Miss Strang Chapter 13
By Governess
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Copyright 2008 by Governess, all rights reserved

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This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It contains explicit depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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Chapter 13

We went into supper. John sat with bare legs under the table and his bare bottom on the chair. After saying grace, Miss Strang served up the hotpot. John received his in silence, but was given permission to say `thank you', which he did, a trifle sullenly, I thought.

It was when we had almost finished supper that Simon inadvertently asked John to pass the jam. Almost immediately he realised what he had done, and looked quickly at Miss Strang.

"Simon, I thought I said you were not to talk to John. Is that not right?

"Yes, Miss Strang. I'm sorry. Really I am."

She stood up and held out her hand.

"Come with me."

She led him into the schoolroom, leaving the door half open. John looked at me and seemed on the point of speaking. I shushed him, shaking my head vigorously, and looking away. After a short time, the unmistakable sound of a hairbrush smacking bare flesh could be heard, accompanied by Simon's shrill cries. I counted eight strokes. Eventually, he was led back to the table, clutching Miss Strang's hand and with a face that was hot and tear-stained.

The rest of the supper was eaten in silence. When the dishes had been stacked for Mrs Mountfield to collect, John was sent to bed.

"I will be in to check on you in ten minutes, John, so no dawdling."

After nearer fifteen minutes, she went into the schoolroom and fetched the birch. Simon looked at it nervously.

"Simon go into the schoolroom and continue to learn your spellings. I will be testing you tomorrow morning. In less than half an hour you will be going to bed. Livia, please come with me."

I was not sure why she wanted me to accompany her, unless it was to deepen my bother's shame. When we arrived John was already in bed. Probably he felt it the safest place to be.

"Out of bed, please, John. Stand in front of the mirror and lift your nightshirt."

He did so reluctantly.

"Do you see any marks? You may answer."

John twisted and looked over his shoulder.

"Yes, Miss Strang. I can."

"John, when a small boy is caned the marks are visible for several days. They are a God given reminder of the pain he has suffered. They tell a boy that he had better improve. A sensible boy takes note and acts accordingly."

She turned to me.

"Livia, do you see the marks of the cane?"

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"And can you see the oval marks left by my hairbrush."

"Yes, Miss Strang. I can."

"Feel his bottom."

I did so. John squirmed at the indignity.

"And what do you feel, Livia?"

I reddened.

"I . . . I can feel where the cane has been . . . Miss Strang."

"And is the flesh raised. Are there still ridges on the surface of his bottom?"

John shivered.

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"And do you think that a sensible boy would have learnt from those? Would have taken steps to improve his behaviour?"

"Yes, Miss Strang. I suppose he would."

"And so would I, Livia. But tell me, do you think that John has taken such steps, any steps at all, to improve his behaviour? Would you say he is more obedient, more respectful of authority, more diligent?"

I felt my pulse quicken as the noose of condemnation tightened around my brother.

"No, Miss Strang. No, I don't think he is."

"You make it sound as though there is some doubt about it, Livia."

She looked at John, her hand resting on his small bony shoulder.

"Yes, Miss Strang"

John was near to tears under this shameful, remorseless cross examination.

"And then to teach obedience and tidiness, you received further discipline. Do you remember, having to undress and dress again? Do you remember doing that ten times?"

"Yes . . . Miss Strang."

"And each time you were completely naked I spanked you In all you received twenty stinging strokes. Do you remember that? You may answer."

John looked down.

"Yes . . . Miss Strang. Please Miss Strang."

"Why are you are pleading with me, John?"

"I . . . I'm sorry, Miss Strang."

"Words are cheap, John. I am not impressed by words. The truth is that I have provided discipline that most boys would have learnt from. But you have continued to be disobedient, to be rude, slovenly, and idle. I have spoken to your father, and he has agreed that you should be birched. I am therefore hanging this rod above your bed to remind you that tomorrow you will be flogged. That will be another generous opportunity to learn obedience."

She paused.

"As your father said, the rod is a good teacher. It is always there to repeat a lesson until it is thoroughly learnt. Now kneel down and let us say prayers."

In a short while Simon was sent off to bed and I was given the task of checking that he had settled down. When I returned, Miss Strang was in the schoolroom. I knocked on the door. She looked up and smiled.

"Come in, Livia. I wonder whether you would help me."

She was seated at the table, and again newspapers were spread out and she was stripping leaves from the half dozen or so remaining birch lengths. I sat beside her.

"It would not be the first time a small boy has destroyed the birch with which he is to be flogged, although I doubt that John would be so foolish. But a birch soon wears out and needs to be replaced. And a second birch may be required tomorrow. But what I want at the moment is someone to help me secure the knots to make them really tight."

Together we worked at constructing the second birch. I felt a sense of elation at assisting Miss Strang in this way. It was a mark of her renewed confidence in me. I glanced at her, and again thought how beautiful she was. Her clear grey eyes were narrowed in concentration. And I became aware for the first time just how long her fingers were."

"That is an excellent birch, Livia. All those tough, leathery twigs. Just look how flexible they are."

As she swished the rod through the air, I imagined it cutting across my own bottom and a little shiver went through me. And yet, frightening though it was . . .

The previous year, I had been persuaded by John to go on the cliff walk which was strictly forbidden us. I had looked down on the jagged rocks beneath and felt drawn ever closer to the edge. I had imagined myself falling, arms flailing, floating helplessly through the air, and then being broken on the rocks. I could see myself being lifted and carried back to the house. And then the shock and horror as the household saw my bruised, mangled, lifeless body.

Miss Strang was placing the birch in one of the large earthenware jars.

"Miss . . Miss Strang?"

"Yes, Livia?"

"Do . . . do you think that . . . that I might need to be birched?"

"Well, Livia, I have birched a girl of your age. But she was more like a boy than a girl. Boys and girls are different. A girl wants close friendships. She wants to feel accepted by others. And what others think of her matters a great deal to her. But a boy is different. He is much less concerned with what others think. He wants his own way. John does not want my approval. And he is not deterred by the thought of my disapproval. A boy does not respect authority. He resents it. As you have seen, John bridles under restrictions and rules. He will only obey when the cost of disobedience is more than he is willing to pay. And that cost is best expressed in the hard currency of corporal chastisement. A sensible governess starts with low denominations, pennies rather than shillings. But if he is prepared to pay the cost in pennies, then she can bill him in shillings, and if necessary in pounds. Tomorrow, I am going to exact from John a very high price for his failings. And when I have finished with him, Livia, I can assure you he will be bankrupt of any resolve to continue in his sinful ways."

There was a look of quiet determination on her face. I looked down, uncertain of what I should say.

"To go back to your question, Livia. Do I think that I will need to birch you? The honest answer is I do not know. If I judge that a birching is necessary then I will certainly not withhold it. But you are a girl, Livia, and I know that you seek my approval and are eager to please. Is that not true?"

I blushed.

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"But girls, Livia, while outwardly compliant, may sometimes harbour resentment and an angry spirit. They may not outwardly defy authority like a boy, but nevertheless do so secretly in their heart. And that is just as bad. A good governess looks for signs of that. She notes when a girl is slow to obey, or shows a lack of enthusiasm for her work. She watches for that disdainful fluttering of the eyes. That sharp intake of breath that is the outward sign of inward dissent. All these a good governess will notice. And her response will not be just verbal reproof. Such a girl needs to be whipped. And you are reaching an age, Livia, when the imposition of authority is likely to become increasingly irksome. But a girl of your age has still to respect authority, and the word of her governess must still be obeyed. If it is not, then the birch may well need to be applied."

She smiled.

"So be warned!"

She put her arm around me and embraced me. But all is done with your best interests at heart. And that will be true for John tomorrow when he is soundly birched. Now it is time for your bed.

When I was in the bedroom and the door was shut, I changed into my nightdress. Then as John had done, I pulled it up and inspected my bottom. I could see the pink oval outlines of the hairbrush. But more prominent were the marks of the cane, like a number of small red mouths, each with fleshy disapproving lips. Elsewhere there were several deep red marks where the tip of the cane had whipped round and cut deeply into my flanks.

Quickly I got into bed. My hand went to my smooth little vulva, my finger seeking out that special spot that felt so good to touch and gently rub.

(To be continued)