Cordelia Lavington Chapter 12
By Governess
Copyright 2010 by Governess, all rights reserved
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This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It contains explicit
depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are
not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or
if such material does not appeal to you, do not read
further, and do not save this story.
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Chapter 12
Mrs Lavington noted approvingly how, as the boy struggled, the sharp oval end of the stool pressed between his thighs and exposed the soft brownish flesh between his buttocks. She lashed the martinet into the cleft. The boy screamed and writhed, kicking his legs and forcing his head back.
The leather thongs were lashed a second time into the cleft. The hard tips bit into the tender anal opening. The boy jerked and roared but the toweling held him firmly in its soft embrace. Mrs Lavington stepped back for a moment. There was something exquisitely pleasing about a boy secured as Lacy was secured. At one end the buttocks flared out invitingly and his legs were free to kick, or gigoter as her mother would have said. At the other end, a small brown head of tousled hair strained upward at each agonising stroke, eyes wide open, and red lips parted. She relished each piercing shriek of agony as it rent the air. And although his arms might twist and even reach back, fastened as he was to the stool by the clinging towelling, any such resistance was futile. She smiled. And continued to lash him.
Now the ends of the flexible lengths of tough leather curled around and bit into his genitals. She had no wish to cause more than stinging pain to his little scrotum and penis, so she lashed him with less force. But still the boy screamed and writhed, shaking his head and kicking his legs back in his agony.
Eventually, she laid aside the martinet and removed the restraining pins from the towelling.
"Stand up, Lacy."
Still weeping copiously, the boy struggled up. He stood before her in his nakedness, bent over, his right hand cupping his genitals, while the left reached round to his sore, smarting anus.
"Stop crying this instant. And place your hands on your hips."
With the tips of her fingers, she tilted his head back.
"Like all small boys, Lacy, you have little self-control. And self-control is more than not wetting and messing your pants. More than not masturbating. Self-control is getting on with your work and obeying those in authority over you. Putting what you have been told to do before anything else."
She walked across to a drawer and took out a small jar.
"Bend forward and I'll put some cold cream on your bottom where it's sore."
He gave a gasp as her finger pressed on the small burning aperture and the cream was smoothed in.
"Now dress and return to your class. And I hope not to have to deal with your again in this way for some time."
She watched with folded arms as he slipped back into his clothes. As he turned she called him back.
"Aren't you forgetting something Lacy?
"I'm sorry. Thank you Matron."
"Good. Now off you go. And remember, I will have my eye on you."
Mrs Lavington looked at the clock. Four thirty. Almost time to collect the children who would be waiting in the large hall to be escorted home. She wondered whether Edward Crawley would have provided a report on Samuel or whether he would wait until tomorrow to make a start on the new arrangement. And then there was the issue of the boy's masturbation. That must be addressed. She had a horror of his growing up in the grip of such a debilitating and sinful habit. Well, she would have that little talk with him this evening. She smiled to herself. A full day promised to extend into a full evening.
The three children were already waiting in the hall by the time she arrived. Samuel looked anxious, his eyes cast down. She knew immediately that Edward Crawley had indeed provided a report on his day's behaviour.
"You look down in the mouth, Samuel, what is the matter?"
"N . . . nothing, mother. But Mr Crawley asked me to give you this."
He handed her an envelope. Mr Crawley had told him that from now on, at his mother's request, he was having to submit a daily report on his conduct in the classroom. And at the end of the day had given him the envelope. The boy had quickly reviewed the day and immediately thought of several things that might have been mentioned. His mother slipped the envelope into her bag.
"Come along, children, home to tea and homework."
Each of the children had a task in the daily routine of tea. William and Samuel set the table, carefully carrying the plates and cups from the dresser and then laying out the knives and spoons, before putting out the jam and butter. Elizabeth was responsible for slicing the bread, making the tea and putting out the milk and sugar.
Usually, over tea, Mrs Lavington questioned the children about their day.
"Well Elizabeth how was your day?"
"Very good, thank you, mother. I got the best mark of everyone for geography. Mrs Fairclough was very pleased with me."
"That is very heartening, Elizabeth. I'm very proud of you. And was there anything else.
"Yes. Mary Coward got the tawse. Six strokes on each hand. And she really deserved it. She was cheating and looking at Sarah Buckley's work."
"I am sure she deserved it if she was cheating. I hope none of you would ever cheat. And what about you, William?"
"Nothing really, mother. We did a lot of arithmetic, and some history."
"And I hope you did well at it? Did you?"
"Yes, Mother."
She nodded.
"And what about you, Samuel?"
She paused.
"But of course, there's no need to ask. Mr Crawley has kindly provided a note on your achievements today."
She reached for her bag and pulled out the envelope. She handed it to Samuel.
"Read it aloud, Samuel. I am sure we're all eager to hear how well you've done today."
Samuel took the envelope nervously. His mother passed him a knife so he could slit it open. Slowly, he took out the note.
"Stand up and read it, please."
He shuffled up and read haltingly.
"Samuel did some good work this morning scoring twelve marks out of twenty for his arithmetic and ten out of twenty for his spelling.
Unfortunately the afternoon was marred by his talking during a period of silent working. For this he received three strokes of the cane.
I hope this is helpful.
Edward Crawley."
"So Samuel what have you to say to that? I find it rather disappointing."
"But Mr Crawley said I did some good work, mother."
"Indeed, Samuel. But why do you think Mr Crawley considers a mark of ten out of twenty a good mark?"
"But mother, Roger Millen only got five right."
"And so you consider any mark better than five a good mark? Is that what you are saying?"
"N . . . no, mother. But I wasn't the worst."
"That Samuel is not the point. The point is that a boy who listens to the master teaching him and who applies himself diligently should be able to achieve twenty right out of twenty. Every time."
"But mother . . . "
"Every time, Samuel."
"But the question was why do you think Mr Crawley regards your getting only half the questions right as a good mark? Have you any ideas?"
He hung his head. He could feel the tears pricking at his eyes.
"No, mother.
"Then I will tell you, Samuel. It is because like the boy Millen your result is usually much worse. Because this time you listened a little more attentively and made a little more effort, you did better. But because it's better than your previous lamentable attempts, does not make it good. Good is twenty out of twenty. Or at least eighteen out of twenty. That is good. But ten, even twelve out of twenty is bad."
She paused.
"And why is it bad, Samuel. Why is the result not good?"
He bit his lip and his hands by his side twisted. He was a small boy being slowly nailed to the cross of a mother's disapproval.
"Well?"
"Because . . . because I couldn't do better."
"No, Samuel. That is not the reason. You could have done better. You choose not to make the effort to do better."
She looked at the small tearful boy.
"And that is why you have to be punished."
"No, mother. Please."
"But that is not all, is it, Samuel. Read the note again."
He did so, his voice husky and anxious.
"So you received three strokes of the cane for talking in a period of silent working."
She paused.
"And where were those strokes given, Samuel?"
"On . . . on my bottom, mother."
"Across your trouser seat you mean."
"Yes, mother."
"Then they need to be given again. And across a completely bare bottom."
She rose.
"But first, the tea things have to be cleared and homework done."
Again, each of the children had a task to do. On the wall was a rota and from this it could be seen that Elizabeth was to clear the table and put away the food, while Samuel and William washed the plates, cups and cutlery and then, after drying them, helped Elizabeth put them away.
The children than sat at the table for their homework. Elizabeth had to trace a map of Great Britain and then mark and name all the places where coal was mined. She enjoyed such a task and got on with it eagerly. William had to write a short account of the history lesson he had had that day. This had been on the Norman Conquest and required him to set out the events immediately preceding the Battle of Hastings. Samuel had been set six sentences to parse.
"You have an hour. So no talking and I expect to see everything completed and finished to a high standard."
Mrs Lavington fetched her embroidery and sat in the armchair. She enjoyed this hour. It was a time of quiet recollection as she watched the children working. She could see that Elizabeth was applying herself well and was clearly enjoying her work. William, however, was sucking his pencil and finding it difficult to get started. And Samuel was frowning as he carefully wrote out a word that he then had to parse. Was it a noun or a verb, an adverb or an adjective? And how did it relate to the other words in the sentence? She had no doubt that he would find it a very testing exercise.
After a while, Mrs Lavington put aside her embroidery.
"Samuel, you don't seem to be making much progress. Is there some difficulty?"
"Please, mother, I don't understand what I have to do."
"But surely, Mr Crawley has explained. He's not likely to set work without telling you how to do it."
The boy hung his head.
"But I didn't understand him."
He looked up, his eyes glistening.
"Please, mother."
"Samuel, if you don't understand what Mr Crawley is telling you, then you must ask him for a further explanation."
She looked at him.
"What you are being asked to do is to explain what job each word in doing in a sentence and how together with all the other words it makes sense and has a meaning."
She paused.
"Write the word Samuel. On the left of the page."
He did so.
"That is good clear writing. Now what does that word tell us?"
"It . . . it just says Samuel."
"Yes. It's your name. It is a noun because it is a thing or a person. And because it's a name its called a proper noun. Now let us add something."
She took his pencil and wrote an apostrophe S.
"Now what does that mean?"
He surprised her by knowing the answer.
"It means that something belongs to Samuel."
"Good. That is excellent. Now write the word mother."
"So what does that tell us?"
"It . . . it doesn't tell us anything. It just says Samuel's mother . . . mother."
"Well it tells us that Samuel has a mother. But you are right it doesn't tell us anymore, because there's no verb. Every sentence has to have a verb. Without a verb a sentence is not a sentence. What we want to know is what it is that Samuel's mother is doing."
She paused.
"Write the word canes after mother."
He reddened as he did so.
"And now we have a real sentence. A sentence is a group of words that together make complete sense. Just saying Samuel's mother didn't make complete sense. But this does. So what does it tell us?
"That . . . that you cane."
"Yes. But although it makes sense, isn't there something else we want to know? We want to know whom Samuel's mother is caning, don't we? Is it William? or is it Elizabeth?"
She paused.
"Or is it you Samuel?"
He hung his head. The exercise in parsing had become deeply personal with him painfully at the centre.
"Well, I think it's you, Samuel, don't you?"
He nodded, agreeing with her in his desperation.
"Yes, I am sure it is. Now listen carefully. We could add Samuel and say Samuel's mother canes Samuel. But that sounds very awkward and odd, doesn't it?"
He nodded.
"So instead we put a little word that stands for Samuel. The word him. It is called a pronoun, because it is put there instead of your name. So add it, please.
"Good. So now we now who did the caning, the mother. And because she did it, she is the subject of the sentence. We know whose mother it is. It is Samuel's mother. And more importantly for you, we know whom she is caning. Samuel is the object of the verb canes, or rather him is the object because we didn't need to write Samuel again. Both mother and Samuel are nouns, name words, while canes is a verb, a doing word. And that gives us a nice, little sentence, full of meaning."
Again he nodded.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes, mother. Thank you."
"But I see from the exercise Mr Crawley expects you to know a little more than that. About adjectives and adverbs, even adverbial phrases. In the last question he has set, there is even a clause. So we need to add a little more to our sentence."
"For example, we might want to know how Samuel is caned."
She looked at the boy.
"So how do I cane you, Samuel?"
He wriggled in his distress.
"Well. Surely not a difficult question. You've been caned often enough."
His voice was small and reluctant.
"Hard . . . mother."
"Yes, hard, as all boys should be caned. Hard swishy strokes. So add hard to the sentence."
"And because hard tells us more about the verb, about how Samuel's mother canes him, it is an adverb. An adverb tells us more about the verb, just as an adjective tells us more about a noun. Do you understand?"
He nodded.
"I said did you understand."
"Ye . . . yes, mother."
"Good. And now a further question. Where do you think Samuel is caned?"
She smiled.
"Well?
She waited.
"On . . . on the bare bottom . . mother."
"Yes, on the bare bottom. So write it.
She smiled inwardly at his discomfiture.
"And because that tell us more about how Samuel's mother canes him it is known as an adverbial phrase. A phrase is a little group of words that don't make much sense on their own unless they are attached to something. In this case the verb canes. Just as hard told us more about how Samuel's mother canes him, so does this. It tells us where she canes him. On the bare bottom. And that is why it is called an adverbial phrase. A little group of words that works like an adverb."
She paused.
"So what part of speech is the word on, Samuel?"
"I . . I'm not sure, mother."
"It's a preposition, Samuel. Prepositions go before nouns to help you understand how they are being used by the verb. And in the phrase on the bare bottom, do you see a noun?"
He nodded, almost pleased that he knew the answer despite the circumstances.
"Yes, mother."
"So what is it?"
"Bottom, mother."
"Good. And is there an adjective there? A word that tells us what sort of bottom it is."
"Yes, mother."
"And what is it?"
"The word bare."
"Excellent. And what about the. What is that?"
He bit his lip.
"I . . . I'm not sure . . . mother."
"It is known as the definite article, Samuel. It might be a bare bottom which would mean any bottom. A being the indefinite article. But it is the bare bottom. Which means not any bare bottom but a particular bare bottom. Your bare bottom, Samuel. And as it tells us more about the noun bottom it is an adjective. All articles are adjectives, whether it's the indefinite article a or the definite article the. Do you understand?"
He was not sure he did, but nodded nevertheless. She pursed her lips and studied the boy.
"But there is something the sentence doesn't tell us, isn't there, Samuel. Why is his mother caning him?"
Then she added after a pause.
"Caning him after he has finished his homework."
The boy wriggled in his seat.
"Well?"
"Because, he . . he didn't do well enough at his work."
"And why was that? Was it because he didn't try hard enough."
"Yes, mother."
"And did he know he should try hard?"
He bit his lip. This was certainly no longer just an exercise in parsing.
"Yes, mother."
"And so what words or word would you use to describe that?"
"Disobedient . . . mother"
"Yes, disobedient. But also lazy. So shall we add those as the reason?"
He nodded.
"So we are going to add a little clause that tells us the reason why Samuel is being caned. A clause is a little sentence that is attached to a main sentence. And as the clause gives the reason for Samuel's being caned it is introduced by the word because. So add because please.
"And now let us add the reason. After because write he is lazy and disobedient."
Slowly he added the required words.
She pointed at the page.
"So what is He?
He thought hard.
"Is . . . is it a pronoun, mother?"
"Yes, it's a pronoun. Because it stands for Samuel. He is the subject of the verb is. And what about lazy and disobedient?"
"They are adjectives, mother."
"Yes, they are. Describing Samuel's behaviour. Behaviour that is earning him a sound caning."
She looked at the boy. He was on the point of tears.
"So read the sentence out, please, Samuel. So we can all hear it."
He did so in a low voice.
Again please, and a little louder.
She smiled. And looked at the clock.
"And that is what one small boy has to look forward to in half an hour when homework is over. But I hope before then he will complete an excellent piece of work after all the help he has been given."
(To be continued)