Private Lessons From My Former Headmistress
Introduction
Readers may remember my story ‘The New Headmistress’. I mentioned in the
‘Epilogue’ that I met Dr. Bergmann years later at a teachers congress. She
had sold her school and reverted to tutoring private pupils at her home because
she did not approve of new legislation banning corporal punishment in schools.
This story continues from there.
Chapter One: The Appointment
She answered the phone after the third ringing tone. “Bergmann speaking.” - “Ah,
hello, Frau Dr. Bergmann, this is Klaus H., your former student. We met at
the teachers congress in M. last month.” She greeted me warmly and asked
how she could help me. “Well, the thing is, I have been attending evening
courses in French twice a week for over a year now, you know this sponsored
education program for teachers, but I find it very difficult to get the grasp of
this language. In fact, I am floating at the bottom of my class.
Perhaps I’m not talented enough, but sometimes I feel it’s just lack of
concentration…” “I see,” she broke in. “I always thought you had
quite a gift for languages. Maybe it is really just a concentration
problem. It’s not so easy to study languages in the evening when one has a
job to do during the day, is it? I might be able to help you, though.
My methods of motivation used to be quite effective in the past as I am sure you
remember,” she laughed. I did. “Why don’t you come over
tomorrow afternoon, say at 5 p.m. and we can discuss your problem over a cup of
tea? Bring your exercise books with you, so I can have a look at them.”
I was quite nervous before our meeting. She had told me at that congress
that she still employed “old-fashioned methods of discipline” on her adult
students, which - translated into plain language - meant she was applying the
rattan cane or leather strap to their bare bottoms. Before starting the
half hour drive to her town, I went to a florist’s shop and bought a bouquet of
flowers I thought would please her. Then I set out to drive to the address
she had given me with plenty of time. She was living at G., the small but
picturesque capital of the district, in an elegant detached house in very quiet
surroundings. I waited in my car until five minutes to five, then I
unwrapped the flowers and stepped up to the house.
Frau Dr. Bergmann opened the door almost immediately and asked me to come in.
I was not surprised to see her wearing a wide almost ankle-length skirt made of
very soft black leather, topped by a white silk shirt-blouse. Elegant black
leather pumps with moderate heels completed her outfit. She led me into a
large sitting-room where tea was ready on a small table and motioned me to sit
down in a comfortable leather-upholstered armchair. After she had poured
the tea she demanded to see my French books. While she was studying them
carefully I had a chance to look at the room and was surprised to see a pair of
black leather gloves and a short plaited leather riding-crop lying on the tea
table. The gloves were mid arm-length with buttoned cuffs that were lined
with red leather.
After a while Frau Dr. Bergmann put the books down on the table. Picking
up her gloves and stroking them lovingly she looked straight at me. “Well,
Klaus, I
believe I can help you. It is true that I have quite a number of students right
now, but I think I could squeeze you in for a two hours lesson every week
starting next Monday. One private lesson a week is of course not much and
I will require you to do some homework like memorising words and also some
written exercises. You will use a fountain pen for these, not a ball
point, and I expect clear penmanship, understood? I trust you still
remember how I deal with idle students?” She gestured at the riding-crop.
I nodded, feeling a knot in my stomach.
I watched her in awe as she started to put her gloves on, all the time looking
at me. She smoothed out every wrinkle, then folded the cuffs, so that the
red leather lining was outside. I felt it hard to concentrate on her
words. Something else started feeling hard too! The tutoring fee she
mentioned was
very modest and after indicating the chapters in my French exercise books she
expected me to study before the first lesson, she spent a few minutes to lay
down her rules. Unlike at the boarding school, ‘on the spot’ punishments
would not be limited to 24 strokes and the bottom would always be bared.
As before, for each ‘on the spot’ punishment one demerit point would be awarded,
but now five instead of ten demerits would result in a severe whipping to be
executed on the following Saturday. I felt like a teenager again when she
looked at me and asked me if I agreed to those terms. Almost unable to
speak, I uttered a throaty “Yes, ma’am.” - “Very well, then. Now if you will
excuse me?” I rose quickly and she ushered me out of the house extending
her gloved hand and allowing me to kiss it.
Chapter Two: The First Lesson
Monday came quickly and I appeared for my first private lesson with mixed
feelings. I admired Frau Dr. Bergmann and was very glad, of course, to see
her again. On the other hand, I felt that I should have invested more time
in the homework she had asked me to do. I doubted if she was going to be
satisfied with my effort. Remembering her canes and whips only too well
from my time at the boarding schools, I dreaded the thought of having to let
down my pants for her to punish me.
Frau Dr. Bergmann led me to a small room where the lesson was going to take
place. Today she was wearing a smartly tailored dark brown two piece
leather suit. The hemline of her skirt ended just an inch above her knees.
The three inch heels of her brown leather pumps clicked ominously on the
stone-flagged floor. A pair of matching leather gloves dangled from her
right hand. The room was furnished rather spartanly with a desk for her
and a table for her pupils. There were only two other pieces of furniture:
a wooden cupboard, the contents of which I could only guess, and a
blackboard on the wall beside her desk.
My beautiful tutor placed her gloves on the desk, took off her leather jacket
and hung it over the back of the chair. Sitting down she said:
“Right, Klaus, I
will have a look at your homework, please. Meanwhile you can sit down and
write exercise number 14a.” I tried to concentrate on the exercise which
was about the “passé simple” but was distracted now and then by her soft ‘tut,
tut’. Looking at her from under my eyelashes I noticed her shaking her
head indignantly several times. Finally she put down my exercise book
disgustedly. “I thought I had been quite explicit last week when I
explained my rules to you,” she said, picking up her gloves and slapping them
firmly against her left palm. “But apparently you chose not to heed my
advice. All right then, we can do this the hard way if that is how you
prefer it. I am not going to put up with your attitude.” She put
down the gloves again, opened the cuffs of her cream coloured silk blouse and
started to roll up the sleeves. Then she carefully put on the gloves.
Rising from behind her desk she opened a drawer and extracted a wicked looking
two-tailed Lochgelly tawse. She flexed the supple dark brown piece of
leather approvingly between her gloved hands and looked at me: “I am going
to give you two dozen licks of the tawse across your bare bottom. Maybe
this will help you to remember doing your homework properly next time.
Also you will get the belt three times on each palm for your absolutely
horrible handwriting, but we will delay that for a while, because you need to be
able to write ‘une dictée’ (a dictation). Now, get up and drop your pants.
I want your bare bottom over this desk and you better be quick about it!”
I complied hastily, not wanting to anger her any more. Gripping the far edge of
the desk I waited for the thrashing to begin. She stepped to my side and -
CRACK! - the first searing stroke landed square across both my cheeks.
“Count the strokes!” she ordered. “One, thank you ma’am.” The
strokes fell regularly
every five or six seconds, setting my bottom ablaze. She lashed my
buttocks and the top half of my thighs without mercy. “I hope this will
teach you to work harder and not to waste my time,” she lectured me, without
missing a beat.
My chastisement finished, she ordered me to sit down again but did not allow me
to pull up my pants and underwear. “I have a feeling your bottom will need
some more warming today. Besides sitting bare on the hard wood will do
wonders to your concentration, I’m sure. Prepare for the ‘dictée’ now!”
She put the tawse down on her desk but kept her gloves on.
The dictation did not go very well either. I felt her getting more and
more incensed. “If you had memorised the vocabulary as I told you, this
‘dictée’ would be a child’s play. You will get the tawse on your hands
now, as I promised you, then we will learn ‘les vocables’ together. I have
a fool-proof method, believe me! Come here!” she said, picking up the
dreaded tawse. “Hold out your hand, palm up! Doesn’t matter which
one, they will both get it.”
Gingerly I stretched out my left arm. I had never been strapped on my
palms before and did not know what to expect, but I was terrified. “A bit
higher,
please. Yes, that’s good. Now support it with your other hand!” She lifted
her right arm with the tawse high above her shoulder and - WHOOSH - CRACK!
The leather hit me square on my fingers and palm. A split second later the
agonising pain started to build up. I grimaced suppressing a cry and let
my arms drop, shaking my hand wildly. She shook her head. “Did I say
you could move your hand? I will repeat this stroke and if you ever do
that again I will add extra
strokes. Put your hand up again!”
Again the tawse fell with tremendous force on my left palm. She had a
follow through with that strap like a serving tennis pro. “Other hand!”
she commanded. I managed to take the remaining strokes without moving away
my hand, but it was sheer agony and I felt tears running down my cheeks.
After I had received four strokes on my left hand and three on my right, my
hands and fingers were swollen and crimson red. I was glad I did not have
to write anymore, with the throbbing pain it would have been impossible to hold
a pen.
Quite unperturbed Dr. Bergmann put the strap down on the desk and smoothed out
her gloves again. “Now we will address your problem with the vocabulary,”
she said and went to the cupboard, heels clacking on the wooden floor. She
opened the cupboard and took out a whippy cane, about three feet long with a
leather wrapped straight handle. “You will go back over my desk and I will
start asking you the words. For every word you don’t know I will give you two
strokes with the cane. We will finish when we are through the whole
vocabulary list without a single mistake. I don’t care long this is going
to take.”
She was true to her word. Whenever I made a mistake she applied two
searing strokes across my bare bottom. I was howling and sobbing by the
time she was
satisfied. I did not count the strokes but it must have been more than
three dozen! Only when I felt the soft leather of her gloves tenderly
follow the ridged weals of the cane on my bottom, I realised my punishment was
over. Finally she let me up and declared the lesson finished. Some
lesson! I silently promised myself to invest a lot more of my time in my
homework. Tears were clouding my eyes when my stern tutor allowed me to
kiss her gloved right hand!
Chapter Three: A Visitor
Frau Dr. Bergmann’s strict methods achieved their goal - to some extent.
After the severe thrashing she gave me during my first lesson, I really made an
effort to concentrate on the homework she wanted me to do. I managed to
escape punishment for three weeks, but during the fourth lesson she had me over
her desk again for a sharp reminder. My feelings towards her were quite
ambivalent. I admired her for her uncompromising strictness and I felt she
only wanted my best (which does not mean she did not like caning me!), but when
she told me to bare my bottom I was always truly frightened and the pain she
inflicted was very real.
When I arrived for lesson ten or eleven, Frau Dr. Bergmann had a visitor: a
gorgeous looking lady with shoulder-long blond hair, about the same age as my
host. Dressed in gleaming black leather pants, a matching leather jacket
and black leather four-inch stilettos, she obviously shared Frau Dr. Bergmann’s
preferences. Long black leather gloves dangling from her right hand
completed her outfit. “Meet Miss Melissa Chapman,” my tutor said,
who was wearing a
long wide brown leather skirt, a cream coloured cashmere wool sweater and
well-polished brown leather riding-boots today. “Mel is American and was
teaching at the same boarding school in Southwest England as I was, before I
became Headmistress of ‘The Elms’. She was an expert in applying her
hairbrush to naughty boys bottoms. Probably still is, right Mel?” - “You
bet,” Miss Chapman answered. Turning towards me she said smiling:
“Hanna told me your concentration needs strong encouragement sometimes.
You’d better be on
track today, if not I’d be happy to give you a demonstration of my skills.”
We adjourned to the ‘class room’ where Miss Chapman sat on an extra chair beside
Dr. Bergmann’s desk. Is it necessary to say I was not ‘on track’ that day?
Who would be facing two formidable looking leather clad and gloved females?
Picking up here brown leather gloves from the desk and putting them on slowly,
my tutor said to her colleague: “Klaus’ lack of concentration is really
quite incredible. I think he needs a thorough bottom-warming with your
hairbrush, wouldn’t you agree?” Smiling, Mel replied: “Oh yes, I’m sure
that would help.” She took a very sturdy looking well-worn wooden
hairbrush from her purse, straightened her gloves and beckoned to me with a
crooked finger: “Come here, my boy, and drop your pants! I’ll give you a
bottom-blistering you are not
likely to forget for some time!” I approached here reluctantly under the
stern look of Frau Dr. Bergmann and unbuckled my belt. “Hurry up,” Miss
Chapman said, “you’re not doing yourself a favour if you keep my brush waiting!”
With my pants and boxer shorts in a puddle around my ankles I tried to cover my
rising erection with may hands. “Move these hands away,” she ordered.
“I’m not seeing ‘that’ for the first time. Besides, I will do away with
‘it’ very quickly. Over my lap, please!” She tapped her right thigh
impatiently with her hairbrush.
Miss Chapman guided me expertly over her left knee and pinioned my legs with her
right leg. Grabbing my right arm with her gloved left hand, she had me
absolutely helpless and ready for my chastisement. I did not have to wait
long. She raised her arm and cracked the brush down on my right cheek.
The stinging pain took me by complete surprise. I had been spanked before
with all sorts of implements by Frau Dr. Bergmann and other teachers, but never
with a
hairbrush. I could not believe that such an innocent looking instrument could
cause so much pain, but under the hard blows raining down on my bottom in
regular intervals I was learning fast. All the time Miss Chapman lectured
me without ever missing a beat. My squirming and bucking seemed not to
impress her much, relentlessly she carried on and even increased her rhythm.
I howled for mercy and promised I would work hard but she went on and on.
Finally I broke down completely and lay limply across her knee, crying and
sobbing like a child. She finished me off with a dozen extra hard smacks,
then she released my arm and stroked my red-hot blistered bottom softly with her
gloved hand.
After about five minutes I had recovered a bit and Miss Chapman helped me up.
Frau Dr. Bergmann ordered me to stand in a corner with my hands clasped behind
my head. Quickly the two women left the room.
They returned some fifteen minutes later and my lesson continued. Sitting
on the hard wooden chair with my smarting bottom I tried very hard to
concentrate and must have done rather well because I escaped further punishment.
But Hanna Bergmann had another surprise for me: “I’m not sure if you realised
it, Klaus. Today you earned your fifth demerit point which means you are
in for a disciplinary whipping next Saturday. Since Miss Chapman is
staying with me until Sunday, I think we should invite her to participate, I’m
sure you don’ mind? - I thought not,” she interpreted my terrified
silence. “That’s settled then. We will expect you at 10 a.m. sharp on
Saturday. You may leave now.” They both extended their gloved right
hands for me to kiss.
Chapter Four: Punishment Day
I had four days until my ‘Punishment Day’ and I was not looking forward to it.
I remembered my ‘Punishment Day’ at ‘The Elms’ only to well and was not keen on
a repetition. It had been so severe that it had kept me in line for the
rest of my time at that school. This was different, of course: I could
walk out. Just not go there. But I had become so fascinated by Frau
Dr. Bergmann that to welsh on her summons was not really an option. But I
was scared, and the fact that Miss Chapman with her terror of a hairbrush would
be assisting her, did not help either. The night from Friday to Saturday was the
worst. I was so terrified of the punishment they had in store for me that
I hardly got a wink of sleep. Rising early I brewed a cup of coffee and
tried to read the morning paper. At 9.15 I started my car and headed for G.
Hanna Bergmann and Melissa Chapman ‘welcomed’ me, both of them dressed in severe
leather, what else? Frau Dr. Bergmann in black leather riding-breeches,
laced-up black boots and an open black leather waistcoat over a loose fitting
white cotton blouse, carrying long black leather gloves in her right hand, Miss
Chapman wearing a black leather calf-length pencil skirt over high heeled
knee-high black leather boots and a white silk blouse. She too, was carrying
black leather gloves.
They led me downstairs. The punishment room was behind a heavy oak door.
Inside it looked similar to the one at ‘The Elms’: a rather large room,
the wall
opposite to the door mirrored from floor to ceiling. On the left wall rows
of punishment implements of all kinds neatly hung up. An old umbrella stand in a
corner was filled with rattan canes of all sizes, some with crooked others with
straight leather wrapped handles. A wooden leather-covered whipping bench
fitted with leather cuffs and leather straps dominated the centre of the room. A
couple of comfortable leather armchairs, two sturdy wooden chairs, a low coffee
table and an old wooden chest with drawers completed the equipment. Bright
light came from various spotlights fitted into the ceiling.
Memories of my ‘Punishment Day’ at ‘The Elms’ came floating back to me, causing
a rising fear. “Strip!” Hanna Bergmann’s voice cut into my dreams.
Looking at her I noticed a deadly looking plaited leather crop bent between her
gloved hands. Quickly I complied with her order. “Right, then,” she
said, “you have accumulated five demerit points which clearly proves to me
that you have been badly lacking concentration and your mind needs a refocusing.
I’ve always found there is nothing better to do that job than a very
thorough whipping. That’s what you are going to get today. Since my
friend Melissa has kindly agreed to assist me, I think she should do the honours
of warming you up with her trusted hairbrush. Mel would you please be so
kind?”
Miss Chapman smiled obligingly at her friend and started to put on the leather
gloves she had still been carrying in her right hand. She was in no hurry.
When she was satisfied the gloves fitted perfectly, she reached into her purse
and withdrew the hairbrush with which I was already well acquainted.
Putting a chair in the centre of the room she sat down and told me quietly to
place myself across her lap. She secured my legs and right arm in the same
way as on my first trip over her knee and then released a merciless thunderstorm
with her hairbrush. The spanking was every bit as painful as the one she
had given me five days ago. I was howling for pity but there was none.
Finally she released me and sent me to a corner with a stern warning not to
touch my blazing bottom if I knew what was good for me.
After a while Frau Dr. Bergmann told me to get myself over the whipping bench.
The two ladies fastened the cuffs firmly on my wrists and ankles and pulled a
leather strap tightly across my rump just above my buttocks. I could
still move my head and my fingers but not much else. The bench was
elevated under my bottom, so my buttocks and thighs were perfectly thrust up for
a thrashing. The ladies went to the wall containing the collection of
punishment
implements and each choose a thick leather strap that was attached to a wooden
handle. The straps appeared to be made of very supple well oiled cowhide.
Positioning themselves to my left and right they made quite a demonstration of
smoothing the tiniest wrinkle out of their leather gloves. Then they were
ready to start the whipping.
Hanna Bergmann slashed the strap down first from the left, covering both cheeks.
Two seconds later Miss Chapman’s strap whistled in from the right. They
waited a few seconds for the pain to build up in my bottom - and, boy, did it
build up! - before they released another couple of fierce strokes. Lifting
my head I was able to watch my own whipping in the large mirror. It was
fascinating to see these two attractive, well toned, leather clad women
executing my punishment. Their gracefully synchronised movements would
have been admirable had it not been MY bottom and thighs smarting under their
relentless blistering. I was a blubbering wreck long before the stopped.
Later they informed me I had received four dozen strokes of the strap.
They let me recover from the strapping for a few minutes. Then each of
them carefully selected a cane from the umbrella stand. Both canes had a
length of about three feet and where not much thicker than a pencil at their
tips. The ladies tested the flexibility of their punishment implements by
bending them between their gloved hands, then they both swished them viciously
through the air a couple of times. The whistling sound sent shivers down
my spine. They took position on each side and tapped the canes across my
cheeks a few times to get their measure. On my already tenderised flesh
even the repeated tap tap tap hurt. Then - huittt - CRACK!
Miss Chapman’s first stroke fell across my bottom. The pain was almost
unbearable. This lady had as much expertise with a cane as she had with
her wicked hairbrush. Breathing hard I watched Frau Dr. Bergmann in the
mirrored wall. After maybe ten seconds I saw her lifting her right arm
with the cane high above her head. I closed my eyes involuntarily.
Huittt - CRACK! The second stroke slammed into my buttocks. I cried
out loud from pain. The punishment continued in silence, interrupted only
by the whistling of the canes, the cracking sound when they mad contact with my
flesh, and my loud cries of pain.
They stopped my caning after two dozen strokes and put the canes back to the
umbrella stand. After they had released the strap and the cuffs which had
secured me to the bench, they had to help me to get up because I was shaking as
if in a fever. Frau Dr. Bergmann led me to the mirrored wall and told me
to have a look at my bottom. I gasped in horror. Both buttocks and
the upper part of my thighs were crimson red and swollen. The parallel
tramline marks of the canes across my bottom were dark blue and made a sharp
contrast to the overall fire engine red. They had spared my thighs from
the cane though and I was grateful for that. I did not know then they
would get plenty of attention later. I saw Melissa Chapman pulling off her
gloves and picking up a china jar from the table. She sat down on the
chair and gestured me to lie over her lap again. When I hesitated, she
smiled and said: “you need not worry, not now anyway. I will only put some
cold cream on your skin to relieve you of some of the sting.” I put myself
over her lap for the second time that day and she began very gently to apply the
cream generously on my scorched flesh. At first even her gentle
ministration hurt, but gradually the pain started to ease under her soft
massage. She finished with a gentle slap on my right buttock which had my
jump nevertheless.
“All right, get up now!” Miss Chapman ordered. Frau Dr. Bergmann had
pulled off her leather gloves, too, and gently slapped her left palm with them.
“Your
punishment is almost finished. You can go upstairs to the bathroom and
wash your face. You are allowed to put on your boxers, but nothing else.
There is a
plate with refreshments in the kitchen, if your are hungry, and afterwards you
may take a rest in one of the spare bedrooms. You will probably want to
lie on your stomach. In two hours we will come to get you. There
will then be one last little surprise for you!”
Despite the throbbing pain in my bottom I must have dozed off for a few minutes
and was startled when I heard Frau Dr. Bergmann’s voice: “I see you have
recovered nicely, but you are due one last punishment. Get up and take off your
boxers. Then follow us!” Looking up I saw her standing in the doorway,
dressed as before, leather gloves in her right hand. Behind her I could make out
Melissa Chapman’s face.
The two ladies led my through the back door of the house into the garden.
Frau Dr. Bergmann handed me a pair of pruning shears. “You see that willow
in the corner over there? Mel came up with an excellent idea yesterday
evening. We will give you a good old-fashioned country-style woodshed
switching. You will learn that Melissa has a lot of expertise in this
field, too. Partly from own experience, she told me. She had a very
strict aunt. Mel would you take over,
please?” - “My pleasure, Hanna,” Miss Chapman replied. “You will cut four
willow switches,” she addressed me, “none of them shorter than three feet and at
the base at least as thick as my ring finger. Bring them to the shed over
there, we will be there waiting for you. Hurry up!”
“But …” I started to protest. The garden was surrounded by a high hedge, but
from the house situated on the left side everybody would have a clear view of me
moving stark naked through the garden! A hard slap in my face interrupted
me. “How dare you!” Miss Chapman snarled, “do you wish to have your
punishment doubled? Run!” I dashed off, covering my front with my
hands. Later they would tell me that the neighbours were on a sailing
cruise in the
Caribbean at that time. I cut four switches as requested in record time
and sprinted to the shed where the two ladies were awaiting me with a broad
smile on their faces.
The shed was normally used to store garden furniture, which was outside now,
gardening tools and - yes - wood for the open fireplace in the living room.
There was enough space therefore, for its temporary use for a traditional
‘woodshed switching’. Frau Dr. Bergmann had placed a wooden sawhorse in
the centre of the room and had covered it with a folded woollen blanket.
Several leather straps and belts were lying beside it. When I arrived with
the freshly cut switches, Melissa Chapman instructed me to remove the leaves and
buds and to trim the rods at their tips. Then I was ordered to bend over
the horse, and my wrists and ankles were fastened to its legs with the leather
straps. I was ready for the switching.
The ladies slowly put on their leather gloves again, smoothing them out
carefully, then each of them chose a switch. I had never experienced a
whipping with a willow switch before, but my poor bottom was still swollen and
very tender from the previous treatment with hairbrush, leather straps and
canes, so I was prepared for the worst - I thought. But then sometimes it comes
even worse than expected. The first stroke felt as if a red-hot wire had
been put across my buttocks. I groaned loud. The strokes fell rather
quickly, one after the other. They did not leave me time to recover from
the pain. The switches lashed across my bottom and my thighs. Soon I
was hollering from the intense pain. The two women showed no mercy:
the barrage of relentless switch strokes rained down until I broke completely
and lay sobbing across the sawhorse. I must have been near to fainting
when they finally stopped.
This time it was Frau Dr. Bergmann who comforted me after they had released me
from the sawhorse. Having me over her lap - for the first time ever - she
liberally dispensed cold cream on my lacerated buttocks and thighs and rubbed it
in very tenderly. Finally she told me to get up. Rising herself she
hugged my tightly to show me I was forgiven.
I knelt before these two formidable disciplinarians and pressed my lips
gratefully unto their gloved hands.
The End