Dear Mr Brandon


1900 nudeLady Constance stopped at the corner of the rose garden and the small Tudor-style maze at the south side of the house. Since her elder sister and cousin had got married, life at the Hall had been somewhat lacking. In fact her only diversion was her growing obsession with Mr Brandon who served as tutor to her young cousin Prudence.

Well obsession was too strong a word, perhaps interest was a better one. After all where was the harm? John Brandon was the only presentable young man in the county since Cousin Michael’s friends had all gone back to their regiments to fight the Boers.

Constance sighed and let her thoughts dwell on the man. True he was a rather dour sort and only a little above a middling height. But he was dark-haired broad in the shoulder, a build emphasised by the dark black frock coats he tended to wear. She also liked the way that he eschewed facial hair; apart that was for the heavy sideburns that framed the heavy features of his face and set off his steel grey eyes. She smiled dreamily as she blinked against the sun momentarily distracted.

Nevertheless, she still had the choice between a turn of the roses or a lonely stroll through the maze. Neither for the moment was that appealing and she sighed heavily. She wondered idly if Mr Brandon and Prudence had finished in the schoolroom for the day and whether they might be induced to join her.

Not for the first time she wondered that Prudence had a tutor at all. After all she was now 18 and if further studies had been required, then why hadn’t her uncle, Lord Somerset, engaged a governess? Prudence was not to be drawn on the subject and Mr Brandon tended to keep himself to himself when not teaching. It was such a bore. Well she supposed it was to do with her young cousin’s total inadequacy in her studies and the fact that her wilful ways had led to the departure of three governesses’ already that year.

The dichotomy of the maze versus the rose garden lay unresolved before her and Constance sighed again. She pursed her full lips and tossed a careless brown curl from her face. Perhaps she could go to the schoolroom and offer the scholars some tea? They could hardly refuse that could they? After all it was almost three o’clock.

She paused only to smooth down her ankle length white cotton and lace garden dress before absently twirling her parasol. Tea on the terrace was just the thing, she decided, and this time Mr Brandon would join her, she was quite determined about that.


As Constance made her way up the passage to the schoolroom and through the half open door she could hear the low tones of Mr Brandon’s voice. He sounded serious, stern even, the timbre of his voice resplendent with authority. By contrast Prudence sounded shrill and uncertain in her reply and despite the door being open she sounded somewhat muffled. Perhaps she was being scolded, Constance considered. She found the idea strangely thrilling. So in anticipation of eavesdropping Constance slowed to a creep and approached the door carefully to peep in.

The sight that greeted her stole away her breath and set her pulse racing. For just inside the door Prudence was bent double over the back of an easy chair with her skirts pinned up into the small of her back. Nor was this all, for her bloomers were unfastened and had been drawn down to well below her knees so that her big moon of a bottom was quite bare and exposed at the uppermost of her person.

Constance sucked in a breath and stifled it with a hand at her mouth as she drew back, but not so far that she could not continue to peer into the room. From the retreated vantage she troubled herself to take in every detail of the scene within.

Prudence was whimpering as well she might and as she lay prone her bottom twitched and squirmed under Mr Brandon’s indecent gaze. The bottom itself was a strawberry red and marred with little scrapes that here and there had risen to a criss-cross of small welts. These, Constance decided, must have been caused by the stout rod of birch in her teacher’s hand, a fearsome object as thick as a man’s wrist and almost a yard long.

Constance recognised the rod at once as a governess birch, such as the one she had been threatened with six or seven years before when she still yet had need of such guidance. In those days once the imminent threat of such a punishment had passed she had always thrilled at the idea of it and part of her had always regretted that she had never experienced it.

“Now Prudence,” Mr Brandon intoned as he moved behind his charge, “You were warned were you not?”

“Yes Sir,” Prudence squeaked, her voice indeed muffled on account of her head being half buried in the seat of the padded easy chair.

Constance idly wondered what Prudence had done, but at that moment she really didn’t care. As she watched Mr Brandon raised his arm and brought the birch rod down full force with a loud swish-crack that was only outdone by the yell issuing from Prudence’s throat.

Constance jumped at the sound and hugged herself. But she couldn’t tear her eyes from the rocking motion of Prudence’s bare bottom as she absorbed the stroke.

“I’m sorry Mr Brandon, so sorry,” Prudence wept, but her entreaties were to no avail as another harsh stroke landed and then another.

Constance marvelled at Prudence’s meekness, a trait that usually evaded the quite haughty young woman, and she smiled. Nor did she have any sympathy for the ragged rawness of her cousin’s bare bottom and how sore it looked. Indeed she silently hoped that the punishment was just beginning and that the miscreant would be flogged for an age.

In the event the birching lasted another 15 strokes or so, although no doubt to Prudence that was indeed an age. By then of course Prudence was lost in sobbing and her bottom looked as if she had ridden a porcupine over jumps at that the county fair. Constance doubted she would sit down for days to come.

“Let that be a lesson to you Prudence,” Mr Brandon said sharply.

Prudence didn’t answer, a situation tolerated for only a minute before Brandon said again, “I trust you have learned your lesson girl.”

“Yes Sir,” Prudence replied miserably.

“Then you may rise,” Brandon said sternly, before waiting as he was very slowly obeyed.

Constance was amazed at what a sorry little thing Prudence looked as she stood with her head bowed. Then to her astonishment her cousin again apologised and extended a tentative hand to her chastiser.

“Thank you Sir for correcting me so firmly,” Prudence whispered.

Brandon shook her firmly and nodded in satisfaction.

“You do know of course that you will forfeit your leisure time this afternoon?” he said.

Prudence nodded sadly and looked across the room at something.

“That’s right young lady, you will stand in the corner as you are until I send word to dismiss you,” he growled.

Constance stifled a giggled and hopped up and down a little with barely supressed glee while inside Prudence acknowledged his command.

“May I… might you…?” Prudence began her still tear-pooled eyes sweeping back and forth in her head in consternation. “Please Sir, the door…”

“The door will remain open wide and you will stand in the corner for all that pass to see,” Brandon announced in a commanding voice. Continuing, “And why is that?”

“Because I… because I… ooh, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again. I will stay there all week if you tell me. Just please let me close the door,” Prudence wailed.

“No my fine young miss; you disobeyed me and tried to cheat your punishment. Now you will have to suffer the added shame of exposure on these occasions. Do I make myself clear?” Brandon spoke in a lecturing tone that quailed even Constance.

“Yes Sir,” Prudence replied miserably as she turned her bottom back for Constance to gaze upon and limped over to the corner.

Once there she raised both arms and placed them on her head in a penitent posture that truly belied her 18-years. Not that her prominent sore bottom spoke of anything else but full-grown womanhood.

Constance was still staring at her cousin’s predicament when Brandon stepped into the hall.

“Lady Constance,” he said in surprise.

“Mr Brandon,” she gulped down some embarrassment, “I… I wonder if you might like to take… tea,” she finished uncertainly.

Brandon almost smiled, almost but not quite.

“I trust our… discussion did not disturb you,” Brandon said with nod over his shoulder.

“Not at all,” Constance brightened, “I am delighted to have the chance to see you at work. You are very good… expert I mean.”

Brandon frowned and then his expression softened as he caught something of her mood and shrugged.

“Tea then,” Constance said firmly.


“Tell me Mr Brandon, do you thrash Prudence often?” Constance asked conversationally as she stirred her tea.

“Thrash…?” Brandon answered still weighing her attitude to what she had witnessed.

“Well… punish? Punish so… effectively?” Constance amended.

“I have had cause to spank her soundly often for childish misdemeanours. That usually entails some time in the corner,” he explained, “But as we have grown to an understanding she has also been caned for major infractions.”

“Caned? On the bare…?” Constance blushed.

“Only way I am afraid. Lord Somerset is of much the same opinion. Your cousin was barely literate when I came to be responsible for her studies you see. Refused the rod from her governess and most of them could not handle her anyway,” Brandon continued.

“And the… um… birch?” Constance licked her lips.

“Always bare too of course and needful in latter days I am afraid,” Brandon said dismissively, “You see Prudence almost seems to… well… let us say that sometimes I need to be more severe.”

“Of course, of course,” Constance said airily as if it were of no import to her. “Tell me how long will she be in that corner?”

“Until she is dismissed if she knows what is good for her,” Brandon replied as he took a sip of tea. His demeanour suggested that he would explain nothing further.

Constance demurred and averted her eyes with a blush. “Anyway, anything I can do to help,” she added hopefully.

“Oh… yes well… useful to know, but haven’t you heard? Prudence is sufficiently improved in her studies to be sent on. My services are no longer required,” Brandon told her.

Constance dropped her spoon and gaped for a moment before recovering herself. She began a reply but the words choked her and she had to sip tea.

Finally she swallowed hard and managed, “Sent on?”

“Pardon?” Brandon finally smiled, not understanding.

“You said Prudence was being sent on,” Constance pressed him. Although the real thrust of her inquiry was the part about him leaving the family’s service.

“Oh Lord Somerset is packing her off to a finishing school in North Wales, quite Spartan I hear; an establishment that will both polish her for society while it polishes her behind for her. His Lordship feels that she would benefit from mixing with other young women hence my services being dispensed with,” Brandon said with a note of resignation.

“But surely…” Constance began desperate to think of a reason for his continued employment, “Prudence will need a firm hand in the summer and during…” she wafted her hand, “Whatever holidays these places have.”

“Perhaps,” Brandon shrugged, “What am I to do in the meantime?”

Constance licked her lips and cast her gaze into the middle distance.

“I might have an idea about that,” she said carefully, scarcely believing what she was about to propose.


Constance was blushing from her ears down to her neck. She was beginning to think that her idea had not been such a good one after all. Lord Somerset had been keen enough when she had first raised it, but had given his permission on the proviso that once beginning the arrangement she would have to see it through to the end.

The arrangement was that Mr Brandon would be retained for the teaching of Constance who had strictly speaking never been to school, which she decided would be rather fun. But Mr Brandon had a few conditions of his own.

Now the 24-year-old Lady Constance found herself standing in the school room dressed in a cotton blue sailor suit of the kind her grandmother might have worn to school as a child. To make matters worse the skirt of the ridiculous costume was rather short at the back and barely covered the rather tight knee-length breeches she had to wear with them, or she should say, unusually had to wear with them.

The day before she had protested vigorously about Mr Brandon’s dress requirements saying, “But I don’t see why? Prudence never had to wear such clothes.”

“Prudence had not got accustomed to getting her own way and was after a fashion used to accepting authority. But you, Miss Spoiled, you need to be taken down a peg,” he had scolded her.

“I won’t do it, I simply won’t put that ridiculous…” she had begun.

Mr Brandon had silenced her and quite without warning he had spanked her. He had put her across his knee and lowered her draws and spanked her bare bottom cherry red until she had submitted.

“Mr Brandon, please,” she had wailed, but entirely in vain.

“You will do as you are told and if you don’t that spanking will be the least of what you will get,” he growled, “Do you understand me?”

“Yes Sir,” Constance had said hastily as she stood meekly rubbing her bottom.

“Tomorrow you will report to the schoolroom in this very outfit, this time without the benefit of the under breeches. After a week of going without you will soon learn to appreciate them I’ll wager,” he had pronounced firmly.

“But… I can’t…” she had gasped.

“You will or else I will take further measures.” That had been all he had had to say.

That morning Constance had considered defying him, first by not donning the outfit at all and then by putting on the breeches anyway. But at the last minute she had funked it and despite the embarrassment had quickly taken them off again. As a consequence she had been late.

“I will not tolerate defiance or tardiness,” Mr Brandon had told when she finally turned up. “You will go to the corner and put your hands on your head.”

Constance had gaped in horror but after the spanking at his hands the day before she thought better of arguing. But it wasn’t until she started to obey that she realised the act of putting her hands on her head would raise the short hem of her sailor tunic and expose her bottom to his gaze.

“I see you are going to be quite as troublesome as Prudence,” Brandon sighed.

“I won’t I promise,” she had wailed, her voice muffled by the proximity of the wall in front of her face. “I’ll be a good girl.” The tearful submission made her tummy tingle and she bit her lip.

“We will see,” Brandon mused aloud. “As it is you have already earned a taste of my cane. Any further difficulties and you will not only graduate to the birch but you will be required to wear your school clothes in the afternoons as well as the morning.”

Constance gasped at this news and almost whirled around to face the man and protest. But he was already moving on.

“Now as for your studies,” he said, “I will concentrate on your music, French and other more advanced subjects. But unless your basic written work and arithmetic improves rapidly I may engage a nursery maid to school you in the basics.”

Constance shot a glance over her shoulder and gave him a withering look.

“Are you challenging me?” he growled.

“I rather think Lord Somerset did not mean for you to…” she began in surly tone.

“Lord Somerset has given me carte blanche to do as I see fit and if think you need a nanny to spank you, school you and the like, then I know a good one who has lots of humiliating little rituals for a big girl like you who needs a firm hand,” Brandon informed her.

“You… you wouldn’t,” Constance wailed. “I don’t mind if you are strict with me, I probably deserve it, but a nanny is going much too far.”

“That is for me to decide,” Brandon said sharply. “You, young lady, will get what you need and not what you demand. Do you hear me?”

“Yes Sir,” Constance whispered. In her darker thoughts he had been like this.

“That’s better,” Brandon sighed.

Constance heard him reach for the cane and swallowed down a lump in her throat.

“Can’t you just spank me again?” she asked pleadingly.

“Come here and bend over the desk,” Brandon said ignoring her.

Constance eyed the desk like it was poison before reluctantly moving towards it.

“H-how many?” she asked nervously.

“I never give less than eight but for very naughty girls I might award 36,” Brandon said firmly.

Constance paused and with wide eyes she stepped backwards in horror.

“I will give you what I think you deserve and can manage,” Brandon warned her. “We’ll start with eight as it is your first time and see how we get on. But I warn you, any fuss and I’ll add penalties.”

“Penalties?” Constance gulped.

“Extra strokes.”

Constance moved quickly forward and bent over the small hinge-top desk almost eagerly. She wasn’t about to give him an excuse.

“Bottom out,” Brandon said sharply as he lined up the thin dark rattan.

Constance blushed some more but obeyed. It was a shameful pose.

Wasting no time Brandon raised is arm and let it drop. The cane landed with a sharp efficient stroke putting a hard white line across rosy flesh and drawing a hiss from Constance. It wasn’t as bad as she feared and she managed to stay silent for the next.

Then as the third stroke was delivered the first stroke began to really hurt.

“Oh lord,” she groaned.

“Indeed,” Brandon agreed as he caned her again.

At five Constance gave a shout and wagged her bottom shamelessly. Then at each further cut she gave a little cry and clawed at the tattered wood on the underside of the desk. By the time the eighth stroke landed she was red in the face and panting like a dog.

Across her exposed bottom were eight neat lines beginning at just below the dimpled small of her back and extending down under the lower curves just above her thighs.

“You took that well,” Brandon said. “I think you could handle another eight.”

“Oh please Sir,” Constance pleaded but the ninth cut drew a shriek.

Then as seven more efficient strokes fell between their fellows she danced and yelped until small tears sprang to her eyes.

“I think the cane is no challenge to you,” Brandon said with some satisfaction. I think you can take 18 as basic punishment from now on. “Much as Prudence learnt to take. But she wasn’t half so brave as you.”

Despite the sting in her bottom Constance simpered at the comparison and offered him a shy smile as she got unsteadily to her feet.

“Now shake my hand and say thank you,” he told her, extending his own.

She took it meekly and whispered, “Thank you Sir.”

“Now you may go back to stand in the corner while I take some refreshment,” Brandon told her.

As he spoke he rang for the maid and reached for a newspaper. But seeing that she was still gawping at him he pointed a stern finger at the corner.

“But…” she was horrified that the maid would come, but if he carried out his other threats then she had better get used that. “Yes Sir,” she replied dejectedly.

The corner was just one of the bitter sweet elements that she would also have to get used to.


9 Responses to “Dear Mr Brandon”

  1. 1 George

    Education in its wider meaning, badly needed also in 2014!
    But are there so wise parents nowadays?

  2. 2 markomat

    Another great story! Frankly, I don’t know how you do it.

  3. 5 Harry

    The story and the accompanying picture are as nearly perfect as I assume Constance will strive to be in both her studies and her behavior.

  4. 7 paul1510

    having got what she wished for, what more can she desire.

  1. 1

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