Cordelia Lavington Chapter 27

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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Elizabeth looked flushed and angry as she handed her mother the tawse.

“And what did Samuel say when you asked for the tawse, Elizabeth?”

“He asked why I wanted it.”

“And what did you say?”

“I . . . I told him it was none of his business.”

“Did you? But it is his business, isn’t it, Elizabeth?”

She drew the tails of the tawse through her hand.

“Because you disobediently crept downstairs to watch him being whipped with this very tawse. Isn’t that right?”

She girl looked down.

“Ye . . . yes . . . mother”

“And has it occurred to you that he might like to watch you being whipped?”

“Please, mother. No.”

“You see, Elizabeth, the difference is you can plead to be spared that. But Samuel had no such opportunity. You stole his privacy from him. You were not only disobedient and a liar, you were also a thief.”

She looked at the girl, standing in her nightdress, small and resentful, twisting her hands in her distress.

“And I don’t think thieves deserve any consideration, do they, Elizabeth?”

The girl’ voice was low, barely audible.

“No, mother.”

“In that case you will go and tell Samuel that I want him down here in his pyjamas immediately.”

Reluctantly, the girl made her way upstairs. As she did so, her hand went round to feel the soft contours of her bottom through the thin cotton of her nightdress. She paused for a moment outside her brother's room. Then knocked. No child in Mrs Lavington’s household ever entered a room without first knocking. She pushed the door open.

“Mother says you are to change into your pyjamas and come downstairs immediately.”

The boy looked up.”

“Wh . . why, Lisa? What’s she think I’ve done?”

“Do as she says, Samuel. You’ll soon find out.”

She enjoyed his apprehension, even if it was to be short lived.

Mrs Lavington, too, savoured the boy’s discomfort as he entered the room, white and anxious.

“Stand over there, Samuel. And put your hands behind your back.   And now tell your sister exactly why I had to punish you yesterday.”

“B . . . but, mother?”

“Do as I say, Samuel.”

He could feel his cheeks burning as he reddened in his confusion. Slowly he stuttered out his explanation.

“I . . . I . . . I was playing with . . . with . . .”

The words stuck in his throat.

“Playing with what, Samuel?   What were you playing with?”

“With . . .     with my . . . my thing . . . mother”

“Your thing, Samuel? And what is your thing?”

“My . . . my . . .”

“What you are trying to say, Samuel, is your penis. The thing that hangs between your legs.”

She turned to her daughter.

“Did you know boys played with the thing between their legs, Elizabeth? Touched and rubbed it. Enjoying the pleasure that gives. Did you know that?”

“N . . . no, mother.”

“Well they do. But it’s a forbidden pleasure. And any boy caught playing with himself in that way is severely punished.”

She paused.

“As Samuel was punished yesterday evening. As you well know.”

She turned to her son, his face hot with shame.

“Did you know Elizabeth watched you being punished, Samuel?”

“No, mother.”

“Well, she did. She had been told to remain in her room, but she disobeyed and crept downstairs.”

Samuel looked at his sister, biting her lip, looking at the floor.

“And then, when I confronted her with her disobedience, she lied about it.”

She looked at her daughter and gave a grim smile.

“So we have agreed that the most appropriate punishment for her is to be flogged in the way she saw you flogged. Seated on the board with her legs secured to the chair. As yours were secured.”

She held the tawse in both hands, demonstrating its supple, punishing flexibility.

“And as she watched your punishment, Samuel, I think it only fair you should watch hers. And while you do so, you will keep your hands behind your back.”

Although Samuel has seen his sister spanked and on several occasions caned, most of her punishments were given in the privacy of her own room. He watched as his mother placed the padded board across the arms of the chair.

“Lift your nightdress, Elizabeth and sit on the board”

Samuel stared unblinkingly as her legs were raised and the loops were secured around each ankle. He knew that girls didn’t have penises or a little fleshy bag between their legs. Owen Bradley had told him that instead they had a little slit. And he had told him what it was for. He had hardly believed him. But now he could see the small soft lips that were clearly visible above the puckered little bottom hole. He felt a slight stirring in his pyjama trousers. He wanted to reach out and run his finger down the small tantalising opening, to feel how soft it was, to explore inside it.

His reverie was broken by his mother’s addressing him.

“And how many strokes of the tawse did you receive yesterday, Samuel.”

“I . . I’m not sure, mother.”

“Twenty four strokes. And that is what your sister will be receiving.”

There was a dull smacking noise followed by a piercing scream. Unhurriedly, the tawsing continued.   He could feel his penis stiffening. Before half the allowance had been given it was fully erect and pressing against the front of his pyjamas. He kept perfectly still acutely aware that like all boy’s pyjamas there was no fastening in the front. He could feel the swollen member and gave a wriggle to try and contain it. But there was no stopping it, and he looked down in horror at the small bulbous knob.   And as he looked up, he caught his mother’s eye and knew that she, too, had seen it.

At the end of the flogging, Elizabeth’s bottom and thighs were covered with the red imprints from the harsh leather. And she was still sobbing in distress when her mother sent her to her room. Mrs Lavington walked across and placed the tawse on the table. She drew out a chair, sat on it, and beckoned to her son.

“Come here, Samuel.”

He stood before her, grateful that the thing between his legs had shrunk and was no longer visible. She put her arm around him.

“You are at an age, Samuel, when it is important that you learn self-control. You know it is wrong to masturbate. But a boy cannot masturbate unless his penis becomes stiff and hard.   So, let me be quite clear. I do not want to see any boy in this house with a stiff hard penis.   Do you understand?”

“Yes, mother. I’m sorry. Don’t punish me. Please,”

“I’m not going to punish you Samuel.   Not this time. This time I am just warning you. But in future, if I see a stiff hard penis like that, I will whip it. Indeed, I am writing this evening to Aunt Camille and asking her to send me a little whip called a martinet. It is something your cousins are very familiar with, as are all French boys of your age.”

Samuel felt a cold shiver run through him. He knew his mother was not given to idle threats. He looked down shamed and fearful.

“Go to your room, Samuel.”

She picked up the tawse.

“And hang this back behind the door.   I’ll be up to say prayers in a moment.

She sat at her desk and took out some sheets of writing paper. Reaching for her pen, she started to compose a letter to Camille.

Ma Chère Camille,

Thank you so much for your letter with all your news. I was sad to hear that Jean Palomer has broken his leg. I remember a few years ago how he was the boules champion of Sainte Foy. He must be sad not to be competing this season.   And I do hope the surgeons are able to restore him to full health.

And congratulations on finding such excellent and plentiful truffles in the woods. I have always believed that a pig is by far a better truffle hunter than a hound. I only wish we could find truffles in the reformatory grounds here!

And I so sympathise with your problems with Anna. Like my Elizabeth, she is a self-willed child who demands much discipline.   And I am sure the martinet is neither begrudged nor stinted.

And it is concerning the martinet that I write, Camille. Samuel has now reached an age when he is tempted by masturbation. And as we both know, a child is only going to desist from sin if the ensuing punishment is such that the pleasure gained by sinning is outweighed by the pain inflicted. This applies to all sinning, but particularly to masturbation. For a boy, the pleasure is so intense and so beguiling, that only the severest of punishments will deter him. And without that, he will become a slave to a most dreadful and debilitating habit.

I would therefore be grateful, my dear Camille, if you would ask M Aillot to make for me a martinet suitable for disciplining an older boy.   The lanières should be at least fifty centimetres in length, be cut square and be capable of inflicting a whipping that any boy would fear to have repeated. I am assuming that M Aillot is still living in Ste Foy and providing such implements of correction.

Would you also ask him to make a second, smaller, less heavy martinet that could safely be used for punishing a boy in the place where he has sinfully abused himself. I remember my mother employed this method of correction for my two brothers. Perhaps you would explain to M Aillot what is intended and he can then craft the martinet accordingly. Tell him that it is meant to cause considerable pain but without damaging the boy.

I enclose sufficient francs to cover the cost of this work together with the postage. If there is anything remaining, please purchase some small gift for the children – if they deserve it.   Otherwise buy a treat for yourself, Camille.

This comes to you with my very best wishes and the hope that we may meet soon, either here or in Ste Foy.

Cordelia

Rising from her desk she made her way first to William’s room. He was already in bed, nervous of incurring his mother’s further displeasure.

“Good boy, William. I am pleased to see you in bed. But you can count yourself fortunate not to have been caned on your bare bottom. The next time Mr Greaves has to cane you, that is what you can look forward to as soon as you arrive home. Do you understand?”

He pulled the bed clothes up to his chin.

“Ye . . . yes, mother.”

“Good. Now out of bed and kneel for prayers.”

Afterwards, she kissed him and tucked him in. Then turning out the light and closing the door, she made her way to Elizabeth’s room.

Elizabeth was lying face down on her bed, sobbing into her pillow. Her mother stood beside her and reaching out stroked her head. How soft her hair was, she thought. She continued to stroke it gently for a minute or two, before speaking.

“I am sorry I had to punish you so severely, Elizabeth. But it was necessary. You do understand that?”

There was no reply from the sobbing child. Usually, Mrs Lavington would have reprimanded her daughter and insisted on a response, but she merely continued in a quiet loving voice.

“You see, Elizabeth, you must learn that in this household there is only one authority and that authority is my word and it has to be respected. And obeyed.”

She paused.

“Mrs Fairclough and I have been discussing what is necessary now you’ve reached the age of nine and are beginning to feel you are a big girl. Girls of your age can start to think they are too old to be under a mother’s authority. They resent it. They disobey and become wayward and rebellious. And it’s a mother’s duty not only to correct such behaviour, but to drive out the spirit of wilfulness and of sinful self-regard that underlies it.”

Again she paused, and listened to the girl’s gentle sobbing.

“And the way that is done, Elizabeth, is by severe and unremitting punishment. I hope what you have suffered tonight is sufficient to bring about a change of heart. But be assured, if it isn’t, then further punishment will follow. As surely as night follows day.”

She reached out and again stroked the girl’s head.

“And I have asked Mrs Fairclough to report to me each day on your behaviour, noting any instances of surly, uncooperative, behaviour that need to be corrected.”

She waited a little until the girl had ceased her sobbing.

“And now let us say prayers. Off the bed and on your knees, please.   Quickly now.”

She placed her hand on the girl’s head.

Dear Father God,

We thank you for all your goodness to us. For school where we can learn and home where we can be trained in virtue. Help Elizabeth to accept this evening’s punishment. May she mend her ways so that in future she may be honest, hardworking, and obedient. And may she sleep soundly this night and awake refreshed for a new day. We ask this in the name of God the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Amen.

“Now back into bed.”

As the door closed, Elizabeth wriggled and turned face down between the sheets, and began to cry again.

When Mrs Lavington had said prayers with Samuel, she made her way downstairs to her desk. There, she picked up the letter to Camille and re-read it. After a moment’s thought, she made a small amendment, requesting two rather than one of the lighter weight martinets, adding in a postscript that this was for les garçons de la maison de redressement. She licked the envelope and stuck it down, and then placed it on the mantelshelf for posting the following day.

Upstairs in his bed, Samuel was lying on his back, his eyes shut, with his hand inside his pyjamas. He was imagining once again his sister with her legs raised and her little slit exposed to his view. He pretended he was inserting his finger between those puffy little lips, exploring inside, enjoying her squirming and writhing. Suddenly he felt anxious. Where was his mother? What if she suddenly entered the room and discovered him? But the sheets were covering him, and dismissing his fears he continued.

(to be continued)

(The End)