By Governess
liviaarbuthnot1@gmail.com
Copyright 2023 by Governess, all rights reserved
* * * * *Chapter 53
Diana walked over to
the boy standing ashamed and naked, face to the wall. Cordelia noticed
for the first time that the clock had stopped at six o’clock and had
not been reset. She watched, a little breathless, as Diana reached down
and cupped her right hand over the boy’s left buttock. He gave an
involuntary shiver.
“Well, David, while Matron and I have been talking, this bottom is not as warm as it was.”
She paused her hand still on his buttock.”
“But we can do something about that, can’t we, David?”
“Please, Ma’am . . . “
“What do you mean by ‘Please, Ma’am’?”
She smiled.
“I wouldn’t dream of leaving a little naked boy with a cold bottom like that, especially when the remedy is at hand.”
She picked up the cane from the table and swished it through the air.
“And, I think, this is the ideal implement for warming up a little bottom like yours, David.”
She placed the cane back on the table and then walked over and picked
up the boy’s trousers and pants where he had stepped out of them before
being spanked. She placed the trousers over the back of a chair and
then gave a frown as she examined his pants.
“David, there
are marks on these underpants that make it quite clear that you have
not been wiping your bottom properly. And why have you not been wiping
your bottom?”
“I . . . I’m not sure . . . Ma’am. I suppose I forgot . . .”
“I suppose you did. But why? Why did you forget?”
“I . . . I don’t know, Ma’am. Please, I’m sorry.”
“Well, any boy is sorry when faced with his wrongdoing and the prospect of punishment. But that’s not good enough, is it?”
He hung his head.
“Well, if a boy can’t wipe his own bottom, then it will need to be wiped for him.”
She rang the bell. After a moment or two, there was a knock at the door.
“Come in Mary. As you see I have just spanked David for his
disobedience in not completing the sums he had been set. And because he
lied about it, saying he’d done all he could, he is also going to be
caned. And as it was you whom he disobeyed; I think you should witness
that.”
She took an upright chair and placed it in the centre of the room.
“And I’ve noticed from the state of his pants that the boy has obviously not been wiping his bottom properly.”
She smiled in a despairing way.
“So, Mary, we need to do something about that, too. So, for the next
two weeks I want you to sit him on the chamber pot straight after
breakfast. And he’s to sit there for twenty minutes or until he has had
a good healthy movement. And then I want you to wipe his bottom for
him. If he has not had a movement by the end of twenty minutes, you
will take him off the pot and put him across; your knee. His bottom
will either be wiped or spanked. It’s up to him. Are you happy with
that?”
“Ye . . . yes, Ma’am.
“You seem a bit hesitant, Mary.”
“No, Ma’am. But if I have to spank him, does he go back on the pot.”
“No. He only goes back on the pot if he has to go during the day. Then
you will, of course, wipe his bottom and that will be the end of It.
But of course, the following morning the routine starts again. Is that
clear?”
“Yes, Ma’am. Thank you, Ma’am.”
She turned to
the boy. He looked at her, blushing in shameful confusion, his lips
slightly parted, and a desperate pleading in his eyes.
“Pl . . . please Ma’am. I’m sorry. I’ll wipe my own bottom. I will. Truly, I will. Please.”
“You will, David. But after two weeks of having your bottom wiped for you.”
She raised a finger.
“And not another word.”
She picked up the cane, and turned to Cordelia.
“Perhaps you would help me, Matron. I suggest I cane him with your
holding him over your lap. I think Mary has done her share of horsing
for the day.”
Cordelia felt a flush of pleasure at the
prospect of being afforded such an intimate sight of the boy as the
cane cut into his flesh; and at the prospect of feeling his writhing,
as each stroke of the rattan raised smarting weals.
“I am more than ready to assist, Mrs Fairclough.”
Cordelia stood up, and beckoned to the small boy.
“Come here Cranston.”
He approached reluctantly biting his lip. Clearly, he was dreading the
coming punishment but she could see in his eyes not just fear but
resentment. Well, the torture Diana was about to inflict was something
to fear, she was sure about that. And any resentment would soon be
beaten out of him. She stroked his head and bending down kissed him.
But then with a swift, shocking movement, she grasped his small naked
body and, simultaneously seating herself, laid him across her lap. He
struggled and protested but to no avail as she wrapped her left arm
around his small squirming body. As she tightened her grip, she gave
several hard smacks to his bottom.
“I wouldn’t resist if I were you Cranston. You are in enough trouble as it is.”
She watched as Diana picked up another chair and placed in beside her
and placed on it the plump cushion she had used to demonstrate the
effectiveness of the cane.
“Right David. Eighteen strokes, wasn’t it. One for each unattempted sum.”
Cordelia felt the boy’s sharp intake of breath and a tensing in his
body. She looked up as Diana raised the cane and, with an upward flick
of her wrist, brought it sweeping down across the base of the boy’s
buttocks. He gasped. And then as the agony surged through his small
body, he emitted a long roaring howl. Cordelia felt as though an
electric current had passed through her. The boy’s head jerked back and
his whole body stiffened. He was sobbing now, and Cordelia gently
stroked his head. Her guiding principle in disciplining children has
always been that, however severe the correction, it was an expression
of love and should be given in a controlled and affectionate manner.
After about half a minute, Diana gave three little taps with the cane again across the base of the boy’s buttocks.
“Settle down, David.”
Two more little taps. He clenched, anticipating the next stroke. Diana
raised the cane but instead of lashing it across his bottom, she
brought it sweeping down across the cushion beside her. There was a
satisfying thwhack as it impacted its plumpness. The boy gasped and
stiffened, but then relaxed as he realised he had been spared the
expected agony. There was another long pause. Diana knew how to
tantalise a boy and tighten the spring of his anxiety, and Cordelia
could feel the tension in the boy’s small body as he awaited the
impending stroke. And perhaps, he thought, perhaps, just perhaps, his
ordeal was over. Again, the cane tapped his bottom, once, twice, three
times. There was an involuntary intake of breath as he tensed,
clenching his small buttocks. And then the cane whooshed through the
air only to smack again into the cushion. The boy was crying now. Soft
tears of relief mingled with hope. Again, the cane was raised and again
he was spared. And now he was almost sure that everything would be all
right. He felt a strange elation and was almost bursting with
gratitude. He wriggled in an ecstasy of relief.
Cordelia
could see Diana’s smile as she raised the cane; and then, with a
frightening whoosh, the rattan cut through the air and sliced into the
boy’s soft bottom flesh. And then again, and again. Searing pain
coursing through his small body.
Cordelia remembered how as
a young girl she had seen her best friend Anna, after being punished by
her mother, standing in disgrace by the side of her front door. Her own
mother had commented approvingly to Mme Soler on the state of Anna’s
well whipped bottom. And she remembered Mme Soler’s reply.
Yes, Mme Réglat, but remember, it is the child we whip not just the bottom.
At
the time, it had made little sense to her. But now she knew exactly
what Mme Soler had meant. Some parents might be happy with a red bottom
that caused some discomfort. But unless that localised infliction of
pain utterly overwhelmed a child and resulted in hysterical sobbing,
then the punishment had not done its work. The marks of the rod might
be visible on the child’s flesh but the true mark of an effective
whipping, was a child broken and contrite. Every child facing
punishment has somewhere the faint hope of reprieve. Diana had
encouraged that, bringing what was dim to a bright ray of expectation,
only for it to be extinguished and for the boy to be cast into the
black pit of despair. Here was a boy where the brand of ownership was
visible not only on his flesh but burnt into his spirit, breaking it
and rendering him, at least for a while, subservient.
Cordelia
looked up at Diana who had paused and was running her hand up and down
the cane that was no doubt warm to the touch; although not as warm, she
thought, as the bottom throbbing and twitching before her.
“Come here David.”
He struggled off her laps still sobbing and stood facing his tormentress
“And stop crying. And listen to me!”
She waited, until she was satisfied that she had his full attention.
“You have been caned, David, to encourage you to take more care with
your sums. Sums are important. But even more important is to do exactly
what you are told. You disobeyed Mary and I will not tolerate such
rudeness and disrespect in a boy. And more than that you lied. You said
you had attempted all the sums you had been set when that was clearly
not true. You lied to avoid deserved punishment and that is
particularly serious. Without punishment a boy will make no progress
either in his schoolwork or in his behaviour. That is why a boy should
submit to punishment gratefully and not, as you did, try and wriggle
out of it. Do you understand?”
She stepped across to the escritoire and replaced the cane. And then turned to Mary.
“Would you help David dress, Mary, and then take him off and give him a
drink. And if there is any further naughtiness, I want you to report it
to me immediately. And don’t forget to put him on the pot tomorrow
morning.”
Mary gave a polite little curtesy and a few minutes later Diana and Cordelia were alone. Diana looked at her watch.
“Goodness, Cordelia, just look at the time. In half an hour or so, you’ll be needing to pick up the children.”
“Yes, and I ought to check what has been happening at the infirmary.
When she arrived back, there had been no admissions and Anne assured
her all was well. She went into her own office and sat in the armchair.
There was a good half hour before she had to collect the children. She
felt a sense of restless elation which she knew arose from the events
of the afternoon. First, birching young McCourt and then watching Diana
punish the boy Cranston.
Her first experience of the rod had
been the hairbrush smacked vigorously across her bare bottom, and later
the martinet lashed across her bare buttocks and thighs. Her best
friend, Anna Soler, who lived in the adjacent cottage, was subject to
similar discipline. And from time-to-time Cordelia was present when her
mother whipped her. She thought about the first time this had happened.
How she had watched Mme Soler spank Anna with the hairbrush that was
kept on a shelf in her kitchen; and how she had felt a warm feeling
vibrating all the way down her diaphragm to her stomach. She remembered
how any concern for her friend was overwhelmed by the sheer excitement
of seeing the brush smacking repeatedly across Anna’s soft, firm little
bottom. Her screams of agony had aroused not sympathy but rather
heightened her pleasure.
When her own mother spanked her,
she was always aware that the spanking marked her out as a child who,
by her behaviour, had fractured the relationship between them; that she
had been cast, if not into outer darkness, at least into its penumbral
shadow. She had ceased to be a beloved daughter and become the object
of her mother’s wrath. And the message was that of the Lord himself to
those who had not done the will of His Father: I never knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity.
And the deep displeasure of her mother, who was both judge and
executioner, was evident in the severity of the punishment. And the
whipping, whether administered with hairbrush, martinet or birch, was
given to a reprobate, where a mother’s love was expressed in salutary
pain to reform and restore. And Cordelia knew that her mother embraced
the task with relish, and with a deep pleasure and satisfaction as her
daughter squirmed and roared under her correction. And so now did she.
But, thought Cordelia, it was not just satisfaction she had felt at a
job well done. There had been real pleasure in flogging McCourt, in
bringing the flexible lengths of birch swishing down to raise throbbing
weals. And pleasure in knowing that every scream, as the slow insistent
torture continued, was at her determination. She felt no sense of guilt
or shame in flogging him. There was no pleasure in the infliction of
gratuitous pain, but there most certainly was in whipping a child who
deserved it.
When flogging the boy McCourt, she had felt
charged with a gratifying energy as though an electric current were
flowing through her. And surely such pleasure was to be expected when
exacting retribution for sin. As the psalmist said, God rebukes and
disciplines men for their sin, and we, following His example, do the
same. And should we not delight in sharing in HIs work of judgement, in
confronting sin and establishing righteousness. Should it not be a joy
and a thrilling pleasure to do His will in that way.
She looked at the clock. Time to collect the children.