From... "Mademoiselle Rules', sequel to 'A Woman's Revenge'

Mademoiselle Rules

Copyright 2010

by Chris Bellows

The characters...

Mrs. Anne Smithton, Deputy Attorney General, United States Justice Department.

Mademoiselle Marie Le Claire, governess.

Jackson Smithton, pubescent son of Anne.

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“You are a woman of discipline... when it comes to children?”

“Oui, madam. I cared for my younger brothers, beginning when I was age fourteen. Later I attended the Institut de Gouvernante, graduating number one in my class.”

“Yes, I am aware of the famous school. Not much demand for governesses these days. Most parents are too lenient. Let their children become unruly. It is not my style... my sense of what is best for them.

“How do you discipline, Mademoiselle?”

“Firmly, of course. There are those children who are best kept under strict supervision.”

“Corporal?”

“That goes without saying, madam. Particularly the boys. Some seem to yearn for a good crisp stroke of the cane. I am quite willing and able to accommodate their innate desires.”

“The cane. Yes, very good. I have a son, Jackson that looks and I fear is beginning to act too much like his father, my good-for-nothing ex husband. In my position of responsibility here at the Justice Department, I cannot spend the time with my children that is required for proper upbringing. And obviously if any get into trouble it would be devastating for my career. The press is quick to publish the perceived hypocrisy of government officials.”

“You said children. More than one?”

“Yes, a daughter, Claudette. Quite young but I detect certain attributes. I believe she will blossom to become one of us.”

Mademoiselle smiles coyly. The reference need not be explained.

“Well, Mademoiselle Le Claire, you certainly have the qualifications and the temperament. The position is yours. But I should mention that Jackson is at the age when he is beginning to discover himself. His bed sheets are revealing of a certain nasty habit...”

“I encountered the same slovenliness with my younger brothers. Nothing with which I have not before dealt.”

It is Anne Smithton’s turn to smile. The tinge of slyness is telling.

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And so it is that I am hired. Age 28 and I am employed by this wonderfully imperious woman, the Deputy Attorney General.

The house proves to be enormous. A mansion in one of the wealthy suburbs of Washington. It seems Mrs. Smithton is an heiress with financial resources well beyond a government salary. But it is the type of environment that would otherwise give rise to too much leniency I suspect. The neighborhood is rife with high paid dual income families where the attention which should be afforded the children is instead bought... expensive video games... DVD’s... lavish parties.

There will be none of the that in the Smithton household. I will reign.

Mrs. Smithton works long hours, arriving home well after dinner. Family time comes over breakfast, prepared by a part time cook, Mrs. Dornbach, who later in the day returns to offer dinner.

So other than school time, Claudette and Jackson spend their time with me. I insist on immersion. Interaction with other children can take place at school where there is supervision. Otherwise I do not want there to be frill filled frolicking. Discipline... obedience... such do not maturate while playing with peers.

Claudette is quite young. Easy to care for, easy to mold. It is the interaction with Jackson which will fill my hands. His hormones are flowing. He can be bratty, moody. He is at the age in which he understands his mother’s wealth and power. As with most teens, he misconstrues that such automatically enures to him. Thus, the initial days, in which I introduce myself and the influence I will wield, are meaningful.

The very first evening proves eventful. I announce that it is bath time. Claudette is much younger and hers is always first, going to bed earlier. But when it is time for Jackson... he does not appear!

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I depart the bathroom where I have awaited long enough. There is a quick trip to my room where I retrieve a whippy length of rattan. Then I search and of course find Jackson, feet up in the den, watching some socially unredeeming television show.

“Jackson, feet off the furniture.”

I tap the sole of his foot with my cane. I suppress a smile in watching him jump from the couch and dance, the fiery message bringing an explosion to the cerebral cortex.

“Mademoiselle, that hurts!”

“It will help you remember... no feet on the furniture. It’s bath time. You’re late.”

“I’ll shower later, I want to watch this show.”

I smirk and turn off the television.

“New paradigm, Jackson. No television on school nights. And you will have a bath not a shower. It is better hygiene.”

Actually better fun, I think to myself as I cock my wrist.

“To the bathroom, now!”

I stroke. More than the tap to the foot but still a modest swing, striking the covered buttocks. I am well experienced in disciplining youth. Pain is required, particularly for the likes of Jackson.

Yes, he shouts, he protests but he also begins his march to the bathroom.

I have learned by way of my younger brothers and through course work at the Institut de Gouvernante, much about the regimen by which one establishes control over the unruly young male. An exhibition of power, the application of pain, but also the teasing reward of something pleasurable. Not assuredly offered, but instead insinuated, sometimes provided... most times not.
Yet behavior will improve, the pleasurable offering as sought after as the threat of pain is to be avoided. For younger children it is the hint of candy or cookies or cake, obviously not to be overdone.

And for the likes of boys at Jackson’s age? Well he will soon learn that bath time is something to be craved, not avoided.

I follow closely, up the stairs to the second floor bathroom, my cane swishing through the air in warning. I smile in noting how in fear he stutter steps to the sound, expecting another good crisp stroke to his backside.

“Such concern about pain, Jackson. And yet you are clothed. I normally cane a boy on his bare buttocks.”

That, I know, plants a thought. He will mentally extrapolate, his mind confronting the searing agony as rattan greets bare flesh.

He enters the bath room and turns.

“Okay, I will take a bath.”

I nod. He nods. I do not move.

“I will draw the water. I am fine.”

I nod again in agreement. He moves to the huge tub and twists the faucet. When he turns back he apparently expects me to depart. I do not.

“I... I’m going to bathe.”

“Yes, and I suggest you begin by removing your clothes.”

“But... but you’re a woman.”

“I am your governess. Henceforth you will be supervised during your baths. Hygiene, Jackson. It is important.

“Strip!”

I swing. More than a modest blow, once again to the covered buttocks. It cracks. He yelps.

“You will be naked now! I want to see you. Then you will step into that bath. The only question is whether or not your buttocks will be well striped and welted.”

My tone is even but firm. After all it is his crisis not mine. If a caning is required, he shall have it.

Jackson reluctantly begins to remove his clothes. So wonderfully bashful, he has probably not before been naked in front of woman, not since infancy. And his shaking hands and awkward motion are priceless.

I stand arms akimbo, an important pose of authority. Before my eyes there comes into view the divine nakedness of youth... that which I so much enjoy bringing to yield... to capitulation. Finely developing buttocks that will indeed take nicely to corporal punishment. Ripening testicles, a touch of pubic hair. And of course that which overwhelms the behavior of the teenaged male... the penis. It is long for a lad of Jackson’s age. And it is uncircumcised. Perfect!

“Good boy, Jackson. You will learn to obey and save yourself much anguish. Step here, hands on your head.”

Yes, the exchange of power is palpable. He obeys. I smile in seeing the shaft of his penis slightly quiver. It is the reaction of a male who enjoys certain feminine deportment. I will nurture it.

“Whenever you are naked before me, your hands will be placed on your head, understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes Mademoiselle.”

“Good.”

My free hand lowers to his pubes. He lurches and I snicker.

“You will not only become accustomed to my touch Jackson, but your will come to crave it... when you’re a good boy.”

My fingers palpate... knowingly. Jackson is not the first boy I have inspected.

“You have some pubic hair. It is to be removed. Remember hygiene. Hair entraps filth.”

I happen to know that at Jackson’s age, boys on occasion furtively compare their hairiness... some strange aspect of maleness attributed to he with a hirsute pubes. Jackson will never display such attributes. He will thus avoid such male behavior and interaction.

My fingers work the prepuce. As I gently skin back the foreskin, his hands begin to lower from his head. I pinch in warning, the very, very sensitive outer fold of the prepuce.

“Hands,” I rejoin as he grimaces.

The hands return. I peer at the pink unsheathed penis tip. Some smegma glistens.

“Not bad Jackson. But I think it is best that I teach you how to clean here. Wouldn’t you agree?”

An appalled Jackson finds himself forced to nod as my fingers no longer pinch but instead offer some tender caress, sliding about the foreskin. He inadvertently sighs with delight. I am quite experienced in masturbating boys and at his age he is probably quite naive about the extent of pleasuring himself.

“You see why you will come to enjoy your governess, Jackson? My hands can offer more than a caning. Ultimately, you will decide which is most desirable for you.”