The Mills Governess, by Rollin Hand, copyright 2002
Email: wolf359_or@yahoo.com






The Mills Governess


"You sure about this, Mr Mills?" Gordon's head technical guy looked worried. Gordon, however, was relaxed--after all, the time machine, dubbed the "Traveler" was his brainchild and Adventures in Time was his company.

"Relax, Hugh. I'm ready to take her for a spin--anyway, I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here." Which was true. Gordon's body would be resting on a couch. It was only his neural matrix that would be projected into the past. It would target a host, a human living in the past, and enter the host's own neural matrix. Then he and the host would be one.


Time travel--once the stuff of pure fantasy was about to become a reality. And Gordon Mills, an engineer and businessman, now wealthy due to the IPO of his foundling company, was to be one of the first to give it a try. Observation had shown that the host was only vaguely aware of the incorporeal matrix inhabiting his body, but that there could be an emotional synergistic effect. The possessor, however could not control the host--at least this was the conventional wisdom. He was literally, "along for the ride". The limitation long thought by the quantum mechanics physicists to be inherent in all time dependent dimensional jumps was that one could not change the past. At least that was the theory.

As head of the company Gordon wanted to try it first. Beyond that, though, Gordon had a secret agenda. What had intrigued Gordon was his discovery of fragments of an old diary. It had been written by a distant relative, Emily Hollings, who had lived at the turn of the century. The house where she had lived still existed which made it possible to spatially locate the wormhole insertion point, an important consideration.

Gordon's interest was less scholarly. He had discovered in the old diary that, starting in the summer of 1897 Emily and Elizabeth Hollings, and Richard Mills had been in the care of a governess, one Harriet Harwell, for 3 years. Apparently, Cedric, Richard's father, had hired Miss Harwell, a domestic governess of some 33 years, four years after Richard's mother had died. Emily and Elizabeth were cousins and had been sent to America by their mother, Richard's Aunt Claudia, to live with Richard's family in Wilmington until business affairs in England allowed Aunt Claudia to emigrate. At the time Richard had been 14, Elizabeth, 15 and Emily, 16 years old. The diary had been discovered in an attic in his grandfather's house along with faded, grainy photographs. He could see though, even in the old photos, that Emily had been a beautiful girl with light hair and swelling breasts. Elizabeth was pretty, a slender brunette, not as developed as Emily, and Richard was an impish looking, but cute adolescent boy who was, according to the diary, something of a brat.

In several pictures the children were joined by the tall, imperious looking Miss Harwell. She was tall and well proportioned. She had dark hair, high cheekbones and a thin aquiline nose. Beautiful almond shaped eyes and a generous bosom gave her a look of imposing beauty. But she was no Mary Poppins, mused Gordon, contemplating the no nonsense look in the picture. In a starched white blouse with a choker collar and a dark skirt, she looked every inch the Victorian governess.

What had seized Gordon's imagination was however, the fragmented diary which gave Emily's account of an actual whipping she had received from Miss Harwell. Imagine! This beautiful teenage girl given a real whipping by her governess! This was the real thing. And that was Gordon's secret. He reveled in fantasies of spanking and whippings administered to members of the opposite sex. Ever since he had been a child he had harbored these secret fantasies. As a geeky youth he had not had much success with women. But in his fantasy world he was a master, all powerful, and beautiful bratty teenaged girls found themselves across his knee with their skirts up and panties at half mast while he taught them humility with sound spankings that reduced them to obedient sex toys.

He wasn't married though. Despite his genius at things scientific, he was shy with the opposite sex. But there was a woman in his life, his partner, Barbara Boynton. She was a little older than Gordon and kept track of a myriad of details of the business end of the company. She was a smart businesswoman with a degree from Wharton. It was Barbara who actually ran the company, although Gordon was president and the nominal CEO.

Barbara also knew his secret, but she didn't tell him that. She had one day, quite by accident, discovered a cache of magazines and video tapes in his office. She had clucked to herself but had said nothing. After all, he was an adult male, although she sometimes thought he acted like a little boy. Oddly, she discovered, she wasn't put off by Gordon's unusual interest. It actually looked sort of sexy. She could see how spankings could be sexy. Maybe Gordon should be spanked for being so irresponsible. He was a nice looking guy in a boyish kind of way--it made her want to mother him. She could envision his bare buns as she held him over her knee. Wouldn't that be a kick? It was a pleasant thought, especially in view of the sometimes irresponsible things he did with the company. Now if I were in charge, thought Barbara, I'd bring this nonsense to heel.

In the diary as reported by Emily, on August 24, 1897, Miss Harwell had, for some serious infraction, subjected her to a full scale whipping with a birch rod in front of Richard's father and the entire staff. It had taken place in the study, and with much ceremony. The diary was water-damaged and much of it was indecipherable, but there were several references throughout to Miss Harwell's strict regime. The woman must have been a real tartar by Emily's account.

Even more intriguing was the language. Mixed with the formal style of 19th century letters were out of context pleas for help. One account especially stood out.

"--*****[unreadable] help me. I was spanked with her tappette, dear diary, and it stung so much I cried. I hate her. She made me remove my drawers and assume an ignoble position across her lap in front of*****[indecipherable]. She must have smacked my backside 50 times. Help. Get me out before *****[indecipherable]--".

The passage struck Gordon as odd. Gordon wondered who the "help" entreaties were directed to. Aunt Claudia, he supposed. But then why not just write her a letter?

So an idea had formed in Gordon's mind. He could try out his own time machine and go back to witness, through the young Richard's eyes, the humiliating punishment of his cousin on that fateful August day. What a voyeuristic thrill. To actually witness an authentic birching being given to a beautiful and well developed 16 year old girl. As a child Richard had fixated on his secret passion through the accounts of punishments luridly described by his classmates and friends. Gordon had not himself been spanked by his parents as punishment. So what caused his almost obsessive interest in the subject was a mystery.

Gordon outlined his plan. He was sure it would work. After all he had designed most of the apparatus. Insertion on the morning of August 24 and removal the next morning. He would live for one day the life of Richard Mills and witness his cousin's whipping and its aftermath. Gordon's neural matrix would be projected through a quantum wormhole set for Aug 24, 1897 and withdrawn 24 hours later. Of course, as he knew, time on this end of the wormhole is compressed, so in real time he would be done in less than six hours. In fact the timing on this end had to be precisely controlled lest, subjectively, he spend much more time in the past than he wanted.

So he brushed aside Hugh's concerns and strode into the projection chamber. There, he was fitted with a strange looking helmet attached to electrodes running to a console. He lay in a reclining bench that was itself encased within a cylinder. Massive magnetic coils were poised over the cylinder. These would descend when he was ready. They generated the fold in space-time that permitted temporal insertion and retrieval. Gordon climbed in with an excited feeling of anticipation. This would be the real thing, not some fantasy. What a trip! The cylinder descended blocking his view. He heard the hum of a motor as the coils came down and stopped. Then...it was like the floor fell away and he was falling. His vision was blurry. Colors exploded in his head, then his vision started to clear....

***********************************************************************

In the AT control room, an operator intently monitored a computer screen that displayed a matrix of virtual guages. Smoothly undulating sine waves confirmed that all was well as a digital clock counted down.

"OK, 30 seconds to launch...looks good...," intoned the console operator.

At 2 seconds, everything in the room flickered. Wave forms went flat.

"Holy shit! What was that?"

"Power surge...abort!" yelled another tech.

Operators frantically checked their systems trying to get back on line.

"Too late...it's done."

"What's going on?" asked an exec who'd been standing off to the rear monitoring the insertion after several minutes of frantic activity.

"I'm sorry we had a surge...must have been the power company."

"The boss, is he ok?"

"Yeah, systems show normal...wait...we have an anomaly in the time clock."

"What's the effect of that?" The exec could visualize a very pissed off superior.

"Well, for starters he may be gone a lot longer than 24 hours..."

"That's not all...he was inserted, ah, early, I think."

"What do you mean?"

"It means we don't exactly know either 'when' or where he is," said Hugh. "To get a lock on him we need to know the physical location down to 100 square feet, about the size of a small room, but we also have to locate him temporally. We don't know exactly 'when' he is and we only have a vague idea 'where'. I mean, it's a 10,000 square foot house."

The exec groaned. "Can we bring him back? Get a fix on him?"

"I'm workin' on it."

************************************************************************

Light, a roaring sound--then it all stopped. Gordon was standing in a hallway, walking actually-- but he wasn't making it happen. He was in a house walking towards...what? It came to him--a thought--the study. He was...he was...Richard Mills, and he was going to the study to meet his new governess. Wait a minute! thought Gordon. It should be August. If he was going to the study it was supposed to be to see Emily get punished. What was this? Sensing Richard's thoughts he realized that it was early June and that with some trepidation he was going to meet this "Miss Harwell" who was to be his tutor and governess. As he rounded a corner he saw, for the first time, Emily and Elizabeth, Richard's cousins.

What the hell had happened and how long was he going to be here? Realizing that he could do nothing, his mind panicked as he approached the study. What had gone wrong? And he felt Richard's apprehension. Richard knew that one of the reasons for his father hiring a governess was his own ungovernable behavior. But he liked being cock of the walk and doing what he pleased. The idea of some stuffy spinster schoolteacher was dreadful. Summer was here and he wanted to have fun.

Richard grinned at the older girls who regarded him with haughty disdain. Gordon was positively stunned at Emily's voluptuous beauty. Elizabeth was pretty cute as well, with her fair looks and light brown curls, but Emily exuded the smoldering sexuality of one much older. And she was probably not even aware of it. The three kids were ushered into the study. From the picture Gordon recognized Miss Harwell. Richard was shocked. She was pretty in a severe sort of way. Maybe this would be fine after all. And she was young, not some stuffy old bag. Why, they'd have fun!

"Richard, Emily, Elizabeth, meet Miss Harwell your teacher and governess," said Richard's father, Cedric, heartily. Cedric was a handsome man in his forties, now widowed. "She's come all the way from Boston to live here with us and tutor you children."

"Hello, children. I'm very pleased to meet you. I'm sure we'll get along famously," said Miss Harwell with a wide smile.

The girls curtsied, Richard, a polite boy for now, executed a bow.

"Now," continued Miss Harwell, "we will have fun, but we will also have summer school as well. I know there are several subjects that each of you need improvement in and I'm here at the request of your parents to see that you do improve."

Cedric beamed with approval. To Gordon it seemed like he was quite taken with the lovely Miss Harwell. At any rate he was quite ready to wash his hands of the children by turning them over to the care of Miss Harwell so he could get back to Boston where his business interests of the moment were. Cedric suggested that the children, as he referred to them, show Miss Harwell around the grounds. So that afternoon, Richard and his two cousins toured the estate grounds pointing out the sights. To Richard one of the most interesting places was a rather large pond. He pointed out the attraction to Miss Harwell.

"It has lots of frogs, and I've even caught a snake there."

"Oh my, Richard, I should think you should stay out of there. You'll dirty your clothes and ruin them. So let's make the pond off limits, shall we, young man?"

Oh, no! Thought Richard. His place, now forbidden! He'd see about that. Careful, thought Gordon, but he knew his own thoughts had no control over Richard. Or did they? It was an issue Gordon hoped to explore, despite the smug assurances of the studious research types who had tested the technology. It had been agreed by all that no attempts were to be made that might actually change something. They were there to learn and observe, and that was all. To attempt more could be dangerous.

Miss Harwell had some very old fashioned ideas about how to structure the schooling of her charges. On this Cedric and she had agreed. Cedric was adamant that Richard be brought up to snuff scholastically and had assured Miss Harwell that she had a free hand in bringing about results.

"My methods are a bit unconventional," she told him, "and I am a firm believer in discipline."

This was music to Cedric's ears. He had indulged the boy for far too long, but had neither the time nor the inclination to do anything about it. So Miss Harwell was to be given complete control. She moved decisively and converted an unused upstairs room into a schoolroom complete with desks and chalkboard. She procured uniforms, too.

"A proper uniform is necessary to create the right environment for learning," she told them.

The girls wore schoolgirl attire. Short jumpers and white blouses. They hated the juvenile clothing. They usually wore fashionable long dresses. This stuff was for childeren! Richard liked the way it displayed the girls' legs. He hated his own uniform. It consisted of short trousers worn with knee socks and a starched white shirt with a tie. It seemed more suitable for a ten year old, not an adolescent.

Miss Harwell wasted little time in starting classes. Latin, French, history, composition, all dreary subjects to a boy who just wanted to get out and play. Miss Harwell set a schedule. She believed in being organized. Breakfast at 8, clean rooms at 8:30, classes 9-12, lunch 12-1, classes again 1-3, then an afternoon activity. Richard was bored silly after three days of this.

He got a shock, however, when Miss Harwell's methods were revealed during class one morning. Elizabeth struggled with Latin. They were reading Caesar. Elizabeth had been given a passage to work on and translate, but her recital was leaving much to be desired. After constant correction from Miss Harwell she became exasperated.

"I hate this stupid old Latin anyway! What good is it? I won't do it anymore," she said folding her arms and pouting.

Miss Harwell fixed her with a steely glare. "We will finish this lesson, Elizabeth and then you will write 100 times, 'I will not create a disturbance in class.'"

"I won't, and you can't make me," said Elizabeth defiantly.

"Very well, Elizabeth, you leave me no choice. Rise and come forward." There was dead silence for a moment as the children all looked at each other. What was she going to do?

"Why? What are you going to do?"

"You have defied my authority, Elizabeth, authority granted to me by your mother, and I cannot have that. I am afraid you must be punished for your outburst."

Punished. There, she said it, thought Gordon. That one word. A cold chill started at the base of his spine. His hair seemed to stand on end. There was fear, but yes, excitement too. He could feel a thickening in his groin. His pulse seemed to quicken and his mouth was dry.

"You can't punish me. I won't be." Elizabeth shook her head, but her expression became fearful. She was unsure of herself.

"Come to the front of the class, Elizabeth. I am going to demonstrate the consequences of naughtiness in this classroom." As she said this Miss Harwell pulled her chair out from behind the desk and reached into the desk drawer retrieving an object. The object was an elongate wooden slat, rounded at its ends and affixed to a handle.

"This is a tapette, children, and I will use it whenever any of you are rude, disobedient, or willful." Taking Elizabeth by the hand she said, "Richard and Emily, you will continue reading. Elizabeth, come with me."

She took Elizabeth by the hand and headed for a door at the rear of the room. The door, Richard knew, went to an adjoining bedroom sometimes used as a guest room. Elizabeth, initially stunned, now started to plead.

"No, no, Miss Harwell. Please I'm sorry. I won't do it again. No, please."

"You will come with me right now Elizabeth. It is too late to avoid punishment, young lady."

She was practically dragging her now. The determined Miss Harwell pulled the girl along with her left hand by the wrist. Her right held the wicked looking tapette. She entered the adjacent room and pulled the door closed, but it did not close all the way. Through a crack in the door, Richard could see Miss Harwell seat herself on the bed. She pulled the protesting Elizabeth around to her right and hauled her across her lap. He could hear Elizabeth's muffled protests and hear the rustle of clothing as Miss Harwell lifted her skirt. Elizabeth let out a squeal at this indignity.

To his delight Richard could see Elizabeth's cutely rounded buttocks tightly clad in cotton drawers with lace at the bottoms. These were like short pantaloons or bloomers having a drawstring at the top. The bloomers fit snugly and defined the crease separating Elizabeth's girlishly round bottom cheeks which were now pertly presented across Miss Harwell's lap.

"Oooh...nooo....please.." Richard could hear his cousin's pitiful pleading. She was mortified at having her drawers exposed and being held across Miss Harwell's knee like a child, her bottom exposed for a spanking, like she was 10 instead of a teenager of 15.

"Now miss, perhaps this will teach you not to be insolent with me," said Miss Harwell, her jaw set in a look of grim determination. She gripped the tapette, raised it, and brought it down with a loud smack!

"Owww!" howled Elizabeth. She kicked her legs up and wiggled.

Smack!....... Smack!.....Smack!... Miss Harwell spanked Elizabeth's bottom with hard deliberate cracks from the tapette. Elizabeth yeowled with pain. The smacks sounded like sharp explosions in the confines of the converted classroom, even as they were partially muffled by the door. Emily's face was drained of color. She wore an expression of total shock, as if she could not believe what was happening to her sister.

From behind the door they could hear the smack of the tappette against a thinly covered bottom and Elizabeth's frantic pleas for mercy interspersed with scolding from Miss Harwell.

"So miss, Will you disobey? This is what happens to insolent girls in my charge! "

"Owww....ooo....ahhhh, no, stop....I'm sorry, I'm sorryy....owww", Elizabeth wailed in response. But the spanking went on for several minutes. Miss Harwell was determined to mete out a good hard lesson and continued spanking the pretty teenager's bottom with smart steady cracks of the tapette. They could see her wiggling bottom and her legs fluttering as she did a humiliating lap dance over Miss Harwell's knee. Elizabeth broke down hysterically as the relentless spanking went on and on.

The whap!...whap!...whap! of the tappette sharply striking the rounded cheeks of Elizabeth's seat was finally accompanied by a childish sobbing of complete surrender that sounded like a continuous "Wah...wah...wah...oh..oh..".

Then it stopped. There was dead silence but for Elizabeth's  crying and the rustle of clothing being adjusted. After a few moments, the door opened and Elizabeth emerged, her eyes red and her face streaked with tears. Her hands were behind her pressed against her injured seat. Miss Harwell strode behind her, the instrument of correction still in hand. As she opened a drawer to put away the tapette, she addressed them all.

"Elizabeth, you will go and stand in the corner, face to the wall until I tell you to come out. Richard and Emily, we will continue our lesson. Emily, please begin reading on page 35," she said as she pulled out her chair and took her seat. "Emily?"

"Er, y-yes Miss Harwell," and she began to read in halting, nervous phrases. Meanwhile in the corner Elizabeth's quiet sobbing accompanied the lesson.

******************************************************************************

The children remained subdued after Elizabeth's juvenile punishment at the hands of Miss Harwell. They were on their best behavior. Elizabeth had been deeply shamed by the spanking and seemed to avoid looking anyone squarely in the eye for a few days afterward. Emily was indignant. "I won't let her do that to me, I don't care what anybody says," she vowed.

Gordon knew otherwise, and he felt from Richard's responses a keen sense of excitement at the prospect of his pretty blonde cousin turned up over Miss Harwell's knee for a bottom smacking with the tappette. As he could observe, her waist was tiny and her nether cheeks were quite full and well developed, jutting out, pushing out the folds in her skirt, making it almost taut across her backside. What a sight that would be!

In the meantime, Richard's kid self took over. Gordon became aware that Richard fully intended to sneak out to the frog pond, deliberately disobeying Miss Harwell. Gordon sensed some fear on Richard's part, for he was now keenly aware of the probable consequences if caught, but the lure was too much. The bravado of a young adolescent was going to override good sense, it seemed. Inwardly Gordon railed--we're going to get caught! The mental message went unheeded.

It was a Saturday. Richard was left to clean his room ("It shall be very tidy, Richard, by the time I get back," Miss Harwell had admonished him). This was to be done while Miss Harwell and the girls went into the city for shopping. But no sooner were they out of sight when Richard abandoned the boring chore and made off for the frog pond. Gordon could sense the attraction--freedom, interesting critters, mud. Gordon was cursing inwardly--he knew Richard's idea of playing now and cleaning later was unwise. It wasn't long before Richard was muddy up to his knees from stalking a particularly wily old bullfrog. This was fun but the shadows were getting longer. By now Richard had soiled his clothes thoroughly. He didn't give it a thought--he was crouched on a rock in the pond, the bullfrog in his sights. His concentration came undone when he happened to look up and spy none other than Miss Harwell approaching. This unnerved him so much that his foot slipped and he went down into the mud with a spectacular belly flop.

Harriet Harwell stood on the bank, hands on her hips, glaring at Richard. She wore a severely tailored suit, a wide brimmed hat, and black gloves. At that moment Richard, in serious trouble, covered with mud looked up and had the idea that she was beautiful, even in her fury, which was evident.

"Well, Richard, " she said in a clipped tone. "It seems you have disobeyed me. Not only did you not tidy your room, but you came down here, which I forbade you to do. You are filthy and you have ruined a perfectly good suit of clothes. Get yourself out of there this instant."

Gordon felt a cold knot in the pit of Richard's gut. Miss Harwell had meant to be obeyed and now she was very angry.

"Get up and come with me to the house this instant," she ordered. Richard meekly pulled himself up. "I didn't mean to, Miss Harwell," he whined lamely, "I was going to clean my room...I didn't mean to get dirty I-I fell. You startled me."

Harriet whirled and faced the whining lad, fixing him with a withering gaze. "Master Richard, I don't want to hear your sorry excuses. You deliberately disobeyed me. I forbade you to play in that pond, and now look at you. You will have ample opportunity to make amends, sir. You will now follow me without delay."

At that she turned on her heel and marched off toward the house. Richard now completely cowed, trudged behind her, his steps plodding toward an uncertain fate. The girls were standing in the driveway as the pair approached. Their faces bore smirks at Richard's obvious discomfort and Richard could overhear their speculation as he walked by.

"Oooh Richard is in trouble, Emily, what do you think Miss Harwell will do?" questioned Elizabeth.

"I fear our cousin may have a right good whipping for his disobedience. Serves him right, too," countered Emily.

Richard overheard the comments and involuntarily clenched his buttocks at the thought. That phrase--a right good whipping--resonated in his mind as he regarded Miss Harwell opening the back door to usher him in. He'd been spanked on occasion when his mother was alive, but she had died when he was ten. His father had been too distracted and busy to discipline the boy--hence Miss Harwell.

She ordered the kitchen staff to heat some water. "As you can see," she told them as they regarded the sopping wet boy with some amusement, "he'll take quite a scrubbing." The cook, Edna, and Jenny, the maid, shook their heads with a smile as if to say, "Boys--wouldn't you know it--dirty, disobedient scamps."

"Come with me, straight to the upstairs bath, Master Richard." She took Richard by the elbow, pinching his nerve. He floundered along beside her. "Care that you don't touch anything," she admonished, but her grip controlled him so that they kept away from the walls. When they arrived at the large upstairs bathroom she ordered him in. "Now you will wait until the water arrives. I will return." And she left shutting the door behind her. Richard let out his breath in a big gasp and sat on a bench, dripping and cold. Shortly the water arrived courtesy of Jenny, a husky farm girl who was on the household staff. Behind her strode Miss Harwell wearing a white apron like nurses wear, a hefty long handled bath brush in her right hand. When Jenny had poured the steaming water into the tub, Harriet dismissed her and turned to Richard.

"Take off your clothes," she said flatly. Richard stared at her as if he could not comprehend. She still standing there, her lips pursed, her arms folded. Surely she didn't expect...

"Did you not hear me, Richard? I said take off your clothes."

"I-I... b-but with you here, I..." he stammered, blushing.

"I will tell you only one more time and I will then call upon Jenny to assist me, take off those dirty clothes at once, sir. I intend to scrub that mud off of you. You wandered into the pond like a disobedient child and now I'm going to bathe you like one."

Richard's blood froze. Gordon felt the sharp chill of fear and embarrassment. She was going to see him naked! And give him a bath like he was a six-year-old! He had never felt so humiliated. The look on her face meant business and Richard rose to slowly strip in front of the imperious mistress. He did not want Edna or anyone else to see him naked. He reached his under shorts and hesitated. "Please, Miss Harwell, I'll clean myself up. I'll bathe really well. You don't have to help me."

"Richard, I've had enough of your foolishness. I mean to bathe you myself and you will take those drawers off and climb in that tub this instant," she said pointing the wicked looking bath brush in his direction.

With a shiver he eased down his last scrap of clothing exposing his blushing body to the stern Miss Harwell. He felt completely humiliated having to strip in front of his governess. It was so shameful to be exposed this way to this young woman. And to his horror he felt his penis harden as he slid his pants down. He hastened to cover his private parts with his hands, but he knew she could see his stiffening prick. Her eyes narrowed and she glared at his reaction.

"That will be enough of that. Get in the bath at once," she commanded.

Richard hastily obeyed, but yelped as he climbed in, the water was so hot. Miss Harwell approached, a bar of strong soap and the bath brush in her hand. She sat on a bench beside the tub and proceeded to scrub the dirt caked boy. She was none too gentle about it and Richard thought she was going to scrub the skin off. He was especially embarrassed when she made him stand up while she scrubbed his legs, groin, and bottom. The harsh bristles hurt on the tender skin of his behind. She scrubbed him head to toe and when she was finished Richard thought she had surely taken off a layer of skin. She rose from the stool and fetched a towel.

"Get up Richard. I'm going to dry you off and then we must talk about your behavior."

Completely subdued, Richard rose, dripping. At Miss Harwell's command he stepped out of the tub. Miss Harwell sat on the bench and held open the towel for Richard. As he stood between her legs she vigorously rubbed him with the towel. Richard flinched as the harsh towelling chafed his skin now made pink from the bath brush. "Ow, Miss Harwell, ow..." he yelped.

"Hold still, Richard. Don't squirm you naughty boy. I'm not of a mind to be gentle with you after your wretched behavior. Now then," she said apparently finished, "it's time to talk about your disobedience." A cold chill went up Richard's spine. He was naked and his governess was seated at a bench with a long-handled bathbrush in her hand. "Turn around and face me, Richard."

Richard turned holding the towel in front of his body to face Miss Harwell seated on the bench. "What you did was in direct defiance of my orders, wasn't it?"

"Y-yes, Miss Harwell," admitted Richard.

"I specifically forbade you to go to that pond, didn't I?"

"Yes, but..."

"I will have no excuses, Richard. You disobeyed me and you will now be punished for it. Now put that towel down and place yourself across my knee."

"Oh, no, please miss, no," wailed Richard when he realized what she intended, his worst fears confirmed. She intended to spank him like a child.

"Do not add defiance of my command to your list of sins, Richard. Across my lap at once, you wicked boy. I'm going to teach you a good lesson in obedience."

Richard froze, which prompted a disgusted Miss Harwell to jerk the towel away. She gripped the blubbering boy by the earlobe and forced him squealing, face down over her knee. She grabbed his right hand and twisted it up behind his back while simultaneously lifting her right leg. This forced Richard's nose toward the floor and raised his buttocks vulnerably pointing the unblemished cheeks upward. While Richard's response was one of deep shame at being upended nude over Miss Harwell's lap, Gordon's was one of fear. He had never felt a spanking before.

Speculation about the physical sensation to be visited on Richard's buttocks ended with a swift volley of stinging smacks from Miss Harwell's capable right palm. She spanked hard, visiting alternate cheeks of the chubby boyish behind with sharp cracks that resounded off the hard walls of the steamy bathroom.

"Ow...ow...ow..." wailed Richard, squirming and kicking his legs in response to the surprisingly sharp pain. She was only using the palm of her hand and it stung like blazes. She spanked with a rapid fire arm motion that delivered smack after stinging smack to the tender seat previously scrubbed to a healthy pink by the brush. Gordon was quite overwhelmed by the pain. It stung worse than anything he had ever experienced.

"I mean you to mind me young man *smack!smack! smack!* So when I tell you *smack! smack!* not to *smack! whap!* play in that pond I mean for you to obey *smack! crack! whap!* Do you understand me?"

"Owwww....aaah...yes, Miss Harwell," bleated Richard. But Miss Harwell just kept spanking Richard's reddening buttocks with brisk smacks applied equally between the two bobbing mounds. Richard couldn't help but writhe and jerk, but Miss Harwell had him in a steely grip. Determined to administer a punishment that Richard would remember, she increased the tempo of the shamefully juvenile smacking, now concentrating on the very crown of Richards bottom cheeks. Richard pleaded for mercy, but the relentless spanking continued. Richard felt his eyes well up with tears, it hurt so much.

After what seemed like an eternity, Miss Harwell stopped, resting her palm on the summits of Richard's red and stinging bottom. Thinking it was over, Richard made to rise, but Miss Harwell held him down.

"We are not yet finished, Richard," she said. To his horror Richard felt her hand move away and heard a wooden clatter. She was picking up the bath brush! He squirmed in panic. "Hold still at once Richard. I mean this to be a salutary chastisement, sir, one you will remember the next time you are tempted to disobey."

Richard felt more than heard a whoosh of air and then CRACK! the brush landed on his buttocks flattening both cheeks and causing more pain than Richard believed possible. Richard screamed in pain and the tears began to flow in earnest as crack after crack of the wicked brush fell on his wriggling fanny.

Downstairs the household staff could hear the loud crack of the brush and Richard's piteous wails.

"The young Miss is giving Master Richard a good seeing to," remarked Jenny. "She was quite angry with him," said Edna nodding as the smacks and howls continued to emanate from the upstairs bathroom. "I wouldn't want to be in his shoes," remarked Jenny, "I had enough spankings myself growing up and this one sounds like a doozy."

Gordon had never in his life felt anguish like this. His seat was aflame and the intensity of the spanking layered stinging pain on top of stinging pain. He was aware that Richard was blubbering and babbling--pleading for mercy, wriggling over Miss Harwell's knee, crying salty tears. The last ten smacks were hard slow and deliberate. Each one carried with it a litany of repentance.

CRACK! "Will you obey my rules?"
"Oww...yes...yes..."
CRACK! "Will you mind me?"
"Ouch....aaah...please, yes..."

Down the hall in their bedroom Elizabeth and Emily listened raptly to the shameful punishment being meted out to their cousin. Elizabeth's own tender bottom cheeks clenched in involuntary sympathy as she listened to the crack of the hard brush. Emily shuddered as she realized that Miss Harwell would not hesitate to treat her the same.

Harriet Harwell finally stopped and regarded her handiwork. The boy's bottom was a bright red and swollen. She had punished him severely but no more than what was warranted. She relaxed her grip and raised Richard to his feet. Richard was sobbing uncontrollably. He had forgotten he was standing nude in front of Miss Harwell. She lifted his chin as he rubbed his blistered sit spot and raised his eyes to hers.

"Now Richard, I hope you have learned your lesson. I will not tolerate disobedience. Well?"

"Y-yes, ma'am," sobbed Richard. God, his behind stung! Gordon was in shock. Never, never do I want to have that done to me again, he thought. I'll do anything. But what could he do? Richard was a kid, a young adolescent. In a few days he would forget about this and tempt fate again. He had to exert his will--control Richard.

"Now, you will be confined to your room for the evening. Supper will be sent up to you. Go," she commanded.

"Yes, Miss Harwell. I'm sorry, I really am," said the tearful boy. "I won't do it again."

"I'm sure you won't," said Harriet Harwell with a thin smile.

Back in his room Gordon felt Richard's agony. Who was that politician who had said, "I feel your pain?" Seems like it had been some cracker running for president. Well he did feel Richard's pain--in spades. Face down on the bed the heat from his blistered buttocks felt like a furnace even an hour later. Sitting tonight would be impossible. What he needed was rescue. He no longer cared about the lascivious delights of viewing Emily's whipping, he just wanted this to end. He knew that the time travel session could be terminated, but he had to get a message to them to do so. But how?

Gordon had carefully studied the technology before embarking upon this lark. He knew that AT had to locate him in time and space fairly precisely to get a lock on him. This was to have been no problem because he knew where the birching of Emily was to take place and when. He also knew that that night he would be in Richard's room. But now he had to make new plans. He sensed that something had gone wrong. He knew he had to get a message to AT.

The first item of business was to make Richard do what he wanted. So, he concentrated. Write a letter, he thought, over and over. He willed Richard to pick up a pencil and paper.

Richard was puzzled. He felt a strange compulsion to write a letter. It was as if some unseen presence was directing his very thoughts. To Gordon's elation, the boy got out of bed and walked to his desk. Having procured the materials, he began to write. The words made no sense to Richard but he did the bidding of the unseen force.

**************************************************************************

A few days later, Harriet took them into the city. Gordon waited for an opportunity. When Harriet went into a dress shop with the girls, she told Richard to wait in the front parlor. As he did so, he saw his possible salvation in the store across the street. It was a Western Union office. This was his chance. It was risky but Gordon took control of Richard and made him leave the parlor, walk across the street and hand his letter to the clerk. The staff was amused at the strange request but decided to humor the young lad and promised to deliver his message as specified.

The reason they were in town was to dress the girls appropriately for a tea several of the families in their area were to hold in honor of Richard's visiting cousins. Richard was expected to come too. He soon grew bored and whined when Harriet announced that they would now shop for him.

"Richard, you will stop this whining at once. I will not have it," she said giving him a stern glare. "And if I have to correct you again, you may find yourself in a very uncomfortable position when we return home. Do I make myself clear?"

There was no doubt in Gordon's mind that the "uncomfortable position" she had in mind was bottoms up across her knee, and Gordon wanted no part of that. His behind still hurt from the awful walloping with the bath brush.

But it turned out that Richard's salvation was to arrive in the form of Miss Emily's behavior. To begin with, she was out of sorts from the beginning. Nothing was right. Nothing looked good. The dressmakers were fools. The styles were hopelessly frumpy.

"Emily, these styles are perfectly acceptable for a young lady of your age," stated Harriet authoritatively.

"They are absolutely horrid. I am not going to wear such childish clothing to an afternoon tea. Why, the other girls will laugh at me in these...these child's frocks."

The argument became more heated. There was a climax of sorts when Miss Harwell picked out a new school dress for Emily. It was a cute sailor suit, blue, with a short skirt and a wide, flat collar with white stripes on it.

"This...this is completely childish," sputtered Emily. She folded her arms. "I'll die before I'll wear this and that's that." Miss Harwell just paid for the dress and hustled them all home.

"Now," said Miss Harwell when they arrived back at the house, "I want to see you all in your new clothes. Emily, I want you to put on the sailor outfit. Richard, the jacket and short woolen trousers for you I think, and Elizabeth, the gingham frock. Now! Go!" she said clapping her hands. "We don't have that much time before supper. When you have dressed, present yourselves in the study."

As Richard and the girls ascended the stairs, Emily declared that she would not dress in that childish costume. "But Emily," entreated Elizabeth, "Miss Harwell will be so very angry if you don't change and come to the study."
"I don't care," declared Emily. "I will not put on those silly clothes."
Richard overheard this exchange with growing interest. A confrontation was brewing. Gordon sensed Richard's growing excitement at the prospect of Emily's defiance of the stern governess.

Richard and Elizabeth did as they were told and presented themselves for inspection in the study. "You both look very nice," beamed Miss Harwell. "Now where is Emily?"

"She said...she said, she wasn't coming down," said Elizabeth tentatively. "She ...er...won't wear the sailor suit. She said to tell you."

"She did, did she?" Miss Harwell's eyes narrowed and her gaze drifted toward the upstairs where Emily had ensconced herself. Gordon could see that Miss Harwell was fuming. This was not mere disobedience. This was outright defiance. She composed herself, then addressed Richard and Elizabeth.

"If Miss Emily wants to defy me like a child, then she will be treated like one. Both of you stay here while I attend to Miss Emily." She exited the study with a purposeful stride.

Ohmigod! thought Gordon. Emily was going to get it. Gordon's excitement transferred to Richard. He thought fast. Emily was in the girls' bedroom. There was a closet in the adjoining room with a small hole in the back wall where a picture had once hung. If he was very quiet he could see through it. He was far too excited to consider the risk. For his part Richard was too timid. He did not want another whipping, which would surely be the consequence of this folly. It had hurt like the devil and had shamed him deeply. But his mental protests were in vain. Gordon had done it. His lust had taken over and assumed control. As quietly as he could, Richard started to slip out of the study.

"Where are you going?" asked Elizabeth.

"Never you mind," hissed Richard placing his finger over his lips. "Just keep quiet." Elizabeth was too shocked to protest. Richard slipped out and stealthily climbed the stairs. Luckily no servants were about. Richard approached the bedroom door on tiptoe. Loud voices could be heard within. Richard slipped past the door and into the next room. Pushing aside old clothes in the closet he found the hole and pressed his eye to it. He had a view of the entire room. Emily had started to undress from the trip, so that when Miss Harwell had come in, she was dressed in a camisole, white cotton bloomers and stockings held up by garters. Richard's heart leapt. She was gorgeous in her underwear. The swelling globes of her bottom filled the tight drawers to perfection. Richard started to get an erection and he fumbled with his trousers to find his stiffening prick as he watched through the spy hole. Gordon knew this was dangerous and his brain screamed for Richard to stop and retreat, but Richard was in the throes of adolescent lust. Gordon felt it too, and was torn between fear of being caught and a desire to see what was to happen to Emily.

Richard could see and hear the drama about to play itself out before his eyes.

Miss Harwell stood there resolutely, a broad, flat-backed hairbrush in her hand. Emily's eyes were wide with fright as she contemplated the stern governess tapping the brush in her open palm. Her voice quavered but she attempted to be defiant.

"...and it's a terrible childish outfit and I won't wear it. I won't!"

"You will, child, and right now...that is,  after we deal with your insubordination. Your parents told me you were spoiled and willful. That is why they gave me a free hand with you. This has been coming Miss Emily, and it is now time that we establish the lines of authority in this household." Miss Harwell's demeanor was cold, with no nonsense. She clearly aimed to make Emily obey.

"W-what are you going to do?" asked Emily shakily.

Miss Harwell pulled a vanity stool away from a desk and seated herself. Emily backed up a step or two, fearfully eyeing the hairbrush in her hand.

"You--you're not going to...sp-spank me!" A shocked Emily wailed. "I'm not a child!"

"Indeed, I am, Emily. You deserve this. Come over here to me. Right now, miss," she commanded.

"No--oh, no...please not that. I'll do as you say." Emily tried to back up. She even executed the delightfully childish move of putting her hands behind her as if to shield her bottom from chastisement. Her bravado melted away like morning fog on a summer day in the face of Miss Harwell's stern demeanor.

"It's too late for that, my girl." As she spoke she quickly reached out and grabbed Emily's wrist. Emily struggled and protested, pleading with Miss Harwell not to spank her.

Gordon thrilled at the spectacle. Miss Harwell yanked poor Emily over her knee and pushed her over so that her nose was practically on the floor. Her magnificent bottom was perched over Miss Harwell's knee and was pointing at the ceiling. The kicking of her legs made it jiggle lasciviously. Miss Harwell clamped her left arm down across the small of Emily's back to hold her in place for the shameful ordeal to come. She could not escape the steely grasp. Then Emily shrieked in protest as Miss Harwell gripped the top of the cotton bloomers and slowly inched them down, baring Emily's lovely white moons. Richard's heart caught in his throat at the unveiling of the plump heart-shaped bottom, now presented like a ripe peach over Miss Harwell's lap.

When her drawers had been lowered to mid thigh, baring her buttocks for the impending correction, Miss Harwell spoke.
"I'm going to give you a tidy little spanking with just my hand first, Emily. A nice warming. Then my girl, you'll feel this brush. Just the thing for a spoiled disobedient girl. It will smart. And in the future I expect absolute obedience, do you hear me?"

"Nooo...nooo," wailed Emily kicking her legs. Emily was a petite, albeit very well endowed, girl, and Miss Harwell was tall and lithe, so the lap over which Emily squirmed put her up off the floor, legs fluttering, hands clawing empty space. Miss Harwell was bigger and stronger. Indeed, Richard had felt the strength in his governess' arms when she had handled him in the bathroom.

The stern-visaged woman held the hairbrush in her left hand and with a look of grim determination raised her right palm.
Smack! Smack! Whap! Smack! Miss Harwell started to spank the pale white moons of Emily's proferred bottom with crisp handspanks that landed on alternate cheeks. Emily wailed in pain and humiliation at the juvenile smacking that stung her tender buttocks. The governess spanked and scolded Emily at the same time.
"Now miss we are going to get a few things straight. From now on when I give you instructions...".

The lecture and the spanking continued for the next several minutes uninterrupted as Miss Harwell spanked the jiggling bottom relentlessly. She was determined to teach Emily a lesson she would remember.

"Wahhh...owww...please...Miss Harwell...nhh...no more". Emily pleaded in a voice that made her sound more like 12 than her 16 supposedly mature years. She didn't sound anything like 16 now, thought Richard, stroking his hard penis through his shorts. Good God, what a scene! Emily's buttocks were bobbing and heaving over Miss Harwell's lap. The rounded fleshy hemispheres jiggled with every smack that landed and were becoming quite red. With a last volley of smacks she paused.

"Now, I want you to put on the sailor suit and come down to supper."

"Oh...hoo...hoo...yes, Miss Harwell," sobbed Emily. All the starch had been spanked right out of her and she was now a penitent little girl trying to rub the tears from her eyes.

*****************************************************************
 

Barbara had been shocked when she heard the news. Gordon was caught in a quantum time state--what could she do? She had no real idea why he had even done this. The technology was so new. As she contemplated the problem, the doorbell rang.

It was a messenger. Western Union. Her reaction was one of curiosity. What in the world? He was handing her a telegram, of all things.

"Ma'am, I know this seems strange, but, well, the company takes these things seriously. Seems this telegram, written in 1897 is real. Been in our vault for years with these special delivery instructions. How in the world it could name someone living here and now with the correct address, we don't know. But it's authentic, far as we can tell..."

"Well, ah, thank you," said Barbara taking the crinkled, yellowed envelope.

The guy tipped his cap and strode off leaving her with the mysterious message. She opened it and read.

  " ...don't have much time STOP Read the old diary in my credenza STOP cruel governess STOP mostly on third floor SE wing STOP. hurry STOP Gordon"

Barbara was stunned. Imagine...this message had been written by the hand of Richard Mills over 100 years ago. But wait. It also meant that Gordon was directing Richard's actions. Wasn't he supposed to merely observe and not try to influence events? She couldn't worry about that now. But what to do? Help him? Serves him right, she thought, thinking about that collection of naughty magazines and tapes. Then she read the diary and understood. For God's sake. He wanted to see a sixteen year old girl get an honest to goodness tanning. Unbelievable. So he wants help does he? Serves him right. He needs to get his own butt tanned a few times.

Then a delicious thought hit her. I could even see this...no, wait a minute...I could actually *experience* giving Gordon a good hiding. Wouldn't that be interesting? How much fun would it be to walk inside the shoes of the formidable Miss Harwell--and take charge of Gordon as a little boy? A sudden vision of a younger version of Gordon, with his pants down over her knee while she spanked his twitching buttocks, flashed into her head.

The more she thought about it, the better it sounded. She had to admit--Gordon's collection had awakened feelings she could not deny. So, a day later, against the wishes of the tech staff Barbara allowed herself to be projected into the mansion in Delaware, on the third floor, SE wing, just like the telegram said. She carefully instructed the staff to bring her back no later than the morning of August 24. She had no desire to be part of poor Emily's punishment.

As her senses cleared she became acutely aware of another persona, that of...Ms Harwell? No. She was seated at an old desk looking at a woman behind a bigger desk. That's Miss Harwell. That meant she was...she looked at the younger girl with brown hair sitting next to her...Emily. Oh my God. She'd been projected into Emily's body, not Miss Harwell's.

"Emily? Emily? Are you paying attention?" asked Miss Harwell with a stern look.

"Oh, yes. Yes, ma'am," said Emily, flustered.

"I think less daydreaming and more concentration are appropriate. Don't you agree?"

"Er, yes, ma'am."

Barbara had chosen a bad time to make the time travel jump. Emily had already been inattentive that morning and her confusion caused by the intrusion of this...what? thought Emily. It was so very strange.

"Emily, let me see your mathematics notebook. You have had well over half an hour to do the problems I gave you. Bring it here."

Emily cringed. Truth was the page was covered in doodles--and worse. The name "Jared" figured prominently in her musings, and, hence, was scribbled all over the page in flowery cursive script. Miss Harwell took the notebook and perused it, her lips forming a thin hard line.

"Emily, you have obviously squandered you study time. And for what? Mooning over some stable boy?"

Miss Harwell knew who Jared was. He took care of horses on several neighboring properties. A handsome young man of twenty some odd years, he had broad shoulders, deep blue eyes and a shock of dark hair down to his collar. He had been bringing the horses over whenever she or Emily and her sister had wanted to ride. As for Emily, she had been smitten from the first sight of him.

"I'm sorry Miss Harwell. I-I don't feel well. I just..." she didn't finish.

"You did not even start. You need to wake up Emily. You have been daydreaming all morning, girl. Perhaps a few strokes from my tapette will get your attention." She started to open the lower drawer where the dreaded tapette was kept.

"N-no, please Miss Harwell. Not that. I'll start again. I'll do them all."

"Yes, you will Emily. And correctly. I will give you ten minutes. You will then hand them in to me...."

"Oh, yes, thank you." Emily was so relieved. A second chance.

"...and for each one wrong you will receive four strokes from my tapette."

The color drained out of Emily's face. Oh, no. Off to her left she heard a muffled snort from Richard. The wretch! She'd like to get him. Emily stated working but her mind was in a panic. She was terrible at this. Barbara sensed the girl's confusion and her fear. There were ten problems. She had ten minutes.
It was just addition but Emily had no head for numbers. The pressure wasn't helping. She had been having the nicest daydream about Jared...
Barbara thought Oh my God! She's in a swoon over some local swain. Because she can't pay attention this girl's going to receive a spanking and I'm going to feel everything she does.

"Miss Harwell, please." She was pleading. This was too awful. The spanking she had received for her petulance over the shopping trip had been bad enough for a girl her age, but at least it had been done in private.

"Not another word, miss. You will start now."

Ten minutes later Emily had scratched out what she thought were answers to all ten problems. I hope they're right, Emily thought. Miss Harwell had been checking Elizabeth's work. Now she looked up and stared right at Emily. "Time's up. Hand your paper to me, miss," commanded the implacable Miss Harwell.

"Oh, please," whined Emily. "I didn't have enough time."

"If you had not been daydreaming about some hired hand, who I might add, is considerably beneath your station, you might have done this work on time. Everything has a price, Emily. The price for your indolence may be a hot bottom."

Emily flushed in embarrassment and shame. Richard was grinning like a fool, she just knew it. She was almost shaking with nervousness as Miss Harwell reviewed the paper. Were they all correct? They had to be.

"You see, Emily, you can do well when you want to."

Emily breathed a huge sigh of relief.

"You only missed three."

"What, Miss Harwell?" Emily had been thinking she was safe. Three? She had missed three? This was worse than awful. Twelve smacks from that-- that paddle. Elizabeth had bawled like a baby and had told her later how much it had stung. "It felt like bees stings, Em, horrible bee stings."

Barbara felt the quickening of Emily's pulse and the dry taste of fear in her mouth as Miss Harwell slid the bottom drawer open and pulled out the slim tappette.

Miss Harwell rose, tapette in her hand. "Into the back room, Emily. We don't wish to disturb your sister and Richard with our little correctional chore. You two continue. We shall return." To Emily she said, "Come, Emily. It is time to pay the price for your dawdling."

"No, no, Miss Harwell. I beg you. I am really too old for this sort of thing," she said trying earnestly to summon some maturity and dignity.

"I have made my decision, Emily, you will be punished. You can either accept your correction with some bravery and grace or I can put you across my knee like a baby here in front of Richard and Elizabeth. Would you prefer that?"

Emily did not want that. Grimly she followed Miss Harwell into the adjoining room. Miss Harwell closed the door and turned to face Emily. She tapped the thin paddle in her palm. Emily found it hard not to stare at the painful implement.

"You know, Emily, this is not just for today. I have noticed that you have been off in some sort of fog all week and I know why. I saw the way you looked at that stable boy and I want you to know I am going to nip this in the bud. The twelve strokes I intend to give you will serve as a warning. Stay away from him. I will not allow a charge of mine to become sullied by association with one such as he. Do you understand me?"

"But, I..." Emily started to say but was interrupted.

"Do not argue with me, Emily. Now to attend to the business at hand. You owe me the acceptance of twelve strokes of the rod from my hand. This will be an exercise in self discipline for you as well. You will raise your skirt, bend over and touch your fingertips to your knees. You will bear the chastisement with as much grace and dignity as you can muster--and you will not move."

With a muffled cry of shame Emily did her bidding. She raised her school skirt to above her hips and bent, thrusting out her lovely derriere. Her bottom was clad in short white bloomers that stretched across the womanly bottomcheeks as she bent.

"You will hold this position, Emily, while I punish your naughty posterior. Should you rise, we will begin again. Are you ready?"

Emily was almost in tears and it hadn't even started. "Yes, ma'am," she managed to croak. How she hated this awful woman at this moment. What an ignominious posture--sticking her bottom out for smacks like a child. She felt the thin lathe pressing against her exposed rear. It felt cold and hard. Then she heard a whooshing sound. It landed with a sharp crack! Right across the crowns of her bottom cheeks. Right where she sat. It felt like a band of fire. With a few seconds between each cruel swipe, Miss Harwell administered the strokes with the tapette, each one landing with an emphatic cracking sound. She took her time, lining up each stroke. She would gently tap the proffered bottom a few times before raising her arm and whipping the wooden instrument down with a deft flick of the wrist.

Emily flinched with each harsh smack. How it stung! She tried not to cry out, knowing that Richard and Elizabeth were keenly listening. Tears welled up in her eyes as the heat delivered to her smarting seat increased with each cruel lick.

So this is a spanking, thought Barbara. Ow! Ow! It really stings. She tried to help Emily not to move. She feared the consequence of having Miss Harwell start over. How humiliating to bend over presenting one's bottom for punishment.

Miss Harwell liked to lecture between strokes. "Perhaps, miss, you will pay attention to your studies--and refrain from any thoughts of seeing that awful boy "

Emily stifled her cries as the tappette struck her inflamed fanny.

Outside Richard could hear the sounds of the painful spanking. He couldn't see but he could imagine the scene--Emily, her skirt up, bent over, displaying her bloomer clad bottom. The bloomers would be tightly stretched across her shapely seat. The imperious Miss Harwell would be standing to the side, whipping the thin wooden slat in an arc to impact the pretty teenager's bottom. Maybe her cheeks would clench a little. He bet they wobbled deliciously as the tapette hit. How he wished he could see! Yes, thought Gordon. Richard wanted to see. Perhaps through the keyhole. Yes. Silently, Richard slipped out of his desk.

"Richard! What are you doing?" hissed Elizabeth.

Richard shushed her with a wave of his hand as he tiptoed toward the keyhole. Gordon felt Richard's excitement and added some of his own. Richard's penis was rock hard, straining the front of his pants. Pressing his eye to the keyhole, he took in the events in the next room. Reacting to a particularly hard smack, Emily rose straight up clutching her hands to her injured buttocks.

"Please, please no more, Miss Harwell," she begged.

"Bend over, Emily, we are barely half done. Must we start again?" asked Miss Harwell coolly.

"I--no, please. I'll take it," cried Emily. Her body shaking, she assumed the position. But the next whack with the hard tapette was too much. Emily rose again with a wail.

In disgust Miss Harwell placed the tappette on a nearby table and dragged a chair to the center of the room.

"Since you can't hold still for a simple correction like a big girl, Emily, I suppose I will have to treat you like a child yet again."

"W-what are you going to do?" quavered Emily.

Miss Harwell grasped Emily by the wrist and pulled her forward. Seating herself she tipped the startled teenager across her lap face down.

"Since you can't hold still I will hold you right across my knee and spank your naughty bottom like a baby."

"Noo---no," pleaded Emily. She felt Miss Harwell's fingers at the drawstring of the bloomers and wailed anew as she felt the garment descending, exposing her naked buttocks to her stern governess.

Gordon couldn't believe his luck. Miss Harwell was shucking down Emily's bloomers baring her luscious bottom to his lustful gaze. Emily blubbered in protest.

Miss Harwell shifted her position to tip Emily over even farther and raise the unfortunate girl's buttocks. Richard could make out a series of red stripes left by the tapette. Without saying a word Miss Harwell began to rain meaty sounding spanks down on Emily's bare bottom. The spanks fell on alternate globes, then right in the middle, right across the crease. Emily's fanny quivered in response to the solid impacts of Miss Harwell's capable palm and she kicked her legs, pleading for respite. Miss Harwell, however, seemed determined to do a thorough job. After several minutes of hard and very sound spanking, Emily was crying openly, no longer trying to hold it back. This was what Miss Harwell had been waiting for, and the spanking stopped abruptly.

Barbara could hardly believe what she had just been subjected to. The searing heat of the tappette had been quite enough, but the embarrassing spanking of her denuded buttocks had had been nearly unbearable, and doubly shameful to boot. She had never appreciated how humiliating the posture was--upended over a knee like  Little Iodine, helpless, bare bottom on display. It must be red as a beet, she thought.

Richard saw Emily be allowed to readjust her clothing. Quickly and quietly he scampered back to his desk. Elizabeth scowled at him through narrowed eyes, but did not say a word as Miss Harwell led the sniffling Emily back to class.

The lessons resumed as if nothing had happened but Richard could hardly concentrate. The vision of Emily, her shapely buttocks on display bucking and wriggling over Miss Harwell's lap while she slapped them to a fiery hue intruded into his thoughts. His penis was stiff and uncomfortable and he felt hot.

"Is anything wrong Richard?" asked Miss Harwell. "You look flushed. Perhaps you should get a drink of water. Go ahead then."

Richard mumbled, "Yes'm" and headed for the kitchen. On his way out he glanced guiltily at Emily then at Elizabeth. To his horror, he saw her mouth silently the words, "I'll tell."

******************************************************************


Elizabeth had threatened to tell on him, but the rest of the day went on without incident. That night alone in his room Richard relived in his mind the lurid spectacle of Emily's juvenile spanking. As his mind conjured up the scene, Richard's hand stole towards his penis. He had been told it was a sin, but he could not help himself. Emily, bare bottomed over Miss Harwell's knee. The relentless smacking from the governess' palm. The curvy buttocks wobbling with each smack, the cries and pleas, the scissoring of her legs and the revelation of the treasures hidden between. He finally came in great jutting arcs, all over his bedclothes. Gordon shared in the ecstatic release. It was so much more intense for a young adolescent. He wanted more.

But it was Elizabeth who was his undoing, for she told on him. Not to Miss Harwell, but to her sister. At the revelation of Richard's peeping, Emily was fuming with anger and embarrassment, and Barbara, having just experienced the most humiliating and painful episode of her life, was doubly incensed. It was Barbara, then, who put the idea for revenge in Emily's head. Concentrating as hard as she could, she focused, trying to direct Emily's actions. She noted a grim sense of satisfaction when she sensed an idea beginning to take shape in Emily's thoughts.

Saturday was Miss Harwell's day off. She frequently went into town to shop, leaving the children to their own devices. In her absence Emily plotted her revenge. What she knew, and what Richard did not, was that Miss Harwell would return very early that day. First there was the pretext. They invited Richard to picnic with them in the woods by a small stream in the Southeast corner of the estate. It was shielded from view of the house by a heavily wooded copse.

Richard was delighted. They even suggested swimming, a forbidden activity, and further, hinted at the possibility of scandalously skimpy attire. It was to be a deliciously naughty adventure. And for Richard, it got even better. When the three of them met in a glade by the creek, Emily suggested they take off all their clothes for the swim. She told Richard to take his clothes off first and get in with his back turned, then she and Elizabeth would join him.

Richard could scarcely believe his good fortune. Gordon, however, could sense that something was up, but Richard was in the throes of adolescent lust and he hastily stripped off his clothes in a thicket next to the swimming hole. He slipped into the water and called out, "Now it's your turn."

While Emily called out, "Be there in a minute," Elizabeth grabbed Richard's clothes, threw them in the bushes, and ran for the house. She caught the governess just as she was about to cut some flowers from the garden. She had just returned from town as expected and was preparing to look for the children whom she assumed were outside.

"Miss Harwell, come quick, Richard's in the creek!"

Miss Harwell dropped what she was doing and hurried after Elizabeth. The two were met by Emily who entreated them to hurry pretending that she feared Richard was in trouble.

"We looked for Richard and heard splashing, Miss Harwell. We fear he may be in trouble."

All three hurried to the clearing where they came upon a startled Richard splashing around having, apparently, a jolly time. The water was shallow. It was obvious he was not in danger. Richard's jaw dropped when he saw the three of them. Gordon thought with dismay, "We've been had."

Richard stood half submerged in the middle of the creek. He stammered, "M-Miss Harwell, you were in town."

Miss Harwell's eyes narrowed. It was the wrong thing to say. Then she realized that Richard was swimming naked.

She shushed the girls away. "Girls, I'll take care of this from here. Go back to the house."

"Yes, Miss Harwell," they both sweetly chirped in unison. As they turned to go Richard saw the wicked smile that Emily flashed his way. The color drained from his face. He was going to get it.


Miss Harwell put her hands on her hips and regarded him with a glare. "So," she said, "I leave the house and look what you do. You know better than to come down here and swim alone. And naked! The girls or staff could have seen you. This is absolutely scandalous!"

"I-I was...what I mean to say is...Emily and Elizabeth, they were..."

"Stop. I don't want to hear it. You have Emily and Elizabeth to thank. They alerted me before you could hurt yourself. Now you get right out this instant."

Richard came out, dripping and shivering, and trying to cover his nakedness. He started to put on his clothes.

"Not so fast, young man. You just stand right there." A sense of dread came over Richard as he watched the imperious governess take out her pruning shears and proceed to cut a green whippy looking shoot and strip off the buds and leaves to make a switch. The switch was about two feet long and it made a sickly whining sound as she swooshed it through the air experimentally.

Emily and Elizabeth had started back toward the house, obediently at first, then Emily tugged at Elizabeth's sleeve. "In here," she whispered, leading Elizabeth into a grove of tall trees. "She can't see us from here." Indeed, from their vantage point in the grove they could see Miss Harwell and Richard in the clearing but they were hidden in the shadows.

"Come here, young sir," commanded the imperious Miss Harwell. "Bend right over and grasp that branch," she said, indicating a low branch of a sturdy oak with the tip of her switch.

Richard whined in fear, "Please Miss Harwell, no, no please don't." But he was in for a whipping and he knew it.

"Bend over at once, Richard. I told you what would happen," she repeated.

Reluctantly Richard bent over, thrusting his buttocks out. He was still wet and shivering. Miss Harwell stood to his left and tapped his vulnerably proffered cheeks with the switch. "I'm going to see that you do not repeat this behavior, Richard. I have told you about going into the water before. And to do so naked. The very idea!"

Huick! Swick! Whiss...swick! The switch fell rapidly with wrist snapping strokes from Miss Harwell's hand.

"Yeoww!....ow....ow!" Screamed Richard as Miss Harwell whipped Richard's nude bottom with the licky switch. The pain was so intense, Richard gritted his teeth and tried to hold back the cries, but he couldn't.

Emily and Elizabeth watched gleefully as Miss Harwell switched Richard's buttocks again and again causing him to wriggle and stamp his feet. He yowled for mercy as red lines of pain were painted on his backside by Miss Harwell and her whippy switch.

"Oooh, look at him wiggle," whispered Elizabeth. "I'll bet that that doesn't half hurt. Look at his bottom dance."

Richard was howling and hopping in pain as Miss Harwell delivered stroke after stroke with the switch. He could not hold still for his punishment, so Miss Harwell grasped him around the waist, propped her foot up an a rock and bent him over her left knee. "This will hold you still," she muttered in grim determination. She resumed the switching amid renewed yelping from Richard.

Swick! Huick! whick! The cruel switch continued to paint red lines of pain on the boy's bouncing buttocks. "Ow!...ow!..yeow!...Miss Harwell, stop! Please stoppp!" Richard was crying pitifully now and kicking thin air. He'd been lifted off of his feet when she had pulled him over her knee. After vigorously whipping Richard's bottom for perhaps a minute she stopped.

"Now," she said, dropping the switch. "Get your clothes on and follow me."

"Come on, let's go," said Emily, quietly exiting the thicket. It wouldn't do to be seen.

It was a sad march back to the house. Richard was sniffling, totally beaten. Gordon shared his pain and shame. He had known something was wrong but had been powerless to prevent it. He wondered if Emily could have concocted this cruel trick on her own. It did not seem like her, it was too bold. Elizabeth? No, she was as afraid of Miss Harwell as Emily.

****************************************************************

Richard was in for another shock. Later that day, Miss Harwell gathered the three children together and announced that Richard was, for the next week, to be "petticoated". To Richard's shock, she produced a girl's frock, girl's underclothes and shoes and told Richard to repair to his room and don the clothing at once. Richard was mortified--to have to wear girl's clothes! including petticoats! He protested adamantly.

"Please Miss Harwell! No! I'll obey now, I promise no more swimming or anything."

"I'm afraid Richard, it sometimes becomes necessary, especially with high spirited gentlemen to use stern measures to insure obedience. I'm quite sure that you will have no desire to trundle off dressed, as you will be, in feminine attire. Go now, or it will be the worse for you," she said in a commanding tone.

Anger coupled with frustration almost proved too much for Richard. But fear of another whipping won out. He donned the shameful clothes, which included silk panties, petticoats, stockings and the dress. He blushed beet red as he regarded himself in the mirror. With his hair curling down over his collar he could be taken for a young girl. Curiously however, the feel of the silk drawers against his skin was causing his manhood to rise. He willed it to stop. The sense of shame was nearly unbearable.

"Well, now, that's an obedient gentleman," said Miss Harwell approvingly at supper. Richard was ready to die of embarrassment. The girls snickered.

Each morning before breakfast Richard had to put on the frilly attire, still deeply mortified, but fearful of crossing Miss Harwell. The girls continued to tease him whenever Miss Harwell left them alone.

"Doesn't he look quite cute, Elizabeth?" laughed Emily. "I'd say he, or is it she, is a very proper young lady." And both of them would giggle.

Anger overcame Richard. "You lied. You tricked me," he fumed.

"Silly Richard. Did you really think we were going to take off our clothes and jump in the creek with you? Miss Harwell didn't make you half jump with that switch, did she?"

"Y-you saw?" said Richard incredulously.

"We saw every wiggle of your bare seat under Miss Harwell's switch, dear cousin...which I must say was very cute." And both girls dissolved in laughter. "You should have seen yourself dance."

Richard could stand no more. He reached over and grabbed Elizabeth's hair, pulling it.

"Ow! Stop!" shrieked Elizabeth. The noise was enough to bring Miss Harwell running back to the room.

"What's going on here? Richard! What are you doing?"

"He pulled my hair!" cried Elizabeth, pointing an accusing finger at Richard.

"That is quite enough," said Miss Harwell with a determined look. "Emily and Elizabeth, please escort Richard to the study. And tell Miss Hensley and Mrs. Carstairs to join us. I'll be in shortly." Miss Harwell strode from the room and Emily smirked.

"You're in for it now. Mrs Edna and Jenny are going to watch you get it too, I bet." Barbara gloated as Emily teased Richard. This is even better than she thought. Now she'd get to see Gordon get real old fashioned spanking like little children of this era got.

A crestfallen Richard fearfully walked toward the study flanked by the smiling girls. Will this nightmare never end thought Gordon? Now Miss Harwell was off to fetch something and here he was in a girl's frock with silky girls' drawers and stockings being led to some new humiliation, this time in front of Mrs Carstairs, the housekeeper and Jenny, the young maid.

When they arrived at the study, they waited. Apprehension rose anew in Richard as he overheard  Miss Harwell approaching, speaking to Mrs Carstairs and Jenny.

"Mrs Carstairs, do you know how to prerare a nursery birch?" asked Miss Harwell.

"Yes ma'am, I do," she replied. "I had to prepare many a birch rod for my young Maddy, and well into her teens too. And I'll wager it hasn't been that long since Miss Jenny here has felt a swishy rod across her backside." Jenny's blush told them that the older woman's comment had struck home. She was no stranger to the rod.

Oh, God! Not another switching, thought Gordon. His knees started to shake. It didn't take Mrs Carstairs long to cut switches and assemble the rod. She reappeared after a few moments and interrupted Miss Harwell's blistering scolding of Richard long enough to hand her a short bundle of thin woody switches tied with a ribbon to form a handle.

Miss Harwell seated herself on an ottoman. "Come here, Richard," she said with an imperious tone. Richard shuffled over to stand in front of her. "This is how little girls are punished when they are naughty and can't behave. Lift your skirts and petticoat." Richard hesitated, mortified that all the women in the household were witnessing this.

"Please, Miss Harwell. I'm sorry. Really, I..."

"At once, Richard! You have no one to blame but yourself."

Blushing all over, miserable beyond belief, Richard raised his skirts exposing his silky drawers. Inexplicably his prick began to harden and stick out, tenting the front of the flimsy drawers. The girls giggled. Jenny smiled knowingly as Mrs Carstairs whispered, "That happens to the lads sometimes when they're about to get a whipping from a woman."

While Richard's hands held the dress up, Miss Harwell grabbed him about the waist and tipped him across her lap. She cocked her right knee up, pushing him right over making his body jacknife. His nose was pushed into the carpet on one side while his toes pushed on the floor on the other. The effect was to raise his buttocks prominently at the apex of Miss Harwell's lap.

The tears began to fall before the birch did. Richard was totally mortified. His bare bottom was displayed for all the females of the household--to be punished like a ten year old girl--with the nursery birch. But there was nothing childish about the punishment. Miss Harwell whipped Richard's buttocks hard and long with the short rod and the sting was atrocious. The heat built slowly. The first few strokes merely tingled and Richard thought maybe this wouldn't be so bad. But it started to sting worse and worse. By the time 50 strokes had been meted out Richard's buns were on fire and he was was crying and squirming. The steady whick! whick! whick! of the birch was accompanied by Miss Harwell's scolding and Richard's pitiful pleas for mercy. The sting had built up to a level that was most unbearable and Richard had lost any shred of dignity. He was howling and kicking like a little girl and that, Gordon realized in a red haze of pain, was the point.

Gordon had never felt so miserable. He keenly felt Richard's pain and shame. Wearing girls clothing, whipped on his bare bottom while held across the knee of his governess--in front of his cousins and the staff--it couldn't get any worse than this.
And then he was falling. The pain melted away. The room blurred. There was a sound in his ears like a giant wind. And then...

**************************************************************

"Mr Mills, sir, all you all right? There was a power surge and well, we lost you for awhile."

Gordon sat up. Good God, had it really happened? Then he winced. His butt felt sore and welted. Then he realized that although he was physically unhurt, his brain was still registering the pain of Richard's whipping.

"I'm ok, Hugh. I'm fine." He looked around the chamber only to notice another cylinder down, indicating that the other time portal was in use. Inclining his head in that direction, he asked, "who is in there?"

"It's Ms Boynton. She insisted. She said she could help. She's there now. You must have been there at the same time."

She was? thought Gordon. Then who? He paused, thinking. Good God, it had to be Emily! She had contrived to set up the incident at the creek--through Emily. But why? Then he got it. Revenge--for his spying on Emily. She'd been Emily when Emily had been spanked by Miss Harwell and had found out when Elizabeth snitched. Interesting. It seemed that there was more to his partner than he had known about.
Hmmm...well, two could play at this game. He thought a minute. The diary. He needed the diary.

The diary was not where he had left it. But he knew where to look. Barbara must have guessed his secret, for there it was, shoved in the top drawer of her desk. He guessed too that she must have intended to use Ms Harwell as a host. He thought about the players for a moment then knew what he had to do.

"Hugh, I've got to go back. It's Ms Boynton who needs my help now."

"Whatever you say sir. We can be ready to insert in half an hour, just give me the coordinates."

"Good man. We've got to help Barbara."
Yeah, thought Gordon, I'm here to help.

***************************************************************

Gordon had a plan. Revenge may be a dish best served cold, but Gordon was in no mood to wait. The shameful embarrassment of the petticoat punishment and the nursery birching was a powerful motivation. He knew what he wanted to do, and more importantly, how to do it. The hard part was locating Jared. However, Gordon knew that Jared cleaned the stalls and saddled the horses on Wednesday mornings. Miss Harwell and the girls rode then.

After consultation with his technicians, he entered the chamber once again and fell through space and time to Wednesday, August 22.

This time when the falling sensation receded, Gordon found himself in Jared's husky 19 year old body. And he immediately sensed a powerful sexual urge fueled by fantasies of the luscious Emily. Jared's expectations were up, knowing he would see her that day. Gordon concentrated hard, summoning up every ounce of lust for the golden-haired Emily. He even conjured up the scene he had witnessed as Richard-- of Emily spawled over Miss Harwell's knee, bare bottom on display as it reddened under the juvenile spanking. This last mental image produced a powerful surge in Jared's already partially turgid prick. Apparently the mutual attraction between Jared and Emily had progressed over the Summer and was quickly reaching a flash point.

Gordon willed Jared to take a piece of paper and write a note, which said:

"Dearest Emily,          I can wait no more. I will meet you in the loft above the stables  
tomorrow night. Please my darling. I love you with all my
                     heart and soul.
                                       --Jared
                                                                                     

Jared and Emily dared not display anything other than apparent disinterest in each other when she, Elizabeth and Miss Harwell arrived at the stables that afternoon for their weekly lesson in horsemanship. Miss Harwell was an accomplished rider and part of her charge was to instruct the girls in this art. But when her head was turned, Jared passed the note into Emily's hand. The look in Jared's eyes was one of caution so Emily hurriedly slipped the paper into her underclothing.

Emily read the note later and was so excited she could hardly speak for the remainder of the day. Late that night under the faint light of the moon her heart fluttered and her sex surged as she reread the missive from her lover. A clandestine meeting. It was what she had fantasized about. This was very dangerous, she knew. She dared not think of the punishment were she to be discovered with Jared. But she was too smitten to resist the temptation.

Gordon was elated when Jared passed the note. Part one of the plan was set. That Emily and Jared would rendezvous, he had no doubt. Now to part two.

As instructed the machine brought him back an hour later. He explained to his people that more time insertions would be necessary, that Barbara's location had moved. The first insertion came a day later, this time to Cedric's office in Wilmington. By this time Gordon had become quite adept in manipulating his host. So it was that with some sense of urgency, Cedric sensed that something was about to happen at home that involved his niece. He had to go home.

As he approached the family home in the Delaware countryside, he knew only one thing, that Emily was about to do something she shouldn't, and that there was this thought in his head telling him it had something to do with the stables.

In the meantime, the two would be lovers were hastening toward their rendezvous. Emily swore Elizabeth to secrecy and tiptoed out of the house at midnight. For the occasion she wore a diaphanous white nightgown over a chemise and silken drawers with stockings--just the right combination of chaste and adventurous. She was truly conflicted about what she should do. She wanted to melt in Jared's arms like she had dreamed but was fearful of the consequences. In the end, hormones trumped good sense.

For Jared, the choice was easier. He had no illusions about what he wanted from the beautiful Emily, but the fear was no less palatable. My God! If he were found out...

Travel by carriage was possible because of a full moon, but it was after midnight when Cedric arrived. He pulled up in front and instructed his driver to wake the household. Pulled by an urge he could't explain, he headed for the barn.

In the back of the loft over the barn Jared and Emily were too wrapped up in each other to even sense Cedric's approach. Things had progressed way past the point of no return. Emily's night clothing was loosened. Her top had been pulled down and Jared was hungrily kissing the hardened nipples of her luscious breasts. His hands squeezed the satiny globes of her bottom, making Emily swoon with desire. She could feel his hardness as he pressed against her. Emily made no protest as he had loosened his trousers and slid them down. As he did so his stiff member popped out.

Emily was too enthralled to hear the footsteps on the ladder. But both teenagers jumped in shock as the light from Cedric's lantern hit them full in the face.

"Emily," thundered Cedric. "What are you doing, girl?"

Emily fell back into the hay, attempting to cover herself. Jared's hands went to his trousers. Too late! The bobbing of his stiff prick as he fumbled with his pants left no doubt as to what had been about to happen.

Jared fled out the back of the barn as Cedric angrily hustled Emily down out of the loft. By this time lights had come on and the staff were stumbling out into the courtyard to see what the commotion was. Miss Harwell arrived, her hair undone, clad in a silk robe. Cedric noted what a beautiful woman she was. Her hair was down and the tightly cinched robe displayed the fullness of her breasts and the slenderness of her waist.

Harriet was puzzled. "Mr. Mills, whatever is going on? Why is Emily out here in a sheer nightgown?"

To Gordon the situation just kept getting better.

"You might well ask, Miss Harwell. After all Emily is your charge. I found her upstairs in the loft with that-that stable boy," sputtered Cedric.

"B-but, I had no idea..."

"Apparently not," huffed Cedric. "As for you, Emily--just what did you think you were doing up there?"

"Uncle, I-I..." Emily was at a loss for words.

"Get in the house, girl--we'll deal with you later." Emily shuffled off hurriedly, as if fleeing from her irate uncle.

Cedric turned to Miss Harwell. "I'll expect you in my study at 8:oo am, sharp, Miss Harwell."

Harriet was unused to the forceful, dynamic man who stood before her issuing orders. Numbly she said, "Yes, sir."

**************************************************

It was an apprehensive Harriet Harwell who stood before Cedric in his study the following morning.

"She was in your charge, Miss Harwell. How did you let this happen?" Cedric appeared clearly upset and angry. Gordon hoped the effect would unnerve Miss Harwell.

"I'm sorry, sir. I had no idea. I have been strict with them this whole summer."

"Yes, I understand," replied Cedric. "Your liberal use of the switch and that paddle of yours has been made known to me. I must say, Miss Harwell, a good whacking for a naughty child is appropriate now and then, but you seem to have elevated this technique to a new level."

Oh, dear, thought Miss Harwell, the petticoat punishment. At the time it had seemed fair, but Mr. Mills was upset about the treatment of his son.

"I-I thought it best. Richard would not obey and I..."

Waving his hand, Cedric cut her off.

"We'll discuss that later, Miss Harwell. What concerns me now is Emily. In this case a severe and formal punishment is warranted, don't you agree?"

"Yes, sir," replied Miss Harwell, now back on familiar ground. "In my opinion the girl should be whipped. I recommend a birching. At the boarding school I attended no less than three dozen strokes would have been meted out for an offense such as this."

"I see. You will attend to this, then. It will be here in this study at four o'clock. I want the children and the staff in attendance. You will prepare the birch rod. And Miss Harwell..."

"Yes?"

"Her modesty will not be spared. Do you understand me?"

"I do, sir."

***********************************************

So it was then that at precisely 4:00 on August 24, 1897 Emily was ushered into Cedric's study escorted by Jenny and Mrs Carstairs. She wore a thin white chemise with drawers underneath. Emily gasped when she entered the study. She had been told what her punishment would be, but the color left her face when her eyes lighted on the stool with buckling straps flanked by a bucket holding several birch rods. The rods were willow, made up of half a dozen slender switches bound by ribbons at the top.

"Uncle Cedric, please," pleaded Emily. Emily could scarcely believe the horrible fate laid before her.

Emily's was terrified. She was to be whipped, and the hour of her execution was here. She was helpless. Involuntarily she clenched her buttocks in apprehension.

Inwardly Gordon gloated. This was so perfect. Better in fact than he had imagined. He was not Richard, a teenage boy, watching passively, oh, no. He was in control. He wondered if Emily/Barbara had any idea.

But unbeknownst to Gordon, Barbara was gone. She had been extracted as she had ordered, that very morning.

"As your uncle, Emily, your conduct is my responsibility. You have behaved abominably. Imagine! Cavorting with a stable boy. Can you imagine the disgrace? But you probably never thought of that, did you?"

Emily hung her head, ashamed. If only...

"So you will be thrashed by your governess. Thirty-six strokes, delivered with the full force of Miss Harwell's stout right arm."

Emily's head shot up. So many. It would be unbearable.

"No...no..." she began to sob.

"Prepare her," said Cedric gruffly to Mrs Carstairs.

Mrs Carstairs and Jenny each took an arm. Emily dug her heels into the floor, resisting. "Come along, Miss Emily, your Uncle is right. Come on girl, it's time."

The two servants pushed Emily over the stool face down. They buckled her wrists and her legs to the legs of the stool. In this position her buttocks were prominently positioned over the stool's top. Emily squirmed, testing the restraints, but it did no good, it only made her bottom jiggle lewdly.

Cedric nodded to Miss Harwell and said, "Miss Harwell, please commence with the punishment."

Miss Harwell took up a birch rod and swished it experimentally. It made a whining sound. Emily stiffened and looked back, her eyes wild-eyed with fear.

"Face the front please, Emily, and try to conduct yourself with some dignity," said Miss Harwell as she tucked the birch under her arm. She reached for the hem of Emily's chemise, and grasping it, lifted it up to expose Emily's lushly rounded bottom clad only in thin drawers. Emily protested this indignity, but then shrieked when Miss Harwell placed her fingers in the drawstring of the draweres and slid them down, baring Emily's bottom.

"No, no, please," wailed Emily in total embarrassment.

Miss Harwell took her stance to Emily's right. She carefully measured the birch rod so that the splayed end would fall across both cheeks evenly. Emily flinched as she felt her bottom tapped lightly. Satisfied that her position was correct, she drew back her arm. The birch rod made a whining sound as it descended and a dry thwack! as it landed. Emily screeched in pain. It was worse than any of Miss Harwell's previous punishments.

"One", intoned Mrs Carstairs.

Parallel pink lines spang up on the crowns of Emily's buttocks where the rod had struck. Emily wriggled and cried out.  Miss Harwell lined up the rod again.

Swiiishh...thwack! The impact caused a fleshy ripple of the cheeks of Emily's rear. Another pitiful cry from Emily.

"Ouch, please, it hurts so!"

Swiisshhh...whick! Another hard swipe from the rod made Emily arch her head back in pain. It must be stinging like holy hell, thought Gordon. Good. Serves her right.

Emily shifted from foot to foot as if this might alleviate the sting. Barbara could scarcely believe how much this hurt! How had this happened to her?

But all the squirming did did was made her fanny jiggle lasciviously. Gordon felt Cedric's turgid prick straining against his trousers. It was hard as a rock. Gordon noticed Richard and smiled inwardly. His eyes were wide as saucers and his cock pushed out, tenting his shorts. He didn't know how this had happened but he was enjoying every minute.

Swissshhh....huick! Number 4. Another cry from Emily.

Swiishhh....thwack!  "5". Emily thrust forward, tiptoes drumming the floor in distress. The pink lines were merging into an overall hot pink hue.

"Ow! Ow!" she yipped.

Swiisshhh....huick! "6". Right in the fold at the top of the thighs-a tender spot. Cedric could see Emily's whole body tense in painful reaction to the swipe of the rod.

Having found a rhythm, Miss Harwell now started whipping in earnest, delivering a stroke, pausing, then pulling back her arm for the next one. Emily grew more vocal now, yelping as the birch striped her nude fanny which grew redder with every swish. As the rod landed she would tense and throw her head back. Her bottom jiggled as the rod struck.

At number 12, Miss Harwell stopped to get another rod. Emily sagged over the stool crying. Emily's rear was striped red. The birch wasn't heavy, it was more supple and swishy than anything else, but the cumulative effect felt like bee stings on top of bee stings.

Miss Harwell was ready to start up again. Cedric said,

"Please continue. I don't think you have had nearly enough, Emily."

The whipping commenced again, stroke after swishy stroke delivered rhythymically, painting Emily's buttocks a deeper red and making the girl scream in anguish.

Emily cried hoarsely, "arrrhhh...ahhh...uhh" at each lick. Goggle-eyed, Richard watched her squirm like she was doing a fanny jiggling dance in tune to the birch that scorched her shapely seat in such a pitiless manner.

Miss Harwell prepared the final rod, shaking the withes to spread them out. As she swooshed it through the air, Cedric could see Emily flinch at the sound. This time she laid them on in hard even strokes. As each swishing lick struck Emily raised up, her buttocks jiggling with the splat of the rod. Then she cried out in pain and drummed her feet on the floor. She was no longer in control of her body but was writhing to the tune of the punishing birch.

Cedric motioned to Miss Harwell.

"Finish it," he said. No mercy for you, Barbara, thought Gordon.

Miss Harwell nodded and drew back her arm, determined to make the last few memorable.

Swiisshh....huick!

"Arhhh....ah...ah.." bleated Emily. The hardest one yet. She ground her hips against the stool in a slow circular motion.

Sweee....thwack! "34." Emily's fanny bounced lewdly.

Swiiissshhh....thwick! "35". Emily humped up and down, in a frenzied motion.

Swiisshhh....huick! "36". Emily was sobbing and blubbing in anguish, probably unaware that all thirty-six stripes had been delivered.

Cedric turned to Miss Harwell. "Well done. I think Miss Emily has been appropriately chastised."

"Thank you sir," she replied and placed the rod in the bucket with the other spent birches.

"Will you ever do anything like this again, Emily?"

"No, no, oh, no, sir," blubbed Emily.


"Release Emily and take her to her room," said Cedric.
"Miss Harwell, I would have a word with you."

"Yes, sir," said Miss Harwell.

When the children and staff had departed, Cedric seated himself behind his desk and addressed a nervous Miss Harwell. He was a handsome man, she thought, but his stern demeanor gave her butterflies in her stomach. Was she in trouble?

"I charged you with bringing these children to a satisfactory level in their studies, Miss Harwell, and I realize that from time to time that necessary means must be used to secure obedience." Cedric sighed, "I fear I have been too lenient with the boy myself..."

"He can be a handfull," ventured Miss Harwell.

"All the same, Miss Harwell," said Cedric, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing, "to place the boy in...what did you call it? Petticoat punishment, yes that's it--was completely inappropriate. A good whipping never does a lad any harm, but to resort to such measures was outrageous."

"But, sir, I-I thought that given the nature of..." she stammered.

Cedric cut her off. "I'm very angry and my inclination is to discharge you with a negative report."

Oh, no, she thought. This could ruin me.

Inwardly Gordon gloated. This was it. "However," continued Cedric, "I'd be willing to continue on one condition."

Hope flared anew for Miss Harwell. "Yes, yes, sir, of course..."

"Good. You will accompany me to the barn. Now."

It was a puzzled Miss Harwell who walked behind Cedric out to the barn. Whatever is this about, she thought? But there was an uneasy feeling to it. Cedric ushered her into the tack room.

As she watched in wild-eyed apprehension Cedric strode to the wall and selected a riding switch from a hook.

"An excessively shameful whipping deserves another, Miss Harwell. If you wish to remain in my employ, disrobe."

All the blood rushed from her face. Now she understood. He meant to thrash her.

"Sir, you can't...," Miss Harwell began. Cedric stopped her.

"I can and I will...or, you will leave here with no references."

A bewildered and defeated Miss Harwell slowly undid the buttons of her dress. She sloughed the garment to the floor. She then pulled a camisole over her head, leaving her clad in a singlet and drawers and stockings. She looked imploringly at Cedric.

"Must I...it's so shameful?" She pleaded.

"At once, Miss Harwell," roared Cedric. Wow, thought Gordon. My fantasies come true.

Miss Harwell obeyed. She had set her course. Somehow, she thought, I will prevail in spite of this. There was also a feeling of...what? excitement? arousal? Cedric was a handsome man. She peeled off the singlet, exposing her breasts, then she turned and drew the drawers down over her exquisite alabaster bottom globes. She had a slender waist and full womanly hips. Her buttocks were jutting and firm. Lovely for the whip, thought Gordon. She bent to remove the stockings.

"That won't be necessary, Miss Harwell. I believe that your person is sufficiently denuded for this. Now kindly bend over that rail."

Cedric had pointed to a rail about waist height. Gingerly, Miss Harwell bent over, thrusting her satiny buttocks upward.

"I'm going to give you twelve stripes, Miss Harwell, across that lovely seat of yours and I hope you remember each one for some time to come."

Miss Harwell just shivered and flinched as he tapped her proffered bottom. The switch sang with a zweee...thwack sound and a lurid red stripe appeared. Miss Harwell stifled a cry. Cedric slowly laid on eleven more lashes in a slow deliberate manner. At each whuickk...smack of the switch the pert bottom jumped. Miss Harwell twisted and cried out, but kept her position. Satisfied, Cedric allowed her to rise. Her face flushed and crying she faced Cedric, her hands kneading her wounded rear. Cedric beheld the subjugated beauty and his heart softened. He dropped the whip and held out his hands. She rushed into his arms. Surely she felt the stiff prick straining Cedric's trousers. There was a musky scent emanating from between Miss Harwell's thighs...

Gordon felt the room spin. Time. Time was up. He was being pulled back. He would never know if Cedric had...

****************************************************************

Gordon slowly came to consciousness. Technicians unhooked cables and electrodes.

"Are you ok, sir?" asked one.

Groggily, Gordon replied, "I think so."

A woman in a smartly tailored suit stepped up. "Mr. Mills, I believe Mrs Mills wants to see you. Immediately." She turned abruptly on her heel and strode off.

Gordon flashed a puzzled expression. Mrs Mills? A tech guy smiled and shook his head.

"Looks like she's on the warpath again, sir. You might be in the doghouse for using the Traveler."

What was this? There's no Mrs. Mills. "I own this company. What in the hell's going on?"

The two technicians exchanged a puzzled look.

"Well, don't I?" demanded Gordon.

Obtaining no answer Gordon stomped off to find Barbara. He checked his office. Except that it wasn't his office. The prime corner office of the building said "Barbara Boynton-Mills, President."

"Come in Gordon." Barbara's voice was both icy and angry.
"Just what did you think you were doing using the Traveler without my permission? I told you not to do that."

"What in hell is going on around here?" yelled Gordon. "Why are you in my office?"

Barbara smiled. "You're so like a little boy. Can't keep his hands off the new toy. And don't pretend that this trip has warped your brain. We have been married ten years. I put you through school, remember? You invented the Traveler, but I run the company. You work for me. And you may have forgotten how I handle your childish disobedience around here, but everyone else knows. Now lock the door and take down your pants."

Gordon stood transfixed in disbelief as Barbara slid open a drawer and took out a solid flat backed hairbrush. She pulled a chair out from the wall and sat down, glaring all the while. Gordon felt a strange mixture of fear and arousal.

"And this is just for now. Oh, wait 'til I get you home..."

How had this happened? Barbara had spanked him like a child, kicking and wriggling over her lap in the office, his pants around his ankles. Then at home, that birch thing. God! It had stung.

Much later, at home, after he was allowed out of the corner, his rear striped and sore from the birching with a high-tech synthetic birch rod, Gordon found the family album and an old bible. There it was---Cedric had married Miss Harwell. As he later came to know, they had produced a line of brilliant but strangely submissive males stretching back several generations. It was a Mills family joke. The men always married powerful, smart, domineering women. In fact it was said that Cedric himself, after an odd incident in the barn with Miss Harwell, had reverted to form, a distracted befuddled male under the spell of a strong-willed woman. The old photo told all--the imperious Miss Harwell stood tall and straight while Richard and Cedric seemed to almost cower in her presence.

Gordon swallowed. The timeline. What they had warned about. By influencing events he had changed history--not by much, but enough.

But the clincher was Emily's diary, the book that had started it all. Gordon had never read to the end, but he did today. There it was, an entry on the last page, written in a different script:

"LlIa etga ouya, ordonGa, ustja aitwa--arbaraBa."
































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