Miss Strang Chapter 45

Miss Strang Chapter 45
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 45

"Pull up your stockings, Livia. They may be all you are wearing but there is no reason why they should be wrinkling around your knees."

I slipped my hand first into one stocking then into the other and drew them up. My legs plumped and stretched the material, until my thighs emerged firming into two protuberant buttock cheeks ripe for whipping. I noticed how Mary watched intently, biting her lower lip, quivering in the anticipation of having me mounted upon her back. Miss Strang again swished the birch through the air.

"Mary, please pull the leather armchair forward and then stand behind it. When you have grasped Livia you can lean forward and rest your elbows on its back. That will steady and support you, during a long and unhurried punishment."

She turned to me.

"Livia, bring that short stool across and place it behind Mary. That is right. Now stand on the stool."

I did as instructed.

"Now Mary stoop down a little and allow Livia to place her arms over your shoulders. Grasp them, please. And straighten up while continuing to hold her firmly. That is excellent."

I was now laid across Mary's back, a victim upon the altar that countless schoolboys have been sacrificed upon. As she bent forward and rested her elbows on the armchair, I could feel my body moulding itself to the curve of her spine. I shut my eyes and could see, as in a mirror, my back bare flaring at its base into a full, round and utterly delicious bottom. A bottom already marked by the birch.

"And, Livia, you are to lie still. If you resist like a boy, then I will have to flog you like a boy. The choice is yours."

There was a pause, and then the birch was brought swishing down across my bottom. I gasped. But the stroke had none of the power and vigour of the earlier cuts. It was more a sharp, stinging sensation, a vivid reminder that I was helpless over Mary's back. Entirely at Miss Strang's mercy. There was a long pause. I could hear myself breathing deeply. Then another stroke was given. Then after an even longer pause, a third stroke. Each time the twigs merely scratched and tantalised. It was as if a dog eager to savage its victim was held back straining on its leash.

And slowly, as stroke followed tormenting stroke, so the little serpent of sensuality was aroused. Like a cold-blooded creature, lurking beneath a stone warmed by the sun, it stirred. I began to rub my thighs up and down, stretching and pressing into Mary's back, wriggling against her. And as I twisted and turned, the rough towelling began to bunch together and found its way into the lips of my small, twelve year old vulva. I ground my hips back and forth on the roughness of the material.

There was another tormenting stroke and then, after a pause, another. Each made me gasp not with the sharpness of the pain but with a delicious sensual tingling, as the twigs scratched and tickled the soft surface of my bottom. The little serpent was now flicking its tongue, welcoming the attention and eager for more.

There was a long pause.

"Are you comfortable, Mary. The burden of horsing Livia is not I trust too much for you."

"Oh no, Miss Strang."

Mary's reply was breathless. Partly, perhaps, because of the effort in restraining me, but more I was sure from the sheer sensual excitement of participating in my flogging. Hearing each cut of the birch smacking deliciously on bare flesh, feeling my small writhing naked body wriggling against her.

"And Livia, I think we might roll down your stockings. They are wrinkling in a most unsightly fashion."

I felt her long, cool fingers inserted first into the top of one stocking and then into the other, as they were slowly rolled down my legs, peeled off as the skin might be from a flayed animal. I shuddered.

"And Livia, I am not going to warn you again. If you continue to wriggle then you will feel the full severity of this birch across you bottom . . . and your thighs."

As she paused to give this warning, I felt the birch being drawn up between my legs, flicking and scratching at the entrance to the serpent's den.

"No, no, no."

"But why 'no', Livia?"

"Please, Miss Strang. Please . . ."

"Why are you pleading with me, Livia. You are being flogged with but half the rigour you deserve. And yet you are twisting about as though I was birching you like a delinquent schoolboy. You will cease such disgraceful wriggling and lie quietly across Mary's back. Any more resistance and you will discover how a delinquent schoolboy indeed suffers under the rod. Do you understand?"

"Yes . . . yes, Miss Strang."

"And it is not too late to put you back over the stool. And if that is done, then your legs will be secured as well as your hands. That, as I recall, was Mr Innes' recommendation. Is that what you wish?"

I felt a surge of horror at the prospect of being rendered so helpless.

"No . . . no, Miss Strang."

"Then you will lie still."

I desperately wanted to continue to rub myself against the towelling bunched between my legs. To assuage the urgent itching demand between my thighs. And yet each succeeding stroke seemed designed to sting and stir the serpent with its flickering tongue into even greater life.

Until I could bear it no more.

"No, no . . . "

I arched and bucked on Mary's back, pressing against her and seething with pent up desire.

"Very well, Livia. You have been warned."

And now the rod that had lured me towards the gate of paradise became the means of denial. With equal skill the rod was swished harshly across my thighs, burning as intensely as did the flaming sword that barred Adam and Eve from the Tree of Life. I screamed in rage and frustration as much as in pain. The birch swished down again on bare thigh flesh, driving from my lungs a screaming exhalation of pure agony. I kicked and punched my knees into Mary's back. I was chewing at the towel and tearing at it with my teeth.

"I thought I said that you were to lie still, Livia. If you lie still I will not have to be so harsh with you."

This was a refinement of punishment. A skilful torture that awoke not only a longing that was denied but also a sharp awareness of the power that a governess has over her charge. John was denied the right to masturbate and was severely punished for it. Miss Strang had placed no such prohibition on me, but chose to establish her rule in this exquisitely tormenting way.

And yet, such was my eagerness for it, so unrestrained my longing, that I felt an ever deepening guilt. Miss Strang had said that for a boy masturbation was something that he wanted so badly that unless checked it would rule over him as a master rules over a slave. But for a girl, she had said, it never became such a burning, insistent compulsion that ruled her life. Yet my longing, the urgency of my desire, was surely no less than it was for a boy. And I felt confused. Was I really a boy, and not a girl at all. Did I deserve to be punished like a boy?

Miss Strang waited. And as she did so, the agony that had burned my flesh like hot wire slowly abated. But it lived on in the imagination. Where I could suffer again the torment without the terrible physical anguish. Where I could be a willing victim, part observer, part participant, in the shameful and painful proceedings.

"Livia, I have no wish to flog you like a schoolboy. Please lie still and accept the rod with the submissive spirit that I expect from a girl."

And as I struggled to lie still and accepting over Mary's back, the rod was again swished against my flesh. But the strokes were not an inducement to repentance and contrition but rather an incitement to revel in the shameful exposure of my bottom to such discipline. Again, I could see myself horsed like a naughty schoolboy, submitting to the rod. And as the twigs cut and scratched by bottom, I could feel the little serpent of sensuality again stirring between my legs. And as though she could see his eager flickering tongue, Miss Strang once more drew the birch slowly up my thighs, into the crack of my bottom, twisting it so that the lithe punishing end explored the soft secret sensitive place between my buttocks.

I could not control myself. I began to move and writhe.

"Livia, you will cease this disgraceful wriggling. And, please, have some consideration for Mary."

The rod was raised and brought swishing down across my bottom. I suffered as a boy suffers who has been caught by his governess abusing himself and from whom the dreadful fires of compulsive masturbation are being driven out. And I knew that every searing stroke was justified. I had wriggled and writhed in response to the earlier tantalising strokes. I deserved every stripe, every cut of the birch on my skin, hot and feverish with desire. I screamed in agony as the devil of sensuality was flogged out of me.

Whereas the previous strokes had teased and tantalised, enticing the little serpent from his den, the schoolboy flogging I was now suffering extinguished all sensual delight. I writhed now in a fruitless attempt to avoid the strokes of the birch as it cut and sliced my flesh. But such avoidance was impossible. Mary held me in a firm grip, as I hung, with my stockings rolled down my legs and my bottom bare. I roared like a schoolboy as skin was worn away and I was bloodied, my bottom covered in agonising stinging abrasions. I kicked and pummelled Mary with my knees. Deep throated roars of torment were torn from me. I chewed my lips and could taste the blood in my mouth. Bloody saliva and spittle were dribbling on to Mary's neck.

Eventually, Miss Strang stepped back.

"As a girl, Livia, I would have expected you to submit to your discipline with a better grace. You have disappointed me. A girl of your age should offer her body to the rod with a quiet and submissive spirit. But you writhed and struggled like a boy and you have been disciplined like a boy. It gives me no pleasure to have to flog you like that, but it was necessary. Do you understand?"

But what I understood was that it was less a boy's angry and resentful spirit that had driven me to thrash and writhe over Mary's back. Far more a boy's desperate desire to masturbate until he was throbbing with illicit pleasure, ruled by an overpowering sensuality. And I had been punished like a boy. A boy whose little member is forever wanting to be rubbed, wanting to stiffen and throb, to be the centre of all his attention. A boy driven by an overwhelming desire to touch and tease himself until, with his whole body rigid with expectation, he explodes in a burst of pulsating sensual pleasuring.

And I deserved every cut of the birch on my flesh. I was a girl who had the same, dreadful ruling passion as a boy. I had been punished by Miss Strang for not behaving as a girl should behave. But surely she was punishing me for being like a boy, for lusting like a boy, for wanting nothing more than to wriggle and writhe, rousing the serpent between my legs into a state of twisting delicious excitement.

And I felt utterly confused. An outcast. A creature with the appearance of a girl but inwardly a boy. And I suffered an exquisite guilt at this realisation. A guilt that only the severest punishment could purge. Why should I not be flogged. Flogged until my guilt peeled away with my skin.

"Well, Livia, you have seen the best of the two birches you bound up this morning. There are eight strokes still outstanding and they will be given with the new tawse I purchased on Friday. I seem to remember that Horace Claythorpe offered me an extra heavy tawse that he said was used at the reformatory for boys aged twelve and over. Given your behaviour, I am beginning to regret that I did not purchase one from him.

"Mary you will release Livia and take a well-earned rest for a few moments."

Mary stooped down so that I could slip easily off her back.

"Stand facing the bookcase, Livia. And pull up your stockings. And please remember you are still in disgrace. You are to remain silent."

She turned to Mary.

"Mary will you please go up to the schoolroom. If you open my desk you will see two tawses. Bring me the heavier of the two. The one that has an H inscribed on it. Off you go."

I heard Miss Strang walk across to the table, and busy herself with something. The library was floored in dark oak and her shoes clacked as she went.

"Do you recall my saying that if you continued to resist then I would fasten you once more to the stool and secure your legs as Mr Innes recommended? Well do you? You may speak when spoken to, Livia."

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"And is that not what you deserve?"

"Please, Miss Strang. Please. No."

The thought of being bound and rendered utterly helpless was intolerable. I waited trembling. The door opened and Mary came in with the tawse.

"Thank you, Mary."

It swung heavily, menacingly in my governess's hand. She turned to me.

"Very well, Livia. I will spare you the shame of being restrained again, but let there be no more unseemly wriggling and writhing."

She paused, letting what she had said sink in.

"Go and stand in front of the ladder."

I hesitated.

"Quickly now."

She pointed, and I walked across and stood there. She picked up the heavy library stool over which I had been birched before Mr and Mrs Innes and set it in front of me. However, she twisted it so that it was not square but placed diagonally, with a corner pointing towards me. She then draped the towel over it. And reaching into the pocket of her dress, she removed two more safety pins and fastened the towel underneath the stool so that it could not easily slip off.

"Place your legs either side of the stool, Livia, and bend forward."

I did so and, despite the towelling cover, the corner pressed into my crotch, digging into my little vulva.

"And now reach across and grasp the ladder."

I did so and felt the strain as I reached out to catch my fingers around the tread. I closed my eyes and could see the girl, hanging over the stool, her wealed bottom rising above her stocking tops, soft and delicious inviting further punishment.

"Mary, you may now return to the kitchen. Please thank Mrs Mountfield for sparing you."

(To be continued)