Cordelia Lavington Chapter 13
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 13
Mrs Lavington looked at the clock.
"Stop writing, children. Elizabeth let me see your homework, please."
The map was neatly drawn and coloured. And the places where coal was mined had been carefully marked and named. Her mother knew that Elizabeth enjoyed making maps and indeed excelled at all aspects of geography.
"This is very well done, Elizabeth. Mrs Fairclough should be very pleased."
She gave a little frown.
"And now William let me read your essay on the Norman Conquest."
Diffidently he brought it out. He had not found it easy. The events preceding the invasion by Duke William had been quite difficult to grasp. Something about a battle with people called Danes at a bridge somewhere. And then a rush to get to Hastings in time for another battle. He handed the exercise book to his mother.
"Thank you, William."
She read his effort through.
"A most untidy piece of work, William. And not a very clear account. Did you listen to the lesson?"
"Yes mother."
"Then, this is a very disappointing.
He waited anxiously for her verdict.
"I'll discuss just how attentive your were with Mr Greaves when I see him tomorrow. But the untidiness is something I need to deal with now. Fetch the hairbrush from the hall table."
"Please, mother. No."
However habitually a boy is punished, he never becomes inured to spankings and never ceases to dread them. He swiftly learns how sensitive to a mother's discipline is the skin stretched tightly over his bottom flesh. Some boys will readily submit to the discipline. But others will resist and fight the rod. And William was such a boy. The physical squirming over his mother's knee was but an outward sign of a desperate inner squirming as he struggled to outlast her. But it was an unequal contest. Slowly and remorselessly she would apply the rod until, shamefully sobbing, he capitulated.
But for such a boy although a battle may be lost, the campaign is far from over. The surrender of his will is not a permanent surrender. Once he has regained his composure, he is determined to emerge victorious from the next encounter. And indeed may take the battle to his mother, wilfully defying her and challenging her authority. Impudently declaring that her earlier chastisement has not succeeded; has not broken his will; has not rendered him submissive. And in courting further punishment, he affirms his will against hers, and becomes brave in his own eyes, whatever the eventual outcome.
She watched as her son turned and went to fetch the hairbrush. There was anger on his face and his whole body was stiff with resentment. She smiled. She knew how to deal with that.
She took the hairbrush and smacked it across her palm.
"Take off your shoes and socks and place them under the chair. And now off with your jacket and hang it over the back. And now the shirt."
Garment by garment. Until he stood naked and shivering in front of her. She had no compunction about making him slowly strip before his older brother and sister. The additional humiliation was good for the boy and an excellent demonstration of her commitment to thorough and effective discipline. Discipline whose end was a will surrendered to her will.
She sat and silently beckoned him toward her. Reluctantly he stepped forward. She grasped him and turned him over her knee, small, pale, and defiant.
The brush descended with a dull smack across his bottom. He stiffened making no sound other than a gasp. Mrs Lavington smiled. She was not disconcerted by his defiance. Indeed, she took an especial pleasure in rendering a boy submissive. And as she had no compunction about slowly stripping him before the gaze of his brother and sister, nor had she any reservation about applying the rod until his will was stripped of all defiance. Until he was sobbing and desperately pleading for forgiveness.
It was not until the fourth stroke that he began to whimper; by the tenth, he was howling and writhing; and by the fifteenth, desperately screaming. When after two dozen strokes, the hairbrush was put aside, tears of hot defiance had been replaced by a sobbing, choking gratitude that the torture had ended.
She let him rest across her lap, placing her hand gently over his bottom, feeling the heat radiating from it. She rested her palm on the red and smarting flesh. He clenched his bottom and gave a gasp. She smacked him sharply.
"Get up, William."
He wriggled off her lap. And she made him stand with his hands behind his back in front of her.
"Stop crying."
She waited patiently until he regained a little composure.
"Well, William, I hope you've learned the lesson that schoolwork, however good, is unacceptable unless presented neatly and tidily."
She raised her eyebrows questioningly. His eyes were swollen and his face tear-stained.
"Well, have you?"
"Yes, mother. I . . . I'm sorry."
She smiled.
"I think the best thing would be for you to go and wash your face and prepare for bed. Pick up your clothes. And I'll see you in your pyjamas for prayers in a moment. Just as soon as I have seen Samuel's work. Off you go."
He went, one hand holding his clothes against him and the other clutching his smarting bottom.
She turned to Samuel.
"And now Samuel, let me see your parsing. Was the help I gave you of some use?"
"I . . . I think so, mother."
"You don't sound too confident."
She sat at the table beside him and put an arm around him, while she read through his exercise.
"Well, I am pleased that it's neatly presented, Samuel. That's very good. Often your work is untidy and disorganized."
She sighed.
"But you don't seem to have grasped the difference between an adverb and an adjective. I thought I'd explained that an adverb tells you something more about a verb and an adjective tells you more about a noun. Look at this sentence."
She read slowly.
The boy ate his supper greedily
She tapped her pencil on the table.
"You have greedily as an adjective qualifying the word supper which is a noun. How can that be. It doesn't tell us more about the supper, does it? You can't have a greedily supper. The adjective would be greedy. But supper's are not greedy. The boy might be greedy. Most boys are greedy. But the word in the exercise isn't greedy, is it? It's greedily."
She squeezed the slack of his under thigh.
"Well?"
"Yes, mother. I'm sorry."
"Greedily tell us more about the verb ate. It tells us how he ate his supper. He ate it greedily. If a word ends with an LY, it's almost certainly an adverb."
Again she squeezed his thigh.
"But I am not here to correct your work and punish you for your mistakes. That is Mr Crawley's job."
She paused. He waited, fearful of what was to come.
"But, Samuel, as you know, I've asked Mr Crawley to provide a daily note on your behaviour. And that's because I don't believe he is providing the discipline in class that you need. He gave you three strokes of the cane this afternoon for talking in a period of silent working. Well, I am pleased he used the cane. But you tell me he caned you across the seat of your trousers. I cannot begin to think why he should be caning your trousers."
She gave a wan smile.
"Unless your trousers were talking? Were they?"
He bit his lip.
"No, mother."
"So who was talking?"
His voice was low and husky.
"I was, mother."
"So why was Mr Crawley punishing your trousers instead of the small, disobedient boy whose bottom they were covering?"
"I . . . I don't know, Mother."
"Well, nor do I. And then there is your lack of effort that results in such poor marks. There is no need for such low marks, Samuel. You are simply lazy and disobedient. There is just no excuse."
She paused.
"Go and fetch the cane from the hall."
He went and handed it to her, his face flushed and apprehensive.
"And now off with your shoes and socks."
She watched while he crouched down and removed them. She could see that Elizabeth was also watching.
"And now down with those trousers and pants."
He lowered them until they were in a heap around his ankles.
"Step out of them and place them neatly on the chair."
Elizabeth's eyes followed him.
(To be continued)