Miss Strang Chapter 32
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 32

Simon had gone obediently to the place of execution and arranged himself so willingly for the punishment that I felt a surge of pity for him. He was so small, his bottom so firmly round and protuberant, and the soles of his feet that were soon to be harshly tawsed, so pink and somehow innocent.

Miss Strang again smacked the tawse against her palm.

"Simon, your feet seem to be getting you into regular trouble. Yesterday, when shopping, they took you away from the place where I had told you to stand. Today, they led you into the stream where I had forbidden you to go. You have just received some training in standing still which I hope you have learned from."

She paused.

"I hope that from now on, when you are told to stand still, you will do so."

She looked at him across the chair with his feet extended for the strap.

"In some countries naughty children are regularly whipped on their feet as a punishment. I had a friend who was a governess to three Turkish children. Their father was a diplomat. She had instructions to beat the soles of the children's feet with a leather strap whenever they misbehaved. Sometimes their mother came to watch. So you see, Simon, what I am doing may seem unusual, but it is a familiar practice in many parts of the world."

She smacked the tawse across her palm again, and looked at me.

"In case you are wondering, Livia, this is not the new heavier tawse that I bought in town yesterday. That has yet to be used."

I felt another twinge of nervousness.

"Simon please bend your right leg back from the knee."

He did so, saying nothing.

"Now, Mary, please reach across and place your left hand in the small of Simon's back, and with the other hold the leg he has raised. Hold it firmly, just below the ankle. Do you understand?"

I could see that Mary was pleasurably disturbed by what was required of her. She was flushed and her assent to Miss Strang was given in a low husky voice.

I could feel my heart beating. There was a tightness in my chest. Miss Strang shortened the tawse by holding it a little down its length. With Simon's little pink soles presenting a much smaller target than a bare bottom, greater control over the strap was necessary. The sole of his right foot was held flat and upright. Miss Strang rested the two tails of the strap across it and then drew them slowly, tantalisingly, across the sensitive surface. Simon tried to move his foot but Mary had it firmly in her grasp. The strap was raised and allowed to drop with a light smack across the sole. She did this again but more firmly. Simon gave a little sound of protest.

She looked at Mary.

"Mary, the soles of a boy's feet are very soft and sensitive. Simon is going to receive six strokes of the tawse across the sole of each foot. It will be very painful. Without your restraining him, he would find it very difficult to offer his feet for punishment. You are helping him to do what he would otherwise find very difficult to do."

She raised the tawse above her shoulder and, with an accuracy that startled me, brought it swishing down across the centre of his foot. There was a dull slapping sound followed by a shrill, throaty cry of agony. He tried to shake his foot but Mary held it tightly. He rocked his body, and his head pushed up between Mary's thighs, pressing into her crotch. Her eyes opened a little wider and she breathed in sharply.

"Hold the foot firmly, please, Mary."

Again the tawse was swung up and then brought slapping down across the same foot, eliciting another shrill, howling scream. And after a pause, a third stroke was given. The sole of his foot looked painfully red.

"Put that foot down, Simon. And raise the left leg. Quickly now."

Slowly, he lifted it. Mary reached out, almost eagerly, and grasped him below the ankle. She pulled the leg back towards her. I noticed how beautifully his sole curved and again thought how delicate and tender it looked.

Miss Strang drew the tawse across its surface. Then, as she had done previously, gave two light smacks, stinging him into an awareness of his helplessness, providing a foretaste of the agony to come. The tawse was swept up and brought swinging down in a graceful arc to impact with a soft, dull slap to the foot. Simon gave a piercing shriek and tried desperately to tear his leg away from Mary's grasp.

"Lie still, Simon."

But instead he raised his right leg and pushed it up against Mary's hand, trying to kick it away. He was sobbing as only a small boy can sob.

"Let him go, Mary. But keep his head pinioned between your legs. And hold his arms."

Without another word, the tawse was swung upward, pausing for a moment at the top of its flight, balanced between rising and falling. Then, with a snaking movement of the wrist, it was swept down with accelerating speed and impacted with a dull crack across his bottom. He writhed and roared. His whole body jerked upward. I noticed that Mary had relaxed her grip on his head. It was no longer held so tightly between her thighs, but moved more freely, sinking into the softness of her dress and rubbing against her crotch. I was consumed with jealousy. That she should take my rightful place and be favoured ahead of me. But then, guiltily, I wondered whether Miss Strang for some reason had intended to discomfit me in this way.

Again the tawse was raised and beaten into Simon's soft bottom flesh. The marks of the previous stroke could already be seen. The leather tails had imprinted two bands of inflammation, not quite parallel but splaying slightly away from each other. He roared and bucked. Mary rode him as a tomboy rides a horse that is not yet broken. She had a look of almost sublime concentration on her face. Her eyes were bright and her breathing deep and rough.

Miss Strang spoke with a quiet almost gentle voice.

"Simon, I will not tolerate a boy's fighting a deserved whipping. Mary is holding you for your own good. I am strapping you for your own good. Your refusal to co-operate is a sign of arrogance and an unwillingness to learn. I suggest you offer your feet to the strap and submit with a good grace. Otherwise I will continue whipping your bottom until you do."

She waited for Simon to recollect himself.

"Mary hold Simon again, please. Simon raise your left leg and let Mary steady it."

It seemed as though the tawse was applied with increased vigour. I would never have believed it could be lashed with such force and accuracy across so small an extremity. As a younger child I had been taken to a hare coursing event. I think my father was presenting the prizes. I had watched in horror, but also fascination as, time after time, a hare was released, chased by a dog, and caught. But what I remember, more vividly than the sight, was the sound of the hares as they were torn and rent by the dogs. Their high pitched, shrill screams of agony were unearthly and spine-chilling. And as the soles of Simon's feet were remorselessly strapped by Miss Strang, I could hear again the hares in their torment.

Now, Miss Strang stood directly behind Simon. She waited for him to compose himself. The final six strokes were to be administered, lengthways, three to each foot. This would ensure that the whole of the sole and not just a band across the centre suffered the punishment.

Simon's screams rent the air in an almost continuous high-pitched howl of sheer agony, punctuated by shriller screams as the leather impacted on his feet. Mary kept a tight hold, grasping him just below the ankle. After each stroke, his foot trembled and quivered. He bucked and squirmed. I could see that Mary was throbbing with sensual pleasure as Simon's head continued to press and rub between her thighs.

At last the torment was over.

"Release him, Mary. Stop sobbing, Simon, and sit up."

She smacked the strap sharply across his bottom but this time with no real punitive force.

"I said sit up."

Such was the commanding tone in his governess's voice that he scrambled around and sat quietly on the large, damask, cushioned seat.

Miss Strang knelt and tenderly examined the feet that she had so recently thrashed. She looked up at Simon.

"Well these little feet have been taught a painful lesson, have they not, Simon?"

She spoke so gently and caringly, that the contrast with the terrible ordeal that she had inflicted upon him, brought fresh tears to his eyes. He was shaken with sobs.

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

"Well I am pleased, Simon. I would be very disappointed if you were not. And I hope that you are not going to allow your feet to carry you into forbidden territory again."

"N . . no, Miss Strang."

"Good. Then let us see what we need to do to help your feet to recover. Stand up, please. Walk across to your desk and back."

He did so slowly, screwing up his face and giving little animal gasps of pain.

"I . . I can't, Miss Strang. It hurts too much."

"Of course you can, Simon. In fact you have already done so. I am sure it hurts. And it is going to hurt even more tomorrow when the bruising comes out."

She turned to Mary.

"Mary, thank you for all that you have done. You had better go back to Mrs Mountfield or you will be giving me a bad name. And Livia, accompany Mary and ask Mrs Mountfield for a jug of very hot water and a wide enamel basin that Simon can place his feet in. And then go outside to the pump and fill a small bucket with some of the icy cold spring water. Bring both to me here in the schoolroom. You may have to make two journeys. Quickly now."

I went and did her bidding. She then made me take the basin that Simon had been standing in to the washroom and empty it. Simon was then sat on the prie dieu and both basins were placed by his feet. Into one, Miss Strang poured the steaming hot water, and into the other the cold water from the pump. She then tested the hot water and added a small amount of cold to bring it the temperature she desired.

"Now Simon, this is a very old remedy to help with bruising. You will first place your feet in the hot water and leave them there for half a minute; and then immediately into the icy water for another half minute. And you will do that five times.

Simon tentatively dipped his feet in the hot water.

"Right in, please."

"But Miss Strang it's very hot."

"Do as you are told, Simon. It is certainly hot but not scalding. I have tested it. It is the right temperature. So no more argument and in with your feet."

She spoke with a warm, concerned, reassuring voice.

"Slowly, with a grimace and sharp intakes of breath, Simon immersed his beaten and bruised feet into the hot, steaming basin.

(To be continued)