Cordelia Lavington Chapter 25

By Governess

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This story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced nudity, spanking, and sexual activity of preteen and young teen children for the purpose of punishment. None of the behaviors in this story should be attempted in real life. If you are not of legal age in your community to read or view such material, please leave now.
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“Yes, Cordelia, from what you tell me, Elizabeth, at nine, regards herself as a “big girl” who no longer needs guidance and discipline.”

Diana Fairclough smiled.

“She probably takes after you, Cordelia”

“Yes, she probably does. I can remember my mother saying, ’Just you remember, Cordelia, you are only nine years old. A girl of that age doesn’t choose what to do: she does as she’s told.”

“But of course you didn’t heed her.”

“No. My mother’s favourite saying was les enfants, on les dresse. Children need to be taught. I remember once at the beginning of les vacances, the school holidays. I was looking forward to the freedom of running wild in the country around our house. But my mother had other plans. And she decided that the time had come to provide some necessary dressage.”

So what did she do?”

“Each morning as soon as I had dressed, I had to sit quietly on a stool, without wriggling, in the corner of the salon. And for the whole of the morning I was not allowed to do anything other than what my mother told me. Eating breakfast. Going to the lavatory. All was in her gift and under her control. ‘It will teach you to appreciate the freedom you have as a nine year, Cordelia, and that you are still under la règle de la mère.”

“And was that all?”

“No, Diana. My mother was very thorough. There was the martinet hanging on a hook in the kitchen. If I got off the stool or attempted to do anything at all on my own initiative, then it was taken down and I received une bonne fessée.”

She paused.

“And then après le déjeuner, I would be permitted to do anything I wanted, provided I first asked permission and my mother agreed. And of course permission was often refused. And again, if I failed to ask or acted without permission, down would come the martinet from its hook.”

“I’ve never heard of a martinet, Cordelia. What is it exactly?”

“It is the usual implement for punishing children in France, Diana. It has a wooden handle about ten inches long and attached to it are up to a dozen, or so, leather tails. Each tail is about twenty inches in length, and can be about a quarter of an inch thick. And the tails are cut square, and dressed on one side. So they have a sharp edge, so that whipped across a child’s bare flesh they smart and sting horribly. I have one in my office, Diana. It has thirteen tails. I’ll show it to you sometime.”

“And you use it here in the reformatory?”

“Yes. I am finding it an excellent implement for punishing boys who masturbate.”

Diana Fairclough smiled.

“Yes, I can see it would be, Cordelia.”

She offered her the plate of sandwiches.”

“So what do you want me to do, about Elizabeth?”

Well, Diana, I don’t need to give you permission to use the tawse. You have that already.”

She drew in her breath.

“But the way I see it is that in the classroom you are, of course, responsible for ensuring that she does her schoolwork and is not a disruptive influence. And if she is, then I would expect her to be punished. But often with a child, poor work and inattention, stem from an on-going lack of commitment and a weakened sense of duty. And those are things that I need to deal with.”

Mrs Fairclough nodded.

“So what would you like me to do?”

“What Edward Crawley is going for Samuel, Diana. At the end of each day he provides a short report on Samuel’s conduct. I would welcome a similar report from you on Elizabeth. Although for different reasons. As you know, Edward is too soft and sentimental when it comes to boys. And I need to check whether Samuel is getting the discipline he needs and, if not, make good any deficiency.”

Diana Fairclough smiled.

“I hope you don’t think me an Edward Crawley.”

“Certainly not Diana. I know you will punish Elizabeth for any poor work or inattention in class. And if she had been beaten for that, then of course I wouldn’t punish her again at home. But if I can see there is an underlying spirit of laziness or self-regard, then that needs to be dealt with separately. You will have punished her for her poor work. But I still need to punish the underling attitudes that gave rise to it.”

“That sounds good sense to me, Cordelia. And I’m very happy to co-operate.”

She took a sip of tea.

“And how will you be punishing those underlying attitudes, Cordelia. With your martinet?”

“No, Diana. That’s kept here in the reformatory for punishing boys. It may seem odd, but I have never used the martinet at home. I suppose because once I moved here, I became more English that French. The hairbrush, the cane, the tawse, but never the martinet. In fact, it’s only a while ago that I came across my mother’s old martinet, tucked in the back of a drawer, and brought it in.”

She paused.

“But I have been thinking of writing to my cousin, Camille, and asking her to send me one over. Like most French parents she has one hanging in the kitchen. And from her last letter, she’s taking it down regularly at the moment to discipline Anna, her eight year old daughter. I remember from my own childhood the agony of those harsh leather thongs, those lanières de cuir, cutting into my bottom and thighs.”

“So you think it’s more painful than the tawse, Cordelia?”

Mrs Lavington put her head on one side and pursed her lips.

“Mmmm. Difficult to say, Diana. Probably not. But it’s a different kind of pain. It builds up more slowly and allows a child to believe she can resist. But as the strokes continue, and bite again and again into soft flesh, it slowly conquers her and reduces her to a state of sobbing contrition. But I was thinking of it mainly for Samuel, and later for William.”

“You mean, to punish masturbation?”

“Yes, Diana. It’s ideal for that. The martinet can be applied to the offending member. The one I have in the reformatory is probably a little heavy for that, but I have used it to good effect. But care has to be taken. The tawse would not be at all suitable.”

And she thought of how she had whipped the boy Lacy between his legs, and of what a versatile little whip it was. Certainly, she must write to Camille that evening. Samuel needed it now and before very long so would William.

Diana poured her another cup of coffee.

“So what will you be looking for in my daily reports on Elizabeth’s conduct, Cordelia?”

“Well, evidence, I suppose, of consistently bad attitudes. Lack of attention, lack of effort, a pattern of poor work after you have fully explained what needs to be done. That sort of thing. And if those crop up several times in a week, then she would certainly be given a sound spanking by me at the very least.”

She helped herself to another sandwich.

“You said a moment ago, Diana, that a girl of Elizabeth’s age may consider herself too old to submit to her mother’s rule. And I am sure you are right. Elizabeth, even at her age, is becoming a ‘big girl’ in her eyes. There are times when she disobeys not because she wants something and is prepared to risk punishment to have it, but because she wants to assert her will against mine. And that’s a very different thing. Then, she is not only rejecting my rule over her, but becoming a law unto herself.”

“So do you think you would use the same method your mother used?”

“Yes, Diana. But this evening Elizabeth is to be punished for gross disobedience, made worse by deception and lying. And I hope that will convince her that her mother’s rule is not something she can disregard. But if not, then a little of my mother’s dressage may well be required.”

She paused.

“But to go back to the reports, Diana. I hope you will be looking out for all those little indications of an underlying spirit of rebellion. I mean that toss of the head, that pained sigh of disapproval when instructed to do something, that slowness to obey which says ‘I’ll do it in my own time and not in yours’. Those must be driven out and a spirit of willing obedience restored.”

“Well, I am more than happy to do that, Cordelia.”

She paused.

“But you say she is to be punished this evening. What exactly did she do?”

Mrs Lavington explained about Elizabeth’s creeping down the stairs to witness her brother’s punishment. And how she had lied and dissembled.

“And she’s to get the tawse across her bottom and the backs of her thighs? Well, if that doesn’t bring about a change of attitude, at least for a while, nothing will, Cordelia.”

“Well, I hope it does, Diana. But I’d still welcome your daily reports on her behaviour and particularly on what we’ve discussed. But look, I have taken up enough of your morning and I must get back to the infirmary.”

“Yes, of course. But Cordelia, I’ve so enjoyed our chat. Perhaps we can meet like this once a week? I’d really like that.”

“Yes. So would I. Let’s try and do that.”

“You know, Cordelia, I really envy you.”

“Why’s that, Diana?”

“Because I enjoyed raising boys. Only Edward’s still at home but he’s boarding at St Dunstan’s. Of course, he’s here in the holidays. But at thirteen, he requires little regular discipline. Just the occasional birching. And James provides that.”

Cordelia nodded.

“What you miss, Diana, is that closeness you had with your children when you spanked them. Spanking bonds a mother to her children in a special way. There’s nothing else like it. No boy wants his trousers and pants taken down and his bottom exposed to the cold air. No boy likes going across his mother’s knee. And certainly no boy likes the hard, stinging smack of the hairbrush across sensitive bottom flesh. Let alone the cane or birch. But it makes for a very special relationship between a boy and his mother. An intimacy that’s achieved in no other way. And a deep respect, too.

“You’re right, Cordelia. And I miss that. You’d think because a child feared and hated the spanking, he’d hate and fear his mother, too. But it’s not like that.”

“No, it isn’t, Diana. A child will fear a parent who expresses anger by cuffs and random beatings, but not a mother who disciplines him lovingly and carefully, however severe the punishment. What he fears is not so much pain as a sense of helplessness in the face of complete unpredictability. He never knows when a beating is coming or for what. But my children know exactly what they’ll be spanked for and therefore every spanking is preventable. It arises not from my anger, but from their behaviour. And if they choose to disobey, then they have chosen the spanking, not me.”

“That’s so right, Cordelia. Clear rules and strict discipline. They provide a child with a safe and predictable world. But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there. A mother’s concern for her child is expressed in the way she spanks him. There’s no rough force or indiscriminate blows. There’s a routine. And the child’s taught to accept that from an early age. And from that, he knows he’s the centre of his mother’s love and concern.”

Mrs Lavington nodded.

“Yes. Even the firm calm way she takes his trousers and pants down and bares his bottom tells him that. And the way he’s held or secured so there’s no risk of injury other than to soft sensitive flesh.”

Diana looked wistful.

“You know, Cordelia, I really miss that. You’re right. There’s a special warmth and closeness that comes from spanking a disobedient child and correcting him.”

Mrs Lavington gave a little frown.

“Well, I’m more than willing to send you the occasional boy to discipline, Diana. That is if the Principal agrees.”

“Would you Cordelia?”

“Certainly. But you’d better talk to James about it. He may have other ideas.”

“I can’t see why he should. But I’ll speak to him this evening. And, Cordelia, thank you so much.”

(to be continued)

(The End)