THE GOVERNESS

Phil was 18 years old, and yet his father hired an old-school Governess to beat some sense into the lad. The boy was livid and told Governess Emma bluntly to go ✗#$℥ Herself. She was not impressed. Turning a man, any man, into a slave, was a rescue mission and an act of kindness, She believed. It took Her less than three hours to break him in and transform him from a self-centered, arrogant, primitive and downright stupid piece of dick, to a tamed and obedient young man. But She knew: one swallow does not a summer make, so She had to stay alert and train him vigorously for the next six months. Each day, every day, from six in the morning to eight in the evening. Breakfast on the floor at seven, luncheon underneath Her pumps at noon and dinner in a bowl at six in the evening. She was not the friendly, encouraging, stimulating and supportive kind of Governess and patience was most certainly not Her second, third, fourth or even Her fifth name. Fresh, stubborn meat needed to be whipped, kicked and slapped into slave position, much like a blacksmith hammered iron into shape. It was not harsh, cruel or inhumane, it was necessary. Because, as Her mother used to say: power teacheth Women how to rule; pain teacheth men how to obey.

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