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.


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

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.

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

Grahams Strapping – Part 1

This is the story of Graham who has, and not for the first time, been caught out day dreaming in class. It so was hard not to Graham reasoned as Ms Smeet was impossible not to day dream about.
The big problem for Graham is that Ms Smeet sent him to Mr Hughes the previous time for the strap, “as a wake-up call” she said and it worked for a time. But it has now only been a short while later that he’s been caught again so Ms Smeet is going to show the whole class how she deals with repeat offenders. Not only that, with this turn of events Ms Smeet will make an offer to the class that will answer some questions and leave a few more hands red and stinging.

Called Out - Again

“GRAHAM,” said his teacher sharply from the front of the room in exasperation, her cross voice shrill and loud, cutting through the classroom making the other students jump.

Suddenly all activity stopped, all sound stopped. It was impossible not to know when Ms Smeet was angry. The other students, though usually quiet in Ms Smeet’s class now turned to statues so that even the gentle sounds of movement, the sounds writing of breathing almost, were stilled as total silence descended.

Graham for his part had been in another time and space, day dreaming about his teacher the formidable Ms Smeet, the focus of much of his fantasy since he’d started sixth form with her only a few short weeks prior. She was new to the school this year so he’d not known what to expect. On the first day in class they’d all found her to be extremely strict, demanding total attention and respect from the class. Not only that, she was ancient to his eyes, she must have been at least forty years old yet she dressed in a way that made his mind wander and he knew others in the class approved of, not just himself. He and the other boys and he had talked about Ms Smeet all agreed she was hot, damn hot in her leather skirts and trim figure. Even for an oldie.

All his fantasies evaporated as his eyes snapped to Ms Smeet standing on the side of the classroom, her hands on her hips, looking crossly at him. He gulped, “Yes Ms Smeet,” was all he could say through his throat that felt like it was going to close over.

“Do you know the answer Graham,” she repeated, “because it would be best if you did,” she added.

He was dumb struck, had she asked a question? He had no idea. He tried to replay what had been said moments before but the only thing in his mind was the visage of Ms Smeet in her leather skirt looking at him. “Sorry no Ms Smeet, I forgot.”

“Well then Graham since this is not the first time you’ve forgotten I have a special question for you. Can you answer this? What is kept in the drawer of my desk, right at the front of my drawer?” Her eyes boring into him and she was not smiling.

He thought about it for a moment, he didn’t have a single clue. He tried, “Pens and paper Ms Smeet?”

That felt like a reasonable assumption but this whole situation brought back a memory. An unpleasant memory.

That last time there had been a pen and paper in the desk drawer

It just was a week ago that Ms Smeet had caught him day dreaming just the same as this time, his eyes un-focused as his mind wandered along unfamiliar pathways. The same then as now, Ms Smeet featured in heavily and in ways he was not going to admit to any one.

That time Ms Smeet had gone to her desk, got out a sheet of paper then written a note on it. She’d told him to take it to Mr Hughes making him feel rather scared as he walked to the principals office, so scared he didn’t dare read the note, he couldn’t.

Was it going to be the note to Mr Hughes again? He’d rather not. Not again. Not after last time.

The Note To Mr Hughes

Mr Hughes was the principal at the school, an older man who he assumed was close to retirement. He was an ‘old school’ type principal he’d said at school assembly and Graham now knew exactly what that meant.

All the previous times Ms Smeet sent him to Mr Hughes office it had ended the same way. The last time had been in the middle of a class period, but they all resulted in the same thing. And it wasn’t just him either. Others in his class had also been sent and they had the same outcome, it wasn’t just Graham who found out what ‘old school’ meant. They all ended up with the same red hands he assumed he was going to get. Again.

He knocked then opened and entered when he heard Mr Hughes say loudly ‘Entaarr’ or what sounded like it. He handed the note to Mr Hughes then waited. Mr Hughes opened the note, read it, looked up at him then asked a few questions like ‘did he know why he was here’ and ‘this wasn’t the first time so why hadn’t he learned his lesson’ and of course the main one, ‘what did he think was going to happen next?

The last one, the main one he knew the answer for and with certainty he answered “To get the strap sir,” and to that Mr Hughes had nodded, opened his desk drawer then pulled out his black leather strap. He’d met this one before, it was the same as last time and the tiems before that. It was about a foot and a half long, maybe an inch and a half wide and looked like it was cut from an old belt. It wasn’t all that thick and was kind of floppy. As Mr Hughes unrolled it, it drooped down from his hand onto the desk. Holding it in two hands as he ran it between them, it still drooped in the middle. Clearly it was supple and well used. He knew first hand that it was well used.

“Stand back, turn to face me, left hand up quickly now, I haven’t got all day,” said Mr Hughes when he’d come around the desk moving surprisingly quickly.

Graham did as instructed. He faced Mr Hughes, moved back a little then held his left hand up at chest height open and flat ready for the leather.

Mr Hughes wasted no time, “Three each,” he said. The same as last time also.

The strap was flicked up over Mr Hughes shoulder then without pause was quickly brought back down at speed ending in a loud crack, it only taking a couple of seconds at most.

Getting the strap from Mr Hughes hurt and Mr Hughes didn’t waste a moment, there was no fanfare, just the crack of the strap, the gasps and hand shaking then the next crack. There was only a few seconds between each stroke, he had to hold his hand up, the strap was raised, then the strap was brought down in moments, then it repeated.

Damn. It stung though, there was no doubt of that. He shook the hand then quickly brought it up again. The last time he’d got the strap he’d taken too long and Mr Hughes had shouted at him and given him an extra stroke to each hand. He didn’t like that at all. The second stroke slammed down seconds later making him gasp, “Ahh,” and shake the hand again. Then he lifted it up quickly, the hand still stinging. The third crack sounded loud and sharp making him jump, rub his hand quickly and then the command, “Other hand,” was all Mr Hughes said so he put his right hand up and out. At least it would be over soon was all he could think, and of course, damn that did strap did sting.

Mr Hughes strapped this hand just as hard and fast, the gunshot loud cracks echoing off the wall. Wasting very little time at all Mr Hughes powered his strap down ‘crack.’ It slapped down full length on the palm and fingers making them blaze, same as for the left hand. All he could do was shake the hand then present it again for the next stroke. Facing Mr Hughes as he gave the strap really was not easy, the man put a lot of effort into it and was totally absorbed in bringing the strap down on the waiting and open hand. The second made him shake it and gasp and the third made him gasp louder then rub both his hands together as the infernal sting got in and felt like he’d put his hands too close to the fire.

“Back to class Graham, one more time and I really don’t know what I’ll do with you. I’ll be talking with Ms Smeet about this.”

“Yes sir,” was all he could say as he left with stinging hands.

Then and almost as bad, when he got back to class Ms Smeet stopped him from going to his seat, making him stand at the front of class. Of course she did, she never missed a chance. “What happened Graham,” she asked.

He was damn sure she knew what happened. It happened every time she sent him with a note to Mr Hughes and the same as for the others in the class. She must just want to humiliate him but he had to answer.

“I got the strap Ms Smeet, three to each hand.”

Ms Smeet nodded as she looked at him, “Good. You needed it. Show the class. Show them your red hands. I want them to know the price of day dreaming in my class.”

He’d had to do that also and feel the embarrassment, holding his red hands up to show everyone, and only then been allowed to go back to his seat after Ms Smeet warned him not to do it again.

And now he had.

Not A Note This Time

But now the whole class was utterly silent, all eyes were on him and he could feel his embarrassment rising. It was bad enough when he got sent out with a note and everyone knew what was going to happen. This was something new. They were used to Ms Smeet sending students off to Mr Hughes.

Ms Smeet shook her head slowly from aside to side, “No Graham, it is something I brought from my last school, a specially effective teaching aid, something very special indeed. Mr Hughes and I have been talking about this and we are in agreement. We think it will help you. Get up, go to my desk, open the draw and lift it out please,” she said slowly with each word emphasizing her strict nature as her eyes bored into him, transfixing him, making him go more and more red.

Gulping slightly and not realizing what was happening, he stood on slightly shaky legs feeling every eye on him, every one of his peers also wondering what was happening. All he could think was, ‘what is it in the drawer? It is a homework book or maybe a pre-written slip of paper to take to the headmaster?’ She’d said it wasn’t, so what could it be?

Then, still, he hoped it wasn’t a note to the headmaster, that got him the strap, or at least the last few times it did. He was no stranger to Mr Hughes black leather strap but the last time Mr Hughes said he didn’t know what would happen. It could only be worse. Would it be more than six of the best this time?

The trip to Ms Smeet’s desk felt like it was miles and miles away as the embarrassment rose with every eye on him, but after the dozen steps in reality he pulled the drawer open then stared down.

It wasn’t pens and paper. It was nothing like that at all.

What Is That?’ his mind asked, then as soon as he thought that, he knew. How could it be anything else? With a deep dread he knew exactly what it was and he suddenly felt scared again but in a different way. This could be worse than getting the strap from Mr Hughes.

“Go on Graham, lift him out and show everyone,” Ms Smeet said taking absolutely no pity on him.

Graham moved slowly, almost reverently, his limbs like lead.

Graham reached down then picked up the leather item, a long brown leather strap that had been laying flat in the front of the drawer. As he lifted it, the leather cool to his touch, he found it was two feet long, an inch and a half wide and as thick as a pencil. One end was shaped for holding which is what he did, then the last half was split into three tails, each about a half inch wide that he held with his other hand.

It was the first time he’d held a teachers strap and it was something he never thought he’d do. Feeling the leather as he lifted it, he felt an excitement as something strange inside him flared up.

He lifted the leather strap up held between his hands and if anything, the silence in the room became deeper. Holding the leather strap that was used for punishment was surreal, and if truth be told it was also exciting. He thought it was damn exciting in a very special way and he hoped no one noticed because it was having an effect on him.

“Class,” Ms Smeet said loudly as soon as it was visible, “This is Mister Crisp the finest of teaching aids for naughty boys and girls who don’t pay attention in my class.”

He wasn’t a mind reader but he could read every other mind in the room as it was the same as what he was thinking, ‘Ms Smeet is going to give Graham a strapping.’

That she had a strap like this, and he’d not suspected else he’d have been daydreaming about that also, was very telling.

He wondered for a moment how hard she strapped.

As Graham soon finds out – getting the strap is bad enough, but Ms Smeet as new ways to make it even worse.

Part-2 to follow.

Grahams Strapping

For my many readers of hand strapping stories, this will be worth the wait. It has been months in the writing and now the wait is (nearly) over.

Already scheduled for delivery are the full 3 parts of a longer hand strapping (tawsing) classroom story. Over the next week they’ll be released.

Tawase Cane
Just what type of strap does Ms Smeet have? Guess!

Ms Smeet is new to the school and for Graham she is impossible not to day dream about. She is tall, good looking and dresses in a way he just can’t ignore. Sure, she is a good teacher, but wow she is strict also.

Already and in only a few short weeks Ms Smeet has sent him to Mr Hughes with a note and each time it has been the same. He’s had to hold his hands out for six of the best from Mr Hughes strap.

In the next few days Part – 1 will be released.