by Jack Crawford
16-year-old Oscar Somerset looked down and found it impossible to have imagined he would ever be in this position. He was standing meekly as the young woman seated on the edge of his bed right in front of him was unbuttoning his trousers. Worse, he knew she was preparing to take him over her lap and spank his bottom, yet here he was standing in place like a frightened mouse cornered by a prowling cat. Worse still, he had not felt like a naughty little boy since... well, he couldn't remember.
It is 1912! And in this modern day and age, here I stand waiting for this woman to spank my bottom as if I was a misbehaving 6-year-old, thought the chagrined young man. He stood nervously watching and waiting after having argued first with the woman and subsequently with his father. Marcus Somerset was Oscar's only surviving parent, who had made it abundantly clear that Oscar had no choice in the matter: Miss Alma Davies, recently arrived from England, was in charge, and if she thought his son deserved a smacked bottom, then a smacked bottom was his to be felt.
Oscar was thankful they were up in his bedroom on the second floor, because if any of his friends knew he now had a governess, he'd just die of shame. And if they knew he was going to be spanked, he would be ridiculed right out of society! Thinking about the negative possibilities only made the situation worse. That, and his suddenly released trousers that were now puddled about his ankles. The recalcitrant young man blushed as he realized his drawers were now on display for his 24-year-old governess to see.
"Let's get this unpleasantness over with, shall we?" the determined woman announced in her clipped British accent. She clearly was not asking for either Oscar's opinion or agreement; it was more a statement of fact. The young woman proved it to be a fact by tugging the lad's arm with authority, upending him over her lap. She also did not act as if what she was about to do was unpleasant at all, at least not for her.
Oscar landed with a grunt and fought the urge to struggle free. Having fruitlessly exhausted his arguments, the young man, now in a ripe and ready to be spanked position, held his tongue and lay lifeless across the crisp pressed linen of Miss Alma Davies' skirt. There was no way he would give this uppity Brit bitch the satisfaction of watching him struggle. He vowed to take his punishment quietly and frustrate the Hell out of her and her Royally juvenile efforts. The boy smirked at his use of 'Royally juvenile' and the fact that Alma was from England. Alma: he rolled the name across his imaginary tongue as if the name itself was sour.
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
Her hand was harder than he could ever have imagined! Oscar had to catch himself to restrain any verbal acknowledgement of the impact of her spanks. He concentrated intently to show no reaction, but only a dozen or so swats into the spanking, he began squirming and his legs started to shake. Whether it was from the sting of the swats, the shame of his position or the frustration of it all, he didn't know, but the hopefully moldable lump of clay Miss Alma Davies was spanking was showing every sign that her efforts were not only noticed, but effective.
"Right!" snorted the governess, "now it's time to get down to business!"
Oscar gasped loudly as the woman tugged his drawers down to bare his bottom.
"Nooo!" cried the young man, who would soon find it was not only his resolve that was melting quickly, but his ability to remain even remotely dignified was evaporating as well.
"One always spanks on the bare bottom," snorted the governess. "Your trousers did not misbehave and your drawers did not insult me, so why should they be spanked? You, young sir, are in need of a lesson, not your clothing!" And as her short speech concluded, the process of baring his behind was equally resolved. The woman was nothing if not efficient.
The governess' hand resumed the mission assigned: beating better manners into the young man over her lap. Her spanks now landed on bare flesh, sending the twin pale moons shaking and shimmying with each fervent wallop. The white crests of those bottom cheeks were also turning various shades of hot pink with several splotches of brilliant red beginning to appear.
Oscar found his voice and began to plead his apologies and promises.
"I'm sorry! I'll behave!" he whined as the staccato of spanks continued to rain down on his defenseless backside.
The sounds of the swats were louder and crisper than before now that hand was landing on bare flesh. The governess did not want to break the lad, but she did have to make an impression so she spanked him by hand until his voice began to quaver. That, as far as she was concerned, was her cue to stop. Leaving Oscar in his spanking posture over her lap, Miss Alma Davies addressed the young man.
"As we have only met just today," she began, "you are being let off lightly."
Lightly? silently wondered Oscar as his bottom throbbed.
"I hope you understand that we have now firmly established just who is in charge and that I have the full support of your father." The governess paused and then added, "And it is not just his support. He has expressed, very clearly, that he expects me to teach you and that he expects you to learn. I have full authority to achieve that goal by any means necessary." She gave him a meaty swat to his already sore bottom. "Are you listening to me?"
"YEEOOWW! Yes, Miss!"
"Mark my words, young sir," continued the governess with an intensity that now made the lad shiver with worry. "If I have to thrash you morning, noon, and night every single day, then I shall! And be warned: you were let off lightly. I have many tools that can capture the attention, and demand the obedience of any young man."
She helped Oscar to his feet and though she did not show it, she was amused to see him rub his bottom and pout. "Put your clothing in order," she snapped as she stood up. "We can chat later, but I have to unpack my things right now." Like a summer breeze, Alma Davies floated effortlessly from the room, closing the door behind her.
Now alone in the privacy of his own room, Oscar turned to check his reflection in a mirror. There was a lingering scent of lilacs that he assumed had come from the governess. Muttering several unflattering epithets regarding his new governess, Oscar winced slightly as he ran his fingers over his pink and still reddening bottom. If it had been Miss Davies' intent to put Oscar in the mindset of a younger boy by hand spanking his bare bottom then she could count her efforts as having been a mission accomplished.
Pulling his trousers back up and buttoning the pants, Oscar fumed with righteous indignation over the outrageous treatment at that woman's hand... quite literally, though he failed to recognize the irony in that thought. Now that his clothes were in order, he checked himself in the mirror. Staring intently into the reflection of his eyes, Oscar silently reprimanded himself for giving in to the sting of the hand spanking, vowing next time to keep his mouth shut, and never give his governess the satisfaction of hearing him say sorry.
Oscar had no way of knowing how futile those efforts would be. For now, however, he regained a modicum of dignity by making that promise to himself. With that unpleasant business behind him, he thought he would wander down to the kitchen and see if Cook had anything he could snack on. A sixteen-year old's attention could waiver easily at almost any provocation, and filling his stomach had just become a primary mission.
At the bottom of the stairs he could hear voices coming from his father's study. "We've been acquainted and some of the ground rules set," he heard Miss Davies say to his father. "I have little doubt that sterner measures will be necessary in the very near future."
"No doubt," Oscar's father replied as the young man lurked outside the study to overhear the conversation. "I'm afraid I've been much too lax with my son since his mother passed. Obviously, I haven't done him any favors by letting him get away with way too much."
"Careful, sir," the governess said lightly, "or you may discover that you are making a convincing argument to feel the cane yourself."
"Ho, ho!" chuckled Marcus Somerset. "You really are your mother's daughter! Rest assured, I would rather keep the fond memories of the cane growing up, not the painful reality it would present today."
"Of course, sir," Alma Davies agreed. "I'll just go back to settling in." Almost immediately the governess came through the study door and turned to go up the stairs and she bumped right into Oscar. After a flustered moment she asked, "Eavesdropping, young sir?"
Equally startled, Oscar stammered, "N-no, Miss. Um… just on my way to see Cook and see what I might find as a snack."
"I don't believe dinner will be so distant that you need something to eat right now and I am certain Cook is busy preparing that meal. You don't want to ruin your appetite, nor do you want to interfere with Cook's duties. Perhaps you could find something useful to occupy your time until dinner?"
Oscar bristled and very nearly replied with an unfortunate and potentially regrettable comment, but he was interrupted by his father voice.
"Oscar? Come in here, son."
The son gave the new governess a quick smile, perhaps it was more of a smirk, but he disappeared quickly into the study as his father had requested.
"Have a seat," offered the older man who chuckled as he added, "unless you'd rather stand."
Not about to be the butt of the joke that had been passed between Miss Davies and his father, Oscar flopped down onto one of the chairs positioned in front of his father's huge wooden desk. "I couldn't help but hear you say something about Miss Davies and her mother. Did you know her?" he asked.
The elder Somerset picked up his briarwood pipe, tamped the tobacco down and lit it. After drawing some air through it, the father exhaled a satisfying cloud of smoke and nodded.
"Indeed, I did. Miss Davies' mother was my governess for the two years I was in England with your grandfather. I was trying to reach her to take up the job as governess for you when I discovered that she had passed. Fortunately, her daughter, Miss Davies, came highly recommended."
"I still don't see why I need a nanny," noted the surly young man.
"Miss Davies is not a nanny, Oscar," corrected his father. "She is a governess and she is here to broaden your education and instill a little discipline. Lord knows I'm too busy with the bank and railroad to spend enough time to do it myself." The older man looked at his son pointedly and said, "I'm sorry it has taken me this long to come to that conclusion."
"Well she treats me like she is a nanny," complained Oscar.
"I suspect, son, that you are going to learn this the hard way, but I will give you some free advice that is based on my own experience," the older man rasped through a haze of pipe smoke. "You will find life to be much more pleasant if you just do what Miss Davies says and do it when she says."
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