One of my work responsibilities is to act as an examiner for candidates hoping to achieve a particular, respected professional qualification. And whilst I don’t know the questions they’ll receive, I’m allowed to run a revision course for them in the day or days leading up to their test. I’m leading one such event out here in California, before this week’s conference.At the same time, a few of our friends here at The Spanking Writers are preparing to sit exams, of a different nature. Cue a different cut on the same theme, in my jetlagged I’ve-just-been- travelling-for 23.5-hours-non-stop slumbers a few nights ago.

The dream-exam was especially demanding: my preparation course lasted a whole month. Moreover, those attending (carefully hand-picked by their bosses) would have been expected to have to have studied extensively even before their arrival on the first day.

It was a small group - eight young ladies, locked away in a country house for the duration. Classes lasted from breakfast to late afternoon; “Evening study is expected and required.”

Each morning, I would pass a bag containing each of the girl’s names to one of the participants. She’d reach in, take out a rolled-up piece of paper: everyone would crane forward as she read out the name, and the chosen girl would be invited to the front of the class.

I’d pull round a wooden chair and position it in the centre of the room, its high back nearest the audience. The girl concerned would position herself behind the chair, facing away from the group, as I stood before her and posed my first question of that day’s twenty (drawn from past test papers).

She’d answer nervously, hesitantly, understanding the consequences of an incorrect response. Perhaps she’d get the first few right, but eventually a look of panic would cross her face. She’d mutter a guess, a look of panic crossing her face.

“No, young lady. Does anyone else know?” Some bright spark would inevitably call out the correct reply as I picked up the cane. “Bend over.”

She’d know that punishments were always on the bare, that there was no point in protesting. She’d lift her skirt, pull down her knickers, stretch forward into position and brace herself for the stroke that would follow. She’d hope to be brave; a yelp or a sob might inevitably be forthcoming as the rattan cut home. And there she’d stay for the remainder of her test, each wrong answer a further red stripe.

At the start of the course, it would not be unusual for a girl to get ten or more wrong: it would be a good check as to whether they’d revised with due diligence. As the course progressed, a girl might get away with three, four strokes. And by the eve of the exam, one would hope not to have to wield the cane at all. Job done, girls prepared, ready to pass.

-------

Now you can buy a book of the best entries from "The Spanking Writers".