The Governess

Dear Diary:

What an exciting afternoon!. I just got home this instant, but I want to write everything down before I forget any detail. I visited Henrietta for tea, and this time I got to see Jeremy spanked…and more…much more! He is ten years old now. A very cute child with a perfect baby face and long blond curls.

He has his own tutor, of course, and Henrietta’s full time attention as governess. I had wondered if she was allowed to discipline him, but had been too shy to ask. She had him all dressed up in an adorable velvet sailor suit. He looked a little resentful in his little suit, but he bowed at the waist when she presented him. He seemed very self conscious and drew back a bit as I rose to greet him. It seemed the he did not like being touched.

I couldn’t help noticing how husky and muscular he looked, especially for his size. When I admired his little uniform he blushed very red in the face and started looking a little pouty, but Henrietta ordered him to turn around slowly to let us inspect him, and he obeyed, but reluctantly. His suit was much too tight on him, especially over his little-boy bottom. He had on his little sailor blouse and a scarf, patent leather shoes and knee length stockings. His tight velvet sailor shorts had buttons up each side and across his middle.

When she patted his tight bottom, he pulled away, saying, “Please don’t, Nanny,” in a sort of whining tone. She remarked that he had been cross and troublesome all day, and that he would probably soon be getting a “warm spanking.” At this, Jeremy frowned miserably and a tear slowly formed in the corner of one of his beautiful blue eyes. (I was enthralled at the long eyelashes the child possessed; a pretty young girl could not have asked for more.) Henrietta continued, saying he was becoming so difficult to manage, needing constant watching these days, and has to be disciplined all the time.

She has trained him to serve tea, and he did very nicely. I admired the fine china teacups and silver tea service.

The boy seemed lost in his own thoughts as he gazed out the window during our talk. Then: CRASH! We looked down at the floor, and there was Jeremy’s teacup, shattered wetly on the parquet floor.

“Clumsy boy! Look what you’ve done! Nanny’s best teacup smashed to pieces.”

“I’m sorry, Nanny, I didn’t mean to do it…”

“Always the same, excuses, excuses. Well, this time I am going to warm your bottom. You’re going to get a good spanking right now!” The handsome child was horribly embarrassed for me to be witnessing this. He stood with his hands unconsciously creeping back to shield his bottom as he begged her to wait until later–after I left. But she insisted that I stay.

“Please, Nanny, please. Not now,” he begged.

“You’re going to be spanked right now, Jeremy.”

“Please, Nanny, not in front of…”

“Don’t worry, Miss Marwood has seen little boys before.” And she rose to retrieve a short leather strap from a nearby dresser drawer. It was obviously made for spanking, somewhat resembling a child-sized Scots Tawse, about ten inches long, an inch and a half wide and perhaps a quarter of an inch thick. Jeremy visibly blanched at the sight and started to quiver nervously.

The child continued his steady pleading, but his governess had him firmly by the elbow and had pulled him so that he stood facing her. She seated herself on the chaise, put the spanking strap down at her side, and busied her fingers with the numerous buttons on his tight shorts. Jeremy was fighting her fingers and pulling away from her.

“Please, Nanny, No. Not… my… p-p-pants… Please, no!”

“Little boys get spanked on the bare bottom, child!” she reminded him.

“I know, Nanny, but… this time… not… my… pants… Please!” She was holding both his hands together above his head and was unbuttoning him with her other hand. He twisted and turned, but to no avail. The flap dropped open and I saw the white material of his drawers. Then the pants fell down to his ankles; his jumping around helped to kick them right off his legs. He was dancing around minus his breeches in his skimpy tight, white, underpants. The ten-year-old culprit almost escaped, but she caught him by his slim wrists again and, pinioning his hands, dragged him over her lap.

But he was not match for her experience in disciplining naughty children, and she easily drew his arms back, and holding his crossed wrists in the small of his back was able to concentrate on task at hand. He struggled as she pulled his underpants down, unveiling the spectacle of his bare bottom. I felt flushed and noticed that I was breathing rapidly. From my vantage point in the adjacent chair I was looking right into the cleft between Jeremy’s secret bare bottom cheeks, and no wonder he was so defensive of them being seen or touched by an adult.

Such creamy white boy-buttocks, so remarkably chubby and bouncy, like shining half-moons separated by such a deeply curving cleft. Henrietta continued to hold his hands firmly as she lowered even further the child’s white underpants and adjusted them so that they helped to restrain his vigorously struggling legs.

Jeremy suddenly stopped wriggling and started whining, “You don’t have to spank me, Nanny… I didn’t mean to do it… I won’t do it again, I promise!”

She reached for the strap, and, after making sure the boy was quite properly positioned, started the spanking. Raising the strap, she took careful aim and, with surprising force, delivered the first noisy “smAAAAAAAkkk” across the child’s soft, naked bottom.

“AAAhhhhhhhh, Ohhhhh, Please! Noooooo, Please, Naaaaaaaannnny…” screamed Jeremy as he felt the punishing effect of his governess’ spanking strap. My! How violently his little buttocks reacted, clamping shut, then opening slowly and squirming in all directions.

Again and again the leather strap descended, making bright red marks appear on his otherwise pearl-white buttocks. Jeremy blubbered and howled after each smack. My friend, Henrietta, commented on all this squirming and asked me to hold the child’s legs, as he was beginning to lift his feet in an attempt to ward off the strap’s painful caresses.

I took hold of his thighs and held his legs down. My fingers were digging into the soft, smooth, boy-flesh. There was a big red patch on each buttock, and the squirming seemed to increase as the spanking continued. It must have stung and burned horribly. She continued the slow, hard strokes. She asked me to grasp his feet and twist them gently outward, to “improve the angle.” When I did so, it forced him to stick his bottom up even more and made his deep crack open up until I could see his pink little pucker of his anus right in the center. As he bounced around, his little scrotum and penis would sometimes swing into view. Henrietta spanked the tender insides of his cleft, producing more screams from the hapless child. I twisted a little more on his feet. He tossed his bottom violently; the pink little hole unexpectedly distending as he broke wind rather noisily.

“Incorrigible child! Right in our faces!” And she administered a few more “splats” of the spanker. After what must have been twenty-five firm strokes of the leather strap, each having been accompanied by Jeremy’s shrieks and screams, she ceased. As soon as she relaxed her grip on the little boy he quickly struggled to his feet. His howls gradually subsided as he danced around with both hands cupping his reddened buttocks.

He stumbled around as his underpants were still at his ankles, like a hobble, not even taking notice at how fascinated I was at the sight of his boyish penis now sticking almost straight out, bobbing up and down, and seemingly pointing right at me. I was blushing, and although Jeremy was unaware of my embarrassment, Henrietta smiled, knowingly.

Tears staining his innocent face, Jeremy bent over and tugged at his drawers. Before he couldn’t attempt to cover his nakedness, I couldn’t resist touching his swollen, crimson bottom. It was actually hot to the touch. I shamelessly fingered his bare behind, but he twisted and writhed, trying to get his bottom away from me and get it covered again with his tight underpants. Then he ran for his velvet shorts, still sniffling in his humiliation and pain.

“Jeremy, go to your room and undress. Put on your nightshirt and then you may come out again.” He looked quite glad to be able to escape from us. I realized it was Henrietta’s policy to put the child to bed after being spanked.

Carefully placing the punishment strap on the table next to the silver tea service, my friend asked me if I would like a bit more tea, which I accepted, and sat back to compose myself. Henrietta excused herself and I saw her enter the large, Victorian bathroom just down the wide hall.

I wondered why she was in the bathroom so long, opening cupboards and running water. Then, what a shock! She came out carrying, on a bath towel, a large red, rubber cushion, which had a black, hard rubber nozzle sticking directly up from its center. I had never actually seen one before, but recognized it from a picture in a mail order catalog. She placed it on Jeremy’s stool and went back for more equipment: some Vaseline, a jar of glycerin ginger suppositories (I noted the label on the jar), a roll of toilet paper and a red rubber glove.

She was just pulling on the rubber glove when the boy crept back into the room clad only in his nightshirt. It was a short garment, barely reaching the top of his thighs.

At first he gazed up at his Nanny, then he stared at the rubber glove being installed and turned to gape at the enema cushion. I could sense his heart falling down into his stomach. I wondered if he was going to jump out the window. He obviously realized he was about to receive a public enema with me as a witness. He locked his gaze on the thick, black nozzle, already glistening with Vaseline, waiting for him to sit on it. His huge, round, pretty-boy eyes with their long, curling lashes welled with tears, and he murmured, “Puh-leeze, Nanny, wait until later! Don’t do it now!” The boy was clenching his legs together, his hands down in front of his stiffening little penis.

“No, Jeremy, we are going to do it right now. We are going to take our time and give you a prolonged, thorough enema, and Miss Marwood is going to assist me while I explain everything to her. If she wants to pursue a career as governess these are things she must know!” The child’s humiliation was unlike anything I had ever seen before.

Henrietta was arranging the towel, on which she placed the enema cushion, which was obviously bulging with hot water. She continued, “Come on, Jeremy, climb over my lap for your suppository stick!” She dragged the child back into the same spanking position and delicately lifted his nightshirt. His buttocks were still like a neon sunset. Jeremy was now remarkably submissive, considering what was going to happen to him.

She unscrewed the cover from the jar of Vaseline, and as she dipped a delicate finger into the slippery substance, called me over and asked me to spread the boy’s cheeks wide. He moaned in humiliation and tried to clench his buttocks, but now Henrietta’s finger made little circles around his little pucker, then entered the tight rectum, farther and farther.

After several minutes of this stimulation, Jeremy’s squirming and the thrusting of his bottom made me quite uncomfortable and I felt that blush once again overtake me. “Now it’s time for the ‘fig’, Jeremy,” Henrietta announced, withdrawing her finger and wiping it on a piece of tissue. I wondered what she meant by the expression “fig”, but she glanced at me and noticed my blushing confusion, and hastened to explain.

“Figging,” she said, “is a term generally associated with show horses. A ginger suppository is inserted which creates an irritation and feeling of intense heat, causing them to keep their tails quite high during a show. It is also a very effective stimulant when used in this manner. A recalcitrant child will do almost anything to relieve the sensations, and will almost welcome an enema to dispel the sensibilities they endure after being “figged”. (Henrietta later told me that occasionally she will “fig” a naughty child prior to his or her being strapped, the cheeks “flare out” and the posterior thrusts as if to meet the spanking strap.)

The implacable governess waited for the inevitable sensations to begin to overtake her young charge. His agitation was becoming quite noticeable, as was his pleading. He moved his bottom as if he were trying to expel the unwelcome suppository which was now creating an almost unbearable heat in his nether regions.

Jeremy was allowed to stand up, looking very outraged and nervous. She continued her explanation. The “Geyser Enema” bag contained hot soapsuds and water and that he was going to sit on it, and that his own weight would provide the pressure to deliver the enema up into his little bowels. She put her arm around the boy, who hung his head and began sobbing in humiliation.

“Would you believe it? We are still trying to get this stubborn child to go to the toilet as soon as he feels the urge, but no, he procrastinates, still wanting to play, and then becomes quite constipated. Of course, I then have to give him an enema. You refused to go ‘pottie’ this again this morning, didn’t you, young man?”

“Honest, Nanny, I tried,” the boy sobbed, “but I just couldn’t with you watching me like that!”

“And how long since you ‘sat on the bag?’”

“I dunno, Nanny.”

“Nearly a week, I think, and you still haven’t learned, so you have to be given an enema!” She guided him to the stool and the waiting enema cushion. “Now, Jeremy, you know what you have to do…I’m waiting.” and she nodded significantly at the spanking strap which was still within easy reach.

Jeremy turned back to the stool and crept backwards toward it, lifting his nightshirt in back. Henrietta held the greased nozzle and guided it between his spread buttocks to his tight anus and let him sink down until it entered. He was weeping steadily and looking miserable as he lowered himself on the slippery impalement, a millimeter at a time. I knew the half-inch-thick hard rubber nozzle was entering his small-body rectum and forcing a painful expression. “Oh, oh, it hurts, it hurts!”

“Sit down all the way and let it go in, you naughty child!

“It’s too hot, Nanny! It hurts me.”

But the moment the flaming skin of his freshly spanked bottom contacted the hot rubber he screamed and jumped off the stool.

At this she seized him by his shoulders and forced him back on the geyser ring, bending down behind him again to guide the fat black nozzle into his pulsing rectum. The hot nozzle slipped once again along the little boy crack between his buttocks and found the opening. “Ahhh, aahhh,” Jeremy cried, feeling once again the intruder’s unwelcome invasion. He managed to lower himself all the way down until his cheeks were sitting on the hot rubber cushion. Then she slipped the nightgown off his head and had him entirely nude and totally embarrassing, tears coursing down his pretty-boy cheeks.

His feet were on the floor to ease the sting of the hot rubber, and of the fat, stiff tube going up inside him. In this position, his thighs were splayed out and his little boy genitals were thrust forward in a public display. I had seen them before on boy babies being diapered, but this was my first close-up and prolonged view of the equipment of a ten-year-old male, which was obviously rising to the occasion.

Henrietta put her hand right under his scrotum and lifted it aside so she could reach the spigot, which she rotated, starting the flow. The boy’s stiffening penis held my rapt attention as he said, “Oooooow! It’s too hot, Nanny!” He tried vainly to rise, but Henrietta held him down.

“Stop making such a fuss, child, and sit right back down!”

I felt he was beginning to fill with the hot soapsuds enema. His face registered extreme discomfort; he had forgotten to be embarrassed at being completely nude in my presence, and was much too distressed to be aware that his “peenie” was now firmly erect, and much larger than I would have guessed a ten-year-old boy would have. Perhaps this was caused by the hot, filling fluid inside his rectum. At any rate it had grown from a limp two inches to a fully erect five inches, and it seemed to point accusingly directly at my blushing countenance.

“You see how he reacts to his enema, Annette?” my friend queried. “I’m afraid this naughty child is going to have to be closely watched, if he gets like this more often. I’ve noticed that recently he becomes quite excited while receiving his spankings, not to mention what you are witnessing upon his being given an enema. If you are to be a successful governess you will have to know how to deal with this sort of thing, Annette.”

I have always thought it a perfect profession for me to be a governess, and had recently accepted a position as a Nanny for a family with three children: a boy, also ten, and two girls, nine and eleven. This visit was an enlightenment to me, and I rationalized that I was learning how I might implement some of Henrietta’s methods with my own charges should the necessity arise. (Betsy, the nine-year-old, was notoriously costive and I knew that I would soon be giving her her first enema to correct the problem.) But back to the present.

Jeremy was now totally humiliated, hearing his governess discuss his rampantly rigid little rod, begging to be allowed to rise from his seat of torment, and expel the hot, painful enema.

I finally found voice to respond to my friend’s exclamation. “I… I didn’t realize…” my voice faltered. “Jeremy is so… so… young. Are you telling me that I, too, will have to deal with such blatant and unrestrained displays in my own experience?”

“I’m afraid, so, my dear,” Henrietta clucked. “And you must learn how to ‘take things in hand’, so to speak. In Jeremy’s case, I am going to allow him to go to the bathroom to expel the enema, but he must be watched closely so that he does not resort to the evils of onanism in order to relieve the tension he is so vividly showing us. You are quite welcome to accompany us for the final act of this performance, or you may depart, as you wish, but I will be more than happy to aid in your education. I may have to restrain him in his bed so that his hands do not roam uncontrollably. As you are going to soon have a young boy to supervise closely you should be aware of all the options open to you. There ARE ways…”

I assured her that I truly needed to know how to deal with a youngsters’ proclivity to self-abuse. (She must have seen me blush again as I thought of my own childhood, and the furtive, solitary pleasures I, myself, had discovered at the age of eight. Therefore, though I knew that young girls quietly experimented with their own little femininities, was blushing at the thought of dealing with the discovery and confrontation of similar activities in a young boy, which was obviously much more easily observed.)

She carefully replaced the nightgown over the child’s head and shoulders, and, helping him rise from the enema cushion, placed a slim finger tightly against his rectum to retain the solution until they reached the bathroom. And although the nightgown now covered the boy’s turgid member so that I could no longer see it, I was certain that Henrietta’s left hand, still under the nightgown, but in front, as if to stabilize their movements to the bathroom, must certainly be in contact with Jeremy’s youthful “manhood”. A wicked picture flashed through my mind: the boy was providing an embarrassing “handle” which was being gripped by his young governess in order to lead him to his next ordeal. It excited me to think of my having to deal with my own new charge, young Ronald, in a similar manner, should I have the opportunity.

Henrietta concluded, “You must lean how to deal with a boy’s erection, especially after he has been given an enema, but fortunately, male physiology prevents a boy from passing urine while in a state of excitation. The bladder is effectively sealed off if he is erect. A gift of nature, my dear, as you will no-doubt discover when you take your first lover… or do you have one already?” It was a sly look she gave me and I blushed.

My friend knew that I had just turned eighteen, and had lived the sheltered life in my family’s elegant mansion, had attended only private girl’s schools and had not truly had the opportunity to, well, become… knowledgeable

I blushed furiously, giving her the obvious answer… I was still a virgin and had never been intimate with a young man, much as I fervently pray to be. But, as mother always said, “all in due time.” Henrietta’s knowing smile told me I need not answer aloud.

As Henrietta and Jeremy took their leave, I too, decided to depart, much as would have liked to continue with participation in this unexpected event. I thanked my friend, admonished Jeremy to be a good boy (he was obviously griping with having the enema still being held) and left.

Diary, I am thrilled at having been privy to such an incredible experience, and look forward to my new job as governess for Ronald, Elizabeth and Jane. And you, dear Diary, will be the first to know of my own experiences dealing with these three lovely children for whom I have been employed to manage and handle their most personal activities and discipline.

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