly thing that it more truly reflects how depression, anxiety and panic attacks can hit and then fester.

As a wise person once said, “to fester is to rot” and wow is that correct – depression feeds on itself, generates other negative feelings and forms a positive feedback downward spiral loop.

I found that talk therapy was very good. I came away from each session feeling that a weight had been lifted, that I’d made progress.

And I went every week for 6 weeks.

Then the pandemic hit. I didn’t have any therapy for 2 years and change and that is when those few small cells of cancer-depression started to grow and grow.

Then in 2022 I had the full blown least-wanted symptoms again.

My lifer best practices were failing me. They sound so good, yet I still felt crap.

Where Does the BDSM Fit In?

Mental health for me is all about perceptions and the grip on reality I have. My life-perception-filter changes and gets distorted then my emotional and intellectual selves battle it out with the damaged emotional self winning. It pushes to the top dominating, then depression and the panic and anxiety attacks rule.

BDSM for me is such a big thing in my life. It is at the core of me. In its absence I know my moods go down and I really wouldn’t be surprised if that was a contributing factor to my depression. I find it grounds me, clears my mind and releases me from cares.

In May with my depression and anxiety and panic attacks so bad I was literally feeling quite sick, I booked a BDSM session with the Mistress I’ve been seeing. Then I had to cancel because I really was feeling so poorly.

Then after a week I was able to have that BDSM session.

The relief I felt was extraordinary.

The BDSM Relief

Summary : it floods the senses with a sensory overload, it takes my total attention and it takes me out of this world, it releases me totally. It is a total experience that can’t be denied.

People talk about endirphin rush and sub space and the ability to let go and be dominated. Sure. All of that. But in a way that no one aspect seems to be the answer. It is a total experience. It fills the senses totally.

BDSM for me is all about fantasy, fetish, and the physical sensations that happen in the session. It is a full experience, there is no one aspect of it. I find it all works together.

I find I need a very much ‘heavy’ corporal punishment and bondage type session to make these feelings work. The power of the session directly translates into the feelings of relief.

Being in belt bondage is for me a deep-escape and a profoundly psychological experience. I’ve given up control, I’m restrained, and I’m living my fetish for wide leather belts. I feel a comfort, a “coming home” type experience as I am in the bondage.

At the same time I am in a place, the dungeon, that is unique in the world. It is there that BDSM happens, that nothing else in the world intrudes into and that matters to me. I am a place where my fantasy and fetish are being catered for.

All that matters is in the dungeon. It sits heavily and pushes everything else out. The depression, the panic attack, the anxiety suddenly don’t matter. I am consumed in the dungeon by the experience.

Then I get corporal punishment.

Corporal Punishment As a Transport Not As A Punishment

Corporal adds a whole new depth to the BDSM, bondage and dungeon experience for me.

Some people (my wife in particular) have no idea why this works for me. To them (her) it is incomprehensible. Beyond stange. Truth; it is to me also! It goes against all my growing up principles and societal norms. Yet it works.

Strangely enough I don’t see it as being punished for something – I don’t feel the need to atone or seek some kind of forgiveness from the experience. It is called ‘Corporal Punishment’ but I don’t go there to be punished.

Context and sense of place is everything. I feel I regress in the dungeon when I’m in bondage. Then when Mistress uses a cane, a belt, a strap on me that just makes it far stronger. It is amazingly stronger. It pushes the world away. It is escapism. It is a stimulous of my body, nerves, pain receptors call it what you will, that floods into me.

In my last session I said to mistress, “I don’t see myself as a masochist,” and mistresses response, after giving me heavy corporal was, “you might like to rethink that,” as she is definitely of the opinion I am.

The classical definition of a masochist talks about sexual pleasure. I don’t get that at all. I don’t feel ‘excited’ – rather I find myself withdrawing into the experience, focusing and yet at the same time accepting the pain.

My wife knows about my sessions and I’ve told her there is zero sexual contact. I cannot masturbate or even accept a hand job etc. For me the corporal experience is so strong that the possibility of sexual release is just not there – there is not enough room in me after the BDSM to have a sexual experience.

The progression of the corporal in the session can flow in two ways.

For the session prior to last I asked for a cold prison strapping and then a cold caning. These are particularly challenging as there is no warm up. Warm up with a lighter less painful implement conditions the skin abs also the nerves and the recipient to accept more. It is sort of like easing into the experience. A cold session is nothing like that – it is straight into the most painful implements. It is full on and it pushes all the boundaries. I can promise you it was challenging to accept and yet I felt as if it worked really well. At the time I am struggling to accept it and wanting it to be over yet at the same time not wanting it to stop.

Yes, contradiction is my constant companion. I look forward to it, I struggle to accept it and to endure it, then I’m disappointed when it’s over.

In my last session I had a more conventional session (albeit with 2 apprentices as well as Mistress). Mistress started off with a strapping from a quite supple folded over belt applied firmly. It lifted me onto my toes on the very first stroke, the sting surprising me. She knows I need it applied firmly.

A hard belting to start off with is all about surface sting from this kind of implement, whereas the cane cuts so deeply and the prison strap is a mixture of both and equally as challenging as the cane.

My prison strap is a replica of what was actually used in prisons and one look is all it takes to know what it is designed for.

Sitting here now as I type this I can’t say with any great certainty which is better or worse for my special needs – as I call them. The cold caning and prison strapping is certainly challenging, but that is no great consideration. I think, now with more thought, the conventional session progressing from lighter to more painful implements is better as it leads to a longer session, more strapping and caning. With a cold caning the bottom is more liable to being cut as without the previous strapping it is not warmed up. I prefer the longer duration, the longer experience.

In the months leading up to a session I do indulge in self bondage. I find I can go without the corporal but the effect is much less. I have gone years on just some self-bondage and I find that very satisfying in its own way, but it really is limited. It is just not the same. It’s like watered down milk – the color is a little thin, the taste weak and it’s just not as satisfying.

My wife cannot understand this at all. She sees the absurdity of it, of someone wanting to be hurt or punished and that is all it is to her. Each time we talk about it I tell her that the pain is just one aspect. It can even be a small aspect.

I tell her about a cold caning versus a more conventional experience. These just blow her mnd that I would do that and willingly. And even now, I feel no great aversion to either. If I could only have one type I would not be overly fussed if it was either.

She cannot understand that the pain is a transport. It is a by-product as must as a mechanism in itself.

It sends me. As mistress uses a belt, a strap, the tawse or a cane on me it overwhelms all my senses. The pain is there, it flares up, I have to deal with it and it takes all my energy and all my inner self to deal with it. That is good.

That leaves nothing else for anything else. I am consumed. It consumes me.

We’re taught early in our lives to shun pain. Pain is bad we’re taught, it means something is not right. And I get it, it is the same for me and a cause for my contradictions in my inner self. Yet the pain of corporal punishment is necessary for me to be totally removed from this world and taken to where the depression and anxiety don’t exist.

That is another way to look at it. I’m totally removed from this world and taken to where the depression and anxiety don’t exist.

My pain senses are triggered, they flood and dominate. The crack of the strap, the splat of the tawse and the bite of a cane are impossible to ignore. They are overwhelming. I’m gone, out of the here and now.

I tell my wife, “you can’t think of anything else, or be anywhere else when Mistress is caning me,” and she really struggles to understand.

My fetish is being triggered by the bondage stopping me from movement, and the leather mistress applying the corporal, and my sense of place in the dungeon, a place that only brings relief is bringing it all home.

Trying To Build Resilience

There are three aspects to this from my perspective.

The first is to adopt life practices that reduce the chance of a relapse.

This is clearly, on review, and on review again a week later, the most important part of the process for me.

Nothing beats having life practices that prevent the kinds of issues I’ve had.

For me this is all about my mental attitude to life and the challenges it throws at me. I do tend to be a bit of a dreamer and that does bring the burden of looking at worst case scenarios that usually never happen.

Maybe this does play into my fetish and BDSM life as that is all about shifted realities and fantasy.

What practices am I talking about?

Professional help is never far away. I need to say this. I know they can help and will help, all it takes is me to make the phone call. That is a reassurance that is good to have. They are my lifeline and my fall back and my go to when everything else is just not cutting it.

Reject denial, be honest with myself. I am guilty of this and say to myself and others, “everything is fine” when it plainly is not when I’m almost quivering in stress. I’ve let it get to far and made it far more difficult to deal with. Getting in early by rejecting denial and being honest really is an important life practice.

Affirmations. I find these quite powerful. Saying the words and meaning them helps. For example, saying “I know that everything in the world is going well and I have no need for fear.”

The use of logic. Just sitting down and writing down all the positives in my life really helps. Then I make a list of the problems, the negatives, and all of a suddenly they look so small and meaningless in comparison. I find this to be somewhat weak – if I’m not feeling great then my mental processing power makes this option feel poor – even though it is valuable.

Physical exercise and fitness. This has a huge impact. First of all is sleep, getting a better sleep because I am bodily tired really helps. Then there is the rush of achieving something – be it as simple as puling some weeds, caring for some plants or doing housework that makes me feel better with myself. It does not have to be too much – but it must get me off my butt and actually do something.

Achievement. I gen an endorphin rush from achievement. Small things that I can do to get a “rush of success” and the feeling that I made or did something that was successful is something I really like. Small things that can be completed quickly and not linger are best.

Be gentle with myself. I need to understand that setbacks, that problems, that issues that arise constantly are just small and not consequential. I don’t need to beat myself up for this.

Have a healthy regard for time. Looking back on things, feeling upset at something years ago has always been an issue for me. This is negative and soul destroying. It brings the upset of reliving a hurt or a loss and wishing I’d done things differently or cursing sheer chance. And it is totally pointless. Living in the now, thinking about the best things to come and using logic and good sense to ease into the future are ‘best practices’.

My BDSM side does need to be fulfilled. I cannot deny it. Denial brings stress. I know I can go 3 months, 6 months, 12 months and more but I also know that I miss it more and more. It becomes a constant source of destabilization. Then when I do have a BDSM session, I feel such relief and always say that I need to make it more regular. And I should.

The second is to recognize the onset early, and to have and use the tools I need to deal with them.

I get lazy. I forget. I must bounce into my ‘best practices’ asap.

It is a monitoring function. It needs to be timely. It needs to happen and not allow me to head off into a full blown recurrence.

This is all about being mindful of my state of mental health.

I must combine this with the first practice above.

Part of this is the “maintenance aspect” – that I need to ensure that my life practices are working and then if I sense an issue, to take action.

The third is to be able to deal with an onset and prevent a full blown recurrence. I must not let it linger, to build and strengthen till it is debilitating.

This wraps up the previous 2 steps.

I hit a full blown recurrence with the big-guns.

Over the years there have been various “grades” of depression and related problems I’ve faced. At the worst I’ve had to go to my doctor and been put on medication which was not great but the alternative was worse. Then at times I’ve taken myself off to talk therapy and that has been good.

Professional help really is #1.

Then there are my BDSM sessions. They have given me a profound release when my moods have been so low. I’ve gone into them stressed, feeling nauseous and almost trembling, then when I leave I really am a new me. They seem to clear me, refresh my mental attitude in a way that is hard to describe.

But I will try.

“Imagine your best-ever holiday. Imagine how great it felt to be away from everything and to feel so good about it, so relaxed, so divorced from problems and stress. My BDSM sessions in such a short time fulfill that self same function. The experience is so strong, to engrossing, so powerful that I come away a whole new me.”

In Conclusion

Did you read this far? Did it make any sense to you? Did you get anything positive or any help from it? I truly hope so.
This has been an almost cathartic exercise for me. Documenting all this, writing it down puts things into perspective. Also being an introspective (and painfully so) type of person it helps to ground me.
Yes I am a cave-dweller kind of person living in denial given half the chance and that’s not healthy.
Accepting that is a good first step, then having life practices that help are the next step.
My best wishes – ‘Trikki
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Graham Strapping – Part 3

Ms Smeet’s three tailed XH leather strap has left Graham with tears on his cheeks and bright red hot throbbing palms. Damn. Ms Smeet straps so much harder than Mr Hughes and her strap hurts so much more. He’s had a few six’ers from Mr Hughes and while they hurt, they were nothing like his hands now felt.

But now Ms Smeet has a few more tricks up her formidable sleeve as Graham is about to find out.

So That Was Your Six, the strap parade

Graham was rubbing his palms in vain when Ms Smeet said, scaring him said, “Both hands out now Graham, let me see them. Quickly now.”

Collecting himself as best he could he stood up then put both his hands out, both at chest height. Both were deep red now and both shook from the strapping they’d had.

He was hoping that six of the best was all he was going to get. Ms Smeet had said he might get two more and that was an unbearable thought. Would it be two to each or two in total was another thought that came to him. He couldn’t imagine getting the strap again after that six.

“Oh, they are nice and red.” Ms Smeet put a finger forward and ran it over his palms, pressing down. Ms Smeet ran her finger over the fingers, over the palm and on each hand. At least it wasn’t her strap he was thinking.

She looked up into his tear filled eyes, “They do look painful. I think Graham we should make this more instructional. We should help the class understand how well Mr Crisp works.” With that Ms Smeet laid her strap across his open palms, laying it there carefully across them both. It felt hugely embarrassing holding it like that knowing every eye was on him.

He started to close his hands on the strap because he didn’t want to drop it then be even more embarrassed picking it up and probably get told off by Ms Smeet.

But Ms Smeet had other ideas, “No Graham, keep your hands open. I want you to walk around the class and show your palms to everyone else here. They can also see Mr Crisp up nice and close, and how he makes them lovely and red. I want you to show everyone so they know the cost of day dreaming, not paying attention, and the very best way that can be cured. Off you go. Then come back to me while I think about how many more you need.”

He didn’t like the sound of getting more. That sounded very bad indeed.

Walking around the class, walking in front of all his peers, all the boys he played with in the school ground and all the girls and some of whom he fancied, was a complete nightmare.

He tried to move as quickly as he could and if he could have run, he would but he knew that wasn’t an option. Holding his hands out with Ms Smeet’s strap balancing on them and seeing everyone look at his palms, at Ms Smeet’s deadly strap, then most of them smirk and look up into his face was awful.

The girls were the worst. He liked girls and it felt so awfully demeaning to have to do this in front of them. He hadn’t had a chance to wipe the tears off his face and his eyes were still brimming and that just made it so much worse.

He walked quickly, or as quickly as he thought he could but one of the girls, Erin Gallagher, a girl he hated and the feeling had been mutual all their school years said, “Please Ms Smeet, I didn’t get a proper look he was too fast. Can Graham come back and take more time please Ms Smeet?”

Graham was almost back with Ms Smeet by this time when he heard that and his hatred for Erin just deepened. Damn. Didn’t she understand how embarrassing this was? Then he realized, she must. That’s why she said it.

When his eyes met Ms Smeet she nodded, “I think Graham that Erin has made a very valid point. I thought you walked too quickly also. Walk slower. Show everyone in the class properly again. Class. If you want you can touch my strap, or even pick it up, maybe that will help. Erin, what a good idea.”

Then when he turned Ms Smeet added loudly, “And Graham, if you go too fast I think I will give you two more to each hand. Noice and hard. Now show all the class your well strapped hands and Mr Crisp. Show them properly.”

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, it did. This was his living hell.

He turned then started to walk around the class again, stopping at each of his class mates so they could look and in come cases touch the dreaded three tailed strap of Ms Smeet’s. At Stuart a friend and the first of his classmates he held the strap between his red hands and waited a moment. Stuart looked down at his hands then he reached out and picked up the strap for a moment. Stuart looked up at his face then put the strap back. Then he moved on to the next person and this repeated time and again. Most didn’t want to touch the strap, but some did.

It seemed there was not going to be any escape for him. His nemesis Erin Gallagher though did was to touch the strap and more. She picked the strap up then turned it over in her hands slowly. “Thank you Ms Smeet, I’ve never held one before. It is very firm and it looks like it really hurts.”

Any Volunteers?

Ms Smeet smiled at Erin, “Surely. These are specially made for hands and the XH stamped on the end means extra heavy so they hurt more than others without that stamp. Would you like to try a stroke on your hands Erin? Just the one on each so you can say you got the strap from me?”

Erin put the strap down on his hands quickly then looked up, clearly both surprised and afraid, “Please no Ms Smeet. It looks far too painful for me.”

Ms Smeet shrugged. “Well, that is disappointing. It does take a lot of courage Erin. Anyone else in the grade want to try? It would mean you are brave and you get bragging rights in the playground. Also in the years to come when you leave here you can remember how brave you were. Never mind. If you’re all afraid then,” and she left it at that. There was a challenge in that and the way she said it Graham could hear. It was obvious, but it was also out there and the class was thinking about it.

Erin was looking at the strap on his hands. She put a finger pressed down on it, then she moved the finger over his hands, over the reddest part, then her finger moved along the strap again. “Well I suppose,” she said quietly.

Graham struggled to take in what Erin had said, and also he was wishing this was all over and he was sitting in his seat without everyone looking at him. But he had a few more in the class to show the strap and his red hot palms to. Again. Each one of his friends and even the girls now also picked up the strap and felt it. He could see it in their eyes, in their faces. They were wondering how it really felt.

After what felt like an eternity moving around the class with Ms Smeet’s strap held across his hands and most of the class picking the strap up, feeling it and more than a few putting a finger on his bright red palms he was finally back at Ms Smeet hoping for an end to the whole thing. It was bad enough to get a six of the best strapping from her painful strap, but it added a whole new dimension of embarrassment to parade round the room like that.

“Very good Graham. Much better and I see that my strap has some admirers.” She smiled, “As it should. It really is special.”

Ms Smeet looked around the room, “Anyone want to try a stroke? One to each hand so you can show how brave you are? One quick stroke that will give you a taster and get an idea of what Graham had with his six of the best?”

There was dead silence, then Ms Smeet called out, “Erin? Are you brave enough?”

Graham didn’t want to turn and stare but he could swivel his eyes. Erin Gallagher his nemesis was sitting looking embarrassed but she also looked uncertain. “Will it really hurt Ms Smeet?”

Ms Smeet smiled, “Of course it will. That is what the XH strap is meant to do, it means extra heavy, but I think most people who feel it properly will say ‘eXtra Hurt’,” as she smiled. And I’ll strap you extra hard because anything less and you would not get the full effect. You might cry. You might scream. But you will be seen as amazingly brave by everyone as they all know I only strap extra hard.”

Erin was looking uncertain still, “Just one Ms Smeet?” she asked. Graham could see others in the room were looking surprised and a few were also looking unsure.

“One to each hand Erin. Now. Come up here and stand beside Graham or we’ll go back to class work. OH. Anyone else?” Ms Smeet looked around the room. “Well, it seems like a girl is more brave than any of you boys,” she said as Erin stood up slowly looking totally unsure.

Ms Smeet's Strap Tryout

Graham watched Erin walk forward then stand beside him. Like him she looked slightly shocked and certainly embarrassed and like he had, her hands were pressed to the outside of her thighs. But hers weren’t bright red and stinging yet. That would soon change.

Ms Smeet looked around the class then another girl stood up, “Vicky,” said Ms Smeet, “well done. It is an experience you’ll never forget. I remember all the times I got the strap in class all those years ago and the first time was a lot more than just one to each hand I can promise you. It was the same as Graham got. Now anyone else?”

Two boys stood, Jamie and Phillip. Both of those boys were the class toughies and it was no secret that they fancied Vickie and both of them were trying to take her out but Vicky was a bit of an ice queen. They also looked sheepish and Graham had no doubt that the only reason they were doing this was to impress Vicky. After all, if she could take it then so could they and it would give them some street creds. Plus they could talk to her about it afterward and not be the ones who didn’t come out the front.

Ms Smeet took her strap off his hands then ran it through hers. “Excellent. Four. We’ll do it the same as how Graham got his six. You will put your left out, supported by your right. I’ll use my strap, then you stand up again and put your right out supported by your left and that will get its stroke. Any questions?”

There were none.

Ms Smeet moved in front of Erin, “Girls first. Erin. Hands up. Left hand first please,” said Ms Smeet as the strap was held between both her hands.

Erin was looking positively terrified but she lifted her left hand up high and flat then seconds later her right hand was underneath and supporting it. Ms Smeet flicked her strap up and onto Erin’s palm letting it flop down lazily. “Feel the strap Erin. You know what’s going to happen next.”

Erin nodded, “Yes Ms Smeet.”

Ms Smeet waited a few moments then the strap was pulled back then was up and over her shoulder.

The same as for when he got it, Graham found the vision of the strap raised and poised to be absolutely mesmerizing. Ms Smeet was also a study in concentration, looking at Erin, her hand, then then the strap disappeared along with a “shhwiiccckkk” and just a moment later with a shriek Erin doubled over and furiously rubbed her hand. “Ms Smeet that is too much,” she gasped, the pain more than she expected.

“Nonsense, If I called you out for not paying attention like Graham you’d get the full six,” said Ms Smeet. “And Graham got his six. Three of those to each hand. You get only one. Other hand up, quickly now.”

Erin was moaning and gasping, but in a few seconds her unblemished right hand was presented then the ballet of the strap was repeated. For Erin it took a supreme effort to knowingly lift her hand up for the dreadful pain to come, but she had pride, she was not going to back down now.

The strap was lifted up onto the waiting palm. All eyes were on it. Then it moved over the teachers shoulder to delay a moment. Again all eyes were on it, following the movement and unable to resist. Then the strap came down with that self same “ssshhhwwwwiiiiccckkk” then Erin shrieked and doubled over rubbing her hand like crazy, the sting deep inside and more than she’d ever experienced before.

“What do you think Graham?” asked Ms Smeet, looking at him as she held her strap across her body.

“I think Erin is really brave. I know how much that hurts. Really, Erin you are so brave. I don’t know if I’d be brave enough to do that.”

“Show your hands Erin,” said Ms Smeet.

Erin lifted up after a few more seconds of hand rubbing and gasping then showed her palms. They both had an angry red line down the middle, the same width as Ms Smeet’s strap. They were also quivering slightly from the force of the strapping.

“Very good Erin. Graham was right. You were brave. Now Vicky, your turn,” said Ms Smeet as she moved to stand in front of the class tease and also supposedly the toughest girl in the class who thought of herself as the most attractive girl in the school. No one teased Vicky, but Graham had a reasonable relationship with her though they weren’t close. Not so for the other two boys lined up, they fancied Vicky so much. Graham and Vicky were civil but he’d never fancied her. For some reason he looked at Erin with her red and hot palms and suddenly felt a bond he’d never felt before.

Vicky knew what to do and did it without being asked. Her left hand was up and supported by her right even before Ms Smeet was in front of her. The strap was flicked up, lay on the feminine palm, was put over the shoulder then after a few moments it swept down in the same shrill way.

Vicky gasped, shook her hand but didn’t buckle over like Erin had and didn’t make a sound, the only sound was the leather on girl-palm. Almost impossible to believe, Vicky presented her right hand, supported by her left, quickly for the next stroke without even being asked.

“We have an expert here class. Vicky is showing a resilience I didn’t expect. Well done Vicky.”

The strap cracked down on the waiting palm seconds later bringing a feminine gasp from Vicky and some hand waving but that didn’t last long, the hands were wrung for a moment then Vicky said, “Thank you Ms Smeet, that really is painful.”

Ms Smeet was smiling, running her strap through her hands, “Would you like to try for six Vicky, that will test you out. You took those very well indeed for a first time.”

“Thank you Ms Smeet,” said Vicky. “Two is enough thank you,” as she was shaking her hands and now blowing on them.

“My pleasure Vicky and maybe next time you can go for six of the best. Feel free to ask for more if you need it.” Not a person in the class thought anyone would be insane enough to ask for more or again, let alone for six after that.

The boys were next and they were looking slightly sick in the tummy at what was to come. Clearly Ms Smeet strapped hard. All of a sudden volunteering for the strap was not looking so clever.

“Right Philip, your turn. Hands up thank you,” said Ms Smeet as she flicked her strap back and forward, clearly enjoying moving it through the air.

Philip was taller and stronger than he was, and Graham knew Philip was a bit of a bully also. But right now he looked smaller and less threatening. Slowly Philip lifted is left hand, supported it with his right then Ms Smeet flicked her strap up onto his palm.

Same as for all the other strokes Ms Smeet flicked her strap up and over her shoulder then held it there for a moment. With a look of concentration the strap flashed down with a ‘craaaccckk’ that was loud and terminated with a shout from Philip.

“Vicky took hers much better than you Phillip. Other hand up.”

Not looking too happy about this now Phillip waved his hand for a moment then put the other up and supported it. Again the performance was repeated on the right with the same crack at the end as Phillip gasped loudly, shook his hand and looked totally defeated.

“There,” said Ms Smeet. “Just two this time. Perhaps you might like to try six like Graham?”

Phillip was shaking he head form side to side, “No, no thanks Ms Smeet. Same as Erin, and Vicky, two is plenty.”

Ms Smeet smiled, “I thought so. Jaimie, left hand up, you know how by now.”

Jaimie was another toughie in the class vying for Vicky’s affections Graham knew. Graham and Jaimie had a fight a few weeks ago over Vicky but she’d favored neither of them which just added to Jaimie’s frustration. Not that he cared much, it being more of a misunderstanding that a fight.

Jaimie’s hand was up high with Ms Smeet’s strap laying on it seconds later. Then the strap was over Ms Smeet’s shoulder then after the delay it swished then cracked down making Jaimie shout out, “AHH,” as it clearly got through to him.

Ms Smeet was waiting, and waited some more, “Other hand Jaimie, quickly now,” she said.

Jaimie was shaken by the pain in his hand, but he did it. The right hand was up and flat with Ms Smeet’s strap laying on it just seconds later. The same as the previous stroke the strap was flicked up and over Ms Smeet’s shoulder then it flew down and cracked across Jaimie’s palm and fingers. Again he shouted out and again he was rubbing his hand madly.

“There,” said Ms Smeet. Two each. Anyone want any more? Vicky? You took yours well. Want to try four or even six of the best?”

Vicky shook her head slowly, “Tempting Ms Smeet. Maybe next time thank you,” she said with a smile as she looked at Phillip and Jaimie.

Graham thought she was teasing Jaimie and Phillip. She was almost asking if they cold take a strapping as well as she could.

After Class Surprise

When the bell rang for the end of day, Graham was happy to pick up his books, pens and pencils then make for the door. He wanted out and he wanted this day to be over as soon as possible. As per usual in the busy classroom he wasn’t the last to leave and not the first either.

He was filing out with the others then when he got to the front Ms Smeet said to him, “How are the hands Graham?”

He put them out, “Still red Ms Smeet and very sore.”

Ms Smeet smiled, “Good. Are you going to day dream again Graham?”

He shook his head, “I hope not Ms Smeet. That really was painful. Sorry Ms Smeet.”

Ms Smeet looked at him and nodded, “I’m glad I could help you. Now. If you feel yourself slipping, let me know, I can give you just a single, a wake up stroke quick and easy to each hand to help you keep focused. It will be a lot less painful than the full six and might prevent the day dreaming six’er. Maybe you can day dream about that? Hmmm?” she asked.

“Thank you Ms Smeet,” was all he could say. No way was he going to ask for the strap from Ms Smeet, she swung hers so blisteringly hard and the strap itself was much worse than Mr Hughes.

Ms Smeet wasn’t finished either. She turned slightly, “Same for you Erin. I saw you were looking a little lost at times today. If you feel the need, just put up your hand, I can redden it nicely and it will help with your concentration. I’ve noticed it slipping lately. It will be a lot easier than the full six.”

“Thank you Ms Smeet,” said Erin, “mine still stings also, maybe later,” she said which surprised the hell out of Graham. She sure was brave.

Graham tried to put everything out of his mind as he walked out of the class and into the corridor. He wanted to ignore everyone, didn’t want to look at any faces so he had his head down almost in shame and actually feeling a bit of that from the whole getting the strap in class in front of everyone thing.

He was brought out of his blue funk by a presence right beside him touching him slightly that made him look across. There was Erin Gallagher again. Damn. And she was looking at him. Was she going to say something about him getting the strap? Was she going to tease him? He just wanted a hole to open up and swallow him.

“Graham,” she said making him worry, “why haven’t we been friends? Do you really hate me?”

He didn’t expect that. He looked some more into her face. “I thought you hated me and I tried to keep away. You just always look sort of cross at me for some reason so I thought you hated me.”

Erin put her hand down then Graham felt it against his hand, then in seconds they were holding hands. It felt massively strange and also strangely nice. He’d never held a girls hand before.

“No. I thought you hated me. I’d like to be, ah, your friend,” she said. “I got the strap because I wanted to know how you felt. I saw how holding the strap affected you and I wanted to feel it also. It was so painful I couldn’t believe it.” Then she gripped his hand for a moment, “and it still stings. I’ve never got the strap before. Ms Smeet sure does it hard, I can still feel it and I can feel how hot your hand is.” She moved her hands against his some more. “It feels kind of strange, not bad really,” and she gripped his hand some more. Suddenly he felt something special for Erin.

That was not to be the last time that Graham encountered Ms Smeet’s strap, and things with Erin went from nothing to more than he ever thought possible in just a few short weeks.

Also, Erin surprised him on more than one occasion especially after he got a strapping from Ms Smeet when she put her hand up also. She was absolutely the most brave person he’d ever met.

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Grahams Strapping – Part 2

Tawse Over Shulder

Caught day dreaming in Ms Smeets class again, and so soon after he’d been sent to Mr Hughes for the strap, Graham now finds out the hard way just how Ms Smeet deals with with repeat offenders.

It really wasn’t fair, he thought. She was impossible not to day dream about.

Fetching The strap

As he held the strap in his hands Ms Smeet said, “Very good Graham. Now bring the strap to me,” she said firmly, each word firm and clear with plenty of emphasis on the word strap making it sound sharp and strong. Not that anyone in the classes needed that to understand.

Again the walking, again feeling every eye on him he carried the strap to Ms Smeet with his heart beating faster and acutely sensing his breathing coming in gasps from his nervous tension. Not only that, carrying the strap, feeling it in his hands was the most exciting thing he’d ever done, and also the most embarrassing, and the most frightening, and all at the same time.

How hard was Ms Smeet going to strap him? He couldn’t get that out of his mind. But the logic of it was that since it was her strap, she knew how to use it and had used it before.

Would it be as hard as Mr Hughes? He strapped pretty hard and it sure did sting. But his strap was nothing like this one.

He doubted it. But it was plain, Mr Hughes strap wasn’t split like this one and he’d heard from his friends that this kind which was often called a tawse and it hurt alot more. Also Mr Hughes strap was floppy, supple, and no way as thick as this one. Just holding Ms Smeet’s strap he could feel how hard and thick and un bending the leather was.

Holding it with between his hands, he presented the strap to Ms Smeet who smiled slightly as she reached forward and took it.

His eyes were riveted to Ms Smeet. She moved the strap between her hands, caressing the leather almost. Ms Smeet flicked the three tails up in the air then caught them as they descended, every eye in the class staring at the leather of the strap moving.

As she did that, the leather moving, it was clear that the leather was quite stiff, hardly bending. When Ms Smeet used it as a pointer it stood straight out even though she held it with just one hand. Ms Smeet stared at him, “Stand there,” she said pointing the strap beside her.

Moving hesitantly he was now side on to the class, his hands pressed to his sides, his body almost trembling in expectation. This was nothing like how he got the strap from Mr Hughes the headmaster, nothing like it at all. The strap from him had just been painful. At least then he’d been in his office and none of his class was there, no one watching as Mr Hughes got his strap out of the draw then came round his desk. At least getting the strap in his office had been private even though so very painful.

“Good,” said Ms Smeet as she stared at him, “Mr Crisp does focus the eyes of naughty boys and girls.” She smiled slightly, “And Mr Crisp does a whole lot more than that as you’ll find out.”

Ms Smeet ran the strap through her hands again, then flicked her strap up and swished it through the air, reacquainting herself.

“Class,” said Ms Smeet, “do you see how stiff Mr Crisp is?” she said as she held it by one hand. The strap extended out and while it drooped at the end, it was far from floppy. “I keep Mr Crisp laying flat in my drawer, never ever rolled up like other straps and this all helps Mr Crisp make an impression on naughty boys and girls palms. Watch,” she said as she ran the strap though her hands one more time like a magician showing the audience a new trick.

The Warm up - Then the Main Event - Hands UP

Ms Smeet then rolled her shoulders for a moment, limbering up, then she lifted the strap up high, over and above her right shoulder, the tails stiff and pointing down behind her back now. There it poised for moment till with a lazy motion she brought her arm with the strap at the end down through the air making a gentle swish as it flew through the air.

Taking her time she repeated it, the strap raised, poised for a moment, just long enough for the eyes of the class to focus on it, then with a firm downward motion the leather went flying through the air. This time the sound of the strap through the air was a little louder, the leather flying a little faster thought the whole class. Particularly Graham.

Everyone in the class knew what was going to happen.

Ms Smeet was just getting started though. With her shoulders now feeling ready for action, for the third practice stroke Ms Smeet was now warmed up nicely. With a visible effort she made the leather positively swish through the air in the hardest air-stroke yet leaving no doubt in everyone in the class that she knew how to use a strap for maximum effect.

And now she’d warmed up.

Graham was getting the strap from an expert.

Getting The Cuts From Ms Smeet

“Hands UP, Graham,” said Ms Smeet firmly, the strap now held across her body and she was clearly ready to use it.

Feeling mesmerized, like he was in a dream, feeling the weight of being out the front of class and looking at Ms Smeet with the strap, Graham lifted his left hand up to chest height. Because they were facing each other, his fingers were pointing toward her, his hand open and flat.

Ms Smeet tut-tutted, “Now Graham, where I come from naughty boys and girls put their other hand under, to support and to keep it up. Do so now QUICKLY,” she snapped.

In a daze Graham lifted his right hand, then put it under his left, the hand now supported. Now he felt even worse. He felt even more embarrassed, and even more like the naughty boy getting the strap. And Ms Smeet looked positively terrifying holding her strap and being right in front of him after she’d swished it through the air time and again.

Taking her time Ms Smeet flicked the strap up onto his waiting palm showing how well she could control it. It was done quickly, simply, and showed her experience with that strap of leather.

Moving back slightly so her arm was not quite at full reach she left the strap laying on his palm. “Graham,” she asked, “you have had the strap before haven’t you, from Mr Hughes he tells me?”

“Yes Ms Smeet,” he said, his throat closed over slightly so his voice came out thinly, almost quietly.

“Have you had it from a strap like this one before,” she asked, “because this one is special. It’s called a tawse and it is made specially for naughty boys and girls palms.”

He looked down at the strap then up at Ms Smeet’s face, “No Ms Smeet, Mr Hughes strap isn’t split like yours.”

Ms Smeet did nothing. She said nothing. It was time for the leather to do the talking. With a gentle hand motion, the strap was pulled back, it fell off his palm a little then it was raised over Ms Smeet’s shoulder where it poised. It poised drawing his eyes to the leather, then to Ms Smeet’s face then back to the leather.

There was dead silence in the class. He’d never got the strap in class before. Now it was happening, and from Ms Smeet the woman he’d been daydreaming about.

Graham looked at Ms Smeet, right in the eyes as hers bored into him.

She mesmerized him.

He stared into her eyes and now with the strap raised his open and flat palm felt massively vulnerable he stood dreading what was coming and powerless to resist. He couldn’t look away.

Almost like a magic trick the strap disappeared, something seemed to blur in front of him then his palm and fingers exploded in fire at the same time a loud sharp ‘sshhwiicckk’ sounded echoing round the silent classroom for all to hear.

– 1 –

The strap drew out a deep long moan of despair and pain, “HmmmmAHHHH,” from him, the pain in his hand the worst of his life as he bent over his hand. He rubbed it, he gasped and tried to get on top of the pain. It felt like his hand had been dipped in boiling water, then seconds later it went deeper into the hand seeming to hurt all the way through. When he got the cuts from Mr Hughes the strap landed loud like a gunshot almost but it felt nothing like this. This really go into his hand far deeper.

The sound from Ms Smeet’s strap was also higher pitched but it hurt so much more. This was far worse.

“Other hand Graham,” Ms Smeet said quietly, firmly, “Quickly now. We’ve wasted enough time on this, educational for the whole class though it has been.”

This was different. Mr Hughes strapped each hand three times then gave the other hand its three strokes. From the way he felt from one stroke from Ms Smeet he doubted he could take three in a row from Ms Smeet and her strap on the one hand. Maybe this was not going to be so bad.

From being bent over he looked at Ms Smeet’s leather skirt and beside that he saw her strap swishing back and forward looking impatient, like a cats tail. He stood up gradually then put his right hand up and out, then remembering after a second, he supported it with his left. He looked down, the right hand now looked so vulnerable and white compared to his blazing left.

It came as a shock when the strap landed on his palm, sitting there laying along his fingers and onto the palm. Then after barely a few breaths the strap was pulled back then was raised over Ms Smeet’s shoulder. He felt terrified, the first stroke had been so painful he had to look away. But Ms Smeet didn’t like that.

“GRAHAM,” she said, “I expect you to have the courage to look at me as I strap you. Look at me now else I’ll give you extra. Look at my strap. I might even send you to Mr Hughes after I’ve finished with you so you can get the strap from him also and find out how his strap compares to mine.”

Graham looked up slowly, looked up at Ms Smeet as she stood with her strap poised above her shoulder and the stern look on her face. Then he looked at the strap. It was positively terrifying.

– 2 –

He stood looking into her eyes for a moment that stretched then again the ‘sshhwiicckk’ sounded and his right hand blazed into incandescent fury. Instantly his hands went under his armpits, both of them burning and throbbing from the deep pain. “Hmmmmaggghhhh,” was all that came out of his mouth as the enormity of the pain engulfed him. This was nothing like Mr Hughes strap, nothing like that at all.

“Left hand again Graham, quickly now, get it up,” Ms Smeet said. Again as he was bent over all he saw was Ms Smeet’s leather skirt and the deadly strap of hers swinging back and forward impatiently.

His hands hurt like hell but he knew he didn’t have any choice.

He stood upright again then raised his already red and throbbing left hand. When he put his newly red hot and burning right hand under it to support it he suddenly knew why this was done. The waiting reddened palm was shaking from just one stroke and holding it up voluntarily for the next was difficult. With his left hand supported by the right hand it helped keep it still for the next stroke.

Quickly this time the strap was flicked up to sit on the red palm, sit and make him acutely aware of what was coming. It saw there as Ms Smeet looked into his eyes. “Prepare,” she said quietly.

Then with a gentle flick the strap as pulled back then raised over a shoulder, the hand holding the strap high in the air the same as the last two times. It was formidable sight as he looked into Ms Smeet’’s eyes and saw her determination.

– 3 –

Ms Smeet swept her arm down with her upper body flexing hard, showing the effort she put in, the strap swished then cracked down even louder. This was the hardest stroke yet, the immensity of the pain making him yell out loud as he buckled over and rubbed his hand frantically, the heat and sting in it not abating.

“Quickly now, right hand,” said Ms Smeet as she flicked her strap back and forward beside her, impatiently waiting for the palm to be raised again.

Reluctantly repeating, Graham straightened up and brought his right hand up and supported it with his throbbing left. This was the fourth stroke, the second for this hand and he hoped like hell it was the last. Mr Hughes had strapped him a few times and it had been nothing like this. Those strappings had left his hands sore for an hour or two but hadn’t devastated him like this strapping had. Nothing had ever been like this.

“That’s three,” Ms Smeet said then delivered the awful news, “half way there for your six of the very best.”

He felt like complaining but decided against it. Ms Smeet was looking remorseless and driven, no way was she going to give him less and if he complained she’d probably give him more or send him to Mr Hughes for a dose of his strap as well.

Ms Smeet flicked the strap up onto his palm, let it lay there for a few seconds then it was quickly over Ms Smeet’s shoulder where it delayed as the strict school teacher showed her student what was coming. Then her upper body flexed, her arm flew down in a blur and his right hand exploded just the same as his left had done.

– 4 –

Again he buckled over and again he rubbed his palms together trying to get on top of the pain from the hardest strapping he’d ever had. But Ms Smeet was implacable. “Left hand up Graham, quickly now.”

Rising after looking at Ms Smeet’s waist, her leather skirt and the strap moving beside her in impatient, he lofted his left hand and supported it with his right. This time he saw the hand was now red, very red, and it was shaking so much that it really did need the right hand under it to steady it. And her realized, to make it a better target for Ms Smeet’s strap.

The process repeated. The strap was flicked up and onto his palm where it lay. He looked at it, he looked at Ms Smeet, he looked back at the strap then it was off his palm and over Ms Smeet’s shoulder. He looked at his strict form teacher for a moment seeing her eyes boring into him and her look of concentration then it happened.

– 5 –

After two of the hardest strokes of the strap he’d ever had, he thought that maybe the third wouldn’t hurt as much. He was wrong. Weather it was Ms Smeet putting in extra effort, or was it that that her strap was always painful he didn’t know as all other thoughts were wrenched, strapped, out of his mind.

Without any thought he was again bent over rubbing his hand and of course the command, “Right hand up. Quickly now else it’s two more,” said Ms Smeet. “I am thinking you’ll need two more, two of my very best, so hurry up.”

Quickly with the thought of the extra strokes of that punishing strap in his mind, as quickly as he humanly could as he was shaking from the pain and his eyes were now moist, his right hand was held up then supported with his burning and severely strapped left hand.

He was struggling to concentrate now, his breathing was ragged and he could feel the tears in his eyes. He could only take so much of this before he burst into tears and he suspected that limit had been well and truly reached.

“Good,” said Ms Smeet as she looked into his now filling eyes, “I can see this lesson is having the correct effect. You won’t be day dreaming in my class again unless it’s about my strap.”

– 6 –

Ms Smeet was like a machine now. Her muscle memory from years of using her strap was coming back to her after the short hiatus she’d had from moving schools and the start of a new term.

The strap flicked up onto his waiting red hot and now shaking palm. It lay there, catching his attention, then his eyes moved to Ms Smeet with her stern face as she looked into his eyes locking him in her stare. Then after just a few seconds the strap was up and over her shoulder where her arm held it high and proud for all to see, poised, ready.

Then there was an interminable wait that made his heart tremble. It could have only been a few seconds but felt longer, far longer as Ms Smeet stared into his eyes and he was acutely aware of the strap ready to descend.

Every eye in the class was on the strap also, or at least those that weren’t watching him and his upraised and red palm waiting for the leather to swish down onto.

When it came it was almost too fast to see, but the full bodied and shrill sound was distinctive, echoing around the room.

“ssshhhwwwwiiicccckkk,” went the strap onto his waiting palm and this time it wrenched a full bodied shout from him as the dam holding back the tears broke then they coursed down his cheeks. He had no choice but to bend over fully, both hands pressed under his armpits as he tried to reduce the awful stinging, moving them, trying to get on top of the pain.

Graham had found out, Ms Smeet straps really hard. Not only that, her strap was so much more painful than Mr Hughes.

But Graham’s time in front of the class is far from over. Ms Smeet has new ways to get the message home to him. And not only that, Ms Smeet has more surprises in store.

Continued in Part-3