Miss Strang Chapter 30

Miss Strang Chapter 30
By Governess
liviaarbuthnot1@gmail.com

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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 30

When we passed through the arch on to the lawn, we could see Simon playing happily on the edge of the meadow. Miss Strang and I sat on a bench in the warm afternoon sun. My head was full of questions.

"Miss Strang?"

"Yes, Livia?"

"Miss Strang, do you think that John will masturbate again?"

"Yes, Livia. I am sure he will. Small boys find masturbation an endless source of illicit pleasure. The habit is only broken with great difficulty. The nettling that John is suffering is a start. It will deter him for a while. But I have no doubt that he will succumb again to the temptation and having fallen into sin will again need to be rescued. When I was a girl I saw a cow that had fallen into a bog. It was almost submerged. The only way to rescue it was to drag it out. And the only means of doing that quickly enough was to use what was at hand. And the men cut a length of barbed wire from a fence and wrapped it around the cow and dragged it out. It cut the cow, tearing and lacerating its flesh. It must have suffered dreadfully as it bellowed and roared. But its life was saved."

She stopped and let me apply the analogy myself.

"But if the nettles don't work, what will?"

"Well, Livia. The nettles can be applied again. Perhaps even more severely. And then the hands that have masturbated might be strapped with my tawse."

She smiled.

"And you know how painful that is! But there are other steps that can be taken. But on such a lovely sunny afternoon, let us not think about those now. Come, Livia, let us walk down to the stream."

AS we approached the stream, which was not deep and perhaps fifteen feet wide, we saw Simon scrambling about on the edge, picking up small stones.

"Simon, please keep away from the stream. I do not want you falling in."

He moved away and we turned back towards the house.

"I think it is time that one of us should check on John. Would you go, Livia? Make him stand up so you can turn over the nettles and refresh them If you need to add some more, do so. And then supervise him for several minutes while he rubs the nettle rod between his legs as he did before. But this time use the other end where the nettles are still be fresh. And if there is any nonsense, or resistance, you are to call me. Immediately. Is that clear."

"Yes, Miss Strang."

I walked slowly toward the house, filled with a strange anxiety at what I should find and yet relishing what I had to do. That Miss Strang had entrusted me with this task made me feel older than my twelve years.

When I arrived at the schoolroom, John was still seated on the chamber pot. He looked miserable and had been crying. His face was tear-stained and he had the look of a boy suffering extreme discomfort and frustration. He looked up.

"Livvy, has she said I can get up?"

He eased himself around on the pot and gave a gasp of agony.

"Does it hurt?"

"Yes. It does. It feels as though I've been stung by hundreds of bees. It itches and burns and . . . "

He started to cry and drummed his feet up and down on the floor in desperation.

"Well, I am sorry, John, but Miss Strang says that you are to stay where you are. And I am to refresh the nettles. So please stand up.

I could see anger and defiance in his eyes. But he knew that I came with Miss Strang's authority and did not wish to risk the further unspecified punishment that she had threatened. He stood up, saying nothing.

I went behind him and looked at his bottom. It was covered with a mass of rashes, blotches of red with little white raised lumps. I went to the table and picked up the cotton gloves and put them on.

"You know why this is being done, don't you John."

"Oh just get on with it, Livvy. You sound just like Miss Strang."

I said nothing and bending down churned up the nettles so that those at the bottom rose to the top. I then went and fetched a large handful from those still on the table and added them to the pile.

"Do you think you have learned your lesson? Miss Strang said that what you were doing was very dangerous and that you might go mad."

"Did she? Well, I don't care."

I suddenly felt angry at his stubbornness and his lack of respect.

"That's rude, John. Miss Strang said that if you were rude and didn't do what I told you, I should call her. Do you want me to do that?"

He looked frightened.

"No . . . please Livvy. Don't do that."

"Well then, perhaps I should punish you myself?"

He said nothing but looked down at the floor.

"Turn round and bend right over. Lean your hands on the sides of the chamber pot."

I thought of the pictures I had seen in the library. Of the boys being impaled. I breathed deeply and felt giddy at this hot sticky fancy. I went to the table and picked up the nettle rod. I could see which end had been used and turned it round.

"Put you legs apart, John. No, wider than that."

I placed the nettles between his legs and then slowly drew them up so that they rubbed into his bottom cleft. I pushed them back and forth, twisting and brushing them against his genitals. He howled in protest. But I took no notice. I turned and went to the table, selecting a single stem which I could see was covered right to the tip with pricking, stinging hairs. Then, with my thumb and fingers I squeezed apart the cheeks of his bottom and placed the end of the rod against his anus. Then, I pushed. It was hard to insert. But I persevered. He roared and howled but strangely seemed transfixed and made no attempt to rise. Slowly the tip disappeared into the anal opening, stretching and tearing. Then, with a sudden jerk more went in. He was almost beside himself. I twisted it round, pushed it back and forth, so that the stinging hairs would smart and irritate within. He raged and roared, and I became frightened that Miss Strang would hear. I slowly, reluctantly, pulled out the stem, sticky with the pleasure of forcing him to submit to such an impalement at my hands. And guiltily thrust the stem into the remaining mass of nettles on the table. Then, I picked up the nettle rod.

"Turn round and sit on the pot, John. Quickly."

"I pushed his legs apart and inserted the nettle rod between them and into the pot.

"Now rub it up and down. And keep doing that until you can't do it any more. I shan't tell Miss Strang that you were rude. And if I were you I wouldn't mention it either."

I left him sobbing, knowing that I had not only hurt him but thoroughly humiliated him.

When I arrived back on the lawn, Miss Strang looked at me.

"I hope John was not difficult. You look rather flushed, Livia. Is everything all right?

"Yes, Miss Strang. I told him that he deserved what was happening to him and that I hoped he was learning his lesson. I told him that what he had done was very dangerous and . . . and was not good for him. Was that right?"

"Yes, Livia. That was quite right."

But she looked at me oddly and I felt a tinge of guilt at not being entirely honest with her, but also relief that she had not probed further.

"I think that perhaps we ought to go in and I may ask Mrs Mountfield for some afternoon tea. I am told that she makes very delicious cakes and biscuits. Is that right?"

"Yes, Miss Strang. Simon loves her special Easter biscuits."

She turned round and called Simon. There was no reply. She called again. Slowly he came towards us. Then he quickened his pace and started to run.

"I am sorry, Miss Strang."

"What are you sorry for, Simon."

She glanced at his feet and saw immediately that both his shoes were sopping wet and his socks too.

"I see your feet are wet, Simon."

She looked at him and there was an ominous silence.

"I think we had better go back to the schoolroom. Take your shoes and socks off at the backdoor. Livia will fetch a towel."

I had to dry Simon's feet. After I had finished, I had a very dirty towel.

"That can go straight into the dirty washing, Livia."

She turned to Simon.

"And you, Simon, can go straight to the schoolroom."

John was still seated on the chamber pot. The nettle rod still sticking out from between his legs. Miss Strang ignored him.

"Simon stand in front of my desk."

She walked around and sat on the high stool, like an examining magistrate with a miscreant brought before her for questioning and then sentence."

She spoke gently.

"So, Simon. How did your feet get so wet?"

"I . . . was crossing the stream, Miss Strang. On the stepping stones. And I slipped. I didn't mean to go into the stream. I knew you had said not to."

"No, Simon. I did not say 'do not go into the stream'. What I said was 'keep away from the stream, I do not want you falling in.'"

He hung his head.

"So, did you keep away from the stream?"

"No, Miss Strang."

"And did you fall in?"

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"Bring me your list of rules, please."

He handed it to her. She pointed.

"Read that, please."

He read slowly and haltingly.

"Simon will not go where he is forbidden."

"That seems quite clear to me, Simon. Had I forbidden you to go near the stream?"

His voice now had the tone of a boy who knows he has been found guilty, and that sentence is about to be passed.

"Yes, Miss Strang."

(To be continued)