The Discipline of the Governess

Chapter One-2

“Yes, Miss,” said Edward faintly. “Of course, Miss.” Hesitantly he began to unhook his braces.

“It is wretched enough for a boy to debase himself with the nasty perversion of self-abuse,” she said quietly, “handling his wicked little organ until he soils himself with the dirty, squirting fluids of his own shame.” Her eyes gleamed liquid and mysterious upon the trembling fingers which loosed his trouser buttons. “Yet to deny your guilt now is even worse.”

“Yes, Miss,” answered the wretched boy. With trepidation he lowered his trousers as far as his straightened arms would reach. Edward made as if to bend to lower them farther, but that seemed somehow awkward and undignified, so finally he simply opened his fists and let the clothing drop about his ankles. He looked up at his governess forlornly.

To his chagrin, however, that lady merely pursed her lips more tightly in impatience. “The undergarments as well, Master Edward,” she intoned grimly.

Of the occasional birchings at school, only a comparative few had been bare-bottomed—and mainly those from one particular headmaster, he remembered now, a little puzzled… Most had been through the drawers instead, and at home old Mrs. Jeffers had whipped him only through his trousers. Already, however, he knew better than to disobey this stern and commanding mistress. A governess was a governess, after all, a power second only to one’s father—and certainly more familiar and more accessible than that distant, gravely august personage. Hopelessly, Edward slid down his drawers. His poor p***s had shriveled up in embarrassment and fright between his thin thighs.

“Now come here,” said Miss Violetta darkly. She looked with faint amusement at his shriveled loins and then patted the mild protrusion that her upper knee made in her voluminous skirts. “Right across my lap, boy, and I’ll show you what happens to little whelps who disobey their governesses.”

“Yes, Miss,” gulped Edward. He had expected merely to bend over and take the caning, which would be bad enough. Yet to endure it while draped across that demanding lady’s lap—oh, it was terrible. Terrified, he shuffled toward her within the hobbles of his clothing.

As he approached, the sable-tressed young governess stood again, very regally this time. She shook out her dark skirts, and then she settled herself down more comfortably upon the red velvet cushion. Yet as she resumed her seat she hitched up the hem of her dress to give her limbs free play. Edward was surprised to see that the rustling fabric rose above the very tops of the lady’s leather boots to reveal a glimpse of shockingly white calf, shapely and smooth and round. Oh, how strangely thrilling! Had he been asked what sort of undergarments a proper lady wore, he would not have been able to say. Never would he have guessed, though, that so close beneath the forbidding raven folds of her dress lay creamy pale skin absolutely naked and bare—no stockings, no petticoats, apparently even no drawers. He stopped in mid-shuffle.

“Do not resist your punishment, Edward,” warned Miss Violetta at his halt. She patted her knee again, swiftly and imperiously. “Come to me at once!”

Unwillingly he approached. To Edward’s extraordinary discomfort, his stern, beautiful young governess slid farther down on the plush crimson seat so that her lap projected beyond the intricately carved arms of her throne-like chair. This movement flounced her skirts still further so that her shapely legs were bared to the knee, and even a little above. How smooth and cool and lovely those limbs were to his wondering eyes, how alluringly forbidden! Never had he seen the female form like this, pale and round and silky-smooth, and the sight was strangely electrifying. Despite his affected disinterest, he could not help but notice the extraordinary grace of those sleek young ivory legs, even now. With her slender white hands she smoothed the folds of midnight fabric that fell from her hips, and despite himself, he felt his poor shrunken manhood twitch faintly in response.

Miss Violetta merely smirked coolly at him. “Now,” she growled, patting her lap.

“Y-yes, Miss,” stuttered her charge, bending his naked body gingerly across her.

As he lowered himself, Edward felt his governess adjust her skirts again. He cringed as his little hanging rod of meat descended into her lap, while her hand pulled him firmly down so that his weight lay across her—and then all at once he realized that her crinkling skirts had moved enough so that now he was balanced not across raven crinoline, but across cool white thighs. The sensation upon his naked belly and groin was delirious. He looked up at her in sudden panic.

“Are we comfortable, Master Edward?” she wondered with a dangerous mockery, her eyes half-lidded.

“Um…” Edward felt his organ swell enormously as it hung down between those pillars of living cream. Every ragged beat of his heart inflated his swollen member until the poor thing denied thing could plump up no further. Her cool, elegant, feminine skin pressed against his moistly agitated flesh, and suddenly he knew that anything he might say would be wrong. To resist his punishment would be to invite her wrath—yet so, too, would be to revel in an accidental impropriety. Uselessly he tried to wish away his embarrassing erection, but it was just so big, so urgent, so quiveringly firm. Perhaps, he tried to tell himself, she did not recognize what the thing was…

Finally he gulped and replied with an attempted dutifulness, “Wh-whatever the mistress prefers.”

“Exactly so,” she said with some satisfaction. Smiling crookedly, she nodded and c****d an amused eyebrow. Miss Violetta dropped one palm idly upon his naked haunch, and squeezed it appraisingly, as one might with a farm animal. His c**k throbbed in response. “I cannot spoil the child, young sir,” she said firmly but without anger. “To spare the rod would be a disservice to you and your esteemed family, to myself and my trusted position, even to the very Empire in which you one day will serve.”

“Of course, Miss,” agreed Edward humbly. His pulse pounded in his groin as he felt her possessive hand smooth itself calmly over his bare bottom, over his hips. He felt the faint brush of her carefully buffed nails at the sensitive skin at the back of his scrotum, and his heavy balls bunched up in wariness and in naughty anticipation.

“Yet I do not believe in the cane, Edward,” she said slowly, her idle hand weighing the quivering sac of masculine flesh that produced the fluids of his naughty lusts. “I believe in disciplining by hand, flesh to flesh.”

“Yes, Miss,” he whispered, red-faced. To his consternation, she stroked him at the very base of his helpless balls as one might scratch behind a cat’s ears. It felt so strange…and yet not entirely unpleasant. He shivered as she held him there, her long-nailed fingers possessive and firm.

“Discipline is especially important for a boy such as you, who has fallen into evil habits,” she added sententiously. With her other hand she took both of his unresisting hands and pinned his wrists lightly in the small of his back. “Tell me—do you know how grave a crime is a young man’s self-pollution?”

“Yes, Miss Violetta,” he said woefully, feeling his organ stand to its utmost, thick and swollen between her cool thighs.

“Yes, indeed,” she said with a faint mockery. “For indeed you have performed that shameful act many times, have you not, young Master Edward?” Still she scratched at the taut skin of his crinkled scrotum as if unaware of it.

Edward licked his dry lips. “Yes, Miss,” he finally admitted. As he spoke the words, with his organ wildly rigid between her smooth thighs, the statement seemed at one both shameful and somehow perversely thrilling.

“You have thought about naughty things constantly, I imagine,” she continued quietly, “exciting yourself purposefully, until your wicked little manhood grew hot and red and thick…?”

“Yes, Miss,” he replied, red-faced and embarrassed upon her cool silken lap, and yet guiltily erect, too.

“And then,” she opined in slow, superior tones, “you felt you could not help but touch the nasty thing, over and over and over, rousing all your fleshly desires further, ever further…”

“Yes, Miss,” he said miserably. And yet in the midst of his terrible predicament, he felt his organ fat and engorged between this beautiful young lady’s cool white thighs. The sensation was an exquisite torment.

“You probably soiled yourself every night,” said his governess with quiet accusation. “You reveled in it.” She cupped his shivering scrotum in her all-knowing hand and scratched her nails almost curiously at the sensitive factories of the fluids of his lusts.

“Yes, Miss,” he whispered pitifully.

“Every night,” she repeated, squeezing him with calm appraisal. “True, Edward? Or,” she demanded with a cool disdain, “have I misjudged my little masturbator?”

“Every night, Miss,” he confessed, feeling her fingertips frank and unconcerned all about the base of his desperate rigidity. He thought again of what he was confessing to this most prim and proper young lady, and his betraying organ pounded with the blood of his forbidden arousal. “Every night,” he whispered again, thrilling secretly at the chance to say it once more beneath her dark-eyed gaze.

At that he almost thought he could hear her smile. She said nothing for a slow moment then, merely eying him in imperial silence.

After hiding his behavior for so long, it was a perverse joy to confess before this demanding young mistress, to admit all of the dirty little things he had taken such pleasure in doing to himself. It felt so good to be exposed before her, body and soul, to let her share his innermost secrets. His poor tantalized c**k was so fat now, so full of its desperate, unspoken desires! Somehow it all made him want to roll over and expose himself ever more, to handle his poor purpled flesh before her stern gaze and perform helplessly like some grunting beast, jerking out a wild and sloppy mess so that she could understand just how naughty he had really been—

Edward’s face burned scarlet with his unwanted thoughts. Uselessly he tried to wish them away, tried to concentrate on sorrow and rectitude, on his punishment. Yet with this lady’s soft white flesh against his trembling belly, it was so difficult…

Finally, she continued, as if unaware of his predicament, “And now, today, to disobey one’s governess—” She clucked, shaking her head judicially. “Well, that truly merits a thrashed buttocks, you know.”

“Yes, Miss,” replied Edward. He lay helplessly upon the forbidden skin of her white young lap, shamelessly erect in his trembling excitation. He bit his lip, then rotated his head, looking up sideways to find her long-lashed eyes enigmatic and impassive upon his reddened face. Despite his attempted composure, he sensed that his gaze was vulnerable and pleading somehow—and yet he did not know exactly for what he was pleading. He knew only that he was naked and erect before her and that her hands were smooth and cool and white, touching him.

“I am ready, Miss,” he said at last, throbbingly erect, and yet contrite in his humility.

Her dark eyes gleamed, and the corners of her mouth curled slowly, slyly up. Inexplicably, her cheeks and forehead were warm and flushed. “Good…” she breathed. With that she drew back her elegant white hand and let fly.

Edward flinched at the stinging blow upon his bare buttocks. He would not have thought that one young woman’s slender little hand could carry so much power. Yet as he writhed there upon her lap, his hot naked belly across, against, between her cool bare flesh, she soon demonstrated her mastery over him. Again and again her hand rose and then came down smacking. The slap of her palm against his exposed skin cracked resoundingly, over and over. He fought to keep from crying out.

As she spanked him, however, the combined minor movements of his helpless body and her firm, competent thighs set up an unavoidable tingle in the raging red flesh that thrust from beneath his belly. Her unendurably soft skin moved against his agitated c**k, smooth, rhythmic, mesmerizing. Despite himself, Edward felt his excitement mount. Surely the forbiddingly proper Miss Violetta did not realize it, he thought, but the unintentional, intimate slide of her sweet flesh against his naked manhood nearly made him swoon with delight.

Higher reached his secret excitation, ever higher. Oh, this felt better than anything he had ever done to himself in the night, and the thought that he was doing it right against this beautiful young lady was intoxicating. He had never even so much as kissed a girl on the cheek, and yet here he was wallowing naked upon the lap of the most desirable young woman he had ever seen, his agonized member rubbing against the intimate white skin of her thighs as she looked down upon him dispassionately. Oh, the torment was exquisite! His rear end blazed, but his front felt comfortably swollen, congested with desires. His little movements upon her lap became more and more agitated, until soon his hips were bucking of their own accord.