Cordelia Lavington Chapter 32

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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“So, Graham, did you hear what I asked Mrs Simmonds to fetch from the infirmary?”

She raised her eyebrows in expectation of a reply.

“Well?”

“Ye . . . yes . . . Matron.”

“So what was it?”

“S . . . s . . . some, ebro . . . ebro . . . “

His voice tailed off in confusion.

“The word, Graham, is embrocation. And do you know what an embrocation is?”

“No, Matron.”

“Then I will tell you.   It’s an ointment that is rubbed onto the skin. For example, a boy with a bad cold who finds it difficult to breathe might have his chest rubbed with an embrocation to help him breathe better. Or a boy with a sore place might have an embrocation applied to that.”

She paused.

“So, Graham, where do you think you might need an embrocation applied?”

He flushed.

“I . . . I don’t know . . Matron.”

“Well, it occurs to me, Graham, that as you and Clough have been rubbing each other’s genitals they may be a little sore. Perhaps they would benefit from a little embrocation. What do you think?”

“I . . . I’m not sure, Matron.

She reached out and placed her finger under his penis and lifted it.”

“Is it sore?”

She spoke in a low, concerned, almost reassuring, voice.

“N . . . no . . . Matron.”

She looked at him, secured to the bed, helpless and vulnerable. She smiled.

“But, in any case, this embrocation is not like an ordinary embrocation, Graham. In fact, it’s an embrocation made just for you. And, of course, for your friend, Clough.”

Her finger went under his scrotum and dub sharply upward into the sac. He gasped. She could feel the two tiny testicles within. The boy was now white with anxiety.

“Do you know why Mrs Simmonds has tied you to the bed by your wrists, Graham?”

Her voice was sharper now.

“No . . No, Matron.”

She held his genitals in her hand and gently squeezed them.

“Well, Graham, it’s because the embrocation is to be applied here. To the very place where Clough stroked and teased until you disgustingly spurted all over your pyjamas.”

Every boy in the dormitory lay still, listening intently.

“Tell me, Graham. Did you enjoy what Clough did? Was it pleasurable?”

She waited, her eyes on his small tense face.

“You will answer me, Graham. Did you enjoy what Clough did?”

Her voice had a hard edge to it now. The boy wilted before her gaze. He was biting his lip, his breath rough and quick.

“Answer me!”

Ye . . yes, Matron.”

“Yes, you liked what he did?”

“Ye . . . yes, Matron.”

She smiled.

“And if nothing were done, you would soon be wallowing again in the trough of sin.”

She waited, looking at him in his abject misery.

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Ye . . . yes, Matron.”

“But something is being done, isn’t it?”

She waited a moment before continuing.

“Tell the dormitory what happened to you and Clough this morning.”

“We . . . had . . . had . . . had our . . . our hands s . . . strapped.”

“Yes, to teach them that they’re not to wander inside another boy’s pyjamas. And I hope they have learned that lesson. Have they?”

“Ye . . . yes, Matron.”

“Good. But there’s another lesson that needs to be learnt, isn’t there, Graham?”

“Is . . . is there, Matron?”

“Yes, Graham. And do you know what that lesson is?”

“N . . no, Matron.”

“Well it needs to be learnt by this.”

She reached out and placed her index finger under his small limp little penis.

“So what is the lesson?”

“Please, Matron. Please.”

“You have no idea?”

“No, Matron. Please, I’m sorry. Please.”

She paused for a moment.

“The lesson this needs to learn is that a boy’s genitals are not to be played with by another boy. That they are to remain in their own bed and kept inside their owner’s pyjamas.”

She paused.

“So how do you think that lesson might best be taught?”

He was in tears now, a small boy caught in a sticky web from which, he knew, there was no escape.

Mrs Lavington took a handkerchief from her pocket. It was small and scented, only recently taken from her dressing table drawer. She opened it and gently dried his eyes. Then she placed a cool hand on his brow.

“There’s no need for crying, Graham.”

She stroked back his hair.

“The Bible speaks of the pleasures of sin, and you need to learn that, however pleasurable, sin is hurtful and does you no good. That is why punishment is necessary. The pain of punishment teaches the true nature of sin. That in the end it leads to pain and hurt and eventually hell itself. Hell, where there is everlasting pain, and flames that burn forever and are never quenched.”

She looked across to Clough.

“I hope you are listening to this Clough. Because when I have applied the embrocation to Graham’s offending parts, I’ll be applying it to yours.”

She walked over to the table and picked up the jar and spatula and handed them to Mrs Simmonds.

“If you stand on the left side of the bed, Mrs Simmonds. And when I am ready pass me the spatula with a good smear of embrocation on it.”

Mrs Lavington stood on the boy’s right and reaching down lightly grasped his penis, and slipped her handgently but firmly up and down. He gasped, and despite his fear the shaft thickened a little and the glans emerged from its foreskin covering. It was not a full erection, but helpful for her purpose. She looked up at Mrs Simmonds and reached out her hand.

The boy was desperate now.   He knew some terrible punishment was imminent.

“No, Matron. Please Matron. Please. I’m sorry.”

He twisted his body away but she had him in her grasp. The chilli embrocation was smeared onto the swollen glans and then into the foreskin. She handed the spatula back.

“A little more, please, Mrs Simmonds.”

And this time the spatula was wiped across the boy’s scrotum. She waited. It was about a minute before there was a reaction. At first, he felt an itching warmth and wriggled a little not yet realising the burning agony that lay before him. But after only half a minute, he began to writhe in earnest, howling and tearing at his fastened wrists.

Mrs Lavington bent over him and ran her hand through his hair. It was soft and dry but soon would be damp and dishevelled as his whole body began to sweat from the agony and the fear engendered by the terrible burning between his legs.   He looked at her in desperation, a hopeless pleading in his eyes. She smiled down at him.

“I am afraid, Graham, the pain will last for a while yet.”

Again her hand stroked his head. She felt sorry for him, but had no compunction about the necessity of punishing him. To lay with another boy as he had done was a most serious sin and had to be addressed. And what was more appropriate than to turn the member that had given such pleasure into a source of agonising pain.

She kissed his forehead and straightened up.

“And now you see why it was necessary to fasten your wrists to the bedhead. If we hadn’t, you would be running around the dormitory like a mad thing. And we don’t want that, do we? You would disturb all the other boys. But now we had better settle Clough down for the night.”

She walked over to Clough’s bed, followed by Mrs Simmonds. The boy was shivering and pale, having listened to all that had been said and done to Graham.

“Please, Matron. Please, no.”

But judgement had been passed and there was no staying the flaming, burning sword of justice. And as her fingers stretched out the boy’s small member she wondered whether the executioner felt as she did as he stretched out a slender neck upon the block ready for the axe to fall. But when the axe descended, it brought oblivion to temporal woes. But for this boy, there would be no oblivion. Instead he faced a night of acute suffering, the pale penumbra ofthe eternal torment that faced him should be die in his sins.

“Like Graham you are pleading to be spared your punishment, Clough. But that would not be a kindness. It might appear kind, but it would be cruel. Exceedingly cruel. I want you to imagine as you sufferthat the agony will never cease, but will go on forever, to all eternity. I want you to imagine that, Clough. For, unless you learn to cease from the Devil’s work, you are heading for hell and everlasting torment. Not now, not next week, nor even next year, but when you die. When you pass beyond this world to stand before Our Lord Jesus Christ to be judged.”

She looked up.

“Pass me the spatula, please, Mrs Simmonds.

And the burning embrocation was smeared on to the inner softness of his foreskin and on to the small, shrunken, anemone-like head revealed by Mrs Lavington’s cool fingers. Practical fingers that applied plasters to cuts and grazes, but also fingers that wrapped around the handle of a hairbrush to administer the soundest of spankings.

She waited, watching. And as she did so, she stroked his head as she had done Graham’s, and then bent over and kissed his forehead. She wanted him to know, before the agony built to an insupportable torment, that the punishment was done out of love to reform and to save.

Before she and Mrs Simmonds left, she addressed the rest of the dormitory, speaking clearly over the gurgling agony of the two boys.

“No boy is to get out of his bed until morning call. There is to be no talking and no communication whatsoever with Clough and Graham. And remember this dormitory will be visited from time to time during the night by Miss Guthrie. And if she catches any boy out of his bed or talking to another boy, then that boy may expect to be soundly punished by me in the morning. I am now going to switch off the lights and you will all do your best to sleep.”

When back in the infirmary, Mrs Lavington sent for Anne Guthrie and briefed her on the need to patrol the dormitory. She was told to wear soft shoes so any boy disobeying her instruction would not hear her approach and would almost certainly be caught. Miss Guthrie who was childless and whose husband had died in the War smiled. She was dedicated to the reformatory and firmly believed in its mission of transforming boys through strict discipline and salutary punishment.

“Certainly, Matron. Any boys caught will go on a list for you to deal with in the morning. Though from what you tell me, I’d expect most to be hiding under the covers and too scared to put even a nose out.”

“Well, let us hope so, Anne.”

She turned to Susannah.

“And we’d better check that dormitory first thing in the morning, as soon as the boys have left. When boys are wakeful, there’s the temptation to occupy themselves in other ways.”

Mrs Lavington looked at the clock.

“Just time for a quick cup of tea before returning home, Susannah.”

“Thank you Matron. But tell me, do you intend to report Clough and Graham to the Principal? Haven’t they been punished enough?”

“I know it seems harsh, Susannah. But it’s necessary. The hands that wandered into another boy’s pyjamas have been strapped; and now they are suffering in the very place where they experienced the delights of mutual masturbation.”

She paused.

“But there is something else. Because of the enormity of what they’ve done, they owe it to all the boys in the reformatory to provide an example of what happens to boys who sin as they have sinned, and to encourage others to resist the same temptation.”

She paused.

“And to achieve that a public flogging is necessary.   I have already spoken to the Principal about it and he is in complete agreement.”

“That means they’ll be birched?   Like that boy who ran away?”

“Yes Susannah. Like the boy Burgess who absconded.”

As Mrs Lavington made her way home, there was a lightness to her step as she breathed in the fresh evening air. She opened the door.

“I’m back Diana.”

Mrs Fairclough emerged from the drawing room.

“And how was it, Cordelia? An ordeal?”

“No, Diana, not an ordeal. But certainly demanding. But more to the point, how did you get on? I hope the children behaved?”

“Impeccably, Cordelia. We had a most enjoyable time together. After homework, William did some drawing and Samuel and Elizabeth showed me their rooms.   And then, after they went to bed, I’ve been reading your punishment book from several years back.”

Cordelia smiled.

“Have you, Diana? And did you enjoy your read?”

“I did, Cordelia. It brought back memories of my own childhood, as well as that of the boys.”

She had been holding the book with her finger inserted into the page she had been reading. She flicked a page back.

“Do You remember this, Cordelia?   It’s dated 30 November 1919.”

Elizabeth is now six. She seems determined to test my patience at every opportunity. This afternoon, I told her to put away her doll and get ready for tea, but when I returned, five minutes later, she was still playing with it. She stared at me with a guilty look in her eyes. ‘So, young lady, what happens when you disobey me?’ Her lips puckered. ‘A spanking.’   ‘But you’ve already been spanked, and it doesn’t seem to have helped.’ She looked at me, her eyes wet but behind the tears I could see defiance. ‘Go and fetch the cane from its hook in the hall.’ I turned up her dress and, with her knickers down, she went over the arm of the sofa. As this was her first caning I gave her only ten hard swishy strokes. She cried bitterly. But medicine is bitter. And usually one dose is seldom enough!”

She looked up. Cordelia smiled.

“Yes, Diana, I remember that.   At the age of six, Elizabeth was particularly difficult. A defiant little miss. She had always had a strong seam of wilfulness running through her.   And she was not always truthful. And, I am afraid, that can still be the case.”

“Yes, I remember your saying she can be quite deceitful. But reading this from three years back, brought back memories of my eldest boy when he was that age. Howard was a rebel from the beginning. We used to call him Little Wat Tyler!”

“Wat Tyler came to an unfortunate end, if I remember my history. Wasn’t he killed by the Mayor of London in the Peasants’ Revolt?”

She laughed.

“Well, Howard was a rebel, but we didn’t go that far! We spared him his life! But not the rod. From an early age he’d been caned. But around the age of six, he became so wilfully disobedient and intractable that we birched him.   Yes, at the age of six! I cut the switches myself and bound them up. Our housemaid, a most helpful girl called Greta, held him.”

“You mean she horsed him over her back?”

“Not then, but she did later. When he was stripped to his vest, she sat on an upright chair with him over her lap, one hand in the small of his back and the other wrapped around his body grasping him tightly. Then, I swished the birch across his firm, round little bottom. Greta was Swedish, and I’m sure she had been birched as a girl.”

“I still remember vividly the birching of Burgess, Diana, the boy who absconded.”

“Yes. But for that James used a much heavier birch. For Howard, at that time, it was a much lighter birch. But very swishy. The beauty of the birch, Cordelia, is that it can be bound up for each boy as needed. It can be made to tickle the smallest boy into obedience, and also provide a salutary flogging to an older boy, who needs thick throbbing weals raised on his flesh. Weals that are still visible two weeks later.”

“Yes, I remember, checking Burgess three weeks after his flogging and I could still see the faint marks of the birch even then. Did the birch raise weals on Howard’s bottom?”

“No, Cordelia. It stung dreadfully, as it was meant to, but it was light enough to leave only superficial abrasions.”

She frowned.

“I think that first time I gave him a dozen cuts.   But I can’t really remember.”

She smiled.

“I should have kept a record like this!”

(to be continued)

(The End)