Miss Strang Chapter 24
By Governess
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Copyright 2009 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 24

After tea, Miss Strang called Simon to her. She held his face in her two hands and looked intently at him.

She smiled, still holding his face firmly in her hands.

"And time on the leash and a few sound spankings should see that done. At least for the moment."

She set an upright chair in front of her desk, and pulled Simon gently by the leash to her right side. I felt my heart beating a little faster. When I had seen Simon spanked on the very first day, I knew that I wanted to see him spanked again. John's spankings had been different. He was older. And although a child, was not a child in the way that Simon still was. And that made the whole character of his discipline different.

Until the age of seven or eight a boy has an instinctive acceptance of his governess's right to govern him. Of course he is wilful and disobedient but it is the naughtiness of a child and can be dealt with accordingly. But a boy of John's age has discovered a new independence of spirit. Disobedience is no longer mere naughtiness but an increasingly conscious assertion of his right to rule in the place of his governess. He becomes a pretender to her throne and seeks the sceptre of authority for himself.

But Simon was far from this. He was still a small boy who unthinkingly accepted Miss Strang's right to govern him. Her spankings reflected this. This small wriggling boy, could be held firmly, easily over her knee, be held in her embrace in a way that was no longer possible with John. Despite the apparent harshness of her treatment, there was a sweetness in her relationship with Simon. He was hers to discipline, and he accepted that.

John, however, needed to be driven to the block. His struggles were not just to avoid the rod, but an active resistance to his governess's will. He needed to be forced to his knees, made to bend his neck, and coerced by the rod to pledge loyalty to her as his liege lord.

She unclipped the leash from the narrow strap around Simon's wrist. She handed it to me.

"Simon, take off your shoes and socks, please."

He bent down, stooped, and unlaced them, pulling them off and then removed his socks.

"Place them under the chair. And now slip off your braces and drop your trousers. And now your pants. Right down, please. In fact, take them both off and hand them to Livia."

I took them from him and placed them on his desk.

"And now Simon, over my lap, please. Well forward. That is right. Are you comfortable?"

"Yes, Miss Strang."

I thought it odd that she should ask whether he was comfortable, as comfortable was the very last thing he would be in a few moments. But Miss Strang had no wish that any bodily discomfort should be suffered other than that which she was to inflict. The more at ease he was, the less there was to distract him from the discipline that she wished to be the sole focus of his attention.

She pressed her left hand into his back, pinioning him firmly over her knee. He was now a small boy in the traditional posture for spanking. There was something entirely appropriate about it. An older child would droop forward and his hands hang down. His toes would almost be touching the floor. Although the shame for an older boy of being placed in such a position might be a salutary discipline in itself, nevertheless he would look ungainly. The stark beauty of the spanking would be spoilt and the intimate delicacy destroyed.

"Livia, please pass me the hairbrush."

I handed it to her.

And as I looked at Simon lying there, awaiting the first stroke of the brush, I saw not just a woman with a boy over her knee, but the very embodiment of discipline itself. A timeless truth. Venus spanking the errant Cupid. Like the scene of sacrifice on Keats's Grecian Urn, caught in a timeless moment. But with the first stroke of the brush, the timeless moment dissolved and became a living reality, with a vibrant, sensual, beauty that was completely irresistible and utterly compelling.

She held him so firmly, that small, writhing, half naked boy. His buttocks were deliciously full and soft, so firm yet so yielding. Nothing could have been a more perfect offering for the hairbrush. The first stroke was firmly given to the crown of his right buttock. It reddened instantly. Simon gave a shrill cry, the unmistakable cry of a little boy being spanked. The sound I had heard coming from the schoolroom after his speaking to John at table when he had been forbidden to do so.

As the cheeks of a young girl redden when she is kissed hard on the lips, so Simon's bottom cheeks reddened. And as a girl writhes when held in the tight embrace of her lover, so Simon writhed over his governess's lap. And as a girl abandons herself to the insistence of her lover's embrace, so Simon was forced to submit to his governess's remorseless discipline.

Miss Strang spun her disciplinary web with unhurried thoroughness, so that the boy was slowly enmeshed within her will and rendered helpless. As a fly eventually ceases his futile struggles and hangs limply in the web, so did Simon under her unrelenting discipline.

Miss Strang must have administered twenty or more strokes of the brush to Simon's bottom and thighs. Slowly his screams became less shrill, and more breathless. He lay across her lap, looking like any small boy who has been spanked into tearful, sobbing submission.

"And can you tell me why it has been necessary to spank you, Simon?"

He continued to sob, whooping and gasping for air.

"Take your time, Simon. But you need to answer. Why have you been spanked?"

She waited patiently, giving him time to recover.

"Pl . . please, Miss Strang."

"Yes, Simon. What are you trying to say?"

"Pl . . pl . . please, Miss Strang . . I . . I'm sorry."

"Well I am pleased, Simon. Clearly, the spanking has been beneficial. But tell me, what are you sorry for?"

"F . . f. . for having to b . . be spanked, Miss Strang."

"Yes, Simon. I am sure we are both sorry you have had to be spanked. But I am waiting for the answer to my question. Why did you need to be spanked?"

There was a long pause. Simon was still crying although the deep heartfelt sobs had ceased.

"Be . . because, I didn't st . . . stay still in the shop and I . . . I knocked everything over."

"Yes, Simon. And what is that called?"

He nibbled his upper lip, shaking his head.

"Come now, Simon. You have done very well up to now. It is something beginning with 'dis . . . '

She prompted him further.

"Diso . . ."

"Disobedience, Miss Strang."

"Yes, Simon. Disobedience. You were disobedient. You did not stay where you had been told to stay. You wandered off and caused a great deal of upset in Mr Harker's shop. That is why you are being taught not to wander by being put on a leash like a puppy dog, and why you have been punished by being soundly spanked."

Miss Strang looked at the clock.

"Well, it is time for supper."

Simon without trousers and pants and with a very red, spanked bottom was led in to the dining room. He assumed he was to be seated at the table but Miss Strang jerked his wrist and told him to sit on the floor beside her chair.

"Puppy dogs do not sit on chairs, Simon. Their place is on the floor. And that is where you will be spending most of your time for a while."

She turned to Mrs Mountfield.

"Mrs Mountfield, when you get back to the kitchen will you be so good as to ask Mary to bring up an enamel plate and a dish of water."

Mrs Mountfield smiled. A small conspiratorial smile. A smile of grim satisfaction.

"Certainly, Miss Strang. It will be sent up right away."

Miss Strang took the plate from Mary and heaped some food on it, cut it up into small pieces, and then placed it on the floor beside Simon, together with the bowl of water.

"That is your supper, Simon. I want to see it all eaten up and the plate licked clean."

He stared at it.

"But . . . but I haven't a spoon or fork, Miss Strang.

"I know, Simon. But puppy dogs do not eat with spoons or forks. They put their little muzzles in the dish and they lap up the water from their bowl. And that is what you will be doing."

John made a little growling noise, like a dog. After being the focus of Miss Strang's disciplinary zeal he was obviously pleased that her attention had switched to his brother.

"What did you say, John?"

"Er . . nothing, Miss Strang."

"But you did. I distinctly heard you say something. What was it?"

John reddened.

"Please Miss Strang. It really was nothing."

"Let me ask you a question, John, and I strongly advise you to answer it honestly and not to lie or prevaricate. Were you trying to make a sound like a dog?"

John hung his head.

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"And why was that?"

"Please, Miss Strang. It was meant to be funny."

"I see, John. But nobody is laughing. Why did you think it would be funny?"

John looked down at his feet.

"But it was not funny or amusing, was it?"

"No, Miss Strang."

"You were teasing your brother and that is unkind. However, I am prepared to believe that it was thoughtless and that your tongue ran away with you. Is that right?"

"Yes, Miss Strang. I am sorry. I really am."

"Well in that case I see no need for punishment. However, it might be as well to remind your tongue that it needs to keep itself under better control."

She turned to Mary who had not yet left the room.

"Mary, please would you go down to the kitchen and fetch half a dozen clothes pegs. The new sort that have a little spring holding the two pieces of wood together. Thank you."

When Mary returned she handed the pegs to Miss Strang who placed them on the table. She then examined each and then chose one that she judged suitable.

"Come here, John. Put out your tongue."

John looked distinctly nervous, but wisely did as he was told. Miss Strang opened the peg and closed it on his soft pink little tongue.

John gasped and reached up with his hand. Miss Strang held him by the wrist and drew his hand away.

"No, John. The peg is there to teach your tongue a lesson. It spoke out of turn and it needs to be reminded that it needs to be better controlled. The peg will stay there until I remove it."

John's face was screwed up and his eyes were watering. He spoke painfully, with difficulty as though he had a lisp.

"But Mith Thtwang. It hurth. And how can I eeth?"

"Of course, it hurts, John. It would be strange if a peg pinching your tongue did not hurt. And as for eating your food, I was afraid that will not be possible. You will just have to go hungry until I allow you to take the peg off. And that will be when I consider that your tongue has learnt the lesson I am teaching it. Not to speak thoughtlessly and without due consideration."

She put her arm around him.

"Surely you want your tongue to learn that lesson, do you not?"

"Yeth, Mith Thtwang."

John looked quite pale and anxious. The tongue is a soft, sensitive member and I could see that the peg, biting into its pink wet surface, was agonisingly painful.

"You may sit still, John, and watch us eat. And Mary you had better return to the kitchen where I am sure Mrs Mountfield has work for you to do."

(To be continued)