The Governess


nude governessAt first glance an outsider might have wondered which of the two young women was the governess and which her charge. Save for the fact that Eugenia was standing bare-bottomed in the corner that is.

Constance, the older woman, was barely 23 and had been Eugenia’s governess for little over a year. Although quite tall, she was still quite girlish and there was something wanton about the way she allowed the sun to wash through her red hair as she sat demurely on the window sill.

Eugenia stood in just her bodice and shift, with her draws let down in a clumsy pile around her knees. The back of her shift had been pinned right up so that there was nothing to cover her bottom or obstruct further spanking.

Constance glanced over the top of her book to study Eugenia at her place in the corner. She felt a familiar sense of warmth at the scene as now fond memories danced at the back of her mind. Her 18-year-old charge could barely contain her fidgeting and even from the window, Constance could see that Eugenia was still blushing for England. The peony shade of the back of her ears almost rivalled the strawberry sheen that coloured the lower curves of her exposed bottom.

The girl was an absolute joy to spank. At barely five feet tall with tawny brown curls she was the picture of innocent youth and her cheeky defiant demeanour never failed to assert itself whenever she was due to be corrected. In short, she always rebelled and always submitted without Constance having to resort to calling the Master.

This time the spanking had been a harsh one and Constance had plied the hairbrush for over 20 minutes before a sobbing Eugenia had begged for forgiveness. Now she would spend an hour or two in the corner until Constance was ready to spank her again. Perhaps she would employ the short strap later, she mused.

The best part was that she had all afternoon until tea time to spank the girl as often as she liked; one of the perks of a position that she had come to love.

When Constance had first been reduced to the status of a governess she had considered throwing herself in the river; the shame of it being too much to bear. Her father had lost all his money on a venture connected in some way to Kenya; not that he had been as weak as her. He had spent the last of his funds on a trip to Africa to save the family, but had succumbed to a foul tropical disease, never to return.

A position as governess had been 22-year-old Constance’s only recourse. In fact as an educated woman, it was all she was cut out for. The only doubt had been her experience of discipline.

“What do you know of it?” The Master had asked at her interview.

“I was… corrected as a child,” she had stuttered.

“Eugenia is no child. My ward is a very headstrong young woman. She will need a very firm hand,” The Master had replied, doubt creeping into his face.

“I was corrected… well, not just as a child. I was…” Constance had blushed.

“I see,” The Master had softened a little. “When were you last spanked?”

Constance wanted to die. How could he ask such a thing of her?

“Come now. You are presenting yourself as a professional here,” the Master had pressed. “You must speak of such things.”

“I was sp… manually corrected not a year since by my own governess. Also I was… I… that is, Miss Markham was a believer in the… birch.”

“Excellent. Were you required to construct it?”

Constance had nodded.

“And the cane?”

Again Constance had nodded with a vivid blush.

“I think you will suit us very well,” the Master had smiled.

Things had not started well. The first spanking had been a trial. Eugenia had fled to the Master to protest. That was the day that they had both learnt how it was going to be. After that it had got easier. Now Constance rather enjoyed Eugenia’s show of resistance.

Constance glanced again at the curve of Eugenia’s pert young bottom. She had so often been placed in such a position and in those days she had not always had the luxury of the school room to stand vigil.

Her own Governess, Miss Markham, had often required that she stand nose to the wall at the top of the main staircase; a position that placed her in full view of most of the household.

Worse still she was sometimes set to stand in the parlour or even the lower hallway where even visitors might see her.

“Constance you have defied Miss Markham,” she remembered her father saying.

On this and other such occasions she could not speak. It was all she could do to stand before her father trembling and studying the carpet.

“I have warned you before, if you insist on your short comings gaining my attention then attend to them I will. Now let down your draws and bend over the back of that chair.”

Constance could not explain it, but the friendly fear of her father’s words sent a pleasant tingle down her spine and even in her shame she never felt more at home. Sometimes alone in bed she would relive the scene, only sometimes it was Mr Vine the curate who took her father’s role.

It was always strange to fold herself half naked over the back of the chair. No matter how often she submitted her father always scolded her for not keeping her legs together.

“Over a little more Constance dear, I want your bottom uppermost and well rounded. The very echo of the leather scroll,” he would say. She could never look at the scrolled curve of the back of that chair without thinking of these times.

Then there was the matter-of-factness in the way father would tap the cane on her bare bottom as he lined up for the stroke. Then when it came, the first cut was always like the fiery sword of justice; so painful and so deserved.

Father never rushed his canings and invariably stroke followed stroke until she wept an apology. Then they would talk for a while, first about her sin, but then about her studies and how she was getting on. Constance always felt close to her father at times like these. Not that she could ever quite relax.

“I suppose we should continue,” Father would say after they had chatted for a while.

“Yes Papa,” she would whisper.

Then the cane would score her bottom more harshly yet for some time to come. Almost as if the first caning had been nothing more than a warm up.

Afterwards she always felt cleansed, although mortified to be sent to the corner, sometimes remaining there until the maid came to light the lamps for the evening.

Back in the present Constance looked again at Eugenia.

“Come here girl,” she whispered.

Eugenia glanced over her shoulder and tried to contain her glowering. She knew that further insolence or any hint of rebellion would be soundly dealt with. It was a challenge though; Constance had again taken up the hairbrush causing Eugenia to buck her knees and bounce in a frustrated protest.

“Please Ma’am, can’t we…”

“There is time enough for the tawes,” Constance said evenly, “I want to tickle you with this a little more first, but if you are good it will just be the slipper at bedtime.”

Eugenia’s jaw dropped and she worked her mouth in silent protest.

“What was that?” Constance asked sharply.

“Nothing Ma’am,” Eugenia said quickly.

“Are you sure? We could always carry on tomorrow with a little trip to the woods to collect birch twigs.”

“No Ma’am… I mean, please Ma’am, I’ll be good,” Eugenia gabbled the words tripping over themselves.

“Let me hear that you are contrite then,” Constance said, a small smile playing about her lips as she fingered the edge of the black wooden hairbrush.

Constance’s remembered the day Lady Houghton and her two daughters had come for tea. She had been made to stand before them dressed only in her bodice and stockings. How she had desperately tried to hide the dark triangle of her sex with her nervous clutching hands.

“Constance, let us hear your contrition,” Miss Markham had said.

Constance had frantically tugged at the front of her bodice in a forlorn attempt to cover herself. “Please Ma’am.”

“Constance,” Miss Markham had warned.

Lady Houghton looked imperious and disapproving. Her daughters, both little more than Constance’s age, exchanged amused looks with one another and tried not to laugh.

“Oh please,” Constance whispered and then seeing Miss Markham’s glare, “please Miss Markham, please sp-spank my… oh must I… oh… b-bare b-bottom soundly as I richly deserve.”

The Houghton girls had collapsed into fits of giggles. “Wait until I tell the Wendover’s,” the youngest had said gleefully, extracting tears from Constance.

“Come here then girl,” Miss Markham had snapped.

Then as Lady Houghton and the girls had watched, Constance had been bent over Miss Markham’s lap and her bare bottom spanked hard until she was crying gently.

“You’ll get the rest later, now get to the corner,” Miss Markham had snapped.

Now she had taken Miss Markham’s role.

“Please Ma’am,” Eugenia was saying, and then she sighed heavily, “Please Ma’am, soundly spank my bare bottom until I am very, very sorry as I so richly deserve. Then once I am fully contrite, please be sure to spank me further…”

Constance didn’t care for Eugenia’s sullen air.

“I want sincerity from you, or you will repeat this whilst standing on a chair downstairs in the servants’ hall,” Constance scolded.

Eugenia’s eyes went wide and then she swallowed.

Constance had her repeat the full mantra five times before she was satisfied.

“Very well, I shall. Now get across my knee at once.”

Eugenia cuddled into Constance’s lap and tried to feel resentful. However, the truth was, she had been much happier since Constance had come. If only all her spankings were as private as this. If only they didn’t happen quite so often or were quite so hard. But then Eugenia supposed that if her spankings weren’t so difficult, she would not benefit from them and she would revert to the lonely unhappy girl she used to be.

The hairbrush cracked down on her bottom with a bite extracting a yelp. Not that she had time to ponder it as the first spank was soon followed by a rapid flurry of others until Eugenia’s bottom was on fire again.

“Ah-ha, a-huh, a-huh, a-huh,” she sobbed, but her second spanking had only just begun.


It had been a long afternoon for Eugenia and every part of her bottom felt like she had been sitting on the fire that the maid was now making up. The wretched maid took her time while she pretended not to look at her young mistress standing in the corner with her cherry red swollen bottom on display. It was so difficult to be snotty to a maid who has seen you standing in the corner after a spanking.

“If you ever get finished there, will you send out to the icehouse for something to put on Miss Eugenia’s behind,” Constance said dryly.

“Eh… yes Ma’am,” the maid said with a start as she blushingly tried to give the fire her full attention.

“Alright Eugenia, you may go to your room,” Constance said.

Eugenia wanted to die as she cringed at the wall. She was more than a little stiff as she turned around and couldn’t help wincing as she was finally allowed to rub her bottom. As she did so she caught the maid’s eye and cursed the devil that floor did not give way under her. The damn girl was laughing at her. A small sob escaped Eugenia and she pressed her chin to her chest.

“I didn’t say you could rub, or repair your clothing. All that is required is that you go to your room,” Constance scolded.

Then Constance pursed her lips in amusement as Eugenia’s jaw dropped.

“Well?” Constance snapped.

“Yes Ma’am.” Eugenia wished she could shrivel and die. It was a long walk to her room with her bare bottom displayed and the evidence of her spanking in plain view. It was a given that half the servants will have contrived to be on route that evening and there was nothing she could do about it to lessen her shameful exposure. Running was a spanking offence and anyway any rapid movement was hindered by her draws around her knees, not to mention the persistent throbbing in her bottom.

To make matters worse Constance followed her out of the schoolroom and watched her shuffle away. Perhaps as an afterthought Constance said in a loud voice to the maid, “oh, and send word to the cook that Eugenia is going to bed without supper tonight, but have someone set a place at the mantle for breakfast as I do believe she will not be able to sit for a day or two yet.”

Somewhere someone laughed at this announcement and Eugenia cringed again.

Constance watched for only as long as was needed to ensure that Eugenia went off to bed and then she executed a dignified turn and swept down the staircase. To be openly amused was not done, but she knew well enough that Eugenia was so embarrassed she wanted to die. After all it had been ever thus under Miss Markham’s tutelage.


The Master was waiting in the inner part of his study beyond two great outer doors.

“You are late,” he said.

“Yes Sir, I do apologise, I had to attend to Eugenia.” Constance stood upright before him her hands clasped daintily to her front and her eyes averted.

“Should I make allowances then?” He was slim and dark and when he spoke her eyes were drawn to his mouth, which managed to be cruel yet attractive at one and the same time. The roughness of his suit material would have looked cheap on a lesser man, but here in his domain it suited him. Then she realised he was waiting for her to reply.

“No Sir,” she whispered.

“Then you will disrobe.”

She felt as if she was falling and her heart stopped. It always did at such times. Then pulling herself together she obeyed.

He watched her intently as she slowly, reluctantly and carefully removed every stitch of her elaborate clothing.

“Do I need to number your sins,” he said once she was fully nude.

“No Sir,” she breathed, one arm moving to cover breasts while the other clamped over her sex.

He studied her for a moment longer and then tossed an embroidered pillow onto the green leather divan. She knew what to do and moved to kneel upon it and then with one last glance in his direction she lay face down so that her rather full bare bottom was elevated by the pillow.

He strolled towards her, his eyes drilling into her flesh so that she hardly dared look and then crouching down her secured her wrists and ankles lightly with white silken scarfs that he had set nearby. She could have slipped them easily with a small effort, but they were not to bind her. They would serve to prevent momentary lapses should she reach back or kick her legs. Also they were a symbol of her submission.

“Tonight I will be cruel I think,” he said darkly as he moved out of line of sight and into the shadows.

She shuddered, not much more than a fortnight before at her last correction he had told he would go easy with her. She had not been able to sit down for three days. Even the servants had noticed.

On that occasion the vicar had seen her in the woods with Eugenia. The girl had been naked but for her shift, which was a natural state of attire while she had collected birch withes for a correction. The Master had approved, but the vicar had been distressed. A gentle reminder of discretion had been called for.

This time she had been caught looking at one of his forbidden flagellation books. So be it, he would indulge her curiosity.

On his desk he had already arranged the Lochgelly Tawes, a governess birch and a nilgiri cane. He hadn’t decided to use them all, but at least two will grace her bottom, he thought.

He was a decisive sort, so he fixed on the tawes almost at once. A bottom tender for the birch, he decided, with room and time enough for the cane if she should require it.

He moved behind her, the leather slick against his palm as he drew it through his fingers. She knew the sound and was already breathing rapidly.

“Are you ready,” he murmured.

“Yes Sir,” she said with more conviction than she felt.

Raising his arm he brought the strap down hard. The leather sang with fire and she clenched her teeth.

“Excellent,” he said and struck her again firmly across both rounds of her bottom.

The two vivid red bands merged and were raised a little on her flesh. Her breathing, already audible became ragged.

He nodded at her fortitude and then lay on a dozen or so leisurely strokes.

“Two, no three dozen I think,” he said firmly.

“Yes Sir.” She lay panting, already small tears touching her cheeks.

“You may count the rest, how many was that?”

She didn’t know. Nor did he, she suspected. “A dozen Sir,” she offered.

“Less surely, shall we say four?” And he struck down hard so that the leather blazed in her bottom.

“Yah, but Sir… it was…” It was all she could do not to cry openly now.

“Are you arguing?”

“No Sir.”

“Let’s call it three then and you’ll take it again as you didn’t count,” he said and seared her bottom where the curve of her rump met her thigh tops.

“Three,” she gasped, her breath hissing in and out through her teeth.

“No you weren’t listening, you have had three; that was four.” He was barely aware of the fiction. It was unimportant. All that mattered was the discipline. “You will take it again.”

“Yes Sir.” He would master her well tonight and this realisation broke the damn and she began to sob.

The sixteenth or seventeenth searing lash bit into the crowns of both her buttocks.

“Four Sir,” she groaned and began to splutter earnest sobs through her clenched teeth.

“Better,” he said striking again.

“Yah…five Sir.”


The pain sang in her bottom and she was wild with the idea that he was watching her. After the strapping, he had birched her. She always marvelled at the way the birch could bite her with such small intricate pain on top of the bigger blazing tang of the leather.

The birch was deceptive, devious even. It always seemed small and bearable; a relief even after the strap, but then the sting always grew to overtake her. So it had proved this time and after only a dozen swipes she was wriggling in her bonds and begging.

Now she was in the corner with two red hot coals where her bottom used to be, her bottom thoroughly grazed at his hands. For the first 20 minutes and more, it had been good to cry. She felt clean and forgiven. Not that there was any guarantee that he was finished. It was the latter idea that now filled her mind.

Constance could hear the Master behind her, his breath like some benevolent dragon. She knew he was watching, looking at her bare bottom, admiring it perhaps, she hoped. She blushed and tried to believe that she wished she was somewhere else.

“I should have sent you out to gather that birch as you did with Eugenia,” he said.

She gaped into the wall and became a little light-headed.

“It would have done you good and curbed your pride a little,” he continued.

The blood pulsed in her head in unison with her throbbing bottom. The threat filled her with a sick-dread, she told herself, but she was excited nonetheless. She thought of the times she had seen a chastened Eugenia reaching up to cut a twig so that the hem of her shift lifted to expose her bare bottom; a tight smooth white bottom for Constance to paint red and engrave with a texture. Sometimes she imagined herself being forced to submit so. At such times it was always the Master who commanded her.

“What do you say to that?” He pressed her, his voice like dark silk. “What if the vicar had seen you half-naked in the forest?”

“Oh Sir…” She could hardly draw breath.

“Supper will be interesting for you, I believe, then we will return here for your caning,” he decided at last. “You’ll join Eugenia at the mantle come breakfast tomorrow.”

Constance blushed still more and shivered. Her Master had spoken.


12 Responses to “The Governess”

  1. 1 George

    Such fathers are badly needed.
    I wish to meet this precious kind of family, in Real Life.
    God willing, asap 😉

  2. DJ,
    excellent story, possibly Victorian or Edwardian times, very unlikely today, such a pity. 😀

  3. 3 Sweetsong

    I love your governess stories! More please!

  4. Thank you, Damian, for this well-researched, literate and very – er – ‘firming’ story!

    Your blog is quite exceptional in both its quality and its versatility, and you are an excellent author.

    Thank you for taking the time and trouble to bring us these amazing stories.

    (=) (=)

  5. Great story to start the day with, excellent as always. I love it when the spankee has to ask for her punishment: Please Ma’am, soundly spank my bare bottom until I am very, very sorry as I so richly deserve.
    The role of Governess has been so mythologised that it is difficult to get much idea now about what their role really was. In spanko fantasy they’re nearly always in early middle age, whereas your Constance’s 23 seems much closer to fact.

  6. 6 DJ

    Thanks for that very positive response and one email which said ‘nice to see a traditional DJ Black story again,’ – the person concerned also said other nice things but wished to remain anon – thanks 🙂

    A few facts of the Governess – as OFG says – governesses were invariably young – between 20 and 30 at most (with rare exceptions no doubt). They were usually from very good families, but had to work for sme reason or another (and it was often a fall in station).

    There seems to be no fixed age for their charges – but generally governesses were in charge of teens and nannys pre-teens.

    Also in good families in the 19th century it was mostly girls who were educated at home as boys went off to schools such as Eton.

    A girl might find herself under the tutelage of a overness until either she was amriied or ‘came out’ – the average of coming out was perhaps 17 (although this got later as time went on apparently) and 19 for marriage (again later by Edwardian times).

    The storyabove is deliberately timeless – but wa sintended to evoke an Victorian/Edwardian atmosphere.

    Thanks again. 🙂


  7. 7 Scarlet

    I loved this story, too. You write so well about so many things. I am convinced you never sleep.

  8. 8 cassis

    I’m moved to delurk….. I agree with Scarlet that you do write SO well. Some of the dreck found on the internet is not to be believed, but I know I’ll never find that here. Thank you!

  9. 9 Poppy

    When I say that it took me ages to read this story because I kept going off to hide I am sure you will understand what a compliment that is.

  10. DJ got all of it right, didn’t he? 🙂

  11. 11 danielle

    as a spankee ive been spanked a lot but never with a cane for some reason i am terrified of the cane weird uh great story

  1. 1 - Chross Guide To The Spanking Internet

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