Cordelia Lavington Chapter 39

By Governess

governess@live.co.uk

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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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Chapter 39

At quarter to three, Mrs Lavington sent for Clough and Graham.

“Do you know why I have sent for you, Clough?”

The boy was pale and nervous.

“N . . no, Matron.”

“Or you, Graham?”

“No, Matron.”

“Well, you’ll be pleased to learn you are to be honoured with an audience of the Principal. He is expecting you at three o’clock. And I’m to accompany you.”

She shepherded the boys out of the infirmary and along the corridor until they came to the door of Mr Fairclough’s office. She knocked.

“Enter.”

“Good afternoon, Sir. Clough and Graham, as you requested.”

Mr Fairclough looked up.

“Thank you, Matron. You two boys, stand over there.”

He looked at Mrs Lavington.

“Just remind me, Matron, how these boys have offended.”

“Both have been caught masturbating, not only alone but together.”

“And where did this take place?”

“In Clough’s bed, Sir. After lights out.”

“And what about the other boys in the dormitory? Did they know what was afoot?”

“I am sure they did, Sir. And the whole dormitory has been punished. Each boy received twelve cuts of the cane, face down on his bed, with his pyjamas pulled down.”

Mr Fairclough nodded.

“And have Clough and Graham been punished?”

“Yes, Sir.

“Thoroughly, I hope.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And how exactly were they punished?”

“Each boy has had the hand strapped with which he masturbated the other. Twenty strokes with a heavy tawse. Then, each received a double dose of the cane when I punished the dormitory.”

“That would be two dozen strokes, would it, Matron?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Mr Fairclough nodded.

“And that is all?”

“No, Sir. Immediately after the caning, each was secured by his wrists to his bedstead and had a chilli preparation smeared on his genitals. They spent the night in considerable discomfort.”

Mr Fairclough smiled.

“Considerable discomfort, Matron? I trust that is an example of the English proclivity for litotes. In plain language, and without resorting to any figure of speech, might we say tormenting agony.”

“That would certainly be the more straightforward way of putting it, Sir. By the morning they had moved their beds several feet in their fruitless attempts to escape the torment.”

Mr Fairclough looked across at the two boys pale and anxious as they listened to this account of their recent suffering. He frowned.

“And just as there was no escape from that bed, so in this reformatory there’s no escape from a boy’s sins being discovered. And punished.”

He breathed in deeply.

“But I suppose you think the disgusting sin of your coupling in bed together has been punished enough.”

He stepped from behind his desk and tapped Clough under the chin.

“Is that what you think, boy? That you have been punished enough?”

The boy was speechless with fear. Mrs Lavington spoke quietly but with an edge to her voice.

“Answer the Principal, Clough.”

“P . . please Sir. Y . . . ye . . . yes.”

His voice tailed off hopelessly.

“And you, Graham? Have you been punished enough? Enough never to climb into bed with another boy again. Enough never to touch and abuse yourself again? Well?”

“Ye . . Yes, Sir.”

Mr Fairclough returned to his desk and picked up a pencil, rolling it between finger and thumb.

“Good. I am pleased to hear it. An important lesson has been learned.”

He put down the pencil and stood up smiling: the hearts of both boys lifted at the prospect of dismissal.

“And I am confident, too, that the boys in your dormitory who saw you punished will have learned a lesson, too, and in future will take care to stay in their own beds.”

He paused.

“But what about the boys beyond your dormitory. What have they learned? What steps can we take to alert them to the need to keep themselves pure and chaste.”

He looked at the two boys.

“So what would you suggest? Have you any ideas, Clough? Or you Graham?”

They swallowed and had difficulty speaking.

“N . . . no . . . Sir.”

He pointed to the pail that stood in the corner of his study.

“Graham, bring me one of the rods steeping in that pail. No, don’t let it drip on the floor, boy. Give it a shake over the bucket. And do you know what this is, boy?”

He nodded.

“Ye . . . yes, Sir.”

“So what is it?”

“A . . . a birch rod, Sir.”

“Yes. A birch rod. And do you know what a birch rod is used for?”

The boy was biting his lip, flushed and breathless.

“Ye . . . yes, Sir.”

“So what is it used for?”

“For . . . for punishing boys . . . Sir.”

“And have you ever been punished with a birch rod, Clough?”

“N . . no, Sir.”

Mr Fairclough thrust out the rod.

“Feel the twigs, Clough.”

The boy reached out and ran his hand along the tracery of sharp twigs.

“Tough, prickly twigs, aren’t they, boy? Imagine those being swished across your bottom.”

He smiled.

“But no need to imagine for long. Next Sunday both of you will be flogged before the whole reformatory. As I said, we need to alert other boys to what’s in store for them if caught wriggling around in bed with another boy. Words are not enough. They need to see with their own eyes, the consequences of such sin. To see you hoisted and birched until you’re too hoarse to continue your screams for mercy. To see you carried out, shivering and whimpering and covered in bloody smarting weals.”

He paused, observing their pale faces and the nervous twitching of their fingers.

“So, next Sunday after lunch, you will be flogged before the whole reformatory. And you will eat nothing that day until after your ordeal. Have you anything to say?”

Both shook their heads.

“Good. Have you anything to add, Matron?”

“Yes, Sir. I suggest that until Sunday both boys wear a placard around their necks detailing their sin and announcing their impending punishment.”

“An excellent idea, Matron. May I leave you to arrange that?”

“Certainly, Sir.”

On their return to the Infirmary, Mrs Lavington dismissed the boys and told them to return before lessons the following morning. When they had gone, she sat at her desk. Edward Crawley had an acknowledged gift for drawing and lettering. She smiled. She would ask him to prepare the placards. The affront to his liberal principles would be most satisfying. He would hate to be associated in such a way with the boys’ public humiliation. She reached for a sheet of notepaper.

Dear Edward,

I am sure you are aware by now that two boys, Clough and Graham, were caught in bed indulging in mutual masturbation. Some may regard such behaviour in small boys as acceptable, but that is not my view, nor is it the view of the Principal. Both boys have already been punished by me in ways that should bring home to them just how repellent and unnatural their behaviour is. But after discussion with the Principal it has been agreed that both should also be publicly flogged before the whole reformatory.

The birching is to be next Sunday at two o’clock after luncheon. The Principal has also agreed that until then both boys should wear a placard around their necks proclaiming their sin and the punishment they are shortly to suffer. Knowing your artistic skill and your talent for lettering, I wonder if it would be possible for you to make the two placards that are required. That is also the Principal’s wish.

The eyelets through which the cord is to be threaded will need to be reinforced to ensure they are strong enough to last the week, as apart from in bed, they will be worn continuously. I would suggest the placards are on very stiff card and measure eight inches by six inches with large and bold lettering that is easily read. The text is set out below.

FLOGGING

I am to be birched before the whole reformatory next Sunday for sinfully bedding another boy

With much gratitude, and I would be grateful for the placards to be ready to hang on the boys’ necks first thing tomorrow morning before the commencement of lessons.

C Lavington Matron

She smiled as she inserted the letter into an envelope and sealed it down. Then, she went into the infirmary.

“Anne, will you take this immediately to Edward Crawley. There’s a little task I want him to undertake before tomorrow morning.”

“Certainly, Matron.”

Mrs Lavington looked at the clock. It was time to collect the children from the main hall and accompany them home. They were standing in a little group and all holding envelopes. She held out her hand, and took them.

“Thank you. You can each read me your reports at the end of tea.”

They made their way back to the house and there was a noticeable spring in Mrs Lavington’s step. She inserted the key and opened the door, and the children ran in. But before they could begin preparations for tea, Mrs Lavington placed her hand on William’s shoulder.

“But before tea there’s something that needs to be done, isn’t there, William?”

William had had already had a tearful day and his eyes welled up at the prospect of further punishment.

“P . . . please, mother. I’m sorry. Please.”

Mrs Lavington smiled and shook her head.

“I am sure you are, William. But a boy who’s been neglectful of his duty and lied about it must expect to be punished. I don’t like punishing you anymore than you like being punished, but unfortunately it’s necessary, and has to be done.”

She pointed to the door leading into the hall.

“Fetch the cane, and the hairbrush.”

He walked, slowly and disconsolately, to do her bidding.

“Put them on the table. And you children sit at the other end, and not a word from either of you. Why are you crying, William?”

“Please, I don’t want to be caned. I . . . I’ve already been caned by M . . . Mr Greaves.”

“Have you William. Well, I look forward to reading his report and discovering why that was. I trust he caned you on your bare bottom.

The boy reddened and looked down.

“Yes, mother.”

“Good. That’s how all boys should be caned.”

Her voice softened.

“But are you telling me that because Mr Greaves has caned you, there’s no need for me to do so? Is that what you are saying?”

“Please, mother. It really hurt.”

“Well, I hope it did. It would be a pointless exercise if it didn’t.”

She ruffled his hair affectionately.

“But perhaps you’re thinking that another caning so soon afterwards would be cruel and unkind. Is that it?”

He nodded and his reply was almost a whisper.

“Yes, mother.”

“I see. Turn round and slip off your braces.”

She slithered his trousers and underpants down to his ankles, and then, rucking his shirt and vest over his shoulders, stood back and examined his bottom.

“And why did Mr Greaves cane you?”

“He said it was for not listening.”

“What do you mean, ‘he said it was for not listening’? Were you listening?”

“Not very well, mother.”

“You mean not at all. So when he asked you to repeat what he had said, you couldn’t. Is that right?”

He looked down, biting his lip.

“Yes, mother.”

“So he caned you for inattention.”

He nodded.

“Yes, mother.”

“And how many strokes did Mr Greaves give you. Your bottom is barely marked.”

“S . . . six . . . mother.”

“Well, I’m surprised. They must have been little more than taps.”

“Please, mother. No. They really hurt.”

“Nonsense, William. If they’d hurt that much, I’d be able to see the marks and count them for myself. I see no reason to postpone your punishment. Indeed, I am inclined to give you extra for making such an unnecessary fuss. Turn around.”

He shuffled around, acutely aware of the presence of his brother and sister. For however often a boy is spanked, the shame of exposure never lessens. She pointed to the leather pouffe, and then hesitated.

“No, I think we’ll have you over the arm of the chair.”

He backed away, sobbing and choking.

“No, I won’t, I won’t.”

And he threw himself on the floor, kicking and writhing. Mrs Lavington stood and waited. She knew that after this initial outburst, a realisation of the enormity of what he had done would slowly dawn, and a growing fear of the consequences render him tractable. After a while he lay still, sobbing quietly.

Bending down, she pulled off his breeches and the underpants that were around his ankles.

“Now get up. And stand with your hands behind your back. I’m shocked at your behaviour. It’s no better than a two year old.”

She shook her head.

“But you’re not a two year old, are you William? You’re a seven year old behaving like a two year old. You will go without your tea and stand there in silence until I decide how to deal with you.”

“P . . . please, I . . . “

“Hold your tongue. I said silence and I meant silence.”

William knew that her command to hold his tongue was to be taken literally. He extended the soft pink member and gently biting on it, reached up and grasped it between finger and thumb. During his tantrum on the floor, the shirt that had been secured over his back had come loose. His mother repositioned it, hooking it over his shoulders. He cast his eyes down refusing to look at his two siblings as they gazed at his shameful exposure, with his small immature genitals prominent below a soft little stomach.

He watched as his sister and brother scurried around to prepare the tea. After grace had been said, the cheese on toast his mother had made was eaten gratefully. The smell would normally have made William hungry but the punishment hanging over him had quite taken his appetite away.

Before the table was cleared, Mrs Lavington handed to Elizabeth and Samuel the notes from their form teachers.

“What does yours say, Elizabeth. Read it please.”

“It say: Elizabeth has done well today and made a real effort with her long division. Well done!”

“And yours, Samuel?”

He opened the envelope nervously. He looked up.

“Read it please.

“I have nothing ad . . . adv . . . “

“Let me see. The word is adverse, Samuel Start again.”

“I have nothing ad . . . adverse to report about Samuel’s work or conduct.”

Mrs Lavington smiled at the terseness of the report. Clearly, Edward Crawley resented her checking on Samuel’s behaviour in class, particularly as his report might be instrumental in the boy’s receiving a flogging that he could only deprecate. Still, she trusted his honesty and believed that at least today Samuel had done nothing that merited chastisement.

“Well done both of you. I am very pleased.”

She then opened the letter from Mr Greaves and read it frowning. She looked at William, standing is disgrace, exposed and holding his tongue.

“Let me read this to you, William.

I am aware that William has been in trouble at home and is to be whipped on his return from school. However, you made clear that I am still to expect the usual standard of work and behaviour from him as on any other day. I am, therefore, sorry to have to report that William’s attention was poor for most of the day and that I had recourse to the cane during the afternoon. As you asked, the punishment was given with his trousers and pants down, and he received six strokes across his bare bottom in front of the class. I hope this meets with your approval - and brings about an improvement in the boy’s concentration.

H Greaves ”

She looked up.

“I’d be surprised, William, if the caning you received from Mr Greaves would bring about an improvement in any boy’s behaviour. However, when I’ve finished with you, you’ll have more than a maiden’s blush on your bottom, that’s for sure.”

When all the chores had been competed, and Elizabeth and Samuel were seated at the table to do their homework, Mrs Lavington turned to William. She felt her pulse quickening at the prospect of disciplining him so thoroughly. There would be much to write up in his punishment book before she retired to her bedroom later that evening.

“You may release your tongue. But you will only speak when spoken to. Is that understood?

“Ye . . . yes, mother.”

“I have decided that as you have chosen to act like a two year old, for the next week you will go to the lavatory like a two year old and not a seven year old. In the house, you will use a chamber pot either here or in the kitchen; and in school, if you have to relieve yourself, whether to pass water or for a bowel movement, you will use a pot in your classroom. I will see one is brought from the infirmary and I will speak to Mr Greaves first thing tomorrow morning. Do you understand?”

There was a look of horror on his face.

“No. Please, mother.

“William, I asked whether you understood.”

He hung his head.

“Yes, mother.”

She nodded.

“That’s better. Now when we came in from school I asked you to fetch both the cane and the hairbrush. Why was that? Do you remember?

“Yes, mother.”

“So, tell me.”

“Because . . . because, I didn’t read my Bible story book.”

“Yes, and for that I said you would be spanked with the hairbrush on the backs of our thighs. Do you remember how many strokes?”

“I think it was ten . . . mother.”

“Yes, I did say ten. But instead I’m going to give you six across the back of each thigh. And why six instead of ten? Because in neglecting your Bible reading, you failed to learn that God made the world in six days. So that should help you to remember. One stroke for each of the six days of creation.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“And why are you being spanked on the thighs, William?”

“Be . . . because I’m to be caned on my bottom.”

“Yes. And what is that for?”

“For . . . for lying, mother. For saying I’d read my Bible book when I hadn’t.”

“Good boy for remembering.”

She pointed to the armchair.

“Kneel in the armchair facing the back.”

She took an upright chair from the table and placed it in front of the seat. Then, picking up the hairbrush from the end of the table, she seated herself. For a moment she looked at her youngest son, completely bare apart from the shirt and vest rucked up over his shoulders. Then, reaching forward she sharply pulled him by the legs so that he slipped face down on to the seat of the chair. Another sharp pull, and his legs were straddling her lap, with his feet positioned either side of her waist. His smooth pale thighs were bare and exposed for her attention.

“So, first those neglected Bible readings, William. And this is going to be an opportunity for you to learn the order of the days of creation that you failed to learn through your disobedience. I will be spanking your left thigh. There will be a stroke for each day of creation and after each stroke I will tell you what God created on that day. And you had better remember, because afterwards I will spank the back of your right thigh and after each stroke it will be you telling me what God created. Do you understand?”

“Ye . . . yes, mother.

She paused. She could feel his small body tense. She raised the brush and brought it sweeping down with a final twist of her wrist. He gave a piercing scream. Mrs Lavington waited.

“On the first day, God made light and darkness.” What did he make on the first day, William?”

And through choking sobs he told her.

“Light and d. . . darkness, mother.”

Again the brush descended. There was another agonised scream, followed by fervent pleading.

“Please, no. Please.”

Again she waited.

“On the second day, God made the sky. What did he make on the second day, William. And stop twisting around.”

“The sky. He made the sky. Please, mother. No more.”

But the brush was raised again and brought smacking down on the boy’s tender thigh flesh. The scream was a desperate ululation of agony.

“And on the third day, God made the sea and the dry land. Repeat, William. What did he make on the third day?”

“Please, mother, the sea and . . and . . . “

“The dry land, William. On the third say God made the sea and the dry land.”

And after he had repeated it, she continued, slowly working her way down his left thigh, until six smarting oval marks had been embossed on the soft flesh. William was sobbing, deep gulping sobs of agony, and heaving his small body to and fro in his desperation.

His mother waited. Almost five minutes passed before he had quietened and was crying quietly.

“And then there was a seventh day, wasn’t there, William? And what happened on the seventh day?”

“P . . . please, mother . . . I . . . I . . . can’t remember.”

“On the seventh day, William, God saw that everything was good and he rested from all his labours.”

She paused.

“But as yet, William, I cannot say that all is good. You are a disobedient and untruthful boy in need of further whipping.”

She laid the hairbrush lightly against the back of his other thigh. It was as yet pale and unmarked. He flinched.

“So let us see if you can remember what God did on those six days of creation, shall we?”

(to be continued)

(The End)