Cordelia Lavington Chapter 48

By Governess

* * * * *
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.
* * * * *

Owing to the propensity of the birch to shed small bits as it transforms a boy’s smooth pale skin to inflamed and scarified flesh, James Fairclough never flogged a boy in his office. Boys might be soundly spanked there, even caned, but never birched. Birchings were given in a room adjacent to his office which had been furnished for that purpose and that purpose alone. Whereas his office was nicely carpeted with a pale beige Wilton, the punishment room had a wooden polished floor from which the detritus from the birch could be easily swept up. There were several upright chairs set against the walls but the piece of furniture that immediately caught the eye was a leather gymnasium buck. It was over this that boys were strapped and birched.

It was clear that Diana Fairclough had every intention of watching McCourt’s flogging. For her the sight of the birch being swished across a boy’s bottom was deeply stirring. She felt a shortness of breath and a dampness between her legs as the flexible twigs cut into his sensitive young flesh, rendering it first flushed and pink, then a deeper red, until the skin was broken and little seams of blood appeared. It was a disappointment to her when a boy displayed unusual stoicism for she enjoyed the visible confirmation of his suffering. She wanted to see his agonised writhing as the birch scored his flesh, and to listen to his demented screaming as the torture became increasingly insupportable.

She had been the only girl in her family and had grown up with three younger brothers. Tom, the eldest was two years her junior, with James and Bertie being respectively younger by seven and nine years. The considerable age differences arose from their father’s serving abroad in the Navy for extended periods, combined with his wife’s inability easily to conceive. When Diana was born her mother was delighted and entirely comfortable with the idea of a daughter, for she herself had been one of five girls. But boys were a closed book to her. She expected them to be full of sin and disrespectful of her authority, and in that she was not disappointed. She was a strong evangelical Christian and took her guidance on their rearing from the Book of Proverbs. Although the rod was commended for all children, it was regarded as particularly appropriate for boys who, it was said, would bring shame on their mother without its frequent application.

By the time Diana was seven, she was watching her five year old brother, Tom, stretched over her mother’s knee being birched with a rod which, despite its small size, raised smarting red weals on his flesh. Her mother had no compunction about reducing him to a sobbing shrunken ruin, and indeed clearly gained considerable pleasure from doing so. As Tom grew in stature and physical strength, so did the weight of the birch and the intensity of his punishment.

Now his mother would hoist him for a flogging. The ends of a long and narrow length of towelling had been sewn together and with this she encircled his body, drawing the loop up under his arms and securing the end over a hook. The hook was fixed to a stout wooden door leading from the kitchen into the scullery and had been set at a height so that when hoisted the boy was standing on tiptoe with his buttocks nicely exposed for the rod. The birch was renewed regularly to ensure it was fresh and sappy, or as soon as it had been used. Fortunately, the Rectory was surrounded by woods where birch grew in abundance.

When Tom was nine he was sent away to school where beatings continued to be a regular feature of his life, although certainly less severe than the punishments he endured at home. Most boys looked forward to the holidays but not Tom. For him it meant a return to being hoisted and flogged, and without the camaraderie of other boys under similar discipline. While he was away at school, Diana was able to witness her mother spanking her younger brothers, who at four and two were judged too young for the birch. But despite the pleasure of watching their little bottoms redden as they squirmed over their mother’s lap, she missed seeing Tom flogged. It was a deep emptiness in her life. James and Bertie would howl as they were spanked, but the sound was nothing like the roaring agony of their older brother as the birch was swished vigorously and repeatedly across his bottom, raising long throbbing weals that would eventually break and ooze blood.

It was not that Diana was cruel or wanted her brother to suffer. Indeed, her eagerness for the delicious sensual pleasure of seeing him well-flogged rendered her oblivious to his personal agony. And now at the prospect of seeing McCourt flogged she felt a mounting excitement and an impatience for the punishment to commence.

“And how many strokes is the boy getting, James?”

“That is something I was about to discuss with Matron, my dear. I have already said I wish to give the boy something to remember. Something that will be a real deterrent to any more fighting in the corridors.”

He turned to Mrs Lavington.

“So what do you think, Matron?”

“Well Sir, the boy may think nothing of fighting in the corridors, but I have already told him that what he thinks is irrelevant. He is not responsible for setting the rules, you are. And if he wilfully breaks a rule he is challenging your authority. Such disobedience is subversive and deserves to be severely punished. I would not consider three dozen strokes excessive.”

The boy looked pale and anxious and squirmed, as though his buttocks were already tingling in anticipation of the torture to come.

“What do you think, my dear? Do you agree with Matron?”

“I do. Most certainly. Three dozen strokes, and no concessions for his age. Each stroke should be well laid on.”

She paused.

“I know boys are usually birched over the buck, James, but I wonder whether this boy might be horsed. At the orphanage birchings were not that frequent but when a girl merited a flogging it was the practice for her to be horsed by an older girl. And Mary did that. I suggest she should horse McCourt for his flogging. She is a sturdy girl and the boy is slight for his age. I want to see Mary take on more responsibility, especially in instructing and disciplining young Cranston, and it would be an real encouragement to her.”

“I see no objection to that, my dear. What do you think, Matron?”

“I thoroughly approve, Sir. Horsing a boy allows him just that measure of tantalising freedom that allows him to struggle and writhe, but all to no avail. He has been rendered helpless and forced to submit. That is a most valuable lesson for a boy to learn. It is quite different from a public flogging. Then it is right that the boy be trussed and secured to the buck. It is a visible sign to all the boys that each of them is bound by reformatory rules and breaking those rules will not be tolerated. But McCourt is being flogged not for the benefit of others but so that he himself may learn a specific and salutary lesson. Horsing him is an excellent idea”

When Mrs Fairclough had gone to fetch Mary, the Principal turned to Mrs Lavington.

“I wonder whether you would like to birch the boy yourself, Matron. Have you flogged a boy before?”

“No, Sir. I have only assisted with a flogging. The time I restrained Burgess when he was birched for absconding.”

He smiled.

“Well, if you apply the rod with the same vigour as you do the hairbrush, Matron, the boy will have no cause to complain of inadequate discipline, that is for sure.”

He turned to the boy.

“Go through that door over there, McCourt, and stand with your back to the wall and your hands by your sides. And no fidgeting around.”

In a few minutes, Diana returned accompanied by Mary who looked flushed and nervous.

“Mrs Fairclough has explained what is required of you, Mary, has she?”

“Yes, Sir. I’m to horse a boy for the birch.”

“And you can do that?”

“Oh yes, Sir. At the orphanage I horsed several of the younger girls when they were punished. Mrs Phillips birched them and she never complained.”

“Well this will be a boy not a girl, but the procedure will be the same.”

He smiled.

“And I am sure, like Mrs Phillips, we shall have nothing to complain about. Follow me.”

The adjoining room was lit by a large casement window. McCourt was standing as instructed with his back to the wall and with his arms by his side. His eyes were dark and fearful.

Mrs Fairclough put a reassuring arm around Mary,

“I suggest you let the buck support you when you lean forward with the boy over your back. It is best to grasp his upper arms just above the elbow. Matron will be birching him and all you have to do is hold him tight. Are you happy with that?”

“Yes, Ma’am. If I could manage the girls, I am sure I’ll be able to manage this boy. Some of the girls were bigger than him.”

Mrs Fairclough turned to McCourt.

“Come here, McCourt. When I hoist you over Mary’s back, you will place your arms on her shoulders so she can grasp them. Do you understand?”

“Ye . . . yes, Mrs Fairclough.”

Mrs Lavington watched as McCourt was positioned for his flogging. In a bucket three rod were steeping. She selected one and swished it through the air. Water spattered on to the floor. She looked at the boy’s buttocks, bare and awaiting the first stroke. He had been described as slight for his age, and so he was, but wonderfully proportioned. Part of her would have liked to have birched him across pale unmarked flesh, but the spanking she had given him had been deeply satisfying. Perhaps, she thought, it would render his bottom more sensitive to the swishing she was about to give. She waited, letting him anticipate the agony to come.

There was no doubt in her mind that a boy’s bottom was intended for punishment. Often before a spanking with the child over her knee, she would run her hand over the firm contours of his bottom, enjoying the round, fleshy fullness that she was about to smack repeatedly until he was howling in agony. But to birch a boy would be very different from spanking him. She recalled one of her favourite passages from Eugenia Strang’s book on The Management and Discipline of Boys.

Even if the hairbrush resides in a drawer or is visibly displayed as a deterrent, its true home is his mother’s bedroom. That is whence it came. It speaks of female attire, lawn handkerchiefs and perfume. In disciplining a boy with its hard wooden back, each smarting stroke is redolent of a mother’s love. It declares that her love is no sentimental attachment, that at its heart is a firm commitment to love him in a deeply practical way, prepared to meet his needs whatever the cost to herself. Maternal love does not cling to him, does not seek to own him, or to treat him as a plaything. It never shrinks from punishing out of fear of losing his love. A truly loving mother knows that discipline does not destroy love but creates that distance between her and her child which allows love to flourish. And each time a boy is spanked, the hairbrush reminds the mother of this essential truth.

The rattan cane speaks less of love expressed through discipline but more of discipline itself. It is fashioned for one purpose and one purpose only and that is punishment. It preferably has a crooked handle and hangs from a hook, and is visible to the child and all who enter the home. It embodies the spirit of discipline, and all who see it cannot doubt the use to which it is put. It is pencil thin, wonderfully limber, and has a rigidity that when swished across a boy’s bare bottom causes intense pain and distress. Whereas a spanking leaves a boy with a crimson bottom radiating the heat of his mother’s love, the cane marks differently. Each stroke imprints a weal that is distinct and visible: a series of tramline markings cut into his flesh. In their meticulous regularity they exemplify the very nature of discipline. It is calculated and measured. It weighs the boy’s offence and awards the appropriate penalty. Each cut can be counted off on his flesh until his punishment is complete. In this a caning differs from a spanking. A spanking is less calculated, continuing until the mother is satisfied that the boy’s red and smarting flesh fully expresses the discipline that her love demands.

I do not believe that exclusive use should be made of either the hairbrush or the cane. Both should play a part in a boy’s upbringing. In the earlier years, the warm, practical and physical demonstration of a mother’s love is of the greatest importance. Hence, the hairbrush is the preferred implement applied to the bare bottom with unstinting vigour. However, by the time the boy is six or seven he is becoming increasingly independent. At this age, therefore, it is appropriate to use an implement such as the cane, expressing the mother’s discipline in a more direct and overt way. The cane may be used for clear acts of defiance and the boy stood in the corner afterwards with the marks of his punishment imprinted on his bottom. However, where naughtiness is more a consequence of childish thoughtlessness or lack of control, then a spanking with the hairbrush is still entirely appropriate.

I should add that similar considerations apply to the tawse, as they do to the cane. It is crafted out of a solid piece of thick leather for the sole purpose of whipping an errant child. It will leave long throbbing weals on a boy’s buttocks or if used on the palms of his outstretched hands inflict an indescribable smarting pain. The tawse is the ideal implement to impress upon an older boy that he is under his mother’s authority and subject to her discipline. This is rendered particularly acute if the boy has reluctantly to offer his palms to be beaten, and to stand facing his mother so that he has to watch the infliction of his punishment while suffering the shame of her viewing his increasing distress as the punishment proceeds. However, given the bony and uninviting structure of the hand, I would reserve such punishment for those rare occasions when it is indicated by exceptionally defiant behaviour.

The birch has in recent years acquired an unjustified reputation as unusually cruel and as an implement appropriate only for delinquents brought before the courts or incarcerated in a reformatory. In fact, the birch is eminently versatile. I have used a light birch across the bottom of a five year old as a stinging reminder of the need for obedience; while a weightier birch swished with resolution across the bottom of a twelve year old is equally effective in securing a change in behaviour.

As little strength is needed to administer an effective birching, it is the ideal choice for a mother wishing to inflict effortless but severe discipline on her child. In earlier times, illustrations of the Goddess Venus birching her young son Cupid were not uncommon.

The birch consists of five or six switches (less for a very young child) stripped of their leaves and bound up into a rod. The binding should run for two thirds of the length so that the end used for punishment springs forth from the stock in a spray of fine slender flexible twigs. This spray has great elasticity so that a sharp twist of the wrist is enough to make it leap through the air with an impressive and punishing speed. Because of its lightness it cannot bruise or cause deep tissue damage. The thin whippy twigs punish by inflaming, scarifying, and eventually puncturing the surface of the skin. What at first seems an unpleasant sensation, rapidly becomes an intense prickling pain and soon the boy feels as though a swarm of bees were stinging his bottom. If continued much beyond a dozen strokes blood may be drawn but the damage to the buttocks is entirely superficial, and should not be a cause of concern.

Except, thought Mrs Lavington, to the boy himself. She raised the birch and brought it cutting down across the bareness of his buttocks. He gave a piercing scream and kicked desperately. Mary gave his arms a sharp pull to secure him the more securely over her back.

Mrs Lavington stepped back, and brought the birch down again. And then again. Its enormous flexibility seemed to have a life and intent of its own. The tough lithe twigs were like a cat pouncing and sinking its claws into the soft warm body of a trembling field mouse. And as a cat plays with its prey, releasing it only to seize it again and continue the torment, so did Mrs Lavington torment the boy.

She recalled that for Eugenia Strang a boy’s punishment was a small foretaste of Hell itself.

A boy who is brought before the court of his mother for sentence should be filled with apprehension. Although his punishment is of limited duration it should bear down upon him with the weight of eternity. Stripped and defenceless, the light of hope should be extinguished. He should be conscious of nothing but the everlasting torment of Hell. This is made real for him by the love of a mother who is prepared, if necessary, to demand the last farthing.

Mrs Lavington’s approach to a boy’s discipline was to apply the chosen implement of correction in an unhurried and measured way, allowing the boy time to smart between each stroke. Some mothers preferred to spank a child with a series of fast strokes, as many as perhaps two or three a second, until the boy was overwhelmed by pain and lost in a single enveloping agony. But this was not Mrs Lavington’s way. She wanted a boy to be aware of each stroke, and when the pain of that had subsided, to anticipate the next, and not just the next but the whole succession of strokes that were still to come, stretching out endlessly before him.

For her this was a foretaste of Hell. Heaven she understood to be timeless, the all-enveloping joy of an eternal present. But Hell was not eternal but everlasting. It might have the weight of eternity but time was not abolished. The damned in their torment were conscious of time passing, endless time, in which there was no reprieve, no respite to their dreadful suffering. And it was a foretaste of this that she sought to replicate in the punishment of her own children; and now in the punishment of the boy before her.

Stroke after remorseless stroke was applied until the boy was sobbing and screaming with his buttocks streaked with blood. He was writhing in his desperation after every cut but Mary held him firmly in her grasp. But then, she screamed, a shrill scream of protest unlike the demented screams of the boy hoisted over her back. She continued to hold him but she was shaking her head.

“He bit my ear, Sir.”

Mrs Lavington stepped back and looked at the Principal.

.

(End of File)