By Governess
liviaarbuthnot1@gmail.com
Copyright 2025 by Governess, all rights reserved
[2,362 words]´
* * * * *Chapter 72
This,
I thought, was a bottom crying out to be spanked, although at eight
years I judged it perfectly ready for a sound birching. However, as
with Marius and Torquil, applying the hard wooden back of a hairbrush
to a boy’s bare quivering bottom offers a pleasure quite different from
that of the birch. And a pleasure difficult to relinquish completely.
There is little more delicious than the warm body of a bare wriggling
boy pressed against you, his firm little bottom uppermost, lovingly
held in an embrace, so close, that he becomes almost a living part of
your very own flesh.
He stood nose to the wall, his bottom
bathed in the late afternoon light from a large sash window. His
clothes had been placed in an untidy heap on a bedroom chair, with his
socks half inside out on the floor. I felt a quickening of my pulse and
a slight tightness in my chest at this further justification for
punishment. I swept the clothes aside to join the socks on the floor
and seated myself. The room was quite still, and I could hear James’s
breathing, a little ragged and a little fast, no doubt from fear at the
ordeal facing him, although as yet he had little idea of the
thoroughness with which I intended to spank him, nor any conception of
the harsh regime under which he was shortly to be placed. I sat,
enjoying the sight of those firm round buttocks that were to become so
regular an offering to the god of punishment. Although I intended to
spank him, I knew a boy of his age ought to be swiftly introduced to
the birch. And how I would enjoy swishing those sharp punishing lengths
of birch across this bottom, raising long throbbing weals and
subjugating him to my will!
As I had been driven up to the
house through its extensive grounds, I had noticed many clumps of birch
trees. On seeing them I had smiled at what I interpreted as a most
favourable omen. I would need to speak to Mrs Fairclough about who in
the household would be prepared to bind up the rods that I would be
needing. From the many trees in the grounds, there would be no shortage
of birch for inculcating into the boy both manners and a healthy
respect for my authority. I would also need the services of a
housekeeper to care for our domestic needs. However, that was for the
future. For now, I had the pleasure of introducing James to my
hairbrush. And I was confident there would be no interference from
within the household when his shrieks and screams of agony were heard.
And beyond that, the rurality and isolation of the house offered a
welcome and complete privacy from neighbours.
“So, James,
you need to be taught some manners. How to address a lady who is
visiting your mother to discuss your future governance. And how to
speak politely, instead of with a pertness that is quite unbecoming in
a boy of your age. No, don’t turn around. Keep that nose to the wall
and speak only when given permission. From this moment, you are a boy
under my complete authority.”
I heard a sharp intake of breath. I waited. And after another two or three minutes, I addressed him again.
“Do you remember my telling you to go to your room and to undress and
stand with your nose pressed against the wall. You may answer.
“Ye . . . yes . . . Miss Ravenscourt.”
“And do you also recall my instructing you to fold your clothes neatly?”
“Please, yes . . . Miss Ravenscourt.”
“And did you fold your clothes neatly as I asked you?”
There was a long silence.
“James, I asked you a question. I suggest you answer it.”
“N . . . No, Miss Ravenscourt . . . I . . . I don’t think I did.”
“But you’re not sure?”
“No . . . Yes . . . I . . . I mean . . . I think I’m sure.”
“Sure about what, James?”
“Sure that I didn’t . . . didn’t fold them . . . as you asked.”
“Turn round, James.”
I looked at him, holding his hands nervously in front of his boyhood,
with the look of a boy who knows he’s in serious trouble.
“Take those hands away and place them behind your back.”
He did so with, I am pleased to say, some alacrity.
“And do you remember my asking you whether you had been spanked?”
“Ye . . . Yes, Miss Ravenscourt.”
“ And my explaining what I meant by a spanking?”
“Ye . . . Yes, Miss Ravenscourt.”
“So, what did I say?”
“That . . . that it meant smacking my bare bottom with a hairbrush.”
“Yes, James. And so that what needs to be done. Fetch the hairbrush from the chest of drawers, please.”
I watched as he stepped across the room, his buttocks moving with an
easy and graceful swell. He handed me the hairbrush which I placed
within easy reach beneath the chair. I beckoned to him, and put my hand
around his waist, pulling him close. He smelt sweet, not with the
sweetness of soap, for as yet he had not had his evening bath, but with
the simple sweetness of a boy who has not yet reached puberty. That,
together with the boy’s nakedness and the imminence of the spanking
left me feeling almost delirious. For a moment, I closed my eyes.
I could feel the boy’s snuggling closer, nervous and trembling, seeking
comfort and reassurance even from the one whom he knew was about to
punish him. I placed my hand on his bottom and stroked it
encouragingly. He gave a little moan and pressed even closer.
“Have you been a naughty boy, James? Ill-mannered, and rude?”
I squeezed him gently, letting him know I was expecting a reply.
“Ye . . yes, Miss Ravenscourt. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking properly.”
I ran my hand over his soft little rump, and gave it several sharp pats.
“I’m afraid, James, ‘not thinking properly’ is not a reason I can
accept for disobedience. I always expect a boy to think properly.”
I continued to stroke his bottom.
“Fortunately, James, a boy has a little bottom like this not just to
sit upon, but for the teaching of good manners and above all obedience.
And obedience is something I demand at all times: from when you wake in
the morning until you are tucked up in bed. And even in bed I will
still be expecting obedience.”
And I gave his bottom a hard
smack that gave a clear intention of what was to come. I gently eased
him away from me; kissed him on the forehead; and pulled him
unresisting across my lap. He gasped, as yet uncertain of what exactly
I had in store for him.
“Good boy. Now let us begin with a
sound spanking to correct all those occasions over the past few months
when I am sure you have been disobedient, untruthful and disrespectful
to your mother and to the adults in the household. And I raised the
brush and brought it cracking down across his firm little bottom. He
gave a single ear-splitting scream. I had my arm firmly around his
waist and held him in a tight grip. A boy’s first spanking is usually
experienced soon after the age of two or three and by the age that
James now was, he should have been well schooled in accepting
punishment. But James was a late comer to the delights of a soundly
spanked bottom, and I knew that at eight years the wide-eyed amazement
that anything could be so painful must have been quite overwhelming. As
was the ignominy being subdued and his will conquered in such a
shameful way.
After two dozen exceptionally hard and
well-laid on strokes, leaving him roaring and writhing, I paused. I
wondered whether he thought that was the end of his ordeal. But this
was but a foretaste of what still was to come. I let him calm down and
then allowed him off my lap to stand beside me. He buried his face, wet
with his tears, into my dress. I put my hand around him and comforted
him.
“Was that painful, James? Perhaps the most painful thing so far in your young life?“
And I kissed him.
“He was now sobbing in earnest, no longer roaring but expressing the
shock and anguish of what for him was a new and deeply unwelcome
experience.
“P . .. please . . Miss Ravenscourt. Please. I’m sorry. Please. No more. Please.”
I held him to me, and he buried his face more deeply into my dress.
“But James, the spanking you have just been given was for past sins,
not for present disobedience and naughtiness. I have still to teach
those better manners I will be expecting, and to punish you for your
disobedience in not folding your clothes.”
“No! No! You can’t. Please. No! No!”
Struggling, I hauled him across my lap. I felt his whole body tighten
in resistance. And I waited. Then I raised the brush and proceeded to
provide a further two dozen strokes giving one dozen each to the same
spot at the base of each buttock. His shrieks were a welcome
confirmation of just how much the red inflamed flesh was smarting. But
I was far from finished with him. Again I stood him beside me, but this
time he refused to cling to me. Instead he pulled away, stiff with
defiance.
James, a boy who shows a lack of respect for his
governess and an unwillingness to accept her discipline is simply
demanding further punishment. Do you understand?”
And back
he went across my lap, and this time I proceeded to spank him without
further pause until I had laid on a further four dozen hard strokes,
half of which were placed on the sensitive backs of his thighs. By now
he was hoarse with screaming, his bottom a deep crimson, and marked
with sore oval contusions, some of which looked near to bursting.
Indeed, on closer inspection, I could see several places where little
seams of blood had appeared.
“Off my lap, and back facing the wall with your nose pressed hard against it.”
I felt a deep satisfaction as I watched the boy stumble across to the
wall, choking and sobbing, and clutching at his bottom. That hollow
place in my life, that emptiness since tutoring my half-brothers, was
at last being filled. I studied the boy’s ravaged bottom and smarting
thighs and again could hardly believe that a complete control over his
life had been accorded me. I sat observing him for at least the next
fifteen or twenty minutes until his sobbing had abated and he was
simply crying gently.
“Keep your nose against the wall, James,
and listen to me. The spanking you have just received has been to teach
manners and obedience. But more than that, it is to teach that on no
account are you ever to defy me. Whatever I determine for you is to be
accepted without question. If I instruct you to do something, then you
do it. If I instruct you not to do something, then you do not do it.
You never question my word. You listen attentively to all that I say.
You will work hard and accept verbal correction and learn from it,
whether it is correcting your schoolwork or correcting your behaviour.
If I ask your opinion on any matter, then you will give it honestly. I
expect complete honesty and truthfulness at all times and impeccable,
and impressive politeness.”
I paused.
“If not, you will be whipped. Turn round and face me.”
He did so, his face blotchy and wet with tears. His hair damp and dishevelled.
“It is clear from what your mother has told me, and from your own
recent behaviour that you’ve never received the discipline a boy needs.
Well, from now on you will be subject to my discipline, exceptionally
strict discipline. And that means being given clear, rigorous and
consistent rules that are enforced by punishment. And by punishment, I
mean being beaten on your bare buttocks. I have spanked you and spanked
you soundly. But spanking is for younger boys than you. A boy of your
age needs the birch. And from now on, as soon as I can arrange for some
rods to be bound up, that is how you will be punished. Do you
understand?”
“Please, Miss Ravenscourt, please don’t beat me again. Please.”
“What do you mean by ‘again’, James. Do you mean ‘now’ or ‘never again’”
“No more now, Miss Ravenscourt. Please. I’ll do all the things you said.”
He bit his lip.
“I promise, I’ll never need to be beaten again.”
I smiled.
“I doubt that, James. I doubt that very much. But we can hope.”
I stepped forward and ruffled his hair.
“But please in future, remember when a boy is being punished, he does not resist. I hope that lesson has been learned.”
He looked down.
“ Well, have you learned never to oppose me when punishing you? Have you learned that?”
“Yes, please, Miss Ravenscourt. Yes, I have, truly, I have.”
I smiled.
“I’m pleased to hear it. That should make life easier for both of us.”
I gave a sigh.
“Come and stand by me. Come here.”
I noticed a slight but understandable hesitation. I put my arm around him and let my hand rest against his bottom. He flinched.
“But you see, James, there is still your disobedience to deal with,
your failure to fold your clothes. That does need to be addressed. It
can’t simply be ignored.”
“Please, Miss Ravenscourt. Please. Please don’t beat me again. Please.”
“James, unless a boy’s wrongdoings are punished, they cannot be forgiven”. And I went to draw him back over my lap, but he fought madly, screaming and protesting even more wildly than before.