Miss Strang Chapter 23
By Governess
liviaarbuthnot1@gmail.com

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 23

Mr Claythorpe had walked around the counter to stand beside Miss Strang as she fitted the leash to the narrow collar around Simon's wrist. I noticed how Simon's free hand had several times crept back to feel the freshly raised stripes on his thighs. Mr Claythorpe had noticed it, too.

"Well I do say, Miss Strang, that I admire a woman who knows how to keep a boy in order. They say 'tis easier to train a dog than a boy, and if a dog needs to go on the leash or be chained up from time to time, then 'tis no surprise that small boys need it, too."

I was not sure that Miss Strang welcomed this comment, but she replied politely.

"Thank you, Mr Claythorpe. And I can assure you that keeping boys in order, and girls too, is given the highest priority by me at all times. And that brings to me to my second request. I have a tawse. It is of a weight that is still suitable for the younger boy on the leash, but for his older brother and for his sister, a heavier weight is required. Can you supply such a tawse, preferably with two tails?"

I coloured at this reference to me as a child still liable to strapping.

"Indeed, I can Miss Strang. Let me show you what I have in stock. If you judge none suitable, then I can easily make one up to your exact specification."

He bent down and must have pulled out a drawer, for when he straightened up there were four tawses in his hand which he laid on the counter. They looked very similar to the one that Miss Strang had used to strap my hands, and which, I assumed, was the strap she judged to be of insufficient weight.

Miss Strang picked one up and examined it, smacking it against her palm.

"That is probably a little heavy for what I have in mind."

"Yes, Miss Strang. That is the one used in the reformatory for boys of twelve years and over."

She picked up another, and tested it.

"And how heavy is this?"

"That is classed as heavy whereas the first one is described as extra heavy. This one weighs about five ounces. It doesn't sound much, but a boy who receives a dozen cuts with that across his bare bottom will be blubbering like a two year old. I can assure you of that, Miss Strang. Of course it can be used to strap the hands as well."

"Thank you, Mr Claythorpe. I am well aware of how to give a boy a strapping."

She briefly examined the other two tawses, one of which had three tails, but quickly dismissed them as less suitable.

"No. This is my choice. Perhaps you would wrap it for me in brown paper."

"Of course, Miss Strang. Is there anything else I can help with?"

"No, Mr Claythorpe. I do not think there is at this moment. Thank you."

We left the saddlers and crossed the street making our way to the trap in the cobbled market square. Although Miss Strang was in no way ostentatious about the way she was leading Simon, I could see that he felt shamed and exposed. His face was red and his whole posture was of a boy trying to shrivel up and disappear.

"Stand up straight, Simon, and walk properly, please."

Several people glanced at us and I heard somebody comment on the weals visible below the hem of both John's and Simon's short trousers. It must also have been apparent that Simon was on a leash and that the woman holding it was carrying a riding crop. I felt a little embarrassed at sharing in such attention, but I was also proud to be walking by Miss Strang's side, as though I, too, shared in her authority.

We passed a toyshop and Miss Strang allowed the boys to look in the window. Prominently displayed were a set of tin soldiers, beautifully painted in their regimental uniform. John was particularly enamoured of them. Simon was too cast down in his disgrace to evince much enthusiasm.

Then as we passed Thwaites, the hardware shop, Miss Strang handed me the lead.

"Hold the leash for a moment, Livia, I have one or two purchases to make for the schoolroom. Walk on slowly to the trap and I will join you in a moment."

Holding my little brother on his lead, a public acknowledgement that I was his responsible older sister, made me glow with self-importance. I felt eyes on me and I imagined that I had inflicted the weals that were visible on my brothers' thighs.

Miss Strang soon caught us up, her purchases in a brown paper bag. When we arrived at the trap, Simon was made to sit in the back and I was told to hold his lead and make sure that he did not speak. John sat in the front with Miss Strang. Both of us were pleased with the seating, although I noticed as the trap rattled over the cobbles that John winced as his bottom bounced on the hard seat.

When we arrived at the house, Miss Strang took Simon's lead from me and led him into the house. As we mounted the steps and passed through the door, we met Mrs Mountfield in the hall. She looked at Simon and smiled. Simon looked down. Miss Strang pulled sharply on the lead jerking his wrist.

"You will say 'good afternoon' to Mrs Mountfield, Simon. I will not tolerate such impoliteness."

Simon mumbled something that may have been 'good afternoon'. Miss Strang pulled the leash sharply towards her and then brought the riding whip smartly down across the side of his right thigh. And then a second time. Simon howled and pulled away.

"Say it properly, please, Simon. I want to hear a clear 'good afternoon, Mrs Mountfield'. I am waiting."

"Good afternoon, Mrs Mountfield."

Again the whip descended.

"Please . . . No. I said it!"

"Say it again. Clearly,"

"Good afternoon, Mrs Mountfield."

Mrs Mountfield had been watching with a look of deep satisfaction on her face. She was not a cruel woman, but I knew that over the past year both John and Simon had made her life difficult and that little had been done about it. To see both boys now receiving long overdue correction must have been immensely pleasing to her. She nodded.

"Good afternoon, Simon."

She looked at Miss Strang.

"And what, may I ask, has Master Simon done that requires him to be put on a lead?"

"An inability to stay where he had been put, Mrs Mountfield. A disobedient disposition to wander where he has been forbidden. Both of which need to be sharply reined in. And that is what is being done. Now, if we may have some tea in half an hour that would be excellent."

She turned to us.

"While I supervise Simon, you are both to take off your outdoor clothing, put it away, and then go immediately to the schoolroom."

When I arrived in the schoolroom, John was sitting at his desk and Simon was seated on the floor with the lead attached to a hook on the side of Miss Strang's desk. He looked rather uncomfortable and distinctly miserable.

"Before we have tea, there are on or two things that need mentioning. First, soon after my arrival I promised to provide each of you with a list of rules so that each of you knows what I expect of you. In that way there can be no excuses and no sense of unfairness when you are punished. That has yet to be done. I intend to do that in a moment."

She looked around and then down at Simon on the floor.

"I hope that even without such rules no one feels they have been punished unfairly. Livia you look as though you might be thinking that. Is that right?"

"No, Miss Strang. No it isn't."

"Well, I am pleased about that. Now to another matter."

She bent down and unhooked the lead and with a shake indicated that Simon was to stand up.

"Simon, it saddens me that I have had to leash you like this. But you must learn that when you are told to stand still, then that is what you do. I am afraid you will be staying on the leash for at least the rest of the day. And that means you will need to be supervised at all times. That will be a chore for those who do it. But it is necessary. Do you understand that, Simon?"

The full implication of what being leashed meant was just dawning on him. He looked not only dejected but also anxious.

"Well, do you have any questions?"

"Please . . . Miss Strang . . . what if I want to go to the lavatory."

"Then you will need to be taken. Alternatively, you may be required to use a chamber pot."

Simon looked horrified. He had reached an age at which he valued his privacy, and such exposure would be a deep humiliation.

"But . . . but, Miss Strang."

"Yes, Simon?"

"I can't . . ."

"But Simon, why do you say 'I can't'. 'I can't' means there is something you are unable to do. But you are not required to do anything. There is nothing for you to do. You will simply be at the end of the leash and be led where I want you to go and do what I want you to do. Surely nothing could be simpler?"

"But . . ."

"Simon, I do not want to hear another word. From now on you will not speak unless spoken to."

He hung his head and his small shoulders were sunk in helpless desperation.

"And now, tell me how many strokes of the riding whip was it in the stationers?"

"Er . . . six, Miss Strang."

"And can you remember what I said about those strokes?"

There was a long pause.

"No, Miss Strang."

"Livia?"

"I think you said, Miss Strang, that they were not his punishment, only a . . a foretaste of what he would get when he arrived home."

"Livia is right, Simon. That is what I said. And what do you think I meant by that? Well?"

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

"You mean you do not know what a 'foretaste' is."

He nodded.

"Well let me see. Suppose you were given a little sip of a delicious drink, just a sip. And you were told that it was but a foretaste of what you would be given when you got home. It would mean that when you got home instead of a little taste you would be given a whole jug of the delicious drink. Do you understand?"

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

"So the six strokes of the whip were like the sip of the drink. They were just a hint, just a promise of what you would be given once you were home."

She said this in such a calm, almost sweet voice, as though Simon was to be served the sweetest sherbet in the garden of an Ottoman palace, rather than the fiery draught that would burn and sting and bring tears to his eyes.

"But I have put you on the leash and I am sure for you that is a punishment. Is that right, Simon."

"Ye . . . yes, Miss Strang."

"But alas, it is not a punishment. It is a means of training you. But not a punishment. It helps you to understand that a little boy is just like a puppy dog. A puppy dog can romp around and be mischievous. He can scratch the furniture and mess in the corner. And then his mistress puts him on a lead or chains him to a post. But she also takes the whip to him. As the whip must be taken to you, Simon. A thorough whipping of which the few strokes in the stationers were, as I said, but the foretaste."

She ruffled his hair.

"Ah, here comes Mary with the tea.

(To be continued)