Miss Strang Chapter 46
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 46

The first stroke pounded into my flesh, impelling me forward, so that the corner of the stool sunk between the lips of my small vulva. Then after a long pause, a further bruising stroke, and then another in quick succession. I could hear a young girl screaming as her cleft was penetrated by the edge of the stool. But what might have been delectation was a harsh bruising experience that had no pleasure in it. I could see the tawse wheeling heavily through the air and impacting with a dull thwack on the girl's bottom flesh. She bucked and writhed in agony, and the impalement caused her to struggle ever more desperately, trying in some way to ease the insistent pressure between her legs. But it only succeeded in adding to her terrible discomfort.

She was spared nothing. The tawse was strapped across her buttocks with all the force her governess could muster. And then, agonisingly, across her thighs, slow remorseless strokes, covering the young, firm flesh from the fold of the bottom down to the hollow of each knee. And after each stroke, there was a long pause. A pause to allow the girl to suffer. For her governess knew that suffering comes not merely from the infliction of pain, but from the nervous anxiety of fearful anticipation.

Miss Strang fervently believed that a governess's love is best expressed through an unswerving commitment to a child's discipline. Slow measured strokes that leave the child in no doubt that the punishment is given not in thoughtless anger that might later be regretted, but with the firm intention of causing torment and suffering. Remorseless suffering. Suffering that continues despite tears, despite the weals that are raised on soft tender flesh. Suffering that does not cease until the governess is satisfied that a full atonement for sin has been made.

During the whipping, I grasped the ladder as though my life depended upon it. I hung as a victim. A small, twelve year old girl, stripped to her stockings, who knew that every stroke of the tawse cut into her soft, firm flesh was deserved. A girl who needed to be punished like a boy. To suffer like a boy. Who had all the illicit craving and lust of a boy. Who like a boy was desperate to bite into the forbidden fruit of masturbation, to taste its delicious flesh and feel its sweet, sticky juice on her lips.

Our forefather, Adam, was cast out of Eden, never to taste the forbidden fruit again. But a boy, unless prevented, will feast and gorge himself endlessly on this delectable fruit. Sickened by excess, he will still return, like a pig to the trough, to grunt and gobble in his sensual greed. And all that stands between him and a debilitating sickness of body and soul, is his governess. And all that stood between me and the temptation to indulge myself like a boy was Miss Strang.

At last the strap was laid aside. I was bruised where, in my struggling, I had pressed down upon my pubic bone. And my bottom flesh, already tickled into a lively tenderness by the birch, was equally sore. But the greater agony was in my soul. Miss Strang had flogged me as a boy would have been flogged. Flogged me for a boy's arrogance and wilful disobedience. But not, I thought, for the desperate need to masturbate and abuse myself like a boy. And how could I be cleansed until she recognised my sinful craving and punished me for it, as she had punished John.

She left me lying there, still clinging to the ladder, while she walked across to the long table and laid aside the tawse. Then, returning, she gently pushed forward the stool, placing her arm under me, and helping me to my feet. My stockings had slipped down my legs and were caught at my knees.

"Now, Livia, put on the rest of your clothes and go up to the schoolroom. I will follow you up in a moment. And remember you are in disgrace. And you will remain in disgrace for the rest of the day. I am minded to sit you in the hall in just your stockings with the placard of disgrace around your neck so all can see how a wilful and inconsiderate twelve year old girl is dealt with in this household."

She paused.

"However, I am going to spare you such shameful exposure."

When I had dressed, and with the placard again around my neck, I went up to the schoolroom. There I found John and Simon sitting at the table, writing."

John looked up.

"Hello, Livvy. Where have you been?"

"In the library with Miss Strang."

"Did she punish you?"

"Yes. You know she did. And she is coming up in a moment. I just hope you've both been doing what she told you to do."

Simon looked up.

"We each had a psalm to copy out and learn."

"Well, I hope you have. And I am in disgrace and shouldn't be speaking."

As I sat at my desk, Miss Strang entered. She went to her desk and busied herself for a few minutes. Both boys had their heads down and were murmuring to themselves, presumably memorising the psalms they had been set. Eventually, she looked up.

"Simon, bring me your work, please."

Simon nervously took his exercise book out for her to examine.

"This is very well down, Simon. And have you memorised the psalm yet?"

"I think so, Miss Strang."

"Well, let us see if you can repeat the first three verses. Well? 'Blessed is the man . . . '"

"Blessed is the man that . . . that walketh not in the counsel of . . . of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners . . . nor . . . nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful."

"Very good, Simon. Continue."

And slowly and a little haltingly, Simon repeated the whole of the first Psalm.

"That is excellent, Simon. I am very proud of you.

Simon blushed with pleasure.

"And John. Let me see your book."

He brought it out and handed it to her. She frowned a little as she read what he had written. John had seen her frown and shifted uneasily.

"Well, John. Are you pleased with this piece of work?"

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

"That does not sound too confident."

He hung his head.

His relief was plain for all to see.

"And have you memorised it?"

"Yes, Miss Strang."

And with a little encouragement here and there, he recited the whole of the sixth Psalm, 'O Lord rebuke me not in thine anger, neither chasten me in thy hot displeasure . . . '

She smiled at both of them.

"Well, that is a wonderful offering to the Lord on his own day. Now, I have to have a little talk with Livia. The two of you may go out into the gardens to play for a while before supper."

She turned to me.

"Come and sit with me in the armchair, Livia."

I sat there letting Miss Strang hold me to her. I felt warm and comfortable, and yet I was inwardly disturbed.

"Miss Strang."

"Yes, Livia?"

"Do you think I really am a girl?"

"What a silly question, Livia. Of course you are a girl."

"But . . . but . . . "

"But what, Livia?"

"Well, you know that . . . that you said when a girl . . . when a girl . . . masturbates, it is different. That a boy wants is so badly that he just can't stop, and it becomes a dreadful habit . . and . . . and that is why he needs to be punished so much."

"Yes, Livia?"

"Well, Miss Strang. I . . . I think I am like that."

I started to cry and felt bitterly ashamed of what I had confessed. I huddled closer to her, and buried my head in her side. I waited scarcely breathing. At last she spoke in a soft, reassuring voice.

"Well, Livia, what you tell me does not entirely surprise me. I have noticed you touching yourself at times when it is quite inappropriate to do so. Indeed very wrong. I had to tell you only yesterday to place your hands on your desk and to desist from such a brazen display. Do you remember that? I am sure you do."

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"And you are quite right. I did say that masturbation for a girl should be different."

She paused.

"But you are telling me that you want it as badly as a boy. Is that right?"

My voice was low and husky.

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"And there are times during the day when you can think of nothing else? Times when you want nothing but to run your finger enticingly up and down your little slit? Is that right?"

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"Times when you sit and daydream and imagine stroking yourself, arousing yourself as you do in bed before falling asleep? Is that right?"

I felt as though my whole body was blushing.

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"So what are we to do about it?"

"I . . I don't know, Miss Strang."

"Do you think anything needs to be done?"

"I am not sure, Miss Strang."

She paused, her lips pursed.

"Well, I am sure, Livia. Something does need to be done. I am less concerned that you masturbate in bed at night. That is entirely normal. But when a girl starts to crave such sensual pleasure, to finger herself in public, and wonders whether she is a boy, then clearly something needs to be done. The question is what."

There was a pause.

"Do you like the idea of being a boy?"

"I . . . I don't think so, Miss Strang."

But I wasn't sure. I thought of the mare that I had seen being penetrated by the stallion in the field. In my imagination, part of me wanted to be the mare, to feel that long, throbbing member thrust into me. Pumping thick semen into me. But also I relished the thought of being the stallion, driving its member deep into the mare. I could still see her with her ears back, desperately whinnying.

"Well, Livia. I asked you a question. I am waiting for an answer."

"I . . I do want to be a girl, Miss Strang."

(To be continued)