By Governess
liviaarbuthnot1@gmail.com
Copyright 2024 by Governess, all rights reserved
[2,550 words]´
* * * * *Chapter 65
“You know that it is wrong to lie on the bed with your clothes on, don’t you, William?”
He hung his head.
“Yes, Mother.”
“So why did you do it? If you wanted to feel the cold air on your hot
little bottom, you could have changed into your pyjamas and pulled them
down. Or, even better, lain on the bed with no clothes at all. So why
didn’t you? Why did you disobey?”
“I . . . don’t know . . . please Mother.”
She shook her head.
“It is a mystery to me why any boy should continue to disobey when he
knows that every time does, he will be punished. And you are punished
every time, aren’t you, William?”
“I think so, Mother.”
She frowned.
“You think so. You mean you’re not sure? Are you saying there are times
when you disobey and go unpunished? When, I don’t know about it?”
“I . . . I don’t think so, Mother.”
“But you’re not sure?”
“No, no, I am Mother.”
She frowned.
“Well, I’m not, William. Not at all sure.”
She paused.
“From now on, once a week, I’ll be questioning you about your behaviour
over the previous seven days. And you’ll have an opportunity to confess
to any sins committed over that past week.”
“What’s ‘confess’, Mama?”
“To confess, William, is to own up, to tell me honestly all that you may have done in the week that is disobedient.”
“And will I be punished?”
“Yes, William. But nowhere near as severely as you would be if you didn’t own up.”
She paused, with her arm around him.
“You do know, William, that all this is because I love you, and want you to grow up into an honest and happy boy.”
She gave him an affectionate squeeze.
“But I have to deal with your disobedience in lying on the bed in your clothes.”
She felt him tense up and as he gave a little shiver of anxiety.
“Please, not the tawse, Mother. Please,”
“Take off your clothes, William.”
She watched as he slowly divested himself.
Place your clothes neatly on the bed.”
When he was completely naked, she took the tawse from its hook and handed it to him.
“Take this down to the living room, William.”
“Please, Mama, not the tawse. Please.”
“Do as I say William. Place the tawse on the table and I want to see you standing with your back to the wall.”
After a moment, she followed him down. As she entered the living room, she was pleased to see he had done as instructed.
“So, you think you ought not to be corrected with the tawse, William. Is that right?”
“Yes, Mother. But please not the tawse. Please.”
“Why, when you have disobeyed so soon after such a thorough whipping by Mrs Crampton? It seems entirely appropriate to me.”
“Please, Mother. No. I really won’t disobey again. Please.”
He was twisting in his anxiety, and biting his lip. She looked at him, her eyes narrowed.
“Fetch the tawse from the table, William.”
He was crying and now almost beside himself.
“Please, Mama, please.”
She took it and held it in her left hand and ran it through her right.
He watched wide-eyed, desperate, and visibly short of breath. She held
out the leather.
“Very well. Take this upstairs and hang it on its hook. And then come straight back down.”
His relief was palpable. She smiled.
“Off you go, then.”
He scampered off clearly much relieved at the turn of events. He was
some time returning and she was about to go up to see what he was doing
when she heard him clattering down the stairs. He had dressed himself,
clearly believing his ordeal was over. Then, he saw the frown on his
mother’s face.
“What on earth do you think you are doing, William. Did I say you could dress?”
“B . . . but Mother, you said you were not going to punish me.”
“No, William that’s not what I said. I simply told you to go and hang
the tawse back on its hook. But you still have to be punished. What
would you think if I didn’t punish you?”
He looked down his eyes filling again with tears.
“You’d think that obedience wasn’t that important. That it didn’t
matter if you disobeyed me. But it does matter. It matters very much
indeed. And the greater the disobedience, the greater the punishment.
All boys like to have their own way. But they have to learn to do what
their mother wants and not what they want. And the best way of teaching
that is to spank them soundly every time they choose their own way
instead of their mother’s way.”
“S . . . so, you are going to spank me?”
“Yes, William. Go and stand facing the wall until I am ready to deal with you.”
His firm little bottom was still red from his earlier punishment, and
the marks of the tawse were still visible. For some it would have
aroused sympathy but William’s mother saw only evidence of wrongdoing
that had been appropriately punished. Sympathy was inappropriate and
indeed showed a complete lack of concern for the child’s welfare. In
her eyes, a boy’s bottom could absorb an enormous amount of punishment
and however soundly it had been beaten was always ready to receive
further correction should that prove necessary.
She left the
boy standing with his face to the wall and went to her little study.
She felt a growing excitement at the prospect of having him naked and
wriggling across her lap. For despite the leathering, he had received
at the hands of Isobel, the myriad nerve endings on the surface of his
young buttocks would already have recovered their God given
sensitivity.
Cordelia was all too aware that she enjoyed
spanking her children and although she saw nothing untoward about this,
believing it was a God given stimulus to administer necessary
correction, nevertheless she was always anxious to ensure that there
was a good reason to apply the rod. But given her strictness, and the
tight rein on which the children were kept, opportunities to discipline
were not hard to come by. She wondered, if the children recognised her
pleasure in punishing them? They were certainly aware she had no
reluctance to do so, and that she was wholly committed to their
discipline.
Looking back on her own childhood, she was in no
doubt that her own mother enjoyed administering the rod. If she had had
any doubt about that, it rapidly dissolved when she watched her
brothers being punished. This was done with evident enthusiasm and
obvious relish. Seeing them beaten on their small buttocks until they
were brought to a tearful repentance seemed at the time unexceptional,
as did her mother’s evident satisfaction. But never did she cease to
love and respect her or consider her cruel or uncaring. Indeed, cruelty
was to inflict and enjoy pain for its own sake, but a spanking was far
from that. It was to provide necessary correction, and the Lord had
provided a soft safe sensitive spot for that very purpose. This was a
gift to the child to aid his learning and his moral growth, but also a
gift to delight his mother as the child responded to the chastisement
with desperate writhing and screams that were the precursor of
repentance.
She remembered, as a girl, how after a spanking
she would look appreciatively in the mirror at her bottom and feel a
strange inner warmth at its redness. And she would reach back to feel
the heat emanating from it. And if her mother had used the cane, she’d
run a finger over the weals, gently scratching across them with her
fingernail.
St Paul had told the Galatian Christians that he
carried in his body the marks of the Lord Jesus; and to the Corinthian
Christians he wrote that “through suffering, our bodies continue to
share in the death of Jesus so that the life of Jesus may also be seen
in our bodies.” And she came to see that this was true of children
being disciplined in a Christian home. A child was enabled to bear the
visible consequences of sin in his own body so that he might be saved
and brought to a right mind. He became a living sacrifice, offering to
the Lord his own suffering for the cleansing of his sins. And so, in
the graciousness of God, even a child could share in the death of
Christ and take the first steps toward sharing in His life through the
agency of his mother’s discipline.
She arose from her desk,
picked up the paddle, and made her way back to the living room. As she
entered, she felt a rush of appreciation at the sight of the naked boy
standing face to the wall as instructed. She placed the paddle on the
table and then pulling out one of the upright chairs and sitting down,
lovingly, called him to her,
“Come and stand by me, William and listen carefully.”
He came hesitatingly, clearly nervous, biting his lip. She put an arm
about him and drew him more closely to her, and reaching around gave
his bottom a sharp smack.
“Tell me, William, are you glad you have a bottom like this?”
He was at a loss to know how to answer. He looked down in confusion.
“Well, what is your bottom for? Is it important? Well?”
It . . . It’s used it for sitting on, Mother.”
“Yes, it’s very important for that. But what else?”
He reddened and looked down.
“Can you think of something else it’s often used for? Especially it seems at the moment?”
It . . . it’s . . . it’s where I get spanked.”
“Yes, William. It is where you get spanked. So, are you glad you have a bottom to spank?”
“I . . . I suppose so, Mother.”
“Well, let me tell you, you are very lucky. Every small boy is lucky to
have a bottom. A nice soft little bottom, where he can be safely
spanked. So just be pleased about that.”
She drew him closer to her.
“And it pleases me, too, William. When you need a spanking, I need to
know that I can apply my hairbrush, or now the paddle, as hard as is
necessary without fear of injuring you. And a soft little bottom like
this is a joy to behold as well as a delight to spank. And it would be
offensive to God to say otherwise. So, both of us, William can be
grateful.
He looked down.
“Well, William, are you? Are you grateful?”
“But, Mother, it hurts.”
“I am sure it does. It is meant to hurt. It would be pointless spanking
a boy if it didn’t hurt. Butt you should still be grateful. Grateful
that I love you enough to take the trouble to teach you obedience.”
She gave him a hug. And pointed to the table.
“Fetch the paddle.”
“No, please Mama. No.”
She smiled.
“I am afraid, so, William. It has to be done. Now do as I say.”
However often she whipped the children, every time was as compelling
and satisfying as the last. His face was taut and white as he handed
her the paddle. Again, he begged to be spared.
“Please Mama.”
But nothing would have induced her to accede to his pleading. She was
eager to haul him over her lap and apply the flexible leather to the
soft sensitive flesh.
“No, William. There is no reason to
spare you from what is a very well-deserved thrashing. I should have
thought that after so much recent discipline you would have taken
especial care to follow the rules you’ve been set, and above all to
listen to instructions. You know full well that children in this
household are not allowed to lie on their beds in their clothes. And
when I told you to take the tawse upstairs, I made no mention of
dressing. Yet you took it in to your head to do just that. The word
obedience means listening to instructions. And if you cannot listen to
instructions, you will never be able to do as you’re told. Now over my
lap.”
She held him firmly with her arm around his waist. He
wriggled and clenched his buttocks. She waited a moment for him to
relax, and then raised the paddle, and bending her arm back and with a
flick and twist of her wrist brought it smacking down with all the
strength of her arm. He roared and struggled but her arm was tightly
around him. And oddly, the words of the Apostle Paul came into her mind.
Eye
hath not seen nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of
man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.
And,
she thought, this boy over her lap had no idea what in love she was
preparing for him. When she had finished, the paddle would be warm to
the touch and his bottom burning with the imprint of her righteous
indignations. She was determined to bring home to him the importance of
listening to her word and obeying it. Steadily and remorselessly, she
applied stroke after stroke, and each time he roared his disapproval.
At the twelfth she paused.
He was sobbing and through his choking sobs he pleaded for the punishment to cease.
“No, William. This is a lesson you have to learn. And despite
everyone’s best efforts you still seem unwilling to learn it. And what
is the lesson?”
“Please, don’t spank me more. Please, Mother, please.”
“The lesson, William, is simple. To listen and obey. And it is a lesson
that has already been beaten several times into your flesh but
obviously not severely enough.”
She raised the paddle and
brought it down with crack across his bottom. And then with scarcely a
pause repeated the stroke and then again and again until the pain
became a single all-consuming agony. After a further twelve strokes,
she paused, listening to his desperate sobbing. So far, she had given
him two rounds of a dozen strokes each.
She ran the paddle
through her hand and felt its warmth. And placing her hand gently on
his bottom she felt the heat radiating from the tortured flesh.
And the paddle itself, she thought, seemed to understand her purpose,
bending and hugging the contours of the upturned flesh, inflaming it
still further as she continued the punishment,
Cordelia felt
a lightness and elation of spirit. A great sense of wholeness and
well-being. She felt almost giddy and knew that she must retire to her
study for a moment.
“I am far from finished with you, William. Off my lap”
He was almost beside himself, sobbing and reaching round for his bottom.
“And stand facing the wall again until I am ready to deal with you further.”