Cordelia Lavington Chapter 46

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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Cordelia Lavington Chapter 46

“The reason you cannot go to the lavatory, Hammond, is because there is an impaction in your bowel. Let us use language you understand. What do you call the stuff that comes out of your bottom hole when you go to the lavatory?

“Wh . . . what do you mean . . . Matron?”

“Come along, Hammond. There is nothing difficult about it. What do you call the stuff that comes out of your bottom and goes down the lavatory?”

“Is . . . is it, poo, Matron?”

She smiled.

“That is the word you use is it, Hammond?”

“Ye . . . yes, Matron.”

“Then that is what we shall call it. When you eat and swallow food it goes first into your stomach where all the goodness is taken from it to make you healthy and strong. What is left is of no use and it continues down a long tube until it comes out of your bottom when you go to the lavatory. That ‘poo’ is usually soft but sometimes it becomes hard and sticks in the tube and then more poo comes down and cannot get out and then that, too, hardens and you end up with a blockage. And that is what has happened to you. And it must be cleared out.”

She paused.

“So how do you think that is best done?”

“I . . . don’t know, Matron.”

“Well, when one of the reformatory drains gets blocked, Mr Hodges comes and pushes a long rod into it to clear it, and I suppose I could do the same for you and push a length of rattan up your bottom until it reached the hard poo and broke it up. But that would be very dangerous and risk making a hole in the tube that the poo comes down. And we do not want that, do we?”

The boy looked pale and anxious.

“So can you think of a better method of clearing this blockage?”

He bit his lip and looked close to tears.

“N . . . no, Matron.”

“Then, I will tell you. What we need to do is to pump some nice soapy water up your bottom hole so that it softens the hard poo. Then, it will come out with all the rest of the poo that has been trapped behind it.”

She smiled.

“It is very easy to do. Most boys find it a little uncomfortable. But in your case, Hammond, it will be more than uncomfortable. I will make sure it is extremely painful to remind you of the importance of going to the lavatory first thing in the morning. Do you understand?”

“B . . but, Matron, I tried to go. Truly I did. It just wouldn’t come out.”

“And how long were you trying? A minute? Two minutes?”

“Please, longer than that, Matron.”

“Then, how long?”

He hesitated.

“I . . . I’m not sure . . . Matron.”

“Well nor am I, Hammond. Except it was not long enough. And if you could not manage to empty your bowels, then you should have come and reported it to Mrs Simmonds or to me. As it is your neglect means we are having to waste more of our time.”

She looked up as the door opened.

“Thank you Mrs Simmonds. Place the bowl of the table, please. And perhaps you would fetch me an apron and bring in two enema bulbs, one with a standard sized nozzle and one larger. And we had better have a jar of Vaseline, too.”

Hammond was pale and twitching nervously. He knew something unpleasant was in store for him and his fear was compounded by not knowing exactly what it was. It was but a moment before Mrs Simmonds returned.

“Thank you, Mrs Simmonds. And perhaps you would fetch from the bottom of the store cupboard over there, the tin bath that we use for enemas. Thank you. If I need any assistance I will call you.”

Mrs Lavington looked at the naked boy shivering before her. Usually she left enemas to Mrs Simmonds but there was something about Hammond that made her want to deal with him herself. The last enema she had given had been to William and that had been some six months ago. She remembered how he had wriggled and resisted as she turned him over her knee. And how before she could insert the nozzle, he had kicked out and caught the bowl upsetting the sudsy liquid all over the floor. The realisation of what he had done and the spanking that swiftly followed took all fight out of him. She had then put him on his back on a rubber sheet covered by a towel and got Elizabeth to hold his legs back like a baby having a nappy change. And she had used a larger nozzle that normal to punish him for his resistance. With a quick hard squeeze she had shot the complete bulb of hot soapy liquid into him. She recalled his angry screams and urgent writhing and then the agonised moans as he suffered the inevitable cramping pains. She had pulled out the nozzle and pressed her thumb against his anus to prevent any leakage as she refilled the bulb. Then the nozzle was again forced into him, stretching the opening and making him scream. But when he felt the hot soapy liquid squirting deep into his bowels, he screamed like the demented child at the foot of the Mount of Transfiguration.

Some mothers believed constipation made a boy surly and ill-disciplined. But Mrs Lavington held to the view that it was rather a boy’s ill-temper and wilfulness that made him constipated. In dealing with his constipation a mother was confronting a boy’s sin and the physical manifestation of sin. An enema was therefore not only a removal of the faecal material causing the blockage in his bowels, but also a punishment for the sin that had caused it. It had therefore to be painful and humiliating and in most cases combined with a sound spanking.

Hammond watched as she moved the bowl Mrs Simmonds had brought to a low table beside which she placed a chair. Then, she put on the rubber apron and taking a towel, sat on the chair and placed it over her lap. She also placed on the table the hairbrush with which he had been spanked. She beckoned to the boy.

“Come here, Hammond. I want you over my lap.

She hauled him, trembling and fearful, into position, and pressed her left hand firmly in the small of his back. He was breathing with short anxious breaths and lay perfectly still. But not for much longer, she thought, as she dipped the nozzle of the enema bulb into the milky solution and squeezing and releasing the bulb filled it up. As she lubricated the tip, she looked appreciatively at the bottom that had been spanked to a deep crimson and across which were the weals raised by the cane. He clenched as he felt the nozzle against him.

“Better not to clench, Hammond. You will be able to do all the clenching you want in a moment.”

He gasped as she pushed the end of the nozzle into his small anus and began to twist and worm it into him.

“Aaaaaagh . . . no, please, no . . . aaaaaaaagh.”

But there was no respite. He squirmed and howled as she forced the hard tube into his rectum. The bulb was almost flush with his bottom when she shot the hot liquid into him. He screamed, as William had screamed, as all boys scream, when they suffer the indignity of having their bowels forcefully filled with an enema solution that burns and bloats with its terrible cramping pain.

“Aaaaaagh . . . no, please, no . . . aaaaaagh.”

His screaming was now a raw screeching sound, as though the lining was being ripped from his throat. She harshly withdrew the nozzle and taking her hand from the small of his back, inserted a thumb into his anus to prevent any leakage. Mrs Lavington smiled as she refilled the bulb. She pressed the tip firmly against his small bruised anus and held it there, allowing him to anticipate the coming invasion, and also to plead and beg.

“No Matron. Please no more. I’m full. Please.”

But the nozzle was again driven deep into his rectum and the hot soapy water forced into his bowels. She left the thick tube inside him for several minutes as he roared and helplessly squirmed. And then she repeated the process and then again and again, until six bulbs had been emptied into him. Towards the end, his kicking and writhing became less frenetic, as a hopeless acceptance of his fate overcame him. He was heavy and bloated, suffering spasms of racking, cramping pai; and with a dreadful soreness from the repeated harsh anal penetration. Mrs Lavington glanced at the clock.

“I am going to take out the tube now, Hammond, and as soon as it is out I will place my thumb over the opening to prevent any of the solution leaking out. And then you will clench and tighten up in order to hold every drop inside you. And I mean every drop. I will then lift you off and place you in the tin bath. And there you will stand, clenching and holding the enema for a full fifteen minutes until I give you permission to sit on the pot and empty yourself. And if anything comes out before then, you will be spanked and the enema given again. Do you understand?”

Never had she seen a boy clench so desperately as she stood him in the bath. And never had a boy found fifteen minutes pass so slowly. Toward the end he was breathing in small quick breaths and giving little groans from the pain and his desperate exertion.

“Right, Hammond, you may sit on the pot.”

She placed her thumb against his anus and helped him out of the bath and on to the pot. He had hardly sat down before the foul smelling mess of faecal material and runny brown liquid was released with an explosive sputtering force. He slumped forward but then straightened up, sucking in air, and moaning, as he was racked by another cramping pain deep in his bowels. She waited until all had been expelled.

“Right Hammond, off the pot and over to the shower. And bend forward with your hands on your knees.”

She directed the hose on to his back. He screamed at the shock of the cold icy water, and straightened up. She stepped across to the table and retrieved the hairbrush and brought it smacking down across his wet bottom.

“I said bend over and place your hands on your knees. Do as you have been told. And stay in position until permission is given to rise.”

She continued to hose him down and then taking a rough flannel, ran the hose over it and then squeezed it between the crack of his buttocks, and twisted it into his bottom hole. This was repeated several times and each time he squirmed and roared as the flannel rubbed against his sore and stretched anus. She then roughly towelled him dry and as she dried between the cleft of his buttocks, he wriggled and squealed in pain.

“Go and stand against the wall and keep your hands by your side.”

She sat at her desk and left the boy to believe that his ordeal was over and that he would soon be following McCourt back to his classroom. After ten minutes, she looked up.

“Well, I hope you are going to make a better effort to open your bowels each morning, Hammond. Is that right?”

“Ye . . . yes, Matron.”

“Good. Then there is just one last thing. We need to rinse out all that soap with a nice clean water enema. At her words he felt his heart begin to pound and his breathing became short and rough.

“No, Matron. Please no.”

He cringed back and flattened himself against the wall.

“No. Please, no.”

She advanced toward and reaching out grasped him by the ear, digging her nail into the fleshy lobe and dragging him forward. He shrieked like a pig being butchered and sank to the floor. She pulled him up and raising her free arm brought the flat of her hand down with all her force cross his cheek.

“How dare you say ‘No’ to me.”

Four more stinging smacks reduced him to limp, sobbing compliance. She made him kneel with his hands on his head facing the wall, while she went into the infirmary.

“Mrs Simmonds, I want to give Hammond an enema to rinse him out. But he has behaved quite disgracefully and it will be a punishment as well. Please send across to cook and ask her for three lemons. And then squeeze the juice into a quart of very cold water. I suggest you get Mildred to draw it directly from the pump in the yard.”

She returned to her room and sat at her desk, looking at the kneeling, heaving boy. His buttocks were a deep crimson, and the weals raised by the cane stood out like stitching on a cushion.

She remembered how both her brothers were prone to constipation and if they had not had a bowel movement first thing in the morning, a suppository would be taken from a jar on the kitchen dresser, smeared with Vaseline, and inserted into the boy’s rectum. This was done with him lying on his back usually on his mother’s lap, with his legs up and a restraining arm held across the hollow of his knees. She had watched fascinated as her mother first inserted a finger to open up his anus and then quickly pressed the suppository deep into his rectum. He was made to retain it, standing with his buttocks clenched, for twenty minutes before she allowed him to sit on the pot.

There were times, too, when Cordelia was judged to need a suppository, and she remembered how she had hated the whole shameful process. It must have been around the age of seven that she had pleaded with her mother to be allowed to insert the suppository herself. She remembered how her mother had smiled, and allowed it. Suppositories were usually given in the morning immediately after it was apparent that an awaited bowel movement was still not forthcoming. Her mother would watch as she would crouch quite naked and reaching back force the suppository deep into her rectum. She then had to stand clenching her buttocks until her mother gave her permission to release whatever the suppository had loosened.

When an enema was given, and Cordelia was aware this was not just to deal with constipation but as a discipline to break down a recalcitrant spirit.

The door opened and Mrs Simmonds entered.

“As you requested, Matron. Two quarts of water drawn from the well with the juice of three lemons added.”

“Thank you, Mrs Simmonds. I will call you if I need any assistance.”

She turned to the kneeling boy.

“Get up, Hammond. And kneel in the bath. And now lean over the edge and place your head right down on the floor.”

The bath was cold and hard on his knees and the edge of the bath pressed uncomfortably against his bare stomach. Mrs Lavington looked appreciatively at his firm little bottom as she picked up the enema bulb with the larger nozzle.

When a boy is constipated and an exceptionally large and uneven stool is forced out it can stretch and tear the boy’s anus and cause pain and discomfort. And so she thought would the hard nozzle she was about to force through that tight little hole up into his rectum. A short time ago she had been reading from an anthology of the writings of George McDonald and had come across the following:

God’s nature is always to forgive, and just because he forgives, he punishes. Because for him it is a heart-pain and a trouble that one of his little ones should do the evil thing, there is no extreme of suffering to which for the sake of destroying the evil in them, he would not subject them.

Her hand was in the small of the boy’s back, and he winced as he felt the cold nose of the nozzle pressing against him. To enhance his suffering, she had chosen this time not to use Vaseline, and he screamed as the blunt end was forced into him.

“No, Matron, no, please no. Aaaaaagh. No, no. Aaaaaaagh.

She twisted it back and forth and drove it further in. Deeper and deeper, until he was grunting and roaring in his agony. She waited, until he had quietened a little, for she knew the value of punishing a boy in an unhurried way. She wanted his senses tuned to the reception of pain and to be keenly aware of the humiliation she was inflicting upon him.

She squeezed the bulb and the icy water that shot in to him was an assault beyond his imagining. It came from the very deepest circle of Hell where Satan himself dwelt in the thick ribbed ice. He attempted to rise but with her hand on his back and with the enema bulb deep inside him, he was easily restrained.

She left the thick nozzle tight inside him for five minutes as he twisted and writhed with the griping pain.

“Stand up, Hammond.”

He screamed, as she twisted and pulled the nozzle free, and allowed him to release the solution into the bath. It sputtered from him, running down his legs. And then she made him kneel in the pool of foul-smelling liquid and bend over the bath edge for the nozzle to be forced into him again. And again. And again. At the end he was sobbing, with saliva dribbling down his chin. Broken and exhausted by the ordeal.

She fetched a bowl of water and made him rinse his feet before walking him to the shower where she hosed him down. Then, she sat and threw a large towel over her lap. She beckoned to him.

“We had better dry you, Hammond.”

As he lay across her lap, she enveloped his body in the towel, and patted him dry. She felt him relax, and he lay sobbing quietly. But she had not finished with him yet. Again, she recalled the words of George McDonald:

God is bound by his love to punish sin in order to deliver his creature.

She reached for the hairbrush and, rucking up the towel, deaf to his anguished cries, she spanked his wet bottom and thighs until they were dry. Then after a further rough towelling, she lifted the sobbing boy onto her lap.

“Hush, that is enough of crying. You have been punished severely but your defiance and refusal to repent made it necessary. I hope you have learned your lesson.”

Gently she rocked him back and forward, soothing him.

“Well, have you? Have you learned your lesson?”

“Ye . . . yes, Matron. Please don’t spank me again.”

“Well, I certainly hope there is no need for that, but it will depend on your behaviour. But for the moment you have been punished enough.”

He shivered as she kissed him softly on the cheek and cradled him to her.

“So I want no more running in the corridors. And no more fighting. And if you fail to have a bowel movement in the morning, you are to come immediately to me or to Mrs Simmonds so we can give you some medicine. It will not taste pleasant but I am sure you will agree a dose of castor oil is much better than a suppository or an enema.”

She had told both boys their fighting in the corridor would be reported to the Principal. There had been a spate of such behaviour and he was determined to stamp it out. And the whole reformatory had been warned that any boys caught fighting would be birched. Hammond’s small body was so warm and his flesh so soft. She felt a deep surge of love for him. She had dealt with him severely and also McCourt. Did they each require a flogging as well? But the thought of marching them to the Principal’s room and seeing them soundly birched swayed her.

God is bound by his love to punish sin in order to deliver his creature.

No, she would do as she had said.

(End of File)