Miss Strang Chapter 14
By Governess
liviaarbuthnot1@gmail.com

Copyright 2008 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 14

I woke to another bright day. I drew the curtains and looked out. In the wood, mist was curling among the trees like smoke. I felt a mounting excitement at the thought that before school, John was to be birched and that I might be assisting Miss Strang in his punishment. I washed and dressed, then made my way to breakfast.

I knocked and, when there was no reply, peeped around the door. The room was empty. I sat at the table and waited. After a moment, Miss Strang entered with John. She was holding him by the hand as though he was a very small boy. He was still in his nightshirt. In her other hand she held the birch.

"Sit here, John. When Simon joins us we shall begin breakfast."

"Please Miss Strang, I feel a bit sick and don't want any breakfast."

"Nonsense, John. Of course you want breakfast. And if you do not, then you will eat it in any case. No boy should start the day without food in his stomach. And let me remind you that you are still in the deepest disgrace. You will not speak unless permission is given."

Simon arrived and was chided for being late.

"Before you begin breakfast, Simon, I have a little chore for you. Please go down to the kitchen and ask Mrs Mountfield for a pail of water. Ask her politely to fill it three quarters full and then bring it up to the schoolroom. Ask her, too, for a newspaper. Place the pail on the newspaper to the left of my desk. Quickly now. And do not be late for breakfast again."

I watched as John buttered a slice of bread in a hopeless, desultory sort of way. Miss Strang was watching him, too. He looked up and saw her gaze upon him. He bit his lip, made a grimace and started to munch.

"John, I will not have children make faces. Only babies make silly faces. If you act like a baby, then that is how you will be treated. Put your hands on your lap. Livia will feed you. And you will eat without further protest. Livia, fill a bowl with porridge. No milk and no sugar."

I did as Miss Strang told me and then proceeded to spoon the unappetizing porridge into John's mouth. After a while, just like a baby, he shook his head.

"Continue feeding him, Livia."

I held out the spoon and put it towards his lips. He turned his head away. I looked at Miss Strang.

"That is all right, Livia. You may cease feeding him."

She strode into the schoolroom and returned with the long strap with which I had been secured to the prie dieu.

"Clasp your hands behind the chair, John, please. No, further round than that. Try and put both hands together. That is better."

She spoke with a quiet authority as she might when telling him to tuck his shirt in or lace up his shoes. She ran the strap around his body and the chair and tightened it, so that his arms were pinned behind.

"Continue feeding him, Livia. And John you will eat whatever Livia offers you. Just remember that you are being flogged before school. I suggest you do not make matters worse for yourself."

As I fed him, I could see the angry resentment in his eyes. However, he slowly consumed the bowl of porridge. When it was finished, I looked at Miss Strang who was buttering some bread for Simon.

"Refill the bowl, Livia, and continue."

I did so. John gave an angry wriggle of his body and when the spoon came up to his mouth he refused to open it. Shaking his head.

"Open your mouth John, this instant."

Miss Strang stepped behind him and, curling a finger tightly around his hair and grasping a tuft between the side of her finger and her thumb, she pulled his head back. She did this with a calm authority, vesting the action with grace and purpose, so that it seemed in no way harsh, but simply necessary.

"No... No... I don't want it. I won't... I won't."

"You will eat what Livia is offering you, John. Any further refusal and I will fetch the hairbrush."

She tightened her grip and he opened his mouth. His small red lips reluctantly closing over the by now cold glutinous mess on the spoon After holding it in his mouth for a while, and chewing it like a cow chewing the cud, he swallowed it. Miss Strang released her hold on his hair and watched as I offered him another spoonful. He shook his head.

I looked at Miss Strang questioningly.

Simon entered, and with a struggle took the pail into the schoolroom. Miss Strang followed him, and returned with the hairbrush.

"I am well aware, John, that the reason you are refusing to eat is to assert your will against mine. Well, let me tell you, young man, that I do not allow the wills of small boys to prevail over my will."

She reached down and pulled up his nightshirt, exposing his thighs. She rucked it right up, displaying his genitals, and then wedged the bunched material between his back and the chair. He sat helpless and vulnerable, his face burning.

"Spread your legs, John."

She reached down and forced his legs apart, pressing on his knees, bending them outward, until the inner walls of his thighs were exposed. He began breathing with quick, anxious, shallow breaths.

Like any small boy, John was proud of his little member and of the little sac hanging beneath it. But it was a special sort of pride. Not a boastful pride, but the pride of possession. It was his member. He owned it. It was his to keep hidden just for himself, to fondle and to enjoy. But even more than that it expressed his boyhood. This piece of small circumcised flesh with the scrotum hanging beneath was, for him, the sensitive heart of his whole identity. For it to be ruthlessly exposed by his governess was a painful violation. As she stripped away the nightshirt, she was affirming her right to rule over him and to discipline him as she chose.

I watched as her long fingers wrapped around the small bunch of flesh between his legs. She held it firmly but delicately, cupping her hand around to protect it from the spanking, and stretching the soft pulp of his boyhood away to expose his soft sensitive inner thigh.

She was standing to his right, bending forward, holding him in her grasp. She raised the hairbrush and then swept it down. I watched mesmerised as a red oval mark was imprinted high up on his right inner thigh just below the groin. A second stroke was applied and then a third. John bucked and roared. It seemed oddly inappropriate that I was still holding the bowl of porridge.

"You will eat what Livia is offering you, John. Your wilful refusal only confirms that the flogging you will be receiving before school needs to be thorough and prolonged."

She turned to me.

"Offer him the porridge, Livia."

This time he obediently parted his lips and I pushed the spoon deep into his mouth. He moved his head back choking as the probing point pressed against the back of his throat.

Miss Strang gave a smile.

"Do not make such a fuss, John. Eat properly. I want all that porridge finished up."

Miss Strang went into the schoolroom, no doubt to prepare for the day ahead. Spoon feeding my brother was arousing strange conflicting emotions in me. There was a warm satisfaction in responding to his helplessness. I had a dim memory of being similarly fed in a high chair when I was a little girl. But there was more than a girl's satisfaction at being a surrogate mother. There was, too, a sharp, astringent pleasure in forcing him to eat what he had no wish to eat, in shredding away his nine year old arrogance and forcing him to revert to a small, helpless, dependent baby.

After several minutes, I heard the clack clack of Miss Strang's shoes on the schoolroom floor.

"Is there any porridge left in the saucepan, Livia?"

I looked and was not surprised to see that some remained. Mrs Mountfield was always generous with her supply of porridge.

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"Then, please, continue feeding John until it is all gone."

I emptied the cold mess into the bowl and spooned up a glob. John reluctantly took it and eventually swallowed it. I offered another and he shook his head, rejecting it wish a mumbling drone of refusal.

"Offer it again, Livia."

I pressed the tip of the spoon against his lips but he kept them tight shut. Miss Strang picked up the hairbrush from the table.

She stood in front of him and again held him. He winced and gasped as she squeezed him tightly. I could see a new fear in his eyes. She spanked the inside of his left thigh, just below his tight little scrotum. In all three more stinging strokes were given to his soft sensitive flesh. John gave a series of shrill, high-pitched, almost unearthly screams. They might have come from a small animal whose living flesh was being clawed and torn by some nocturnal predator. Miss Strang paused.

"Do I need to continue, John?"

"No, please... no... no. Please, Miss Strang."

"Then open your mouth, John, and eat the porridge your sister is kindly offering you."

Slowly, he put his small red lips around the spoon and took it into his mouth. After another six spoonfuls the bowl was empty.

He was left tied to the chair, his nightshirt still rucked up, and the red inflamed marks of the hairbrush visible on his soft pale inner thighs. He went to close his legs. Perhaps they were aching or it may have been to minimise his shameful exposure. But Miss Strang insisted that he kept them splayed open.

I could see that John was dreading the return of Mrs Mountfield to clear the breakfast.

"Please Miss Strang may I get down?"

"Most certainly not. And I told you not to speak unless given permission. She picked up the hairbrush.

"No... No... please, Miss Strang... No, please"

This time she spanked him on the flat fronts of his thighs. He howled and squirmed.

"How dare you speak when I have forbidden it. Not another word!"

Five minutes later there was a knock on the door. And to John's horror, Mary the house parlour maid entered.

"Please Miss Strang, Mrs Mountfield has sent me to clear breakfast."

"Thank you Mary. In case you are wondering, I have had to spank John for refusing to eat his porridge. He resisted the punishment and it was necessary to secure him to the chair. He is in disgrace and is not allowed to speak or be spoken to. So please respect that."

Mary, who was probably about sixteen blushed prettily and looked rather embarrassed. But as she gathered up the cups and plates and cleared the table, I noticed how her eyes kept flicking towards John. Miss Strang noticed it too.

(To be continued)