Miss Strang Chapter 38
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 38

Miss Strang rearranged my hand, making sure that it was placed over the crown of my right buttock. Then, I felt the leather being pulled slowly across my palm, until it slid off and the hard tip of the tails ran down the side of my bottom. I screwed myself up, waiting for the first stroke. I held my breath, with my eyes shut. Still I waited, listening for any sound that would warn me of the descent of the tawse. I was determined that I would not evade it. Partly I feared the additional strokes of the birch, but even more I wanted to be as courageous as a boy, and ready to be readmitted to the fellowship that I had lost.

There was a rustle, a movement. I imagined the tawse being raised, draped over my governess's shoulder, her eyes, narrowed and focussed on my small hand. Suddenly there was a slight susurration of air. I heard a shrill screaming noise, and I had torn my hand away as though from the searing flame of a blowtorch. I was gnawing the fleshy mound under my thumb. Biting into it.

I continued to chew my hand, sobbing in great jerking bursts of anguish. I could feel the tears running down my face, wetting my hands.

"And what do you say, Livia? I trust you remember."

Like a boy scooping pebbles from a stream, I struggled to gather my wits. I stammered through my tears.

"I... I... I must... I must listen to... to Miss Strang."

"Replace you hand, Livia."

I was weeping, hot bitter tears of anger. Anger at myself for having to be punished like a naughty child. My hand was hot and trembling.

A loud searing cry rent the schoolroom. I shook my hand, drumming my knuckles against the soft flesh of my buttock in a paroxysm of agony. My whole body shuddered.

"I am waiting, Livia?"

"I... I must heed Miss Strang."

"Hand back in position, please, Livia. The last stroke."

I didn't know how I could bear another stroke. There was a long pause, and then a slight swishing sound. Under my tightly closed lids, I had forced my eye balls upward until they ached. I stretched my hands over the seat of the chair and shook them, howling like a soul that has passed through the veil of death to find itself in purgatorial fire. From a great distance I could hear Miss Strang's voice.

"Well, Livia?"

Slowly, the pain drained away like boiling water down a sink.

"I... I must obey Miss Strang."

Then, I felt her smoothing my hair.

She paused.

"It is easy is it not, Livia?"

"Y... yes... , Miss Strang."

"Well, tomorrow when we go to church, you will write out a placard and wear it around your neck informing people that you are in disgrace and asking them not to speak to you. That should help you to avoid further punishment."

I felt the blood rushing up from my neck and suffusing my face. The thought of such humiliation was almost insupportable. That everyone in church would see me wearing such a thing round my neck. I remembered how John had been made to wear a notice around his neck when he was seven with the word LIAR written on it. He had told a fib. But he had only to wear it in the house. He had only been seen by the domestic servants. But how he had hated it.

I wanted to protest and to argue, but I stopped myself in time. No permission to speak had been granted. I hung my head and although my face was hot, I felt a cold desolation creeping over me.

"Now Livia, I think that an early night would be in order. Tomorrow I will wake you at six and we will go and select the birch lengths for you to bind up. And then there is the placard to write out."

She put her arm around me. Part of me wanted to be comforted and held tight. But another part of me hated her.

"Let me see your hand, Livia. Hold it out, please."

I stretched it out, and placed it on her own slender, cool hand.

"Well that is not so bad. It will no doubt itch tonight and tomorrow I am sure there will still be some irritation. But the lesson needed to be taught. In any case, by this time tomorrow you will have more than a sore hand to worry about."

She paused.

"But Livia, there is something else that needs to be taught."

She placed her hand on my head, gently stroking my hair.

"Tell me. How did you punish John? What did you do that made him cry out in pain?"

Her voice was low, with a threatening intimacy."

"Tell me, Livia. What was it?"

"Well, I... I put more nettles in the chamber pot and made him sit on it again."

"Yes, Livia. But that is not all you did is it?"

"No, Miss Strang."

"So? What did you do that hurt him so much?"

"I... pushed a nettle stem into his bottom... Miss Strang. I'm sorry. I really am sorry."

I had no idea what she meant.

"No... Miss Strang."

"Have you ever been constipated, Livia?"

"You mean not being able to go to the lavatory?"

"Yes, Livia. That is what constipation usually means. So, have you ever been constipated?"

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"And how was it cured? Was it just ignored? Or did you mother or your governess, do something about it?"

"Well, my mother used to make me take castor oil, and sometimes I would be given a supp... something."

"The word is suppository, Livia. Say it."

"Suppository, Miss Strang."

"Good. But you were never given an enema?"

At that time I had never heard of children being given enemas. Indeed, I had never heard of such a thing.

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

"Do you know what an enema is, Livia?"

"No, Miss Strang.

"Well let me enlighten you. If a child is constipated, and let us suppose it is a boy, then his governess will strip him naked, lay him on his back with his legs up, and fill his bowels with warm soapy water. She does that with a special syringe, at the end of which is a narrow hard nozzle. That is inserted deep inside his tight little anus. Just as you pushed the nettle stem into John. Then, as his governess squeezes the syringe, the soapy water surges into him, filling his rectum, and softening the hard lumps that are preventing a bowel movement. The boy has to hold the liquid inside him for ten minutes."

She paused.

"And if he is being punished, then for much longer than ten minutes. And if he starts letting it out before permission is given, then he would certainly be spanked and the whole process repeated."

I felt a sense of shame creeping over me.

"So, do you understand what an enema entails, Livia?"

I was not sure that I did. A syringe was something I knew Mr Mountfield used in the garden to spray the roses. But I had understood enough to grasp that pumping water into a child in that way would be a shameful, and almost certainly a painful, procedure.

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

"And are you constipated, Livia? Do you think you need an enema?"

"No, Miss Strang. I'm not constipated. Truly, I am not."

"Well, I am glad to hear that. In that case, it would be wrong to subject you to an enema. Would it not?"

She raised her eyebrows, questioningly.

"Yes, Miss Strang."

She pursed her lips.

"However, it was wrong for you to thrust a stiff nettle stem into John."

I hung my head, feeling the noose tightening around me.

"Yes, Miss Strang. I am sorry."

"I am sure you are Livia."

"She went across the room to the bookshelf, and picked up the Bible. She opened it. When she had found what she was looking for she held it out to me.

"Read that Livia."

She pointed with her finger.

"For... for with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again."

I looked up.

"And what does that mean, Livia?"

"I... I am not sure, Miss Strang."

"Then let me explain. You judged John when you decided, that he should be punished by having a nettle stem thrust into him. You meted out suffering to him, you made him suffer, and because that was wrong, you deserve similar suffering to be meted out to you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss Strang."

She gave a little frown.

"I could, I suppose, use a nettle stem on you in the same way you did on John. Thrusting it in, twisting it around so that it stings and hurts. That is what you did, is it not?"

I hung my head. My reply was almost a whisper.

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"Or I could give you a punishment enema."

She paused again. A long pause.

"But I am not going to do either, Livia."

I felt a sudden, burgeoning sense of relief.

"Thank you Miss Strang. I am so sorry."

She looked at me and smiled.

"No, Livia. Neither of those. Instead you will have a suppository. A very special suppository."

She smiled.

"Please go and bring a chamber pot from the washroom. While you are doing that I will fetch what is needed."

(To be continued)