PREFACE

 

This is the story of how a young man of eighteen comes to be completely dominated by a woman little more than six years older than himself.

His name is John Spencer, and by today’s standards he would be considered an adult.  Certainly he would be legally of the age of consent.  However, this story is set in pre-war days - when standards and methods were somewhat different.

Some may not approve of the greater strictness and discipline of those days ... but at least the nation was spared the irresponsible way of life of the modern young adult.  There was no drug-taking, little drunkenness, the crime rate was lower, and there was none of the senseless violence that is all too common at pop festivals and football matches nowadays.

Moreover, young people were expected to work hard and to achieve reasonable educational standards in order to make their way in the world.  If they did not, they could expect to be punished during their educational training and there was no benevolent State to fall back on if they failed in their working life.

Can we honestly say that the fabric of society has improved on account of the wave of ‘liberalism’ which swept through the country in post-war years?  Look around ... and I think one must honestly reply in the negative.

However, we must not divert, we must go back to John Spencer.

He is a young man who is rather weak, careless and lazy.  His progress at college is unsatisfactory ... so his Mother decides to send him for special teaching and training to a certain Governess who has been highly recommended to her.  Her name is Madame Maxine, and she has a justifiable reputation for getting results from the handful of pupils she teaches privately.  She does insist, though, that she be permitted to apply her own disciplinary regime in order to achieve these results.  Parents must give written agreement to this ... and John Spencer’s Mother is happy to do so.  It must be remembered that both parents and teachers were far less namby-pamby about corporal punishment and such-like in those days.  Many successful and eminent men of today will tell you how much they benefited from getting a good hiding when they deserved it.

Would not many of our young tearaways benefit from the occasional painful reminder that their behaviour is abhorrent to the vast majority of their fellow-countrymen?

It must be said that MadameMaxine’s regime is severe, even by pre-war standards ... and John Spencer is most unpleasantly surprised by it.  However, he accepts the situation, and is soon so much under the domination of his young and beautiful Governess that he is working harder than he has ever worked before.  He not only has too much pride, but is also soon so much in awe of her, that he does not like to reveal to his Mother the sufferings he has to endure at the hands of so young a woman.

For, it need hardly be said, Madame Maxine is a firm believer in the merits of corporal punishment.

John Spencer, though a man rather than a boy, feels her tawse and her cane with unpleasant frequency.  And, extremely humiliating for one of his age, he has to wear an Eton collar and tight suit with short trousers whenever he attends for lessons.

There is a further indignity.  John Spencer is sometimes punished by Madame Maxine’s maid, Estelle, who occasionally acts as a ‘stand-in’ teacher  when the Governess has other matters to attend to.

John Spencer struggles hard to improve his work and behaviour.  But it is an uphill struggle, even if there is plenty of incentive for him to do so!

Our story opens when John Spencer has been at Madame Maxine’s for about a month.  He visits her twice a week ... but has plenty of homework to do in between.

However, on one occasion when the maid, Estelle, is performing her ‘stand-in’ role, she forgets to give him any homework to do.  John Spencer realises her error, but says nothing.  He is thankful to escape the arduous hours of preparation for once.

A couple of free and easy days are his to enjoy.

It is quite like old times when he had been able to slack as much as he liked at college ...

 

 

 

Chapter 1

 

Over the next two days, the fact that I had been given no homework went out of my mind.  In any case, I reasoned that it was not my fault, so I really had nothing to worry about.

All the same, Friday - the day of my next scheduled visit to Madame Maxine - came all too soon.  Ever since I had been given special tuition two days a week by her, I had rarely escaped punishment in some form or other.  It seemed as if the chances of doing so on that occasion were remote.

So, with the usual ‘butterfly tummy’, I made my way up the four wide stone steps to Madame’s front door and rang the bell.  Estelle, the maid, answered more quickly than usual.  Her eyes were bright, her face pinched and white with anger.  What on earth had happened?  She beckoned me in and closed the door.

“You stupid little bastard!” she said viciously.  Then she gave me a painful kick in the behind, sending me stumbling forward.

“What ... w-whatever’s the matter, Miss Estelle?” I gasped.

“The matter?” she snapped.  “You’ll soon see!”  It felt as if my heart did a somersault.  “It’s that business about no homework,” Estelle went on.  “You forgot to ask for it, but as a result, Madame said I was partly to blame.  And she gave me six strokes of her cane as a reminder not to forget such things again.  Six strokes!”  Miss Estelle pressed her hands to her skirt.  “They hurt ... and they still do!”

Frankly, I thought she had got off pretty lightly with six strokes.  I had never known Madame Maxine give less.

“I ... I’m sorry ...” I said, “but I don’t really see that it was my fault ...”

“Oh, don’t you ... well you’re going to learn different.  And then you’ll be sorrier still.”

I felt a sort of shrivelling inside, and that familiar sensation of self-pity.  It appeared I was going to be made to suffer for no good reason - again.  Perhaps this time I could argue my way out of it.  Perhaps Estelle was just bluffing about my being ‘sorry’.  Trying to scare me because she had got into trouble herself.  All these thoughts whirled swiftly through my mind as I followed Estelle  up the stairs, my eyes - as usual - fastened on her tightly-rounded bottom under the short black skirt, watching it wriggle deliciously from side to side.  If only she was not always so horrible and vindictive towards me, I told myself, I could fall in love with such a girl, even though she was two or three years older than I.  By ‘falling in love’, I suppose I meant having some sort of sexual relations with her ... not that, at that time, I had ever done anything with any girl.

My heart was pounding as she knocked on Madame Maxine’s study door.

No answer ...

My heart pounded some more.  Perhaps she wasn’t there.  Perhaps she had gone out for the day, and Estelle didn’t know.  I clutched at all sorts of straws in the wild hope of missing my lessons.

Then Estelle turned the handle of the door and beckoned me to follow her in.  I saw a door which was normally closed, on the far side of the room, was a little ajar.  While I stayed in the middle of the room, Estelle went across and knocked on this door.

I felt a pang of disappointment as Madame Maxine’s voice answered.  There was to be no escape for me!

“Yes ... who is it?”

“Estelle, Ma’am ... I’ve got the boy Spencer here.”

I hated the way she always called me ‘boy’ for, as I say, I wasn’t all that much younger than she was.

“Has he changed?”

“Not yet, Ma’am.”

“Well, see that he changes, then.  It will give me time to finish my ‘keep fit’ exercises.”

I could hear bumping and thumping noises coming from the other room, and tried to imagine what my Governess was doing.  Though I was in awe - and often in dread - I also had an inexplicable feeling of love for her.  It was not ‘love’ in the sense that I thought of it with Estelle, for Madame Maxine was a far too powerful and remote a being for that.  If I ever realised I was thinking about her in that way, I usually found myself getting a sort of hot flush all over and feeling guiltily nervous.  As if she could read my thoughts, even at a distance.  Always I forced myself to tear my thoughts away before things went too far.  Yes ... how remote and unapproachable she seemed to me, yet I suppose she was no more than twenty-four or five, if that.

“Come along,” hissed Estelle to me, still with that spiteful look on her pretty face.

I followed her out of the room again and down to the ‘cloak-room’.  This was where the ridiculous ‘school clothes’ I was forced to wear were kept ... a short tight jacket; even tighter shorts; a high, uncomfortable Eton collar.  The sort of thing that would have been bad enough on a twelve or thirteen year old.  On an eighteen year old - on someone who was a young man - it was incredibly humiliating.

“Get them on,” ordered Estelle, standing there with folded arms.  Often she would giggle and snigger when I had garbed myself in this horrible outfit.  But she remained silent this time.  “I hope ... and reckon ... Madame is going to give you a really sound caning,” she said, a note of smug satisfaction in her voice.

“But ... but ... why, why?” I almost whimpered.  “It’s not fair ...”

“If it was fair for me, it will be even more fair for you,” she replied.  And I couldn’t deny the truth of what this young woman said.  I began to quake inside.  Although I had as many as twelve strokes with the tawse, I had never had more than six strokes of the cane.  On my bare bottom, that is.  Once I had six on the hand, followed by six on the bottom.  All I knew was, Madame Maxine’s cane seemed more painful than anything else she had ever used.  Yes ... far more painful than the tawse, I reckoned.

Five minutes later we were going back up the stairs again, with me all tight and constricted in that Eton suit and stiff collar.  Into the study we trooped.  The far door was still ajar.

“We’re back, Ma’am,” called Estelle, a happy note in her voice.

“Thank you Estelle,” came the reply.  “You may leave Spencer there.”

I saw the maid’s face fall.  No doubt she had been hoping to be present when I was punished.  If I was punished.  I kept on trying to tell myself I might still get away with it, but with less and less conviction.

“You mean I can go, Ma’am?”

“That’s right, Estelle,” said Madame Maxine.  “I don’t want to keep you from your housework.”

Giving me a furious glare, Estelle stalked from the room, her lower lip pouting.  The door closed loudly behind her.  I stood, silent, in the middle of that dread study, twiddling my hands as I awaited the emergence of my Governess.  This was the room where my education had truly began.  Never before had I racked and tested my brain so much as there.  Nowhere had I suffered more.  Worst of all, there seemed to be no end to it.  Perhaps one day I would be able to please Madame Maxine in every kind of way.  Then, perhaps, I would escape her wrath.  I sincerely hoped so.  Because I genuinely wanted to please that marvellous ... that beautiful ... woman.  She had become a sort of Goddess.  Even if she was a vengeful Goddess.

I clasped my hands together and said a little prayer.  Please, oh please Goddess, spare me today!

  The door opened and Madame Maxine walked into the room.  Normally simply being in her presence made me go weak at the knees, but on this occasion I was thunderstruck.  My heart seemed to leap into my throat, a kind of electric current quivered through me.

For, instead of wearing her normal white blouse and black skirt, Madame Maxine had retained the garment in which she must have been doing her exercises.  It was a very simple and very abbreviated black leotard made of some exceedingly thin material.  Low cut to reveal the deep cleavage of her superb breasts, and clinging so tightly that every luscious curve of her body was delineated.  One saw the indent of her navel, the provocative swell of her mound ... and the leotard was so cut that over half her buttocks were revealed, the thin material forming the slightest of V’s as it plunged into the deep cleft.  Her thighs were twin alabaster columns, the flesh quivering slightly.

My breath was literally taken from me.  I could only stand and stare, amazed, with hammering heart, feeling the colour flood my cheeks.  No doubt my eyes were as round as saucers.  Never, never had I seen a woman so scantily clad; never, never had I seen a woman as beautiful.

The sight made me want to drop to my knees and literally worship her.

I do not know if Madame Maxine knew what sort of effect she was having on me, but if she did she seemed supremely unconcerned about it.  She brushed back a wisp of dark hair from her cheek and eyed me with her customary superciliousness, moving slowly forward with a ravishing, slow undulating motion.

“Ah yes, Spencer,” she said in an unemotional tone, “I have to have words with you.”

“Y-Yer-ess, Ma’am,” my voice was a croak.  I simply couldn’t take my eyes off this vision.  This fantastic vision.  The sight of her had driven all other thoughts from my mind.  Even the possible impending punishment.

But only briefly.  For Madame Maxine spoke again.

“This matter of no homework.  A very serious error ...”

“But ... p-please, Ma’am, Miss Estelle didn’t give me any,” I began.

Madame Maxine halted me simply by raising her eyebrows.

“What on earth has that got to do with it?” she demanded icily.  “You should have asked her to set you some.  You know you always have homework, Spencer; that is no excuse at all.”

I fell silent.  What was the use of arguing?

“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” I said meekly.  I was, too.

“In my view you quite deliberately skived off quickly, knowing Estelle had made an oversight.  Yes ... you deliberately evaded your educational duties, just because you didn’t want to do any homework.  Well, that is the sort of thing I will NOT tolerate.”

“Please, Ma’am, it wasn’t like that ...”  But even as I said it I knew I was half lying.  Had I not remembered that nothing had been set me when I was at the door, and been happy about it?  Of course, so Madame Maxine was right.

“Don’t lie!” she rasped, and her dark eyes hardened suddenly.  “One of the reasons you were sent here, Spencer, was because of your exceeding laziness.  Well, I thought I’d made a start on eradicating that, but it appears not.  So the time has come to make you understand, once and for all, that I will not stand for evasions of that nature, nor your natural laziness.  I am going to give you a thorough good hiding.”

My blood froze as she turned, favouring me with a back view of that brief leotard clinging to the back of her lovely body.  She went to a drawer, opened it and took something out.  Then she turned back.

“ ... a caning,” she said.

In her hand was a whippy rattan cane.  The tip swayed slightly up and down as she moved back towards me, and the hairs on the nape of my neck rose.  I began to tremble.  This was the cane she had used before.  And oh how it hurt!