Cordelia Lavington Chapter 49

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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“Mary release the boy and Matron will examine your ear.”

The boy slipped to the floor. The enormity of what he had done and fear of the consequences had quietened him. He had been grinding his teeth between each agonising stroke, and then screaming at each cut penetrated with its searching pain. In truth, he had scarcely known what he was doing. He stood against the wall with his hands by his sides his cheeks wet with his tears.

“The ear has been marked by the boy’s teeth, but there is no bleeding.”

The Principal nodded.

“Are you happy to continue, Mary? Or should we put him over the buck for the rest of his flogging?”

Mary held her ear.

“No, Sir. I can continue, if that would be best. But I don’t want him biting me again, Sir.”

“There will be no more biting, I promise you that.”

He stepped across to a corner cupboard and opening it, took out a wad of cloth about the size of a rolled table napkin, together with a narrow length of material. He handed them to Mrs Lavington, as he took the birch from her.

“When you have muzzled the boy, Matron, take a fresh rod from the pail.”

He watched as Mrs Lavington inserted the wad of cloth between the boy’s teeth, instructing him to bite on it, and then stretched the strip of material across his mouth and secured it tightly at the back of his head. The Principal smiled.

“Bend forward, Mary, and Matron will hoist him. And hold him firmly. Just above the elbows.”

He was pale and terrified, swallowing desperately, fearful of choking with the gag filling his mouth. Mary, when a younger girl, had herself been horsed and flogged at the orphanage. And now listening to the swish of the birch and feeling the boy kick and writhe as she held him, it was as though she herself was suffering once more the agony of being flogged on her bare exposed flesh. And his pain became for her an inward writhing pleasure.

Mrs Fairclough watched intently as the fresh lithe twigs were swept remorselessly down. She felt no shame at the pleasure she was experiencing. God had given the senses to be enjoyed. To eat to excess, to offend God by your greed, was shameful. And to take pleasure in gratuitous and unmerited suffering was an abhorrence. But suffering that was just and proportionate and inflicted to break a child’s servitude to sin was quite different. There justice and love coalesced, and her deep sensual satisfaction was a sharing in the joy of heaven as the child was remorselessly driven toward repentance.

After two dozen strokes Mrs Lavington paused. She knew there were only another twelve strokes to give and she was reluctant to bring the flogging to an end. She stepped back. The boy’s small firm buttocks were raw and wealed and small droplets of blood had trickled on to the tops of his thighs. She had no regrets about the flogging. Some might have regarded it as cruelty but not Mrs Lavington. Cruelty had no purpose but the selfish satisfaction of the one inflicting the pain. But this boy’s punishment was administered for his own good, to teach him a valuable lesson in obedience.

The infliction of pain ws nether moral nor immoral. All depended on circumstances and motive. A doctor who had to amputate an arm on the battlefield without anaesthetic caused terrible pain; but his act was justified by his concern to save a life and to restore the one who was injured to health and well-being. And flogging a disobedient child was no different. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she administered the final cuts.

“Mary, let the boy down. Stand over there, McCourt, with your face to the wall.”

He stood heaving and sobbing, unsure whether his ordeal was over. Mrs Lavington looked at the Principal.

“We have still to determine, Sir, how to punish the boy for biting Mary’s ear? I hardly think that muzzling him is a sufficient response. That was an act of kindness to protect Mary and to prevent his offending again.”

“And what would you propose, Matron?”

She felt a tremor in her diaphragm at the opportunity to sentence him to further punishment.

She remembered the occasion when Edward Atkinson in the next cottage to theirs had bitten his mother as she was leading him inside by the ear for chastisement. Cordelia had been playing with him and his brother, until Mrs Atkinson had caught sight of Edward throwing stones. She had a vivid recollection of all that followed. Her immediate response to his bite had been a series of hard stinging slaps to his face that immediately quietened him.

‘Come inside, Cordelia, and I’ll show you how boys who bite are dealt with.’

Cordelia had always been a little afraid of Mrs Atkinson for she rarely smiled, but the thought of seeing Edward punished overcame any reluctance. She knew that both he and his brother were spanked for she had heard Mrs Atkinson and her mother speaking about it. But as they entered the kitchen, Mrs Atkinson took a cane from a hook behind the door. Cordelia’s eyes widened.

‘Mr Hairbrush has a lot to teach a boy, but there are some lessons that his friend, Mr Whippy Cane is better at teaching. Isn’t that so, Edward?’

Edward was biting his lip.

‘I said, isn’t that so, Edward?’

‘Ye . . . yes, Mother.’

Mrs Atkinson placed a low stool in the centre of the kitchen.

“Off with your trousers and pants, Edward. And kneel over the stool.’

He went down on all fours, his stomach resting on the seat, and his mother rucked his shirt and vest high up his back. And with slow measured strokes the boy was flogged. Cordelia remembered her amazement at his fortitude. He screamed like a small animal caught in a trap but not once did he attempt to rise or wriggle out of position. Even at her young age Cordelia recognised that he had been well-trained and that opposition was pointless and would result in an even worse punishment. She remembered wondering what that might be.

The cane was pencil thin and enormously limber. It might have been swished lightly across bare flesh to redden the surface of the skin and impart merely an unpleasant stinging sensation. But that was not how Mrs Atkinson used it. Cordelia felt a sinking feeling in her stomach at each whoosh of the cane. She watched, scarcely breathing, as it cut through the air and sliced into the boy’s soft, firm flesh. After two dozen strokes, he was heaving and sobbing and the stone flagged floor was wet from his tears.

‘Stand up, Edward.’

He did so, his head bowed and his hair damp and dishevelled.

‘Look at me.’

Slowly, reluctantly, he raised a hot, tear-stained face.

‘You know you are forbidden to throw stones. Normally, you would have been spanked for such disobedience. But a boy who resists his mother needs to learn a lesson that only the cane can teach.’

She paused.

‘And as you have chosen to bite like a dog, you will be treated like one. And this is not the first time, I have had to put a collar around your neck and put you on lead. Is it, Edward?’

‘No, Mother.’

He looked down, his eyes feeling with tears. He would have the leash fastened to a hook low down near the floor, and would have to crouch, shivering. If he was lucky he might be allowed to keep on his short cotton vest. And like a dog, he would have to eat and drink from a bowl. And go nowhere unless permission was given. Once when he had needed to go to the lavatory, he had been refused, and had gone on the stone flags of the kitchen floor. He had had his nose rubbed in the mess like a naughty puppy before having to clear it up himself.

When the collar was around his neck and the leash had been attached, she handed the end to Cordelia.

‘But first, our new little doggie needs to be taken for a walk. You will walk him down to the village, Cordelia.’

Cordelia could hardly believe what she was being asked.

“But . . . but Mrs Atkinson, he’s only wearing a vest.’

‘Don’t be silly, Cordelia. He’s a little dog. He’s lucky to have a shirt and vest. Most dogs don’t wear clothes at all.’

She went to the kitchen range and took a wooden spoon from a stoneware jar at the back.

‘And as dogs like to carry something in their mouths, you will hold this between your teeth Edward. And if you drop it, I’ll be spanking the backs of your legs with it when you return.’

She nodded.

‘And if anyone asks what you are doing, Cordelia, just you tell them he’s bitten his mother like a little dog.’

Please, Mrs Atkinson, my mother will wonder where I’ve gone.’

‘No need to worry, Cordelia, I’ll tell her. Now off your go.’

Cordelia remembered that walk. She was just twelve and Edward was her junior by about five years. He was small for his age whereas she was tall, and that accentuated her sense of authority over him. Looking back, she realised that it was then that she knew she wanted to be a mother with children of her own to discipline.

‘Come on, Edward, don’t dawdle.’

And she gave a pull on the lead.

‘No, Cordelia, don’t.’

He was speaking with the spoon between his teeth and his voice was strange and distorted.

‘Please, Cordelia. I don’t want to go to the village. We can hide in the garden. Mother needn’t know. You can tell her we went. Please.’

Cordelia felt a constriction in her chest.

‘You mean I’m supposed to lie. To tell your mother a lie. Is that what you are asking?’

He was whimpering now and crying. He nodded and bit his lip.

‘That would be very wrong, Edward. I am not going to do it. When we get home, I will have to tell her you tried to get me to lie. And what do you think she will do, then?’

They walked on with him crying bitterly, dragging his steps and being told that his reluctance would also need to be reported.

‘And I wouldn’t like to be in our shoes, Edward. Not one little bit.’

As they entered the village, they met Mrs Graham coming out of the Post Office. She was pushing a perambulator and beside her were two children a few years older than Edward.

‘And what may you be a-doing, young Cordelia? And Master Edward Atkinson in only a shirt. And on a lead like a little dog.’

‘Please, Mrs Graham, he bit his mother when she was taking him into the house to spank him. And then she asked me to walk him down to the village.’

‘Bit his mother! I never heard such a thing. Well, I can see now why he is collared and on a lead and carrying something in his mouth.’

Edward was red with embarrassment, and then had to suffer the humiliation of Mrs Graham’s lifting his shirt and examining his bottom.

“Well, his mother’s done more than spank him. He’s been given a good caning that’s for sure. I haven’t seen a bottom like that since I was a girl and my brothers were caned.’

She bent down and gave Edward’s bottom a hard slap. He gave a sharp scream and twisted away. And the wooden spoon clattered on to the cobbles.

“Hot and sore is it, Master Edward. And so, it should be.’

She smiled. And picked up the spoon and handed it to Cordelia.

‘Makes me think I should be getting a nice rattan cane for these two, the way they’ve been behaving recently. Turn around Master Edward and let Robert and Christopher see what the cane can do to a boy’s bottom.’

And she gave his bottom another slap.

‘And how was Master Edward caned, Cordelia? Was he turned over the sofa arm? That’s the way my brothers got it.’

‘Please, Mrs Graham, he had to kneel on all fours over a stool.’

Mrs Graham nodded.

Well, I can see from his bottom that your mother knows what she’s about. No point in tickling a boy. When my brothers were caned, it was well laid on. And did they roar. Well, let me not detain you. You’d best be continuing your walk. But meeting you and Master Edward has certainly given me something to think about, that’s for sure.’

Cordelia led him a bit further into the village and although the pair of them attracted a few glances nothing more was said. As they returned Cordelia made Edward take the wooden spoon once more between his teeth. She smiled.

‘What was it your mother said about the spoon, Edward?’

‘She . . . she said I was to bite on it and not let it . . . drop.’

‘Yes. Not to let it drop from your mouth. And did you? Did you let it drop from your mouth?’

‘But it was because Mrs Graham smacked my bottom where it hurt. I didn’t mean to. Please Cordelia.’

‘Well, all I remember is that she said if you let the spoon drop she would spank you.’

‘Please Cordelia, don’t tell her. My bottom hurts so much.’

‘I don’t think she was going to spank your bottom. She said she would smack the backs of your legs.’

Cordelia paused, relishing the power she had over the boy.

‘And then there is trying to get me to lie. I don’t know what she will say about that.’

‘Please, Cordelia, don’t tell her.’

‘I’ve told you already, Edward. I am not going to lie for you.’

She gave a tug on the lead.

‘Come on. We’re nearly home.’

Mrs Atkinson had seen them approaching and opened the door.

‘Thank you, Cordelia. I hope you enjoyed your walk, Edward. I see you still have the spoon in your mouth.’

She tilted her head back, eyebrows raised.

‘And did he behave himself, Cordelia?’

Cordelia felt Edward stiffen. She knew he was hoping beyond hope that she would spare him.

‘Well, Mrs Atkinson.’

‘Yes, Cordelia?’

‘Well, he tried to make me not go into the village but to pretend we had. And . . . and to tell you we had gone even though we hadn’t.’

Mrs Atkinson raised her eyebrows.

‘Is this true, Edward?’

His voice was low and hopeless.

‘Yes, mother.’

‘Is there anything else, Cordelia?’

‘Well, we met Mrs Graham, and . . . and she talked to us and Edward dropped the spoon out of his mouth. And then he tried to get me to lie about that.’

‘And why was that, Edward? It was surely possible to speak without dropping the spoon. And if there was the risk of dropping it you should have kept quiet. I am sure Cordelia could have explained your predicament.’

‘But mother Mrs Graham, she smacked my bottom and it hurt and I . . . I dropped the spoon. I didn’t mean to. Please mother.’

‘I cannot see why a smack on your bottom meant you had to cry out. It was quite unnecessary. There is no excuse for dropping the spoon. And none for lying.’

Cordelia watched as she made the boy stand facing the wall and about two feet away from it.

‘And now lean forward and support yourself against the wall with your hands. Come on, Edward, you’ve been punished like this before. You may be a little dog but you are not learning a new trick.’

She picked up the wooden spoon and smacked it against her palm.

‘And if you collapse in a sorry heap, we will simply have to start again from the beginning. So just show a little fortitude and try and learn from the punishment.’

She turned to Cordelia.

‘And what is he learning, Cordelia?’

‘I . . . I suppose to do as he’s told.’

‘Exactly, Edward. To do as you are told. And not to make silly excuses.’

Cordelia watched as the spoon was raised and its hard wooden back smacked down raising a smarting oval mark on the boy’s soft thigh flesh. As when he had been caned, he protested vocally, but made no attempt to resist. Cordelia was counting the strokes and when the spoon was set down he had received a total of twenty strokes to each thigh. He was sobbing and choking but was made to stand back to the wall that he had just faced for his punishment.

‘And now Edward there is that other little matter that we have to deal with. Indeed, not a little matter but a very serious matter. What am I talking about? Well?’

He managed to curb his sobbing although still in obvious distress.

‘I . . . I tried to get Cordelia not to take me to the village.’

‘Yes. You tried to persuade her to go against my word. And what else?’

‘I wanted her to lie about it. Please, mother, I’m sorry. Please don’t punish me more.’

He was crying quietly now, tears of fear and desperation. His face was wet and his eyes red and swollen. Cordelia felt sorry for him, but her sorrow was not of the sort to wish to see him spared the punishment that was his due.

Mrs Atkinson looked at her.

‘Well, Cordelia how would your mother punish a small boy who had done what Edward had done? Would she let him off with a warning? He has already been punished severely. What do you think she would do?’

‘I . . . I don’t think she would let him off, Mrs Atkinson. The punishments you’ve already given him are for different things. This is for telling lies and my mother would say he needed to be punished for it so he can be forgiven.’

Mrs Atkinson nodded.

‘But perhaps she would punish him less severely because of the earlier punishments?’

Cordelia shook her head.

‘No, Mrs Atkinson. I don’t think she would. She’s never done that.’

Edward was listening to this exchange biting his lip and standing forlornly in his shirt which was still rucked up over his shoulders.

‘So you’re a sensible girl, Cordelia. How do you think he should be punished?’

Cordelia felt a small animal stirring in her chest. She wanted to appear grown-up and make a suggestion that would commend itself to Mrs Atkinson, and one that would mean the boy would be given a further punishment.

‘Well, Mrs Atkinson, Edward was caned for throwing stones when you had told him not to, and then spanked for being careless and dropping the spoon. But trying to get me to do wrong and then lie about it seems a lot worse to me. So, I think he should be given a really hard punishment.’

‘I agree with you, Cordelia. And what do you suggest?’

Cordelia took a deep breath, almost frightened to make a suggestion.

“Well, Mrs Atkinson, I . . . I think I would cane him where you have just spanked him with the wooden spoon. And . . . and make him stay like a little dog for the rest of the day,’

Mrs Atkinson smiled.

‘I can see you’re going to be a strict mother when you grow up, Cordelia. A caning on the backs of his already sore legs would be a most appropriate punishment. What do you think, Edward?’

She ruffled his hair affectionately. His breathing was quick and shallow.

‘Please, no, Mother. Please. I’m sorry. Truly, I am.’

‘I’m sure you are sorry. All small boys are sorry when they face punishment. But Cordelia’s mother is right, Edward. If you are truly sorry, you will accept your punishment so you can be forgiven. And what you did in trying to get Cordelia to lie, was very wrong, and because of that the punishment needs to be a severe one. Cordelia perhaps you would fetch the cane from its hook behind the door.’

She became aware of James Fairclough speaking to her.

“I was asking, Matron, what you would propose for a boy like this who bites like an ill-trained puppy.

(End of File)