Miss Strang Chapter 3
By Governess
liviaarbuthnot1@gmail.com

Copyright 2008 by Governess, all rights reserved

* * * * *
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.
* * * * *

Chapter 3

As I released my grasp of Simon, his hands went straight to his bottom, and he clutched each cheek, squeezing them desperately. Miss Strang allowed him to rest over the arm for a few moments and then told him to stand up. He did so, slowly wriggling backwards, until his legs touched the floor. Then, bending his knees, he squirmed as though desperately attempting to separate himself from his whipped hindquarters. Then, still sobbing, he turned and clutched at Miss Strang's legs and buried his wet face in the soft material of her skirt.

His governess looked down at him with a smile and ruffled his head. Then she stooped down to his level put her arms around him, and hugged him to her.

"I have caned you less severely than I might have done, Simon," she said. "You did not apply yourself diligently to your work and therefore the cane has been applied to your bottom. That is to encourage you to greater effort in future and above all to teach you to concentrate on what you are doing. Now go and stand facing the wall while I mark your brother's and sister's work."

He clung to her. She stood up and led him to the corner of the room and made him stand with his bottom displayed. To my inexperienced eyes it looked dreadfully painful. It was inflamed and discoloured and the cane had left red stripes across each buttock with his right buttock showing deeper marks where the tip of the cane had whipped round and cut into the soft flesh. Already the initial strokes, laid on with greater severity, had swollen into discernible ridges. These would later fade into the tramline marks that confirm for all who see them that a boy has been well flogged with a whippy rattan cane.

Simon stood face to the wall, and all that could be heard from him now was the occasional sniff and suppressed sob.

Miss Strang turned to John, still in the corner. He had stayed very still during Simon's punishment, listening. He must have been tempted to look round, but had kept his nose to the wall, rightly believing that to do so would incur his governess's displeasure. I had glanced at him several times and wondered what sort of turmoil he was in as he heard the sound of flexible rattan cutting into bare flesh. Was he imagining the sight of his brother writhing under the rod? Or visualising the marks being slowly imprinted on his bottom? He must have realised that soon his own mistakes and omissions would be tallied up and, despite the spanking he had recently received, that the cane would be applied to his still smarting flesh.

"Come here, John. Stand with your hands behind your back."

Her lips were pressed together and there was a slight frown on her smooth brow. And then she gave a small smile, as though after much inner thought a decision had been made.

"John, I have marked your work."

She paused. He held his breath waiting.

"And I am very pleased with it. You seem to have taken great care over it. Of the seventeen sums you completed only one was wrong. However, that leaves three sums that you have not attempted. Can you remember what I promised for wrong and uncompleted work?"

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"Well?"

"You said, we would get a stroke of the cane for every wrong sum, and two strokes of the cane if a sum wasn't done."

"That is exactly right. So how many strokes ought I to be giving you?"

John thought for a moment.

"Seven, Miss Strang."

She reached across to the desk.

"And do you think you deserve seven strokes with my cane, John?"

She waited, and then smiled.

"Come along now. It's not a difficult question, surely."

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

"Well, let me help you. Most nine year old boys who had just received ten strokes of the hairbrush would think they had been punished enough. Isn't that what you think?"

"I suppose so, Miss Strang."

"You think that you have been punished enough. Is that right?"

"Yes, Miss Strang."

She paused, letting a desperate hope grow, before crushing it.

"But the spanking was for something quite different. It was for your disobedience in not stopping your work when you were told to. That still leaves the matter of the unfinished exercise."

She frowned.

"Please, Miss . . Strang. Please don't cane me."

"But John, how would you ever trust my word again? I would have said one thing and done another. A small boy must be able to trust his governess's commitment to his discipline. If he cannot trust her to apply the rod every time he does wrong, then what will be the outcome? I will tell you. He will misbehave in the hope of being let off and if he is not, he will resent the whipping and regard it as unfair."

She paused.

"So, John, you will receive seven strokes of the cane, as I promised. I believe you would think less of me if I did not provide such discipline."

John had become quite white by this time, but at Miss Strang's decision, he flushed and I could see tears pricking at his eyes.

"So go across to the armchair, John, and bend over the arm. No, the right arm, and stretch your hands forward and place them on the seat of the chair with your palms facing upward."

In this position, John was able to lean forward and place his elbows tight against the inside of the arm. I confess that I was disappointed at not being asked to restrain him in the way that I had Simon, but as with Simon's punishment, I experienced a strange pleasure at seeing my brother stretched over the arm, his bottom bare and awaiting punishment.

As Miss Strang rucked his vest halfway up his back, I remember thinking how smooth and pale it was. And as I looked at his bottom, I wondered what it would feel like to be caned on flesh that was still hot and smarting.

Miss Strang then fetched a book from the schoolroom shelf.

"Place your hands closer together, John. No, keep the palms face upward, please, as I asked you to do."

She then placed the book across John's outstretched palms. It covered them completely. I felt a little flutter of breathlessness as she did this. It seemed an odd thing to do, and rather disturbing.

"John, you are nine years old and ought to be able to exercise self-control. Simon is younger. That is why Livia had to hold his arms and help him to submit to the rod. You are older and I expect you to stay over the arm of the chair, without struggling and without resisting. I have placed the book on your hands as an encouragement to you to keep in position. If at any time you take your hands from under the book or disturb it in any way, then you will receive two extra strokes. Do you understand?"

She stood waiting, allowing him time fully to appreciate his predicament. After a while she tapped his bottom with the cane, a light tap as though to remind him that he was not forgotten and that his bottom was now the focus of all her attention. He flinched and a slight shiver ran through him.

She slowly raised the cane, then with her wrist made it bend swiftly back over her shoulder, before bringing it sweeping down so that it impacted with a whup across his buttocks. John gave a penetrating scream, and a stripe appeared on flesh already inflamed by the hairbrush. With a convulsive jerk, he arched his body, clenching his bottom, and writhing furiously. His hands went back tipping the book on to the floor. I looked at Miss Strang. A slight smile played around her lips. She waited, tapping the cane against her calf.

John clasped his buttocks, drumming his feet against the side of the chair. Then he lay still, panting and quietly sobbing. Then with a small, trembling voice he pleaded with her.

"Please, Miss Strang, please, I'm sorry. Please, it hurts so much, please, please. . . "

John was not my favourite brother. He was very full of himself and never seemed to recognise that I was nearly four years older and knew a great deal more than he did. He would often irritate and anger me by his sense of superiority; and there were times when I had been in trouble on his account, for as the eldest I was judged to have a responsibility for my brothers' behaviour. So part of me was pleased that he was being whipped, and even at that age I felt a sensual pleasure at witnessing his chastisement. However, it was shocking, too, to see his transformation into a small whipped boy, abjectly pleading to be spared further torture.

Miss Strang placed her hand on his head and ran it down the back of his neck rubbing it affectionately.

"I thought I warned you John that if you moved and the book went on the floor, then you would receive two additional strokes of my cane. Isn't that right?"

"But it hurts so much. Please, please . . . "

"Well, John, if it hurts so much, I am surprised that you have chosen to earn yourself two further strokes. To my mind that seems very foolish, very foolish indeed."

"But . . . "

"Silence! You are trying my patience. Livia hold his arms as you did for Simon. And John, not another word."

She raised the cane and paused surveying his bottom. The first weal was already swollen and ridged, and looked to my twelve year old eyes very sore and painful. Then the rattan descended with an ominous whoosh and another stripe was laid across my brother's quivering bottom. John bucked and pulled against my grasp but holding him as I had been instructed, above the elbows, enabled me to control him without difficulty. Almost immediately the cane cut another stripe and then another in quick succession. John was now roaring continuously and kicking his legs oblivious of anything but the pain coursing through his body.

I looked at Miss Strang. Her face was still pale but with a slight colouration to her cheeks. She had high cheek bones and normally a most beautiful calm expression. Not that there was any anger or ugliness in her face, rather a rapt concentration with her eyes intense and a small frown on her brow. I thought as she whipped John that she looked more beautiful than ever.

She paused.

"That is four strokes, John. I will wait for you to compose yourself before continuing. Keep hold of him, Livia. We do not want him reaching back and earning further strokes, do we?"

I felt a surge of pleasure at being addressed by Miss Strang in this way; and an exhilaration of spirit at being allowed to participate in the very adult act of administering chastisement to my young brother. This conferred on me, at least in my own eyes, a most grown up status.

After a while John quietened and then lay limp and sobbing over the arm. Miss Strang waited and then swished the cane meaningfully through the air. Another pause and then she rested it on his back. John flinched, and a tremble seemed to ripple over the skin of his bottom. His breathing quickened and he tensed waiting for the resumption of the flogging.

"Grip him firmly, please Livia, and hold him tightly."

Then, Miss Strang slowly traced a line with the cane down John's back, and then inserting the tip between his bottom cheeks drew it down, past his anus, and let it rest beneath his tight little scrotum. The room was quiet. I realised that I was holding my breath. John shivered. I could almost smell his fear and anxiety.

The last three stokes were administered across my brother's lower buttocks where the fullness of the bottom meets the tops of the thighs. He screamed and rocked himself violently up and down on the arm, kicking in his desperation. Miss Strang waited for him to quieten and then in an even voice announced that the two additional strokes would be given across the backs of his thighs.

"Please Miss . . . Please Miss Strang. I'm sorry . . . please."

By this time he had probably forgotten what he was sorry for such was his distress. His face was swollen and wet with tears. Miss Strang ignored his protestations and proceeded to lay the two additional strokes across the backs of his sensitive upper thighs, raising two hot ridged weals that left him gasping and sobbing in agony.

"Go and stand facing the wall by the clock," she said. "I am sorry to say, John, that I do not think you have taken your whipping at all well. I can see this is an area in which some training will be needed. And I will certainly be seeing that you get it."

(To be continued)