Cordelia Lavington Chapter 28

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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The following morning, Mrs Lavington accompanied Mrs Simmonds to the dormitory in which Michael Clough slept.

“Never mind the other beds, Susannah. I just want to check on Clough. He and I will be having a little talk during the course of the morning.”

Mrs Simmonds smiled. She knew what a little talk meant.

When they reached the boy’s bed, Mrs Simmonds pulled back the bed clothes. A small wrinkled mark was visible on the top sheet. Mrs Lavington reached out and touched it. It was quite dry. She pulled the boy’s pyjamas from under his pillow and examined them. The trousers were stained with what was obviously a seminal emission. And as she glanced down she saw on the floor beside the bed a handkerchief. She stooped and picked it up. She looked at the name tag. The handkerchief belonged not to Clough but to another boy, Graham, whose bed was on the other side of the dormitory.

“Susannah, will you check Graham’s bed please.”

Graham’s pyjamas were not folded and placed under his pillow as they should have been, but loosely left under the sheets, half way down the bed. That in itself was an offence against dormitory rules. Mrs Simmonds brought the pyjamas across and handed the bundle to Mrs Lavington. She laid them out on Clough’s bed and carefully examined them.

“Look at that Susannah.”

Low down on the front of the boy’s pyjama jacket was a large stain. It was dry and yet within it was another small damp patch. Mrs Lavington smelt it and wrinkled her nose.

“Quite disgusting.”

She held out the garment for Mrs Simmonds to examine.

“Well, Matron there’s no doubt about what that boy was up to.”

“No, Susannah. None at all. But why was Graham’s handkerchief on the floor beside Clough’s bed?”

She narrowed her eyes.

“I can think of only one explanation. Both boys were doing it together.”

“But in that case, Matron, wouldn’t the stains on the two pyjamas be either both dry or both damp. But Clough’s is entirely dry while Graham has a damp patch on his pyjamas.”

Mrs Lavington shook her head.

“I’ll tell you what I think happened, Susannah. Graham comes over to Clough’s bed, and they engage in mutual masturbation. Both ejaculate over their pyjamas. Graham makes his way back to his bed and, as he does so, drops his handkerchief. Probably it was in the pocket of his pyjama top, and became dislodged when they were wriggling about. And as he left the bed he brushed it on to the floor. Then, shortly before rising, Graham masturbates a second time which would account for the smaller damp patch within the larger stain.”

She handed the pyjamas back to Mrs Simmonds.

“Put them back in Graham’s bed, just as you found them. I’ll question both boys during the morning and get the truth out of them. After which they will be punished. And punished severely.”

“Does the Principal need to be told, Matron?”

“Yes, Susannah. He certainly does. I have discussed with him our campaign to root out masturbation in the dormitories and he’s wholeheartedly behind it. But gross indecency between boys is another matter. Of that he must be informed. I will deal with both boys in my own way. But Mr Fairclough I am sure, will have no hesitation in birching the pair of them.”

She smiled.

“At the moment both are blithely ignorant of what is awaiting them. But nemesis is just around the corner.”

On their return to the infirmary, Mrs Lavington worked at her desk for an hour and then, after her morning cup of coffee, sent for Graham and Clough. As both boys were in the same class they arrived together. Both looked white and Graham was nervously twisting his hands. Mrs Lavington stared at them with an expressionless face.

“Stand over there. Back to the wall. And hands by your sides.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Well, have you any idea why I have sent for you?”

There was silence. Both boys shuffled a little and Clough was biting his lip.

“Stand still the pair of you.”

She stepped across to Graham and, with her hand under his chin, tilted his head back.

“Does the fact that I have sent for both of you suggest anything to you, Graham? Perhaps something you may have been up to together? Well? Any ideas?”

“N . . . no, Matron.”

“Well, what about you Clough? Have you any thoughts on the matter?”

“P . . . please, Matron. No.”

Mrs Lavington put her head on one side and looked at him.

“I see. Then let me ask a few questions.”

She smiled and pointed at Graham.

“This morning your handkerchief was found beside Clough’s bed. Do you know how it got there?”

“No, Miss . . . I mean Matron.”

She nodded.

“Perhaps while you were asleep it took to the air and floated across the dormitory. Do you think that’s possible?”

“N . . . no, Matron.”

“I agree. It does seem most unlikely. But then, we are still left with the question: how did it get there?”

He looked down, saying nothing. She waited, letting his anxiety mount. She had him in her web and was slowing wrapping the sticky entanglement about him.

“You may not believe this, Graham, but yesterday I flogged a boy for losing his handkerchief. He lied about it. But there was something else. Can you guess what that might have been?”

He shook his head.

“N . . . no, Matron.”

“Come now, Graham. What do little boys sometimes use their handkerchiefs for?”

He reddened.

“Then let me give you a clue. They sometimes use their pyjamas for the same purpose.”

She paused.

“And the pyjamas like the handkerchief are left stained and damp. Does that help?”

He nodded, mutely.

“So what is it called, that disgusting thing that boys do? Well?”

“W . . w . . . wanking . . . Matron.”

“Yes, Graham. But the proper word is masturbation. You will use that in future. Say it please.”

“M . . . mast . . . masturbation.”

“It’s a long word. Difficult to say. But not something boys find difficult to do.”

She paused.

“But while the handkerchief we found had no stains on it, when we examined the pyjamas that was not the case. Those were stained, badly stained. With a stain that could have been made in only one way.”

She waited. The boy was no longer white, but flushed and breathing rather fast.

“So, what was your handkerchief doing beside Clough’s bed?”

She waited. The silence became heavy. Still she said nothing.

“I . . . I . . . must have dropped it . . . Matron.”

“Obviously, Graham. We have already ruled out the possibility that it fluttered there by itself like a bird. But the question remains how did you come to drop it there. Beside Clough’s bed.”

“I . . . I don’t know . . . Matron.”

She turned to Clough.

“Can you shed any light on the mystery, Clough?”

The boy was brighter and altogether more confident than Graham.

“No, Matron. I’ve no idea.”

“I see. No idea at all?”

“No, Matron”

“But stains were found on your pyjamas, too, Clough. Where did those come from? I suppose you have no idea about that, either?”

He looked down.

“N . . . no, Matron.”

She stepped across and putting her hand under his chin, forced his head back.

“Don’t treat me like a fool, Clough. I have been Matron in this reformatory long enough to recognise semen stains when I see them. You were masturbating last night, weren’t you. And I suggest you answer truthfully. You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

She watched as his brash self-confidence faded under her strong, probing displeasure. His voice was low and barely audible.

“Yes, Matron.”

“You mean, yes you were masturbating?”

He nodded.

“But there is something else, isn’t there, Clough?”

He bit his lip, and his breathing was rough and nervous. She turned to Graham.

“Were you in Clough’s bed last night, Graham?”

The reply was barely audible.

“Ye . . . yes . . . Matron.”

“And that is when you dropped your handkerchief?”

“I . . . I suppose so . . . Matron.”

“And why were you in Clough’s bed?”

“We . . . we were talking.”

“And what did you talk about?”

“I can’t remember, Matron. Perhaps, about the . . . the lessons we had.”

Mrs Lavington smiled inwardly at the thought of the two boys lying in bed discussing the difficulties of Pythagoras’s theorem.

“Well, I commend your dedication to learning. But you did more than talk, didn’t you?”

They said nothing. Both were suffused with shame and their hands were twitching with anxiety.

“You touched each other, didn’t you? Playing with each others genitals until you both shot hot sticky semen all over your pyjamas. Isn’t that right?”

She waited.

“Graham, I said isn’t that right? Answer me.”

“Ye . . . yes, Matron.”

“And you Clough. Is that what happened?”

“Yes, Matron.”

“And you do know that masturbation is wrong, the pair of you?”

Whether they did or didn’t, neither was prepared to deny it. Both knew further prevarication would only add to their difficulties.

“Yes, Matron.”

She shook her head, and pursed her lips, with narrowed eyes.

“Solitary indulgence is one thing. But that you should have shared and wallowed in your depravity together. Fondling each other in the most wanton way imaginable.”

She paused.

“You do realise that if you were adults both of you would be imprisoned for a very long time. Fortunately, you are boys and can be dealt with in a different way.”

She looked at them.

“First, as you have broken my dormitory rules, you will be punished by me.”

She paused.

“But what you have done is so serious and so shameful, that it will have to be reported to the Principal.”

She nodded.

“And after absconding, he regards deviant behaviour such as yours as deserving of the severest of punishments. Have you anything to say?”

They shook their heads, pale and fearful.

“Then you will undress.”

(to be continued)

(The End)