Miss Strang Chapter 80
By Governess
Copyright 2011 by Governess, all rights reserved
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* * * *
This
story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced
nudity,
spanking, and sexual activity of preteen and young teen children for
the
purpose of punishment. None of the behaviors in this story should be
attempted
in real life. If you are not of legal age in your community to read or
view
such material, please leave now.
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* * * *
Chapter 80
Miss
Strang returned to her desk and sat behind it.
She picked up John’s exercise book.
“Come
out here, John.”
He
stood before her, nervously twisting his hands. She opened the book.
“And
do you think this was a good and acceptable piece of work, John?”
“Please,
Miss Strang, I completed all the questions.”
She
smiled.
“Yes,
John. That was indeed well done. I am
pleased with you.”
There
was a palpable sigh of relief and his whole body seemed to relax.
“But
of the twelve questions you attempted, only four are right. Or to put it another way, eight are wrong.”
She
paused.
“So
why was that?”
His
hands were twisting again and he bit his lip in his desperation. To have his governess commend him, and then
so swiftly to dash him against the rocks was too much. His eyes filled with tears.
“I
. . I . . . please, Miss Strang . . . they
were . . . they were very hard.”
She
looked at the boy, tearful and in distress.
Distressed at his failure, and fearful of the punishment to come.
“You
found them hard?”
“Ye
. . . yes, Miss Strang.”
She
glanced down at his exercise book.
“But
all you had to do was to underline the parts of speech asked for and then state
what their function was in the sentence.
In the first question, to underline the adjectives and say what noun
they qualified. Why was that so
difficult?”
He
hung his head, tears trickling down his flushed cheeks.
“It
is not as though you were being expected to do the exercise without any
explanation. We have had several lessons
on parts of speech.”
She
paused.
“Have
we not, John.”
He
tried to blink back his tears.
“Ye
. . yes, Miss Strang.”
“So
were you not listening? Or was your mind
elsewhere?”
He
looked at her, imploringly, shaking his head.
“No,
no, Miss Strang. I was listening. Truly I was.
All the time.”
She
picked up his exercise book and held it out.
“Then,
why this lamentable effort?”
“But
I didn’t understand . . . Miss Strang . . . Not all of it . . . “
She
raised her eyebrows.
“But
then why did you not ask, John? Learning
is not just listening. It is listening
with an active and inquiring mind. A
questioning mind. Not sitting there
blankly like your doll Amanda.”
She
placed her fingers under his chin.
“Have
you ever known me punish a child for asking a polite, sensible question, John.”
“No,
Miss Strang.”
“Then,
why did you not ask for help when you did not understand?”
“I
. . . I don’t know . . . Miss Strang.”
“Well,
it seems to me, there are only two explanations. Either because of laziness; or because you did not want to look foolish.”
She
titled his head back.
“So,
what do you think is the consequence for lazy little boys, John, who are not
willing to make an effort to learn? Or
silly little boys who pretend to understand when they do not? Well?”
There
was a pause as she looked into his eyes, his head forced back. She waited. Then, almost inaudibly, he whispered,
“They’re
punished . . . Miss Strang.”
She
smiled and removed her fingers.
“Yes,
John. They are punished. But there is another consequence for such a
boy apart from the rod, is there not?”
He
looked down perplexed and anxious.
“Well,
John, do you think a boy who cannot be bothered to ask questions, when he fails
to understand, will make progress in his work.”
“No,
Miss Strang.”
“No,
John, He will not make progress. He will
remain in his ignorance. And when such a
boy is set an exercise to complete, he will fail. And whose fault will that be?”
“H
. . . his, Miss Strang.”
“Yes,
John. And would his teacher be right to
punish him for such bad work, when he has refused to make an effort to learn?”
He
shuffled miserably.
“Ye
. . . yes, Miss Strang.”
She
ruffled his hair.
“And
are you such a boy, John?”
There
was a long pause as he desperately tried to evade the inevitable admission.
“Yes
. . . Miss Strang.”
“So,
John, twelve parsing problems and only four correct. How many strokes of the cane is that?”
“Four,
Miss Strang.”
“No,
John. If you had four problems wrong,
then your answer would be correct. But
you had only four problems right, leaving, eight wrong. So please, try again. How many strokes of the cane?”
“Eight,
Miss Strang.”
“Stand
facing the arm of the chair.”
He
stood there, a small boy in a dress, looking like a very beautiful girl. Like a tomboy with short cropped hair, her face
flushed and her eyes dark and resentful.
“Livia,
please fetch three safety pins from the small tray on my desk.”
Miss
Strang stood behind him and stooping placed a hand against the side of each leg
and with an upward movement slithered the dress up.
I
had almost become accustomed to seeing my brother wearing my old dress. When first fetched from my room it had worn it
next to his bare skin. But this morning, in preparation for the visit to court,
Miss Strang had made him put on a petticoat, knickers, and some dark blue
woollen stockings with a pair of my old shoes.
I
watched as the dress, with the petticoat beneath, was eased up and secured. The hem of the dress was
now just above his waist. Miss Strang
inserted her thumbs into the side of the knickers and pulled them down. There is something deliciously tantalising
about a girl with her bottom bared for punishment, with her dress raised but
with her stockings still around the tops of her thighs.
The
welts of the tawsing inflicted on my brother the previous day were still
alarmingly visible.
He
stood shivering and disconsolate.
“Over
the arm, please, John. And bury your
hands down the side of the seat. And if
you remove them before permission is given, there will be additional strokes.”
She
swished the cane through the air. And
then rested it across the crown of his buttocks.
“So,
how many strokes is it, John?”
“Eight
. . . Miss Strang.”
She
tapped his bottom. He flinched.
“And
no clenching, John. A nice soft
accepting bottom throughout please. And
you will count the strokes as they are given.”
There
was a deep whoosh as the cane descended, followed by a piercing scream of agony. Miss Strang waited.
“Aaaaagh
. . . . one . . . Miss Strang.”
The
cane was raised and brought down with another long sweeping stroke that cut
deeply into his right buttock. He gave a gasping scream and dug his hands even deeper
down the side of the chair.
“I
am waiting, John.
“T
. . . two . . . Miss Strang.”
John
had a full, well-rounded, apple-shaped bottom. And as the eight strokes were lashed
across it, I could have been looking at myself being disciplined, my dress
pinned up and my knickers around my ankles.
There was something deeply arousing in seeing this nine year old girl
who was my brother, being caned. As I
watched, I ran my hands down the sides of my breeches, and thought about being
an older schoolboy with the authority to cane younger boys like John. I imagined that I was flogging him without
mercy until he was shaking and sobbing;
and then, with an older boy’s long thick penis, mounting him, as the
stallion in the field had mounted the mare, driving deep into him. I could hear his shrieks of pain.
“Stop
that howling, John. Sit at your desk and
get out your exercise book.”
I
had my hand over the front of my breeches, for I could feel the little snake
stirring with excitement in his damp, moist den.
“And,
Livia, place your hands on your desk, and listen carefully. I have matters to discuss with your father in
the library and will probably be gone for at least half an hour. I wish you to go through John’s and Simon’s
work with them and explain carefully to them their mistakes. They will then write out the correct answers. When that has been done you will question
them to make sure you are satisfied that they truly understand why that answer
is correct. If during that time, either boy misbehaves in
any way, any way at all, you are to note it and I will deal with it when I return. Do you understand?”
“Yes,
Miss Strang.”
“And
John and Simon, you will obey Livia as you do me. Is that understood?”
“Ye
. . . yes, Miss Strang.”
The
door closed and I felt a heady sense of pride at the confidence placed in me.
“Simon,
I’ll start with you. And John, while I’m
helping Simon, I suggest you have another look at your work and try to see
where you have gone wrong.”
I
sat beside Simon and slowly went through the nine problems he had either got
wrong or not even attempted. I thought
them very difficult for a boy of his age, particularly a boy who was not very
good at arithmetic. Indeed, I was not
sure I’d have done any better at his age.
But Miss Strang’s method was to stretch her pupils, and to apply the rod
whenever they fell short.
More
than an hour had gone by before Miss Strang returned.
“Well,
Livia, have you anything to report? I
trust that both boys behaved and are now better equipped to succeed in their
next assignment.”
“Yes,
Miss Strang. Both tried really hard.”
She
nodded.
“Good. I have asked Mrs Mountfield to send up an
early tea. After that we shall be
joining your father in the library.”
(to
be continued)
(The End)