The Headmaster’s Study
AUGUST 2018 UPDATES May   I   just   mention   that   is   has   never   been   my   intention   to   constantly   update   this   website. All   this   site   is   intended   to   do is   to   give   information   so   that   any   interested   party   can   make   an   informed   decision   as   to   whether   (or   not)   my   services would   be   suitable   for   them.   Please   don’t   assume   that   just   because   this   site   has   not   been   updated   for   a   few   months that I am no loger welcoming visitors to my study. Thank   you   to   everyone   who   has   pointed   out   a   few   typing   errors   and   helped   identify   a   few   areas   of   functionality   that have required attention. You all know who you are and thank you again. A VISIT BY A NEW ADULT SCHOOLGIRL In   early   May   I   was   visited   by   a   novice   adult   schoolgirl   who   travelled   all   the   way   from   central   Europe   to   see   me.   Below, with her permission, I reproduce an account of her first trip to my study. 2nd May 1958 by a new schoolgirl The   second   of   May   was   a   big   day   for   me,   on   which   I   embarked   with   rather   mixed   feelings.   I   had   arrived   late   in   the evening    of    30th   April,    not    without    having    experienced    a    few    surprises    on    the    way,    such    as    having    a    slightly exasperated   bus   driver   inform   me   that   the   one-pound   coins   I   still   had   in   my   purse   from   my   last   visit   to   England   in   2008 were   useless.   Fortunately   the   notes   I   had   obtained   through   a   friend   of   my   partner's   who   works   at   a   bank   were   all brand new, so no worries there. The   hotel   I   had   booked   at   the   recommendation   of   Mr   Prendergast   was   easily   the   nicest   place   I   have   ever   stayed   at. The place had a truly unique atmosphere to it, and I instantly felt at home there. May   Day   I   had   kept   clear   for   crashing   after   the   flight,   and   amazingly   enough   the   sun   was   shining   throughout   the   day, allowing   for   long   walks   around   town   and   through   the   pastures   of   its   outskirts,   which   were   full   of   life   with   a   great   many new-born   lambs   hobbling   about,   bleaking   at   the   top   of   their   tiny   treble   voices.   Whenever   I   felt   my   heart   sink   as   my thoughts   strayed   to   the   event   planned   for   the   next   day,   I   said   to   myself   that   even   if   the   whole   thing   was   to   end   in   a tragedy,   I   would   always   have   a   very   fond   memory   of   this   wonderful   day   out   in   the   sun,   of   the   immensely   green   English meadows, and of the sight and sound of those heart-warming little lambs. On   the   'day   of',   Mr   Prendergast   picked   me   up   from   the   hotel   in   his   car.   He   was   considerably   leaner   and   shorter   than the   figure   my   imagination   had   built   up   of   him   over   the   years   (I   had   first   come   accross   his   website   in   2010),   wearing   a three-piece   tweed   suit   and   a   flatcap.   I   had   spent   considerable   time   making   myself   familiar   with   English   protocol   on initial   hellos,   but   was   met   by   him   in   accomplished   Swiss   style   (of   course   there   was   no   way   for   him   to   know   I   wasn't   the least   bit   Swiss).   Luckily   the   drive   to   his   home   was   a   short   one,   as   I   found   it   rather   disconcerting   to   be   sitting   in   the driver's seat with no steering wheel in front of me or pedals at my feet, feeling the car move as if by magic. Once   arrived,   we   sat   down   at   a   table   together,   and   he   made   sure   he   knew   all   he   needed   to   know   regarding   my experience   (zero),   my   expectations   (no   idea   really)   and   limits   (nothing   can   happen   to   my   hands),   and   whether   I   would like   to   use   a   pseudonym,   and   in   a   tone   not   unlike   the   one   in   which   a   surgeon   had   once   described   her   plan   for   my forthcoming   operation   to   me,   explained   roughly   in   what   elements   the   session   would   likely   consist.   Even   though   it   felt drastically   weird   having   a   perfect   stranger   talk   to   me   so   openly   and   matter-of-factly   about   issues   I   had   only   ever   talked about   to   myself,   if   at   all,   his   voice   and   manner   of   speaking   had   a   way   of   putting   me   profoundly   at   ease   –   I   started   to feel   that   I   could   trust   this   man.   Eventually   he   told   me   his   safety   word,   which   would   bring   him   out   of   character   and   end all   proceedings   immediately   should   I   feel   the   need.   When   we   then   ascended   to   the   'school'   on   the   top   floor   of   his house,   my   nerves   had   settled   considerably.   I   was   collected   enough   to   have   no   difficulty   plaiting   my   hair   and   tying   my tie,   which   had   been   one   of   the   many   things   I   had   been   worried   about.   After   I   had   changed   into   my   uniform,   we exchanged   last   words   out   of   character,   before   he   disappeared   from   the   room,   asking   me   to   give   him   one   minute   to become the headmaster, and then knock on his door. I   was   surprised   at   the   calmness   that   was   starting   to   take   room   inside   me.   It   was   with   almost   no   apprehension   that   I counted   down   the   minute,   went   out   into   the   corridor   and   knocked   on   that   door.   I   then   heard   a   boomed   ''Wait,   girl!'', after   which   there   was   a   swishing   noise,   undoubtedly   from   a   cane   being   rapidly   moved   through   the   air,   probably   with the   intention   of   scaring   me.   Funnily   enough,   it   didn't   have   that   effect   at   all;   it   was   as   if   nothing   could   disturb   the peacefulness   that   had   begun   to   bud   in   my   heart.   Upon   hearing   ''Come!''   I   just   opened   the   door   and   went   in.   From   then on   things   evolved   into   something   that   was   infinitely   better   than   the   most   vivid   of   my   dreams   had   been.   The   scenario   I had   submitted   in   advance   reflected   an   incident   that   had   occurred   in   my   10th   year   of   school,   when   I   created   a   cheat- sheet   for   my   friend   during   a   test,   and   upon   being   discovered   uttered   a   terrible   insult   to   the   teacher,   not   realising   I   was actually   saying   those   words   out   loud   as   opposed   to   merely   thinking   them.   At   the   time,   the   teacher   chose   simply   to pretend   she   hadn't   heard,   and   after   confiscating   mine   and   my   friend's   tests   resumed   her   seat   at   the   teacher's   desk showing   no   reaction.   Back   then   of   course   I   considered   myself   lucky   to   have   gotten   away   with   this,   but   deep   down   I never   came   to   terms   with   the   fact   that   no   one   seemed   to   mind   this   sort   of   behaviour,   which   even   I   couldn't   help   but identify as unacceptable, and in the long run the whole incident had left me feeling considerably off balance. Well,   until   now.   The   headmaster,   standing   against   the   window   in   a   flowing   black   academic   gown,   had   me   stand   in front   of   his   imposing   oak   desk   and   relate   the   whole   story.   It   took   me   a   few   moments   to   get   fully   into   character;   it seemed   somewhat   ironic   that   after   all   it   had   been   I   who   had   asked   for   this   appointment   and   travelled   all   the   way   from the   continent   to   attend   it.   But   once   I   had   successfully   blanked   out   this   fact,   I   felt   very   much   my   younger   self,   and   as such   finally   found   myself   in   the   situation   I   had   so   longed   for   then.   Nonetheless,   it   was   agony   standing   there   charging myself   with   the   crime   I   had   committed.   When   I   had   finished,   he   started   going   on   and   on   about   how   helping   someone during   a   test   was   plain   cheating,   how   important   it   was   to   discern   private   thought   from   spoken   word,   and   how disgusting   the   thing   I   had   said   was   in   itself.   The   best   part   of   that   was   that   he   kept   asking   ''…   do   you   hear?'',   which gave   me   ample   opportunity   to   say   ''yes,   sir'',   a   phrase   that   just   as   its   counterpart   ''no,   sir''   had   a   downright   magical effect   on   me   whenever   I   said   it.   I   can   only   speculate   as   to   why   that   might   have   been;   perhaps   it   was   simply   that someone   was   finally   accepting   and   absorbing   the   respect   I   had   always   wanted   to   pay   my   teachers   but   couldn't,   for nobody   expected   it   from   a   pupil   at   the   time,   and   addressing   a   teacher   other   than   as   Mr   or   Mrs   such-and-such   would have been interpreted as mockery. At   some   point   he   sat   down   on   a   chair   he   had   set   in   the   middle   off   the   room,   telling   me   to   stand   to   his   right.   The physical   process   of   getting   into   position   over   somebody's   knees   was   another   thing   I   had   been   woried   about:   how   on earth   would   I   keep   balance   and   avoidf   dropping   down   on   them   like   a   sack   of   potatoes?   And   again,   I   was   surprised how   easy   it   actually   was.   He   said   simply   ''Over   you   go!'',   and   over   his   knees   I   went,   without   the   least   difficulty.   It   didn't even   feel   awkward   to   be   laying   down   on   a   stranger's   lap;   once   in   position   I   felt   quite   comfortable.   All   the   while continuing   his   rebuke   of   my   past   behaviour,   he   started   spanking   my   backside   over   my   gymslip.   After   a   while   the gymslip   was   brought   up,   the   swats   now   raining   down   on   my   knickers,   before   he   announced   he   was   now   about   to   take these   down.   I   intuitively   lifted   my   pelvis   a   little   to   help   him   do   that,   which   was   another   thing   that   surprised   me   about myself. The   instant   just   before   the   bare-bottom   spanking   began   was   a   very   special   moment.   I   was   as   calm   as   could   be, relaxing   my   body   lying   accross   his   thighs,   and   waiting.   This   second   of   combined   anticipation   and   apprehension   felt wonderful.   I   knew   I   couldn't   do   anything   about   what   was   to   come,   so   resistance   would   have   been   as   useless   as   my dated   one-pound   coins,   and   capitulation   was   the   only   option   that   seemed   to   make   sense.   So   I   just   let   it   happen.   And happen it did: those were pretty substantial swats pounding down on my skin in lush supplies. I   was   then   required   to   find   my   feet   and   pull   my   knickers   up,   face   the   wall   and   stand   there   momentarily.   I   heard   him move   about   repositioning   the   chair   behind   me,   and   soon   enough   was   ordered   to   turn   around   and   bend   over   with   my hands   resting   on   the   seat   of   the   chair,   to   receive   twelve   with   the   slipper.   The   first   six   went   over   my   knickers   and   I   was to   count   them;   then,   having   taken   my   knickers   down   to   my   knees,   he   counted   the   following   six   himself,   with   me repeating   ''I   am   a   cheat,   and   cheats   never   prosper''   after   hearing   the   number   of   each   blow.   I   guess   I   was   just   so   busy getting   that   sentence   right   every   time   that   I   didn't   really   pay   that   much   attention   to   the   pain   the   slipper   was   inflicting. Then   all   of   a   sudden   it   was   over   and   I   had   to   stand   against   the   panelling   again,   this   time   with   the   back   of   the   skirt   of my   gymslip   tucked   into   my   belt,   knickers   still   down   at   my   knees,   and   hands   on   my   head.   The   headmaster   sat   down   at his   desk,   and   as   far   as   I   could   tell   engaged   in   paperwork.   My   rump   was   starting   to   feel   pleasantly   warm;   it   was   a feeling   similar   to   the   blissful   exhaustion   one   might   be   filled   with   at   the   end   of   a   long   nature   hike,   only   condensed,   as   it were, and contained in the area of my buttocks. Before   long   the   headmaster   rose,   told   me   to   make   myself   presentable   and   stand   in   front   of   his   desk   again.   Now   it   was about   my   failure   to   distinguish   between   private   thought   and   spoken   word.   He   kept   striding   about   while   talking, sometimes   getting   within   inches   of   my   ear;   I   felt   like   I   was   a   small   island   in   the   midst   of   a   stormy   sea. At   length   I   was instructed to go stand in the far corner of the room with my hands on my head, to meditate my shortcoming, and once ready   I   was   to   say   ''Please,   sir,   I   am   ready   for   you   to   cane   my   backside   now''.   I   almost   exploded   with   apprehension standing in that corner. When   I   finally   had   said   the   sentence,   he   commanded   that   I   open   the   door   in   front   of   me   and   bring   to   him   what   I   would find   behind   it.   For   a   split   second   I   thought   he   was   joking,   for   I   was   standing   in   a   corner   with   no   doors   in   sight.   Yet   at second   glance   there   appeared   to   be   a   teeny   weeny   door   in   the   panelling,   which   I   duly   opened   to   see   a   single   cane hanging   almost   innocently   from   a   hook   inside   a   built-in   cupboard.   Despite   the   apprehension   I   had   felt   before,   I   was now   quite   composed.   I   took   the   cane   off   its   hook,   closed   the   door,   walked   over   to   the   desk   and   placed   the   dragon cane   on   its   surface   as   if   that   was   something   I   did   every   day.   He   made   me   bend   over   the   desk   and   tucked   the   back   of my   gymslip   into   my   belt,   telling   me   that   this   senior   cane   was   supposed   to   teach   me   a   lesson   and   that   he   wanted   me   to take this punishment well. I   was   as   poised   as   I   ever   had   been,   resting   my   forehead   on   the   backs   of   my   hands,   waiting.   I   had   no   idea   what   kind   of reaction   to   expect   from   my   body;   for   all   I   knew   I   might   jump   up   after   the   first   stroke   and   dance   a   jig,   I   might   scream,   I might   start   sobbing,   I   might   shout   out   horrible   swear-words,   or   worst   of   all,   I   might   fall   out   of   character   and   fight   back, as   in   hit   the   man   who   my   body   thought   was   attacking   it.   That,   and   having   to   pass   wind   during   the   session,   had   been my worst nightmare. For the wind issue I had veryeffactively taken Flatulex in the morning, so that was out of the way. But   if   I   lost   command   over   my   body   and   assaulted   Mr   Prendergast,   I   could   not   imagine   what   would   follow.   So   there   I was   with   my   upper   body   resting   on   the   desk,   breathing   slowly   and   deeply,   relaxing   my   bottom,   awaiting   the   inevitable. And   then   it   came.   The   first   stroke   over   my   knickers   landed.   My   eyes   closed   slowly   and   I   breathed   out,   wondering when   the   pain   would   finally   hit   home.   When   it   didn't   seem   to   do   that,   I   thought   perhaps   the   knickers   were   muffling   the momentum   of   the   cane,   and   almost   immediately   said   ''one,   sir''.   He   seemed   taken   aback   by   the   promptness   of   this, and   encouraged   me   to   take   all   the   time   I   needed.   The   first   six   strokes   went   by   one   by   one.   Then   he   lowered   my knickers,   informing   me   he   would   now   count   the   next   six   strokes   himself,   and   I   was   to   say   ''I   must   think   before   I   speak'' after hearing each number. When   the   cane   then   touched   down   with   full   force   on   my   bare   skin,   it   was   something   else.   The   noise   it   made   sounded considerably   louder   and   higher   pitched   than   before,   and   I   suddenly   understood   what   people   meant   when   they   wrote of   'searing   pain'.   However,   I   felt   not   the   slightest   urge   to   do   anything   about   it;   I   just   kept   breathing   out   after   each stroke, saying the sentence, listening to his continue reprimands, and waiting for the next stroke. Then    something    happened.    After    the    first    two    strokes    my    manner    of    waiting    between    strokes    underwent    a transformation.   It   became   a   feeling   of   ...welcome,   for   want   of   a   better   word.   Odd   as   it   may   seem,   I   was   positively welcoming   each   new   stroke.   I   realised   that   for   all   these   years   I   had   been   waiting   for   exactly   this   to   finally   happen   to me,   and   it   was   a   great   relief   to   be   here   at   last.   The   boundary,   the   final   frontier   I   had   been   striving   to   reach   all   my   youth was   now   there   right   in   front   of   me;   I   got   an   unambiguous   message   of   'this   far,   and   no   further'.   Rarely   have   I   felt   more in   the   right   place   at   the   right   time,   even   if   it   was   a   quarter   of   a   century   after   I   would   have   wanted   it.   When   he   gave   me permission   to   rise,   I   was   almost   reluctant   to   get   up   from   that   desk.   I   re-arranged   my   clothing,   and   he   now   led   the   way to   the   classroom,   where   I   first   learnt   how   to   sit   down   on   a   folding   bench.   It   felt   like   Christmas.   Whenever   I   had   been   to a   museum   or   similar   place   where   those   old-fashioned   school   desks   were   on   display,   I   had   always   wanted   to   sit   down at   one   and   play   school,   and   now   I   was   actually   able   and   even   expressly   supposed   to   do   exactly   that.   I   was   given   a brand   new   exercise   book,   a   fountain   pen   and   a   ruler,   and   the   lesson   began.   I   had   to   write   my   name,   my   age   and   the subject    'General    Studies'    on    the    front    cover    of    the    exercise    book    as    neatly    as    I    could,    while    the    headmaster momentarily   left   the   room.   Upon   coming   back,   he   went   straight   to   the   blackboard   and   made   a   mark   in   the   upper   left corner.   I   didn't   think   much   of   that   and   continued   painting   my   letters.   When   I   was   done,   he   disclosed   to   me   I   had   just earned   myself   a   demerit   mark   by   not   standing   when   the   headmaster   entered   the   room.   Of   course   I   had   no   idea   what a demerit mark meant in this context, but didn't want to make a fuss asking. He   then   explained   and   dictated   the   three   rules   absolute   of   the   school.   A   real   dictation   in   English,   and   with   a   fountain pen   –   my,   what   a   feast   that   was.   Afterwards   I   had   to   stand   up   and   read   out   loud   what   I   had   written.   To   conclude   the lesson,   I   learnt   what   the   demerit   mark   meant:   it   was   dealt   with   in   form   of   another   spanking,   first   over   my   knickers,   then on   the   bare,   before   I   found   myself   bent   over   one   of   the   desks   and   my   backside   made   acquaintance   with   a   leather strap.   He   counted   the   six   strokes,   with   me   saying   ''I   must   stand   when   the   headmaster   enters   the   room''   after   hearing each figure. That   accomplished,   it   was   back   to   his   study.   I   was   instructed   to   stand   in   front   of   the   large   wooden   clock   in   the   corridor and not move until he would come back to fetch me. Off into his study he went, closing the door behind him. The   next   few   minutes,   standing   there   by   myself,   I   had   a   chance   to   come   up   for   air.   Everything   in   and   around   me   was so   peaceful:   the   clock   in   front   of   me,   the   photographs   on   the   walls   around,   the   carpet   under   my   feet;   and   I   was   there in   the   middle   of   everything,   at   peace   with   the   world   –   no   wishes,   no   regrets.   My   mind   was   a   mountain   lake   on   a windless day. The   headmaster   re-appeared   with   a   tape   measure   in   his   hand,   saying   he   wanted   to   check   the   length   of   my   gymslip. He   had   me   kneel   down,   yet   found   no   need   to   even   unroll   his   tape   for   the   hem   of   my   skirt   just   grazed   the   floor,   which meant   the   length   was   perfect.   Back   inside   the   study   he   handed   me   my   exercise   book,   which   showed   full   marks   and   a golden   star   sticker   under   my   writing.   I   couldn't   help   smiling   at   the   sight   of   this.   He   was   however   very   intent   on imparting   that   these   were   the   kind   of   grades   he   expected   me   to   make   from   now   on,   and   if   he   personally   had   to   see   to that   happening,   he   most   certainly   would.   This   was   extremely   nice   to   hear,   for   in   my   real   life   nobody   had   ever   seemed to   care   even   remotely   about   my   school   marks,   least   of   all   my   teachers,   or   even   my   parents;   to   this   day   I   have   old report   cards   void   of   their   signature. And   now   here   there   was   an   adult   telling   my   seventeenyear-old   self   in   no   uncertain terms   that   he   was   far   from   indifferent   to   the   quality   of   my   performance   at   school.   So   this   was   yet   another   thing   I   had always wanted to happen. The   last   section   was   about   my   having   damaged   the   reputation   of   the   school   by   cheating   at   that   test   and   insulting   that teacher.   I   was   to   assume   position   with   my   hands   on   the   seat   of   the   chair   again,   for   another   dose   of   the   strap:   twelve on my bare bottom, with the last one being definitely one to remember. What   followed   next   is   hard   for   me   to   put   into   words.   I   was   standing   against   the   panelling   with   my   bare   bottom   on display,   knickers   at   my   knees   and   hands   on   my   head. After   a   moment   of   silence   had   passed,   the   headmaster   ordered that   I   take   off   my   knickers,   fold   them   neatly   and   place   them   on   the   leather   armchair   next   to   which   I   happened   to   be standing. I just carried out his instructions as usual. Then, after I had resumed position with my hands on my head, he deftly   proceeded   to   tuck   the   rest   of   my   skirt   into   my   belt   very   carefully. A   tidal   wave   of   humiliation   washed   over   me. Yet funnily   enough,   I   had   no   desire   to   prevent   any   of   this   from   happening;   I   just   let   myself   be   carried   away   by   that   wave. In   a   voice   even   more   nononsense   than   before,   if   that   was   possible   at   all,   he   then   commanded   me   to   turn   around.   It didn't   even   occur   to   me   to   disobey   or   delay   this   order.   It   was   almost   as   if   my   body   was   acting   on   my   behalf,   and   the rest   of   me   just   followed   suit.   He   made   me   stand   right   in   front   of   his   desk   hands   still   on   my   head,   before   leading   me   to the   back   of   the   room   by   my   earlobe,   where   I   was   to   place   myself   next   to   a   chesterfield   sofa,   my   back   to   the   room.   He subsequently   disappeared   from   my   field   of   vision,   and   silence   filled   the   place.   I   was   to   say   ''Please,   sir,   I   am   now ready for you to punish me'', once I felt I was up for it. This   transition   was   a   wonderful   moment.   I   just   stood   there,   breathing   calmly,   letting   everything   be   just   as   it   was.   I   felt much   like   at   the   rare   good   concert,   when   the   music   makes   everyone   in   the   room   connect   with   each   other   and   the whole   world,   creating   a   moment   out   of   all   time,   when   the   great   harmony   of   the   universe   becomes   palpable.   Far- fetched   as   this   may   sound,   I   am   afraid   this   is   the   only   way   I   will   ever   be   able   to   describe   what   went   on   inside   me   at that point. When   I   ultimately   had   said   the   sentence,   he   came   over   and   had   me   bend   over   the   chesterfield   for   twelve   strokes   of the   cane.   Again   I   was   to   tell   the   first   six,   after   which   he   would   count   the   second   six,   with   me   saying   ''I   must   not   be   a disgrace   to   my   school''   after   hearing   each   figure.   Although   those   strokes   certainly   did   hurt,   in   fact   materially   so,   it   felt amazing   to   finally   come   into   the   punishment   I   should   have   received   all   those   years   ago.At   long   last   I   was   allowed   to rise, put my knickers back on and pull down the skirt of my gymslip, before being ordered to stand in front of that desk one more time, and after one last reprimand I was dismissed. Out   in   the   corridor,   having   closed   the   door   of   the   study,   I   would   have   performed   a   somersault   and   at   least   three   saltos had   there   been   room   for   that.   I   changed   back   into   my   everyday   clothes   and   became   my   present-day   self,   before   I went   back   to   the   study   as   agreed   beforehand.   The   headmaster   had   disappeared,   and   sitting   on   the   chesterfield   was the   gentleman   with   whom   I   had   been   playing.   He   rose,   and   we   met   in   a   long   heartfelt   embrace.   I   sat   down   in   the armchair   opposite,   and   after   a   lovely   chat   he   gave   me   a   lift   to   the   bus   stop   as   I   had   to   make   my   way   to   the   airport,   and after another firm hug, we parted. End. I   would   like   to   say   a   big   thank   you   to   the   young   lady   who   who   has   taken   the   time   to   write   this.   I   hope   that   it   may inspire others to ‘take the plunge’ and get in touch. You will always be treated with dignity and respect.
THE BLOG FROM THE HEADMASTER’S STUDY