By Governess
liviaarbuthnot1@gmail.com
Copyright 2023 by Governess, all rights reserved
* * * * *Chapter 57
Her mother had had a horror of a boy abusing himself,
believing it to be an affront to God and had punished both her brothers
severely whenever they were caught. She had used a similar martinet to
that provided by Camille, although it had been possibly slightly
heavier. When Charles was first discovered masturbating, the family had
already moved to the cottage next door to Mrs Atkinson who was as
enthusiastic a disciplinarian as Cordelia’s mother. Cordelia could
remember the two of them often discussing a child’s need of punishment.
Both had seemed eager not to be outdone by other in their strictness
or, rather, neither wished to be thought as failing in this important
area of child rearing.
Until Cordelia was older, Mrs
Atkinson used to assist her mother in punishing the boys when they were
caught masturbating. Charles was about ten when he discovered the
delights of self-abuse and at that age Mrs Atkinson would sit in a
straight-backed chair, with the naked boy resting on his back on her
lap and with his legs elevated and held over each of her shoulders. She
remembered her flush of tremulous fascination as she watched her mother
whipping him, and how afterwards he would clutch at himself, bending
double and sobbing unrestrainedly. He would then be sent to lie on his
bed for an hour. Sometimes her mother would accompany Mrs Atkinson back
to her cottage, and then Cordelia would creep up to his bedroom to
comfort him. But deep down she knew that, although sorry for him,
seeing him whipped on the little member was something she had no wish
to forgo. When she was a little older, she would wonder how something
so painful and unpleasant could be a source of such satisfaction and
pleasure. And now it was her own son awaiting the strokes of the
martinet.
He winced as she drew the lanières gently
across his boyhood. She was in no hurry. She preferred to tantalise a
boy raising his fear, for in fear was the beginning of wisdom. He
closed his eyes, seeking to retreat into an inner secret world.
"Open your eyes, Samuel. Look at me. I am punishing you for your own
good. You will engage with the punishment and learn from it. Not try
and evade it and escape from it. And I’m warning you again not to twist
around or press your legs together. If you do that, then I will have to
call Elizabeth to help me."
He opened his eyes and looked at her pleadingly.
“Please Mother. Please, no. I promise I’ll never do it again. Please.”
“Samuel, we’ve already gone through that. Now hold those legs open and keep them like that.”
He watched as she raised le petit fouet
and brought it smartly down. He gasped. And despite himself he twisted
to one side, flattening his legs together. Cordelia put down the
martinet and went to the door and called up the stairs.
“Elizabeth, will you please come down to the living room.”
In a moment, Elizabeth appeared, looking nervous for more often than
not such a summons presaged trouble. However, a quick glance at her
mother’s face reassured her.
“Yes, Mother?”
“As you see I am punishing Samuel. He has been doing something that no boy of his age should do and he needs to be whipped.”
She paused.
“Do you know what masturbation is, Elizabeth? That boys play with their own bodies . . . ”
she pointed to his little shrivelled penis
“. . . and rub this until it goes thick and rigid and they shoot out a sticky substance called semen. Did you know that?”
Elizabeth didn’t like to admit that a girl in her class had told her
about it. And she had also discovered that inserting her finger into
her little slit and stroking and rubbing herself was deeply
pleasurable. She had a shrewd suspicion that that was something very
similar to what her mother was talking about.”
“N . . . no, Mother.”
“You don’t sound very sure about that, Elizabeth.”
“No, I am Mother. Truly. I didn’t know that boys did such things.”
“Well, they do. I doubt if there is any boy who has not savoured the
delights of masturbation. But unfortunately, there are many mothers who
fail to punish it with the severity it merits. Some condone the habit
altogether. Well, Elizabeth, I am not one of those. And neither was my
own mother. Both of my brothers were severely beaten when caught
abusing themselves and rightly so. And I intend to deal with Samuel
and, when necessary, William, in the same way.”
“But Mother . . .”
“Yes, Elizabeth?”
“But why do they do it if . . . if it’s so wrong?”
“Because it gives a boy a great deal of pleasure. His whole body throbs
with pleasure. And he can’t think of anything else. A boy often does it
in bed and ends up spurting semen all over his pyjamas. It is not only
sinful but also disgusting.”
She frowned.
“You see,
Elizabeth, pleasure is a dangerous thing. The Bible talks of the
pleasures of sin and it is by pleasure that the Devil leads us into
sin. Masturbation is a secret pleasure. And no boy wishes to be
discovered. He knows that it’s wrong and that he deserves to be
punished. But so intense is the pleasure that only the most severe
punishment will deter him. And often not even then.”
Elizabeth looked at the martinet in her mother’s hand.
“And is that how you are going to punish him, Mother?”
“Yes, Elizabeth. The Lord Jesus said if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off.”
And he gasped as she placed the handle of the martinet under his little member and lifted it.
“This, Elizabeth, is the cause of Samuel’s sinning.”
She smiled.
“He will be pleased to learn that we are not going to cut it off. But we are going to whip it.”
She paused
“And I need you to assist me. Samuel has been told to pull up his legs
and hold them wide open for his punishment but he’s finding that
difficult to do. I want you to stand behind him and force his legs
apart. A whipping like that may seem severe, but Our Lord said it is
better to enter the Kingdom of God maimed than not to enter it at all.
Although, in this case, any maiming will be only temporary, and the
soreness and marks gone within a week, and probably before with a
healthy boy like Samuel.”
Many might deprecate a mother’s
inviting her daughter to participate in the punishment of her brother.
But this was not the view of Mrs Lavington. He had shamelessly
masturbated in secret but now he would be openly shamed before his
sister and reduced to helpless sobbing. But that was not the only
benefit. His mother believed that within the household a mother’s rule
was absolute, and a boy needed to accept that. And, although Cordelia
was a widow, if John had still been alive, he would have accepted that
division of responsibility between, his role as the provider and hers
of ruling absolutely within the household. Inviting Elizabeth to share
in the punishing of her brother was a first step in preparing her for
her own responsibilities as a wife and mother. And if it opened
Samuel’s eyes to the significant role that women were to play in his
life and his need to submit to that rule, then that could only be good
thing.
She smacked the handle of the martinet against her palm.
Elizabeth was breathless with excitement at the prospect of seeing her
brother so soundly punished. And as the punishment proceeded, she felt
such a tightness in her chest that she wondered whether she was about
to die. At last, when her mother was satisfied that he had been
punished sufficiently, she set aside the martinet. A boy who has
acquired the habit of frequent masturbation will often have a penis
that is tender and uncomfortable, but that is the consequence of
pleasure not of a shameful torturing punishment. She watched as sobbing
and squirming he curled up clutching himself desperately. She turned to
her daughter, flushed and visibly excited.
“Thank you,
Elizabeth. You may now return upstairs and read until I come to say
prayers. And you, Samuel, will take your hands away from between your
legs and get up.”
He struggled to his feet and buried his head
in her long skirt. She always found it touching when a child sought
comfort from the one who had inflicted such torturing discipline. It
was for her an affirmation of the true nature of motherhood, an
acceptance of her loving authority. An authority that was prepared to
go to any lengths to save him from his sins and set him on the path of
righteousness.
He buried his head more deeply into her skirt,
and she looked down at the soft but firm protuberance of his buttocks.
She smiled. And taking his hand in hers she led him to the chaise
longue. He snuggled into her as she wrapped her arm around his
nakedness and stroked his back, comforting and soothing him. She patted
his bottom, and spoke in a soft, gentle andreassuring voice.
“There’s no need to cry, Samuel. I am only sorry that you chose not to
confess without my having to question you more directly. But there is
nothing that cannot be put right.”
She continued to stroke and pat his soft little bottom.
“Do you remember what I said would happen if I caught you masturbating?”
He looked at her mutely, through brimming eyes.”
“I said that after punishing your masturbation, I would be giving you a proper whipping. Do you remember that?”
She spoke with a gentleness that belied her intention.
“And I also have to punish you for your flagrant lying, don’t I?”
“Please, no, Mother. I’ve taken the tawse back upstairs.”
“We don’t need the tawse, Samuel. Aunt Camille has sent a most
substantial martinet that will be more than adequate to reinforce the
lesson that its younger cousin has already taught.”
She picked up the smaller martinet that was sitting on the chaise longue beside her.
“Replace this on the table, Samuel and bring me the larger whip.”
“Please, Mother. Please.”
She ruffled his hair affectionately.
“I love you too much, Samuel, not to punish you as you need to be
punished. Punished so that you can be forgiven and restored to favour.”
Soon he was secured over the curved end of the chaise longue in the
traditional manner that boys down the ages have had to assume. She ran
the lanières of the martinet through her hand, appreciating
their weight and thickness. Some martinets had rounded lashes, but
these were cut square, with edges that would cut and leave their
imprint on soft flesh. It was a formidable implement of correction. She
felt a shiver run through her like an electric charge. The boy’s
buttocks and thighs were so smooth and soft, although showing the marks
of earlier chastisement. He wriggled not only with apprehension but
from the discomfort of pressing down on his recently whipped genitals.
Cordelia was in no hurry to commence the punishment. She relished that
moment when an errant child was helplessly secured, awaiting the first
stroke of her chosen implement of correction. She wanted his
apprehension to grow until, heavy with a fearful anxiety, he was
scarcely able to breath, almost willing the punishment to commence. She
stood well to the side and raised the whip.
“You will receive twenty-four strokes, Samuel”
“Tw. . . twenty-four, mother?”
“Yes. Two dozen, And, believe me, I am letting you off lightly.”
She raised the martinet and brought it sweeping down across the bare quivering flesh.
Her late husband's great uncle had been a RN chaplain and Cordelia had
a collection of letters written during his Naval service to his
brother, Charles, her husband's grandfather. Her husband had shown
little interest in these, and she had only become aware of them after
his death. The letters were easy to read being in a flowing copperplate
script. She had been fascinated by the description of life at sea in
the 1850s and 1860s. In particular, by the accounts of the harsh
punishments meted out aboard ship to both men and boys. In that period,
very young boys were often enlisted as servants to commissioned
officers, and one letter concerned a particular boy named Conway.
The
Captain has a servant, Daniel Conway, who is in his eleventh year.
Yesterday, he mislaid his master's gold cuff links. They were
eventually found, but the Captain had been grievously inconvenienced by
the boy's carelessness, and sentenced him to four dozen cuts with the
cat. A sailor is flogged across the bare back secured to a grating, but
for a boy the punishment is given across the buttocks with a cat that
has five, rather than nine, tails; and, unlike the adult cat, the tails
are of smooth whipcord and unknotted. This still formidable implement
is known as 'the boy's pussy'. The following morning, Conway, was
brought on deck and secured over the barrel of a gun with his hands
tied beneath. His trousers and underpants were then roughly pulled down
and his buttocks exposed. The other boys are required to witness such
punishments to add to the miscreant’s degradation and to 'encourager
les autres'. The lashes were administered by Mr Randall, the
boatswain's mate. Each lash was delivered with all the strength of
Randall's arm and, as was usual on this ship, almost half a minute
separated each cut. This allowed the boy time to experience fully the
agony of each stroke, to dread the next, and to prolong the punishment
to little short of half an hour. The boy was given a piece of rawhide
to bite on, but by the fifth cut he spat it out and screamed as only a
boy with a voice as yet unbroken can scream: high, piercing shrieks of
pure agony. I remember at school, listening with mounting excitement to
the screams of my fellow pupils as they were birched, often until their
buttocks were bloody. And, as you know, Charles, I myself was similarly
flogged both at my prep school and at Eton, and I avow it did me
nothing but good. I was a headstrong boy who both courted and needed
such punishment. Conway is not so much headstrong as careless and lazy,
but the God given remedy is the same.
When Cordelia had
first read though the letters, it was apparent to her that many were
clearly intended for Charles eyes only. She recognised that she was
breaking into a conversation from which women were normally
excluded. This gave her reading an additional frisson of
excitement.
It is clear that the sight of a young boy,
tied over a field gun, with his nether garments taken down, and whipped
until his buttocks are bloody, is for many an arousing experience. I
confess that I find it so myself, bringing back potent memories of my
own upbringing and schooling. The older boys and those men on deck
often display an engorged member straining against the front of their
ducks. Some are so aroused that they touch themselves. And in the
unnatural stillness their sharp intake of breath after each agonising
cut does not pass unnoticed. Randall, the bosun's mate, who wields the
cat clearly relishes his work, and applies himself with skill and
dedication. And all this in a closed male community where continence is
expected and where any deviation is severely punished. After witnessing
such a flogging, I myself am rigid with excitement and desperate for
release. I can watch a seaman being lashed across his back with a
degree of equanimity, but seeing a boy whipped across his buttocks and
hearing his desperate pleading and agonised screams has for me become
almost an obsession.
Cordelia raised her arm and brought
the harsh leather tails of the martinet lashing down across her son’s
buttocks. Some eighty years ago another boy had suffered similarly,
whipped with an implement that was an older cousin to the martinet. She
raised her arm again and continued to provide the number of strokes she
had determined. The boy, Conway, had been tied to a gun barrel; Samuel
was secured across the end of the chaise longue. However, the
discomfort in both boys’ hindquarters was probably the same, although
the martinet, unlike the cat, had not broken the skin and drawn blood.
In another letter, she had learned that Conway was not the only boy on board.
There
are three boys aboard. Conway is servant to Captain Hayward. The other
boys are younger, nine and ten years, and work in the kitchen and on
general deck duties. All are subject to the lash and to the more
intimate correction that their masters may inflict. Captain Hayward
prides himself on being like a parent to Conway and spanks him
regularly with a stout rosewood backed hairbrush. I took an early
breakfast with the Captain last week to discuss the coming Sunday
service. Conway in pouring the tea carelessly broke a cup and the boy
was spanked in my presence. You remember, Charles, how our governess,
Miss Stanway spanked us over her knee; and it was rare for our bare
bottoms to receive less than two or three dozen smarting strokes of her
hairbrush? Well, thus was Conway punished. I could feel my member
hardening as I watched, and when the boy was released and the Captain
stood up, he, too, was in a similar state of arousal. As soon as I
returned to my cabin, I quickly sought release of my pent up state.
Cordelia
who dealt with boys every day of her life was far from shocked by this
revelation. Yet the frank acceptance of masturbation perplexed her. She
had just punished her son for his indulgence and was convinced of the
rightness of what she had done. Perhaps, she thought, there was a moral
weakness in men, an original corruption, and that it was for women,
particularly mothers, to confront this sin and root it out. Well, for
her boys, she had every intention of doing so, and was prepared to take
whatever measures were necessary to achieve that end. She turned to
Samuel, still sobbing and heaving over the end of the chaise
longue.
"That's quite enough, Samuel. I would like to
see a little less self-pity, and a little more thought about why you
are being punished. Get down and stop snivelling. It’s not every mother
that would have taken the time and trouble to provide the discipline
you need. I said stop snivelling. And look at me."
The boy did
as he was bid, through wet and bleary eyes. She studied him and was
satisfied that she had broken his will, and restored a spirit of
compliance.
“Take your clothes to your room, Samuel and fold
them neatly. Then, kneel as you are, facing the wall. When I come up to
say prayers, then you may put on your pyjamas. Off you go.”
She smiled as the naked boy turned, displaying a well-whipped bottom,
and made his way upstairs. After checking on Elizabeth and William and
saying prayers with them, she went to settle Samuel down for the night.
She was pleased to see him kneeling as instructed.
“I am
pleased to see you have done as you were told, Samael. Go and kneel by
the bed as you usually do for prayers. And remember we are speaking to
Our Father in Heaven.”
She sat on the bed beside him and rested her hand on his head.
“Samuel, I want you to ask God to forgive you. There are three things
to forgive: your disobedience to my word; for playing with your body in
ways that are forbidden; and for repeatedly lying to me.”
She paused.
“You do realise that you need God’s forgiveness as well as mine?”
“Ye . . . yes, Mother. I’m sorry. Please, I won’t be bad again. I promise.”
“I’m pleased to hear it, Samuel. Now please ask God to forgive you.”
She waited, and sensed him struggling to overcome his embarrassment at having to articulate his sins.
“So let us begin with your disobedience. Just tell God you are sorry
for your disobedience to your mother’s word. Start with ‘Dear Father
God . . . ‘.
Slowly and self-consciously, he stammered out an
apology to His Father in Heaven. And with his mother’s encouragement
followed with a plea for mercy for his masturbation and his lying. She
pressed her hand down firmly on his head.
“You are forgiven,
Samuel. And from now on you will obey my every word. And you will cease
from telling lies. And you will never masturbate again. Is that
understood.”
“Ye . . . yes, Mother.”
“Good, now I shall say prayers and then you will settle down for the night.
Dear
Father God, we thank you that you are a merciful Father and forgive our
sins. We also thank you that you have given mothers the authority to
punish their children with the severity necessary to bring them to
repentance and amendment of life. May Samuel be an obedient boy in
future. May he always tell the truth. And may he cease from abusing
himself, and touching himself in ways that are displeasing to you. And
give me the strength always to punish him for his sins. May he now
sleep in peace in the knowledge that his sins are forgiven through the
saving work of Our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
“Perhaps it would be easier for you if you slept without pyjamas tonight.”
She tucked him in and kissed him goodnight. He lay on his front and the
initial coolness of the sheets was a welcome relief, but before long
the pressure of the bed clothes against his hot wealed flesh became
intolerable and he turned on to his side. Soon the light on the
upstairs landing went out. Tentatively, he ran his hand gently over his
bottom, feeling the ridges cut by the cane, and the thinner seams
raised by the leather tails of the martinet. He felt a strange pleasure
as he gently fingered the evidence of the thorough whipping he had
received. He imagined himself over the end of the chaise longue firmly
held but safe in his mother’s love, unable to do anything but
helplessly submit to her will. And the cuts of the cane were
experienced in retrospect as an expression of that love filling him
with an inexplicable elation. He ran his finger softly over the ridges
and wriggled almost ecstatically. His hand reached down and held his
sore inflamed member and scrotum in a protective embrace. Surly just
touching was permissible. And clutching his small shrunken boyhood, he
eventually fell asleep.
Downstairs, his mother recovered the
two martinets from the drawing room and made her way to her study.
Tomorrow, she would hang the smaller in Samuel’s bedroom as a warning
of the consequences of masturbation; and the other she would hang from
a hook by her desk as an encouragement to provide the discipline that
the children needed. She went into the kitchen and put on the kettle,
before returning to pen a letter to Camille thanking her for the
excellent instruments of correction that she had sent.
Ma chère Camille,
Thank you so much for les petits fouets
you have so kindly sent. It may not surprise you to learn that within
an hour of my receiving them, the smaller was used to punish Samuel’s
masturbation, followed by two dozen across his bottom with the heavier
whip with its wonderfully substantial, deliciously thick and punishing lanières!
It
is in many ways a sadness that the Good Lord has not sent you boys. But
as you say you have been spared this particular tribulations associated
with their upbringing, although from my experience with Elizabeth, and
yours with Anna, girls are not always without their challenges!
And I was most impressed by what you told me about Mme Aubert. I
greatly approve of her firmness and commitment to her son’s discipline.
I am certainly going to hang the smaller martinet in Samuel’s room, as
she has done for Marc. Hopefully, he will see it before he settles down
for the night and take heed of the message it is sending. I have in the
past made boys in the Home wear a placard around their necks announcing
either their sins or the punishment to which they have been sentenced.
To make Samuel wear a placard announcing MASTURBATEUR, before both
staff and other boys would be a severe and shaming additional
discipline. I confess that I am reluctant to do that, but if other
methods fail, then I will certainly consider it.
I do hope
that we may be able to meet sometime either here or in Ste Foy. In the
meantime, this comes with my very good wishes to you and yours.
Cordelia
By
now she could hear the kettle boiling away, and she went into the
kitchen and made a cup of tea before returning to her study.