Christopher & The Governess
By "slave nick"Chapter 1.
"Turn around, please," she said.
Emma's plane had been in the air for less than an hour before
Christopher found himself standing naked in the "Dark
Room" in the basement, hands laced behind his head while
Susan looked him over carefully.
After he dutifully rotated, she stepped close to him, brushing
against his backside, reached up to the back of his head and
pulled his fingers apart.
"Don't lace your fingers together. Just touch the tips
of your fingers to each other. I don't want you to support
your head with your hands. Keep your head up, please, shoulders
and elbows back." Her voice made it sound like a request,
not an order.
"Good." She patted him on the shoulder and stepped
back. "Face me, please, Christopher."
This Saturday morning in early June, Christopher and Susan
had driven Emma, Christopher's mother, to Kennedy airport,
and as soon as they were back in New Haven, Susan had ordered
him down to the basement, "stripped and hands behind
your head, please." The manner in which she said it,
so matter-of-fact and yet so gentle, made it seem an ordinary
request. She had been waiting for this moment for over a month,
and she relished the surprise, and then acceptance that came
over the face of the 18-year old. A few minutes later, when
she descended the basement stairs and entered the room, closing
the door behind her, she was also pleasantly surprised to
find his naked body as pretty as his features had promised.
Slender, but not skinny. What they call a stripling, she thought.
Hairless chest, wispy hair underarm and on his calves and
forearms. Skin unblemished. Fine muscles in the thighs and
buttocks. Well-shaped, full buttocks. His arms and chest needed
some work, but they would have the summer to improve his upper
body. And last, but not least, his cock: well shaped, a nice
length, sufficient girth.
When Emma had accepted a 2-year visitor teaching post at
the University of Sydney her principle worry had been what
to do about her son who was about to graduate from high school.
Chris had been accepted at Yale, tuition-free as the son of
a faculty member. There was no question that he would stay
in New Haven while she went to Australia - but where would
he live? On-campus housing would be expensive, and although
Emma could have rented her house to another professor, she
didn't fancy the idea of strangers living in her house and
using her furniture. Besides that, Christopher was too immature
for living on his own, and she didn't relish the idea of him
spending too much time with other Yale freshmen. She had brought
him up, as single mothers often do, with a good deal of oversight
and control. If she were to let him wander off to school by
himself there was no telling what kind of trouble he would
find himself in.
Susan chose her words carefully, and spoke slowly, looking
directly at Christopher. "I have some things to say to
you right at the beginning of our time together, Chris. I
find that boys pay more attention to me if they are naked
and at attention. Don't you agree?"
She seemed to wait for an answer. Finally, he supplied one,
after clearing his throat.
"Yes, I guess so."
"Please. Chris. When we are having a serious discussion,
and this is serious, address me as Miss or Miss Susan."
He swallowed. "Yes, Miss."
"I'm sure when your mother is talking to you down here
in this room you address her properly."
Chris wanted to say that he was always formal in his speech
to his mother. She was British, after all. "Yes, Miss,
of course."
For Emma, Susan was the ideal solution. Emma searched carefully
for someone who could live in her house with Christopher and
keep an eye on him and the house in Emma's absence, making
sure his first years at Yale were fruitful, and that the precious
Victorian mansion was properly maintained. Susan fit the bill
perfectly. She was in her late 20's, entering Yale Law in
the fall, a bright, energetic, and capable young woman. She
had been in the Marines for 4 years right after high school
but didn't seem to have the rough edges that a stint in that
organization would leave. Then she had gone to Europe to get
her bachelor's at the University of Zurich. There she had
worked as an au pair/governess for a British family of 3 teenage
boys where she gained her experience in bringing up young
men. Emma had vetted Susan carefully, looking into all of
her references, and had several long interviews. They both
loved idiosyncratic, old houses like this one. And both knew
how important it was for young men to have proper guidance
in their studies, and indeed, in all aspects of their lives.
"You did enroll in the summer writing class for entering
freshmen, didn't you?"
"Yes, Miss. Class will be 4 hours a day, three days
a week for 6 weeks."
"When does it start?"
"Next Monday, Miss."
"We, your mother and I, expect you to get an A in that
course. If not an A+."
He looked doubtful. "I'll try, Miss. I wasn't that
good at writing in high school."
"Oh?" Susan raised an eyebrow, and put her hands
on her hips. "You'll have lots of practice. In addition
to the writing for your class, I want you to write a letter
to your mother every week, at least five pages, hand-written
in a clear and readable hand on good stationary, even lines,
narrow margins, and most importantly, interesting content
and error-free grammar, punctuation, and spelling. You will
also write an essay for me every week, 2000 to 2500 words,
printed from your computer."
Now Susan paced slowly back and forth as if deep in thought,
composing her assignment for Christopher.
"You will give me a diskette containing the one essay
and nothing else, Word format. Both the essay and the letter
are due for my inspection on Friday evening at 6 o'clock.
I will review them by Saturday morning. Every Saturday we
will meet here, in the Dark Room, and you and I will go over
your writing projects. We will, as well, discuss in detail
any other problem or situation that needs to be discussed.
I think a regularly scheduled meeting, like the one we're
having now, will be extremely beneficial, don't you Chris?"
Again the raised eyebrow.
"Yes, Miss, I'm sure."
"The topic of your first essay will be this: "The
Role of the Governess in Raising Young Men." I want attributions
to every source you use, and I want no more than 300 words
of direct quotes. Understand?"
"Yes, Miss."
Emma had raised Christopher in the British tradition, so
he was no stranger to the idea of obeying his elders, and
the punishments of the cane, the strap, or the tawse when
that elder deemed it necessary. When Emma got her appointment
at Yale, and managed to purchase this 1890's house, one of
her first projects had been to build a room in the basement
where Christopher could be disciplined, whenever she saw fit,
in a quiet, remote part of the house, where no passerby could
hear the sound of leather or rattan on yielding flesh, or
the protestations and tears of the unlucky youth on the receiving
end. The room was airy, warm, comfortable and soundproof,
and equipped with a bench or horse that held the boy in position.
Hanging nearby were several canes of varying length and thickness,
and the "convent strap", the implement she favored
when she thought leather was the best choice of material.
There were also several small, lighter straps and tawses that
Chris had outgrown, and these had been unused for several
years, although Emma kept them around for sentimental reasons.
"I believe strongly in corporal punishment, Christopher,
as your mother does, and I'm sure you do. You do, don't you
Christopher?"
She gave me such a sweet smile that he blushed, and glanced
down at his cock which seemed to be on the verge of leaping
upwards.
Susan took the opportunity to put a finger behind his testicles
and push them forward a little. That was enough to cause his
erection to proceed onward, and his blush to deepen, and he
pulled his stomach back as if he could stem the rise.
"Oh, don't pay any attention to that, Chris. I'm sure
that your hard on will subside in a few minutes, one way or
the other."
"Hard on" was not a phrase his mother had ever
used, and he blushed again at the word this direct young woman
employed.
"Well," Susan continued, "You can expect punishment
from me for any mistakes and wrongdoings, of course. That's
my job as governess. But I will apply the rod in a preventative
fashion, too, that is, to remind you of your duties and obligations,
to keep you in a frame of mind that you are growing and learning
and need constant discipline and supervision. And remember,
Chris, I'm responsible for more than just your school work.
I will be guiding you in all your physical, moral, and mental
development."
She gave his genitals another stroke of her hand.
"That includes your sexual development, too."
With that, his erection grew to full, rigid, attention.
Susan fell in love with the New Haven house on the first
interview she had with Emma. Christopher had not been home
that spring morning, and after talking for over an hour, getting
to know each other, Emma had felt comfortable enough to give
Susan a tour of the house. There were three stories, plus
a full basement, and 4 bedrooms on the second floor. The house
was painted blue on the first floor, and yellow on the upper
stories, with a violet front door. The interior rooms had
all been pained a different color, the kitchen and bathrooms
modernized but with a Victorian look. The first floor had
an enormous library that Emma used as an office, as well as
a formal living room and a conservatory.
It wasn't until her second visit, after they both acknowledged
that discipline for Christopher had been, and would continue
to be, an important part of his upbringing and Susan's responsibilities,
that Emma showed the basement with its 10-foot ceilings and
Dark Room to Susan.
"I called it that when the carpenters were building
it," she admitted. "I didn't want them to know what
it was really for."
Susan had looked at the bench and the implements on the wall
and nodded approvingly. "I see you are serious about
old-fashioned virtues, Mrs. Hamlin. No wonder you selected
a Victorian house to live in."
Emma smiled. "And I think that in you, Susan, I have
found a sympathetic hand. Come, let's have tea now and discuss
details."
"Now, Christopher, even though you've done nothing to
be punished for, I'm going to give you a good thrashing starting
with the cane and finishing with the strap, just to show you
that I mean what I say, so there can be no misunderstanding
about our task ahead of us."
Susan walked over to the wall and after looking at and touching
the several canes that hung there, selected one of the middle-sized
ones, the one Emma called the "junior" cane. She
tested it by swishing it hard through the air several times,
then walked to stand in front of Christopher with a serious
and concerned look on her face.
"I don't want to tie you to the bench, Chris. I want
to teach you to take your punishment or correction with the
proper attitude. Your feeling should be that a thrashing is
deserved, appropriate, and for your own good, and you should
try your best to take it in the spirit in which it is given.
Oh, I expect you will jump around and cry out, Chris. All
the boys do, and I don't mind the noise. In fact, I like to
know I'm having a good effect. But I do object to boys that
try to avoid the strokes. Get back in position as soon as
you can, take a deep breath, and remember that you are growing
up, and growing up has hardships. By the time your mother
returns from Australia, I expect you will be coming to me
and telling me that you deserve a caning rather than the other
way 'round."
Susan flexed the cane almost double and smiled again at
her young charge.
"Bend over, sir, and present yourself," she said.
Chapter 2.
Christopher looked flustered and uncertain.
"I don't know…" he began.
"Put your hands on your knees, keep
your legs straight, and face that way." She pointed
to her left.
Christopher turned to his right, put his
hands on his knees and bent over.
"Like this, Miss?" he asked, turning
his head to look at his new governess.
"Almost," she said. "Put your
feet a little farther apart, and flex your knees a bit.
You need to keep a good base to keep in position. Arch your
back and push your bottom backwards. Your buttocks should
be nicely extended, ready and willing to accept their chastisement."
As she said this she used the tip of the
cane and her hands to move him into the correct position.
She pressed downwards on the small of his back to achieve
the presentation she desired. At last, satisfied, she stepped
back to an arms length away, took her stance and placed
the cane against his buttocks so that the tip rested in
the center of his right cheek, the one furthest away from
her. She faced him and held herself and the cane perfectly
still.
"Remember this position and return to it after each
stroke. Your mother has taught you the mandatory response
for each stroke, I assume?"
"Yes, Miss." The youth's face was
blushing a deep pink.
There was silence as Susan waited and focused
her mind. It's been a long time, she thought, since I've
held a cane onto a boy's bottom like this. Her mind drifted
back to Switzerland and the three sweet boys who had to
offer up their backsides to Susan's discipline. She could
feel a dampness under her arms, and between her legs. Oh,
I could have waited a few days, she thought, but that would
have made me crazy. She took a deep breath and released
it slowly, the cane pressing into Christopher's rump, which
quivered slightly with anticipation. Then she drew the cane
back, and with a flick of the wrist moved it forward with
astonishing speed, landing squarely across the meatiest
part of his buttocks with a healthy thwack.
Christopher was as prepared as he could be, but still the
first stoke caused him to jerk upwards with the pain, and
as there was not the usual straps to restrain him, he went
farther than he should have, hands flying up.
"Arghh! One! Thank you, Miss Susan,
may I please have another?" he yelped, returning his
hands to his knees.
"Certainly," she murmured. "As
soon as you get back in position. And this time, Chris,
keep your hands on your knees, please."
Again she waited a long time before delivering
the second stroke. And, as she had been taught by Mrs. Smith-Hanzer,
the mother of the three English boys, this stroke was, as
far as she could make it, exactly equal in intensity to
the first, the only difference in that it was placed a half-inch
lower on its target.
The reaction was similar, but better controlled.
A jerk upwards onto tip toes, but hands remaining in contact
with the knees. Return back down. The polite response after
the initial cry of pain.
"Two! Thank you, Miss Susan, may I please
have another?"
"I won't tell you again, Chris. Return
to the exact position or the stoke won't be counted. Back
arched, bottom full out."
Chris strained to place his bottom out to
her liking, and was rewarded with the third stroke, yet
another one-half inch lower. This time he made every effort
to give her a good target for the next stroke.
"That's better, Chris," Susan approved.
"I knew you could do it."
The next three strokes, bringing the total
to six, continued lower toward the top of his thighs, a
more tender area for the rattan to find. But Chris held
his own bravely, breathing deeply with each stroke, and
Susan began to find the rhythm in her caning. She was gratified
to see that her aim was still as good as ever, and when
she had completed the six and saw the well-spaced pattern
of thin welts her strokes had left, she nodded slightly
with satisfaction to herself. As for Christopher, he was
beginning to make that keening sound, high-pitched gasps
that told Susan the cane was having its desired effect.
"Turn around, please, Chris," she
said after the sixth stroke had been acknowledged. "Face
the other way."
He stood, turned 180 degrees and returned
to the classic position of the boy under the rod. Susan
moved the cane to her left hand, and assumed her classic
stance once more, the cane pressed into his buttocks, now
from the opposite side, the tip placed in the middle of
his left cheek.
"We'll continue now," she said.
"The count stands at six completed."
Much to Christopher's surprise and dismay,
her left-handed strokes were every bit the equal of those
from her dominant side. It was another thing she had learned
from Mrs. Smith-Hanzler. "Your arm will get tired,
especially with three boys," she had said. "Practice
with your left arm on a pillow until you get the accuracy
and force."
Six more, numbers 7 through 12 were laid
down over the first six, descending downwards, spaced a
half-inch apart. The two sets of stripes weren't precisely
parallel, so the effect was a thin cross-hatching on Christopher's
bottom. These six, coming as they did on top of the first
set, hurt even more, causing Christopher sufficient distress
that Susan had to warn him twice about position, but she
was kind enough, since it was his first caning at her hands,
not to call for a repeat. There'll be plenty of opportunity
for that this summer, she said to herself.
After the twelfth, and the automatic request
for another, she simply said "No, that's enough"
and returned the cane carefully to its place on the wall.
Returning to his side she directed him to
stand up and face away from her.
"Put your hands behind your head,"
she directed. "You know not to touch your bottom, don't
you?"
"Yes, Miss, I guess so," he replied.
She frowned. "Christopher, I don't like
that phrase 'I guess so'. It sounds lazy and uncommitted.
Say 'Yes', 'No', or 'I don't know', will you, please?"
"Yes, Miss. I'm sorry, Miss."
"And I'm not crazy about 'I'm sorry'
either. Take responsibility for your words and actions."
"Yes, Miss. I'll do better in the future."
"Good." Susan smiled. A genuine
smile, one of happiness that he was paying attention and
trying to please her. In a now more jovial voice, she said,
"Now, let's take a look. Bend forward a little, Christopher."
He did as directed, exposing his striped
buttocks fully to her gaze. She looked carefully at the
thin, red stripes and ran the fingers of her left hand gently
over them while her right hand brushed over her pudendum
lightly, resisting the urge to rub harder.
"All right, that's not bad. Stand tall."
He stood facing away from her while she went
to the wall and pulled off the strap that hung there, a
leather strap about 18" long and 2" wide, tapered
at one end to make the grip easier.
"Turn around, Chris. What do you know
about this?" She held the strap up for his inspection.
"Mother's had it for two or three years.
She got it in England on one of her trips. She calls it
the "convent" strap - saying that it was used
in church school, reformatories, places like that. She said
it was perfect for a teenager."
"It looks it," said Susan. "Does
it hurt?"
"Yes, Miss Susan," said Christopher.
"It can."
"You know, Christopher," said Susan,
"I think of your bottom as a canvas, one that I'm drawing
a picture on." She smiled, this time a mischievous
look. "I think we'll put in the background color now."
Her smile disappeared and was replaced by
a glint of purpose. "Present yourself, sir. You know
the position. Do not waste time."
|
