Miss Strang Chapter 26
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 26

Miss Strang smiled.

"It does not surprise me, John, that you play with your winkie. Most small boys do."

She released the cane from under his penis and it drooped down. Not having been given specific permission he continued to hold up his shirt.

"But it is a vicious habit. And unfortunately most boys do not have a governess who is prepared to make the necessary time and effort to stop them. Do you know what the habit of playing with your winkie is called?"

John's face was flaming at this exposure of his shameful secret. And I could feel my own cheeks hot, and by whole body sticky with guilt. For even though I did not have a winkie, I knew instinctively that stroking my little slit and touching myself as I did must be the same thing.

"Well, John, do you know what the habit is called?"

"N . . no, Miss Strang."

"It is called masturbation, John. And if ever I catch you or Simon masturbating then you will receive the severest of punishments."

She waited, letting her words sink through the boy's embarrassment.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes . . . Yes, Miss Strang."

"And do you understand, Simon?"

Whether he fully understood, I doubted. But he understood enough wisely to reassure her.

"Yes, Miss Strang."

The prohibition on masturbation was then added to their list of rules.

The writing out of the rules in a neat copperplate that was acceptable to Miss Strang took all the remaining time before Simon's and John's bedtime. After Miss Strang had said evening prayers, I was given the chore of settling them down for the night.

"And when they have undressed, Livia, I want them to stand with their back to the mirror and to examine the marks on their bottoms. Then read them the rules they have been given and remind them that if they do not want to be looking at fresh marks tomorrow, they had better make a real effort to keep them. And please tell them again, Livia, that there is to be no getting out of bed before morning and that once you have turned the lights off they are to remain off. When you have done that, please change into your nightdress and return to the schoolroom."

Despite the events of the day, I had not forgotten that I was to receive one stroke of the cane before bed. It had been at the back of my mind, sitting there quietly, a small anxiety and yet, strangely, not entirely unwelcome. I shivered as I removed my clothes and stood naked before the mirror. I turned round. The marks of Miss Strang's discipline were still visible. I shut my eyes and ran my fingers lightly over my bottom, as a blind man reads Braille. Yes, I could still feel the weals cut by the cane, slightly raised on the soft flesh.

I slipped my nightdress on and made my way to the schoolroom.

I knocked.

"Come in, Livia."

Miss Strang was sitting at her desk, writing.

She looked up.

"Come and stand here, Livia."

She waited, looking at me. I quickly put my hands behind my back.

"So what was it to be?"

"One stroke of the cane, Miss Strang. I had one spelling mistake. I am sorry."

"Well that is not so bad, is it? Just one stroke. It might seem hardly worth giving."

I stood there. I felt my tongue licking my lips. My heart was beating a little faster.

"But it has always been my rule that punishment should not be withheld without good reason. And I have to say, Livia, that good reasons are seldom found. Sometimes punishment needs to be postponed, but rarely, if ever, remitted. And just because it is only one stroke is hardly a sufficient reason to overlook it. Do you agree?"

"Yes, Miss Strang. I'm sure that's right. Simon had to have four strokes for his mistakes. And it would be wrong for me to be let off just because it was only one."

Miss Strang smiled.

"That is very fair of you, Livia. I am very proud of you."

I felt as though I was suddenly breathing clean, pure air on a frosty morning. To suffer one stroke of the cane was a small thing in exchange for such an accolade. I blushed and looked down. Miss Strang picked up the cane and slipped off the stool behind her desk. She walked round and stood in front of me.

"Lift your nightdress."

She looked at me, her face expressionless, but I sensed an appreciation of my small, still immature body.

"Keep your nightdress well up. And over the chair arm, please, Livia."

She rested the cane on my back and traced a path down toward my bottom. The tip hovered for a moment between the cleft of my buttocks and I sensed it passing over my tiny anus. I lay there all my senses alert. The cane was tapped gently across my buttocks.

"You have a very soft and well-rounded bottom, Livia. When I see a bottom like this, I am in no doubt that God in his wisdom provided a child's bottom for the purpose of chastisement."

I felt the tip of the cane on my buttocks, barely touching, barely scratching the surface.

"Can you feel that, Livia?"

"Yes . . . I can, Miss Strang."

"A child's bottom is very sensitive, Livia. It can detect the lightest, the most tantalising touch. And yet beneath that sensitive covering of skin, is the fleshiest of cushions. So firm and generous that even the most salutary schoolboy flogging does no lasting damage. Just superficial weals that, even if broken and painful, begin to heal after a few days."

She tapped the cane more briskly across my bottom.

"So just one stroke, Livia. Are you ready?"

I held my breath.

"Yes . . . yes, Miss Strang."

I sensed the cane being raised. There was a pause. And then she tapped my bottom once more. I clenched my buttocks.

"No clenching, Livia."

And as I yielded myself, soft and accepting to her discipline, I heard the faint swish of the cane on its upward path and then the whoosh as it descended. There was a blaze of pain and I gave a piecing shriek. And then as I lay there, a warm glow slowly suffused my whole body.

The discipline of a caning is not merely in the suffering of pain, agonising though that is. It is also in the realisation that, after each searing cut, there is another to come, and then another, often with no knowledge of when the end will be. The only certainty is that there is no escape. That you are utterly held within the power and determination of another. I found that by shutting my eyes tight, if that was permitted, I could look down an empty black shaft into a deep mine of utter nothingness. Like some Hindu holy man I sought to detach myself from my senses and live in an inner secret place. But unlike such a holy man, I had little success. And the remorseless, biting, smarting cuts would burn into both flesh and soul.

But one stroke was different. I felt almost light-headed, almost jubilant. The stroke had become a warm caress, binding me to my governess, branding me as her willing subject. I heard her voice as from afar.

"You may stand, Livia."

My nightdress was still caught up. Miss Strang carefully straightened it and then smoothed it down.

"Come and sit with me in the chair, Livia. I am sure there is room for both of us."

She put her arm around me.

"Have you been keeping your diary up to date?"

"No, Miss Strang, I am afraid I haven't."

"Well, I can understand that. There has been a great deal going on. Perhaps at the moment you ought to limit yourself to one entry a week. Perhaps Sunday, when you can review the week and write down some thoughts about it."

"Yes, perhaps I ought to do that, Miss Strang."

She sat there with her arm around me.

"Miss Strang?"

"Yes, Livia?"

"Well . . . you see . . . "

"Yes?"

"Well, I was wondering . . . Miss Strang . . . why is it wrong for boys to . . . to play with their winkies."

"You would like me to explain, would you, Livia?"

"Yes please, Miss Strang. I would."

"Well, first for a boy to play with his winkie, as John calls it, is very wrong. If he is caught doing that then he has to be severely punished. With a severity that will make him fearful of ever masturbating again."

She stretched her arm a little further round me.

"Livia do you know how babies are made?"

"I sort of know. Miss Strang. But . . . I'm not quite sure."

"You have seen that little sac hanging between John's legs?"

I nodded.

"Well when a boy is about John's age, or a little older, little seeds start to be made inside it. These are the seeds that are planted inside a woman to make a baby grow. You see, Livia, a woman has eggs inside her and each month one is released, and it waits to see if one of the little seeds is there to start the baby growing. Do you understand?"

I was absolutely transfixed by what Miss Strang was telling me.

"Yes, yes, Miss Strang. Please go on."

"Well, the way the little seeds get into the woman is from the man's penis, what John calls his winkie. You have seen John's penis. It is soft and limp. But at a certain age a boy becomes able to make it stiff and hard, and then the penis can be pushed deep inside a woman. Between your legs you have a little slit. That is the place where the penis enters. And then the man thrusts it back and forth, faster and faster. And he gets more and more excited and the penis gets harder and thicker and then the little seeds which are held in a thick sticky liquid called semen, are suddenly shot into the woman. And then . . . "

But suddenly I could see the stallion in the field, with its long erect member being driven into the mare and I could hear her whinnying with her ears back . . . and the three boys in the book I had seen in my father's library, being impaled. I could see the last boy writhing desperately on the stake, helpless, as it stretched and tore his anus, driving ever deeper into him.

"Are you listening, Livia?"

"Yes, yes, I am, Miss Strang."

"Well, because it feels so good for a boy to have a hard penis and to shoot the semen out of it, boys do this on their own. They stroke and rub their little winkies and become very excited, and then they spill the seed in its juicy, wet stickiness on to a cloth or down the lavatory or somewhere where they hope it will not be found. And that is very, very wrong."

"But why, Miss Strang?"

"Because the seed is for making babies. When a man loves a woman, trying to make babies together is a wonderful thing. And when a woman accepts his penis inside her it is a sign of her love for him. And his mastering her and driving his penis deep into her is a sign of his love for her. And it is something they do together. And it helps them to become closer and love each other more. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss Strang. I . . . I think so."

"So when a naughty boy plays with his winkie, he is not sharing it with someone he loves, but just selfishly loving himself. He is wasting the seed God has created. He is abusing God's gift and using it just to satisfy himself. And the worst thing about it is that it can become a dreadful habit. Some boys I have known, masturbated ten or more times a day."

She paused.

I listened horrified.

"But how do you stop them. If they really like playing with themselves like that they won't want to stop, will they?"

"No, Livia, they will not. That is why they must be severely punished every time they are caught. And a good governess will check every day to see whether a boy has abused himself in this way. She will look for the tell-tale signs of masturbation. She will question him closely. And she will not spare him until she has cured him of such a vicious, dangerous habit."

"But Miss Strang, you think that John does this?"

"Well you heard him admit to it yourself, Livia."

She paused, her arm still around me.

"You must promise me, Livia, that if ever you suspect that John is masturbating, you will tell me immediately so we can take the necessary steps. Do you promise?

"Yes, Miss Strang."

(To be continued)