Cordelia Lavington Chapter 29

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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As each boy removed his garments, he folded them neatly and placed them on a chair. It was unnatural for a boy to be so tidy, but both had been punished before and knew what was expected of them. Mrs Lavington smiled. Only by strict and unswerving discipline could a boy’s natural inclination for untidiness and shoddy work be corrected. They stood before her bare and shivering.

Both boys were small for their age with well proportioned bodies, not plump but well covered, with buttocks that were firm and round. She could imagine them in bed, wriggling and playing with each other until one, then the other, spurted sticky semen all over their pyjamas. It might be natural for small boys to indulge themselves in such a way, but it was an expression of their inner corruption and needed to be punished with the utmost severity. Nor would she have any compunction about reporting them to the Principal who would undoubtedly birch them. Possibly before the whole school.

She frowned.

“So Clough, and you, Graham, what do you think would be a suitable punishment for what you have done?”

Both boys were silent. Each expected a sound spanking with Matron’s hairbrush at the very least.

“No suggestions, either of you? No?”

She beckoned to Clough, and pointed to the floor immediately in front of her.

“Stand there, Clough. And you beside him, Graham.”

Fearfully, they stepped forward.

“And which hand did you use to masturbate Graham, Clough? Was it the right or the left? Hold it out.”

Slowly, he extended his right hand. He was red with shame and visibly trembling.

“So, show me the part of Graham’s anatomy that you fondled in bed.”

Slowly the boy reached out and touched Graham’s small limp penis, and quickly withdrew his hand.

“Yes. But you did more than that didn’t you, Clough? Did more than just touch it? You played with it, didn’t you? Rubbing that little piece of loose skin on the front, between your finger and thumb. That’s what boys do, isn’t it, Clough? And you continued until he spurted all over his pyjamas.”

She reached out and forced Graham’s head back.

“That’s what he did, wasn’t it Graham?”

The boy was crimson with embarrassment.

“Ye . . . yes, Matron.”

“And did you enjoy it?”

The boy said nothing. She looked at his companion.

“Well, Clough, do you think he enjoyed it?”

“I . . . I suppose so . . . Matron.”

“Yes, I am sure he did. As you enjoyed it when he did it to you.”

She narrowed her eyes and both wilted under her gaze.

“Most boys have some sense of shame. They masturbate in secret between the sheets. But you were both utterly shameless. Touching and fondling each other in your depravity”

She paused, sensing their mounting anxiety.

“So, I am going to punish those hands that gave such sinful enjoyment.”

She placed two heavy upright chairs together side by side. Each has a straight back with a flat, top rail. Earlier she had tied around each rail a small loop of thin string, and on each loop was threaded a small brass ring, the size of a boy’s finger.

“Stand behind that chair, Clough, and you, Graham, behind the other one.”

She reached across Graham’s chair and, with her long, slender fingers under his chin, she lifted his head.

“So which hand was it, Graham?”

Reluctantly,, he extended his left hand.

“Rest it on the back of the chair.”

She turned to Clough.

“And it was your right hand, wasn’t it Clough.”

“Ye . . yes, Matron.”

“Then place it like Graham on the back of the chair.”

Carefully, she arranged each hand so the soft fleshy palm was exposed, and then slipped the ring over each boys’ middle finger.

“Raise your hands as far as you can.”

Each did so, until the loop tightened and the hand was restrained about three inches above the rail. She breathed in deeply, savouring their fear.

They watched as she walked to the cupboard and reached into it. In her hand was a heavy two tailed tawse.

“When I’ve finished with you two, the last thing you’ll be thinking about will be putting your hands inside another boy’s pyjamas. She stood in front of Clough and lifted the tawse, draping it over her right shoulder. His breathing was quick and shallow. His eyes wide open and unblinking.

With an flick, the tawse leapt up and then descended with a heavy whooshing sound, followed almost immediately by a dull smacking noise as it struck the boy’s soft palm and outstretched fingers. For a moment the boy felt nothing, but then his hand was aflame with the agony. A penetrating burning that spread from his hand to consume his whole being. He roared and stamped his feet and if his hand had not been restrained, he would have snatched it away and pressed it under his left armpit. But such comfort was denied him.

The restraint of the little loop with the ring was Mrs Lavington’s own invention. Not only did it prevent a boy from moving his hand, but it meant that with each stroke not only was the sensitive palm beaten, but the hand was driven sharply against the chair rail, knocking and bruising the knuckles.

She waited.

“Hand in position again Clough. Lift it up as far as you can.”

She punished him unhurriedly, waiting each time for his writhing and screaming to abate before giving the next stroke; and continued until twenty had been administered.

Learning to write is not learnt in a few short moments of time. It takes a succession of long intense lessons imposed by an unforgiving master or mistress. And for Mrs Lavington, learning the moral grammar of life was no different. Obedience was not taught with a few desultory spankings. Nor were truthfulness, cleanliness, and chastity. Wrong spellings might be marked in a child’s book and the corrections learned, but for moral failure and disobedience, the marks of correction needed to be written on a child’s bare flesh. In Mrs Lavington’s judgement improvement would never come from remonstrance and reproof alone. Words needed to be accompanied by severe chastisement.

When she stepped back, Clough was writhing and twisting in agony. After twenty strokes, his palms were red and inflamed, and his knuckles bruised and sore. If his hand had not been restrained, he’d have been madly flailing it, trying to shake away the terrible tormenting pain. But the little ring and the short leash attached to the chair tethered him to her will.

Some might have chosen to punish the boys by giving alternate strokes to each outstretched palm. But that would have allowed them to find a little solace in their shared suffering. Far better to give Clough his twenty strokes and let Graham witness his agony, and have him shivering in fearful anticipation of his own impending suffering.

And as she turned her attention to Graham, she knew the faint tormenting hope rising within Clough that perhaps his punishment was over.

“Well, Graham, time for your hand to learn the lesson that Clough’s hand has just been taught.”

She tilted Clough’s head.

“And what was that lesson, Clough? What has your hand been taught?”

“N . . . not, not to . . . to touch things . . . Matron.”

“You mean nothing at all? Not even a pencil?”

“N . . no . . . Matron.”

“Well, then?”

“I . . . I’m not to . . . touch . . . “

His voice trailed off.

“Well, if the lesson has not been learned, it will need to be repeated.”

“No . . . please, Matron.”

“Well? What has your hand been taught?”

“N . . . not, not to . . . to touch other boys’ . . . things.”

“You mean their possessions?”

He was red with embarrassment, biting his lip.

“N . . . no, m . . . Matron. Their . . . their . . . winkies . . .”

“And by winkie you mean what is to be found inside a boy’s pyjamas between his legs? Is that right?”

He looked down, his whole body hot with shame.

“Ye . . . yes, Matron.”

“And that is the lesson you’ve learned: not to touch another boy’s winkie?”

“Ye . . . yes, Matron.”

“Or to use the language I shall employ when reporting your conduct to the Principal: not to get into bed with another boy and engage in mutual masturbation.”

She turned to Graham.

“And that’s the lesson your hand needs to learn, too, isn’t it Graham?”

He licked his lips, flushed and bright eyed.

“When I speak to you Graham, I expect an answer. Let me repeat my question. That is the lesson your hand needs to learn, too, isn’t it?”

He was breathing through his mouth in short nervous gasps.

“Ye . . . yes, Matron.”

She raised the tawse. And he shrieked as it lashed down. She paused letting him smart in agony. Then, slowly and methodically she continued. Each time the stroke cracked his hand down sharply against the rail of the chair, bruising his knuckles. But that was as nothing to the burning agony in his hand. It was if it were holding hot coals, searing and burning the flesh.

After twenty strokes, she stepped back, and watched the boy twisting in torment.

“Look at me, Graham.”

He raised his head and struggled to focus through small, bleary, tear-filled eyes.

“And will you be visiting Clough in his bed tonight, do you think, Graham?”

He was shivering, and struggled to get his words out.

“N . . . n . . . no, Matron. No. Please.”

“Well I’m glad to hear it. But I’ll be vising you before bed tonight, Graham. And you, too, Clough. So you both have that to look forward to.”

She walked over to the cupboard to replace the tawse and, as she turned, eyed their round little bottoms. Then, she slipped the restraining rings from their fingers. Both boys desperately shook their hands, and then thrust them under their armpits. Mrs Lavington ruffled their hair.

“You may dress. And then return to your classroom. I’ll provide a note explaining that you may find it difficult to hold a pencil for the rest of the morning. Quickly now.”

When they had gone, she sat at her desk and entered their names in her punishment book, providing a description of their offence and the nature of the punishment. She smiled. A further entry would need to be added later.

There was something very satisfying about keeping a punishment book. She enjoyed disciplining boys, but the sensual gratification was short-lived. Entering an account in the book was eminently satisfying. It was also the basis of her monthly return to the Principal.

At home, she kept a punishment book for each of her three children. Every punishment she had ever given from the first to the most recent was preserved therein. Samuel’s punishment book was now into its fifth volume; and Elizabeth’s was not far behind. The entries she made were more fulsome than those for the reformatory boys, recording the offence in more detail, with an account of her feelings and the reactions of the children. Sometimes of an evenings she would take down a volume and read from it.

But she needed to make preparations for what she had in mind for Clough’s and Graham’s further discipline. She stepped into the infirmary.

“Susannah will you check that we have some of the embrocation we prepared at the end of last year to discourage that boy Carpenter from masturbating.”

Susannah Simmonds went to the medicine cupboard and unlocked it. Reaching in, she took out a jar. It was a forbidding, dark green. She unscrewed the lid.

“Yes, Matron, there’s plenty left.”

She put her nose down and smelt it. She looked up.

“Well, by the smell, it’s lost none of its strength.”

“No, Susannah. But I’ll freshen it up with another chilli or two. Perhaps you’ll slip out to Campbell’s and buy half a dozen. He keeps them for Brigadier Canning’s curries.”

The Brigadier had retired from the Indian Army some years previously and had trained his cook to replicate the very hot curries he had enjoyed there.

Red chilli peppers, dried, with their seeds ground up, along with Wintergreen oil and mustard, formed the main, active constituents of the embrocation that had been applied to Carpenter’s genitals. The recipe for the embrocation was from Mrs Lavington’s mother who had employed it, when needed, to Cordelia’s brothers when she caught them masturbating. The Matron’s eyes narrowed as she remembered their screams. She recalled how she had lain in bed and listened spellbound to their agony, her hand rucking up her nightdress as she ran her finger along her small slithery vulva and stroked that special little spot that gave such pleasure. Even at that age she had wondered why her brothers’ suffering should arose her in such a way.

Her upbringing had been strict and her mother had insisted on absolute and instant obedience. By the age of seven, Cordelia had acquired an acute sense of sin and the heartfelt knowledge that sin could only be remitted and forgiven by punishment. Punishment that only ended when she submitted and accepted her mother’s forgiveness. Her mother’s pleasure at her restoration was always evident; and this opened the way to a more mature understanding of the divine forgiveness itself.

She came to see that the joy in heaven over one sinner that repents arose from the sinner’s submission to the great Judge of all men. As she had suffered punishment at the hands of her mother and had been led to submit to her will, so the suffering of Christ for our sins, led us in love to submit to His will and to receive life at his hands. That was the deepest desire of God for sinners. But if we remained unreconciled, then the terrible punishment that Christ had endured was ineffective and remained ours to bear. And even in that there was a mysterious joy in the heart of God, as sinners received the just exchange for their sins in the fiery wastes of Hell. And so her arousal and enjoyment of her brothers’ sufferings had been to share in a small way in that joy, as her mother had shared in it, and as she now did in the punishment of her own children.

When Susannah returned, she was carrying a small brown paper bag in which were half a dozen red chilli peppers.

“Mr Campbell warned these are some of the hottest chillies he’s ever had. He said that the Brigadier had complained they were too hot – even for him!”

Mrs Lavington smiled.

“So the Brigadier was distressed by the heat was he? Well, Susannah, I can assure you that Privates Clough and Graham are going to be far more distressed than the Brigadier.”

She took the bag from Mrs Simmonds, and pulled out a chilli. It was large and fat.

“Hand me a pair of scissors, Susannah.”

She snipped the end of the chilli, and dabbed her finger lightly on the wet chilli flesh, and then brushed her finger across her tongue. She waited. And then opened her mouth and drew in air.

“Good gracious, Susannah, the Brigadier was right. I’ve never encountered anything so hot.”

She stepped across to the little larder cupboard and took out a jug of milk and quickly poured herself a glass, drinking it slowly and bathing her tongue in the liquid.

“Well, I’d been thinking of rubbing the chilli juice straight on to the boys’ genitals, but with chillies like these, I really think that would be too severe, despite what they’ve done. But we’ll certainly add a little of the juice and mashed up flesh to the embrocation.”

She nodded.

“But before that’s applied, the boys’ wrists will need to be secured to the bed rail. Unless restrained they’ll be running about in their madness. And we don’t want that.”

She gave a smile.

“The rest of the dormitory will find it hard enough to sleep with their screaming, without having to endure their rampaging around.”

She put the bag down on the table.

“So Susannah, I’d like you during the afternoon to place two straps at the head of each boy’s bed ready for them to be secured for the ordeal. And I’ll ask Mrs Fairclough whether she would be willing to sit at home with the children and supervise them until I return.”

She paused.

“And I would like you to accompany me to the dormitory this evening.”

(to be continued)

(The End)