“Yes?” said the lady very suddenly.
“M-Miss?” gasped Edward, finding his gaze suddenly locked with hers.
“You were looking at me, Master Edward,” intoned his governess gravely. Her fathomless eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Can you explain?”
“I— I—” Edward’s mouth worked, but for a moment no sound came. “Miss Violetta,” he attempted, “I meant no disrespect. I had been expecting Mrs. Jeffers, I suppose, and I, I...” He trailed off helplessly.
“Mm,” she said without moving those glossy red lips. Then the corners of her mouth curved up in faint amusement. “Perhaps I begin to see some of the propensities which led to your expulsion from school.”
Edward’s breath stopped in his throat. His pulse suddenly seemed to shake his whole frame, and his face went scarlet. For a moment he could not speak. “M-Miss Violetta,” he stammered at last, “I-I-I—”
“Oh, there’s no need to deny it, staring little Master Edward,” she said archly, showing a bleak smile at his discomfiture. “Surely you don’t imagine that when a chronic masturbator is sent home from school, the headmaster has not already sent ahead to London an elliptically worded letter in the early post?”
He gaped at her shocking bluntness, wide-eyed, his heart fluttering distantly within his frozen chest. His whole body felt shrunken and shriveled and small before this all-knowing, faintly smirking lady. “B-b-but, Miss V-Violetta—” he attempted.
“I said not to deny it!” she snapped, suddenly springing to her feet so that her heavy skirts now swayed and rustled from the elegant swell below the delicate hand span of her waist. There was a spot of color now in the pale cream of each cheek. She was very fair in complexion but not thin-skinned, he saw, and the realization that he had made the color come into that previously self-possessed face terrified him.
“I’m sorry, Miss!” he gasped. “I only meant—”
Miss Violetta resumed her seat slowly, her jaw firm. Her nostrils flared, but her voice was deliberate. “Lower your trousers, Master Edward.”
“B-beg pardon, Miss Violetta?” he squeaked.
Her dark eyes fixed him helpless before her. She moistened her lips, and then continued softly, “When your governess gives a command, young sir, it had best be obeyed.”
“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 penis 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 cocked 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 cock 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.