From: Tasha ([email protected])


"And so you see, Miss Sand, I'm quite at the end of my rope."

Emily listened impassively as Mrs Sinclair outlined her wretched state of affairs regarding her young son, Edward. The frail young mother hadn't an ounce of authority in her, nor the will to stand up to the boy. Neville Sinclair was a renowned barrister, presiding over some endless case in Southampton. Since his departure, his wife had found the task of raising young Edward herself overwhelming; therefore, her husband had suggested hiring a governess. Emily's destiny was clear.

"Madame, you need look no further than this sitting room."

Mrs Sinclair glanced at Emily's letters of referral. "Yes, you come most highly recommended by Miss Pinkerton. But you seem so young, and tender. I'm not sure you can-"

Emily held up one hand. "I desire only one chance. You said yourself he's run off two prior governesses. I assure you, Madame, I am not so easily deterred."

"Well, I suppose I should give you your chance," she said. "Though I feel it is my duty to warn you - he is more than I can handle, and I'm his mother." She uttered a wistful little laugh.

Emily smiled. "You won't be disappointed."

"Very well. Let me show you to your room, Miss Sand."

After settling in, Emily asked Mrs Sinclair to show her to the schoolroom and then to send Edward up to meet her, assuring the worried mother that she had no cause for concern.

Emily Sand was twenty years old. She was tall, slender, wasp-waisted, and quite pretty. Her long swanlike neck rose from a high lace collar secured with a velvet choker and cameo. She had excellent posture and an air of elegance beyond her humble post. She was the very model of Victorian discipline, having been educated in such a manner herself. She was certain her new charge would offer her a challenge, which she would successfully meet and overcome.

She soon heard footsteps in the hallway and before long, the ten-year-old boy peeked into the schoolroom. Emily beckoned him inside and he entered, glowering at her suspiciously.

"Hello, Edward," she said sweetly. "My name is Miss Sand and I'm to be your new governess."

The boy met her eyes boldly and looked her up and down. "And how long do you think you'll last?"

Emily smiled indulgently. "As long as it takes, young Master Sinclair. Now let's not start off on the wrong foot, shall we?"

Edward laughed. "And which foot shall I use to kick you right out the door?"

Emily was amazed at the shocking impertinence, but she had learned to never let it show. It was almost amusing to her. "Young man, I am appalled at your behaviour. I had thought to give you the opportunity to show me that you were not as incorrigible as your mother claimed; however, it is clear to me that you are an unprincipled, ungentlemanly, disrespectful miscreant, and I intend to correct that at once." She took him by the ear before he could answer back.

He yelped in surprise and resisted just enough to realise that she would tear his ear off before letting loose.

She led him to the straight-backed chair which she had placed in the center of the room in anticipation of just such a spectacle. Still keeping hold of his ear, she sat down and with one deft movement, pulled him over her lap.

He cried out in anger, kicking and struggling. "You can't do this to me!" he insisted. "I'll tell my father how you've ill-treated me!"

Emily ignored his childish threat, holding him down firmly with her left hand while unbuttoning his trousers with her right. "Young man, you'd be wise not to take that tone with me. I have your father's leave to treat you in any manner I see fit, and I find you to be nothing more than a naughty boy in dire need of a sound spanking." She slipped his trousers down and turned his undershirt well up, resting her dainty hand on his round, dimpled bottom.

Immediately, Edward stopped fighting her. He moaned in frustration at the indignity of his position, but remained silent, stubbornly refusing to beg Emily for mercy.

She was impressed by his pluck. "Now, Edward, I am going to give you a good spanking, something which I think you desperately need. After which, you will stand in the corner for twenty minutes to reflect on your disgraceful comportment and how you were punished for it. Is that understood?"

His answer was an unintelligible mumble.

Emily raised her hand and delivered a sharp swat to his backside. "I expect a clear and articulate response from you. Now, is that understood?"

"Yes," he whined.

She swatted him again. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, Miss Sand," he replied miserably.

"Very good. You're learning already. Now - to the task at hand." She began to spank him, her delicate hand laying the strokes on smartly. She admired his well-rounded cheeks, so small and pale. She would enjoy raising a healthy blush on them. She brought her hand down first on the left side, then the right, in a slow, steady cadence that was unrelenting.

Edward whimpered and cried out with every blow, squirming on her lap as if he might somehow escape. But his governess was very strict. She continued to spank him, striking alternately the right and left cheek of his adorable bottom. Slowly, the colour began to change from a pure ivory white to a soft pink, then to a deeper red.

Finally, the boy's pride gave way and he burst into tears. "Please, Miss, stop! I'm sorry! Truly I am! I'll never be rude to you again!"

Emily knew he was sincere, but she also knew from experience that his contrition would not last long were she to stop the punishment too soon. He was a spirited young boy, and she knew his firm, young flesh could take much more. She persisted in the spanking, punctuating her words with more sharp slaps. "I have no doubt that you are sorry," she said. "But I intend to teach you a lesson you'll not soon forget, young man. According to what your mother tells me, you've had this coming for a long time, and you are desperately in need of strict discipline and firm guidance. I will not tolerate any disrespect or disobedience from you. You will be a well-mannered young gentleman when I've finished with you, Edward. I'll not have you running wild whilst you are under my care. Naughty, naughty boy!" Emily prided herself on her ability to make her words sting almost as much as her hand, and she knew Edward's ears were burning from her constant scolding.

The child's backside was now bright red and very warm to the touch. Emily gave him a few more extra hard strokes, which made him cry out in pain. Then she stopped. She passed her hand over his reddened bottom, admiring her handiwork. She listened to his soft crying, and decided that he had earned a modicum of tenderness.

"Shhh, there, there," she said softly, caressing his sore backside. "That wasn't so terrible. You took your punishment well." She rested her hand on the left cheek and squeezed it gently, making him whimper. Then she did the same to the right cheek. "What a sweet little bottom you have. So round and tight. So small. Absolutely irresistible."

His crying slowly faded away as he gathered his wits and relaxed under her gentle caress. But she did not let him rest long. She urged him up with a light smack and he hastened to pull up his trousers. Emily stopped him. "Uh-uh-uh," she chided. "Corner time."

He lowered his head in total dejection. She knew exactly what was going on in his head: should he obey? Should he resist? What would she do if he disobeyed? She smiled at the inner struggle she could almost hear.


He gave in to the wiser choice and merely implored her with wide, teary eyes.

Emily pointed to the corner. "Now, young man."

He hung his head in shame as he shuffled over to the corner, sniffling occasionally and wiping his tears with the back of his hand. He pressed his forehead against the wall and silently resigned himself to his fate.

"Hands at your sides," she directed him. "You will stand there for the next twenty minutes," Emily told him. "And I want you to think long and hard about your insolence and subsequent punishment. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss Sand," he said, and his tone was markedly different from the one he had used with her earlier.

She smiled. "Good boy."

Emily sat down at her desk and began organising her books. She glanced up occasionally to see that Edward was still in position, and smiled inwardly. He was not such a difficult case, after all. In fact, she had found him to be a rather sweet child behind the wayward exterior. The twenty minutes were a test. It was not so long as to be unendurable, and in truth, she had endured it herself many times when she was Edward's age; however, it was long enough to allow the effects of the spanking to wear off and for her charge to become restless and distracted. If he managed to stay still throughout the entire twenty minutes, Emily knew he'd be no trouble at all. That would indicate to her that he had indeed learnt his lesson well and would probably behave himself from now on. If, however, he grew restless and petulant, he would require incremental attention, which she was more than prepared to mete out. After ten minutes, she heard him sigh and in no time at all, he was stamping his feet in frustration.


He stiffened.

"Come here."

He uttered a huffy little sigh and slunk towards the governess, readjusting his trousers to cover himself.

"I'm very disappointed in you. I was certain you had learnt your lesson. I'm sad to see I was mistaken."

"No, Miss Sand!" he insisted. "I'll be still! I'm sorry!"

"No, I'm sorry, Edward. You obviously need a more severe lesson." She bent down and nimbly removed one of her patent leather slippers.

The boy's eyes widened and filled with tears. He stamped his feet like a much younger child, fearful more of the humiliation than the pain.

"Now, now, let's have no more of that," she chided him gently. "Let down your trousers, bend over my desk, and take your punishment. If I have to haul you across that desk myself, you will also be birched."

He pouted and fussed with the edge of his shirt, shifting his weight back and forth in great agitation. "Oh, please..." he groaned.

"At once!"

Startled by the sharpness in her voice, he jumped. He knew he had no choice. Hanging his head miserably, he unlaced his trousers and let them slip to his knees. He shuddered as he extended his young body across the expansive cherry wood desk. Emily admired his bottom again, which was a deep burgundy. She passed a cool hand over the raw, reddened flesh and he trembled under her touch. She laid the slipper against his backside and held him down firmly with her other hand. "I'm only going to give you six strokes, Master Edward, which I trust you will take bravely, but they will be hard. You will count aloud for me and thank me for each. Is this clear to you?"

He whimpered. "Yes, Miss Sand."

"Then to proceed." She raised the slipper high above her head and brought it down with astonishing force on the boy's already-sore backside.

He cried out in pain and tried to jump up, but Emily held him down. When he collected himself, he lowered his head to the desk and moaned, "One, thank you, Miss Sand." Emily gave him another stroke, this time on the other cheek, eliciting the same response. "Two... thank you, Miss Sand." The third stroke made him cry again and he could barely articulate. "Th-three... thank (sniffle) thank you, M-miss Sand..."

Emily caressed his hair, which was sweaty and stuck to his forehead. "You're doing well, Edward. This will all be over soon." The slipper was deceptive. It looked so inoffensive, so harmless, yet it packed a powerful sting, as her young charge was discovering the hard way.

She watched the torturously slow rise and fall of the wicked implement a fourth time and was pleased to hear him choking back sobs before being able to count. "Four... thank you, Miss Sand." Again, the slipper found its mark and again, Edward struggled and whimpered before counting. "F-f-five. Thank you, Miss (choke) Sand."

"Last one, Edward," she said in a maddeningly calm voice. "Look sharp."

He let go after the final stroke and dissolved into unrestrained weeping. Emily allowed him to cry for a minute before gently prompting him. "What do you say?"

Panting and gasping for breath, the boy choked out the words. "S-six. Thank - thank you, (sob) Miss Sand."

She pulled him up and brushed the hair out of his face. He wouldn't meet her eyes. "You did very well," she said. "I'm proud of you. Now, I want you to thank me for your discipline and go back to the corner."

The boy was crestfallen upon hearing his sentence was not to be lessened, but he dared not defy her again. "Thank you for punishing me, Miss Sand," he said sheepishly, and with his head down, he managed to return to the corner, where he wept silently for the full twenty minutes.

When the time was up, Emily went to him and put her hands on his shoulders, turning him to face her. He kept his eyes on the floor and didn't try to pull his trousers back up. Emily lifted his chin between her thumb and forefinger and kissed him on the forehead. "You may get dressed," she said kindly.

He did as she said, moving slowly, as though in a trance. Emily helped him on with his trousers and then took him into her arms in a loving, maternal embrace. He stiffened at first, but then he melted into her arms and clung to her as he shed one last torrent of tears.

"I'm sorry about what I said," he told her. "I don't want you to go."

"I know. It's over now."

As he held her tightly, she could feel his young hardness pressing against her and she smiled. She had a feeling he would be thinking about her for quite some time.

The End


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