Miss Strang Chapter 49
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 49

It was obvious to me that Simon had forgotten about the buttons he had placed in his desk. His elation at being spared further punishment and his pleasure at being commended by Miss Strang vanished like dew as the day heats up. He went quite white, his eyes opened wide and he began to stammer.

"Th . . . the button . . . Miss Strang?"

She spoke quietly in the same warm voice she had used earlier when commending him for the neatness of his writing.

"Yes, Simon, the green buttons, the five green buttons, I gave you yesterday. You were to give me one back before bed for the next five days. Surely you remember. You put them in your desk for safe keeping."

"Yes . . . yes, Miss Strang."

"Well, then, fetch me a button, please. It is almost your bedtime.

He went to his desk, opened it and carefully took out a button. He held it between his thumb and finger. She stretched out her hand and he pressed it into her waiting palm. Her hand closed around it.

"And do you remember why you were given the buttons?"

He hung his head and his whole body seemed to collapse as if it had no bones in it.

"I . . I . . .

"Come, now, Simon. What did I say when I gave you the buttons yesterday?"

"You .. you said that if . . . if I was naughty before I had given the buttons back, then I'd . . . then I'd be spanked like John."

"Not spanked, Simon. John was not spanked, was he?"

"No, Miss Strang."

"No. He was birched."

She paused, looking down at the small naked boy who was desperately wringing his hands, his face ashen, and his eyes dark.

"Simon, you have been ungrateful and rude and if not guilty of flagrant lying, have certainly been less than honest. And all before even one button was returned to me."

She smiled.

"So, do you expect to be birched like John?"

She saw little wrong in affirming her authority over a boy, tantalising him, keeping him in suspense, a small struggling fly on her sticky web.

"I . . . I . . . "

He nodded, and dreadful sobs racked his small body.

She stepped forward and put her arm around him.

"Stop crying, Simon."

His sobbing continued. She spoke more sharply.

"I said stop crying."

He did so, responding to the edge on her voice.

"Now, what was it I said when I have you the five green buttons?"

"You . . . you said that if I was naughty before I had given them all back, then I would be . . . be birched."

"No, Simon. That is not what I said."

He rubbed his right eye with his knuckle.

"What I said was that if you disobeyed me again, then you would be birched, as John was birched. I did not say you would be birched if you were naughty. I said you would be birched if you disobeyed."

She paused.

"When I told you to stand by the counter in Mr Harker's shop, you disobeyed me, and you were punished. When I told you not to go near the stream, you disobeyed me, and again you were punished. So when I gave you the five green buttons, I said that if there was a third occasion over the next five days of similar disobedience then you would be birched."

He still looked anxious and perplexed. She spoke more gently.

"Simon, I do not regard your lack of gratitude for your food and your rudeness toward Mrs Mountfield as meriting a flogging. Nor your less than straightforward regard for the truth. These are not the direct and wilful disobedience I was concerned about. In any case, Mrs Mountfield has spanked you for the former. And I have dealt with the latter. But . . . "

She placed her hand firmly on the shoulder of the small, naked, shivering boy.

" . . . if, before the remaining buttons are returned to me, there is any hint of direct disobedience to an instruction I have given, then you will most certainly be birched, and birched severely. Do you understand?"

His relief was palpable.

"Yes, Miss Strang."

She now placed both hands on his shoulders and turned him round so that she could inspect his bottom. She gave it a hard slap with her hand. He winced and cried out, drawing his bottom in.

The bottom had been spanked to a deep dark red, and where the bristles had punctured the skin and inflamed the pores, there was a yet darker oval patch on each cheek. Miss Strang picked up a towel and pressed it against each buttock, not roughly but firmly. Enough to cause Simon to draw in his breath sharply. She looked at the towel.

"Well, I see no blood stain on this towel, Simon. Go and prepare for bed and then put on your nightshirt and kneel ready for prayers. I will be in shortly to settle you down."

John was similarly dismissed. When Miss Strang returned, she took the Bible from the schoolroom shelf and sat in the armchair. I continued sitting at my desk writing up my diary. I longed to be invited to snuggle up in the armchair with her and to feel loved and accepted again. But no such invitation came. Eventually, she looked up.

"I seem to recall telling you that an early night would be in order, Livia. We will say prayers and then I suggest you go and prepare for bed. I will see you in the morning."

"Yes, Miss Strang."

I went and undressed and, after washing and relieving myself, returned disconsolately to my bedroom. I stood in front of the mirror and nervously raised my nightdress. I stared at my bottom, and studied the weals cut into its smooth surface. The physical agony lingered yet in the memory. I reached round and ran my fingers lightly over my buttocks, feeling the ridges raised by the birch. I imagined Simon horsed over my own back, wriggling and plunging as the rod searched out the most tender regions between his thighs. I wanted to touch myself. I imagined asking Miss Strang for permission.

'Please, Miss Strang may I touch myself. Please, Miss Strang. Please.'

But I could hear the unyielding reply that brooked no argument.

'Most certainly not, Livia. You will keep your hands well away from between your legs. That is unless you want your hands strapped raw.'

I was almost beside myself. But perhaps I could do it without touching myself. Without using my hands. I looked around the room. My eyes fastened on the pear-shaped knobs on each corner of my low bedstead. All was quiet. I waited, listening, holding my breath and then letting it out slowly, trying to control the exhalation.

But suppose Miss Strang came into my room. Suppose she caught me. I may have been halfway to convincing myself that to masturbate without using my fingers was somehow different. But deep down I knew that Miss Strang would not regard is so. That to bring myself to that throbbing state of utterly delectable abandonment was what counted. And that if I did that, then I would be guilty.

I ran my hand over the knob at the end of the bed nearest the door. It was mahogany, cold and smooth. I opened my legs, lifted my nightdress and rested against it. That surely was not forbidden. I meant to do no more than that. I kept very still listening. Then, I heard footsteps and a door opening and closing. I froze. But then nothing. Only silence.

I picked up a pillow and held it by the corners, letting it drop over my back, so it hung like a boy horsed for the rod. I shut my eyes and pressed again on the pear shaped knob. Whhhhish went the birch. There was a squeal of agony as it bit into the boy's tender bottom. He writhed forcing me onto the blunt polished wood. I gasped. Whhhhish went the rod again. I felt the pressure against my vulva and as I writhed the pear shaped bulb moved up, rubbing against that little piece of delicious gristle. I twisted and turned, again and again, gasping with pleasure. I shook my head. My hair was in my face. I could feel it between my teeth as I bit and chewed.

As I lay in bed, guilt and anxiety overcame me. What if Miss Strang had heard. What was I to say should she question me in the morning? Despite not touching myself, had I obeyed her ruling forbidding masturbation without permission? As sleep began to creep over me, I began to wonder how soon it would be before Miss Strang again caught John masturbating. And when she did what would be his punishment.

I dreamed that I was lying in a bed that I knew to be Miss Strang's. I went to move my hands but found them tightly secured to the bed head. I wanted to touch myself but the restraint made it impossible. I rattled the bed and screamed. But there was an empty silence. The curtain stirred and then I heard the hiss. I looked down and saw the snake. Black and shiny with red eyes and a red darting tongue. It was on the counterpane and slithered towards me. I watched it as it slid up between my legs, its flickering tongue searching for the entrance to its lair. Slowly it disappeared into me. I writhed at the delicious slippery sensation.

And then Miss Strang was in the room. She came towards me and put her hand gently on my stomach. I could feel the snake stirring within me, lured out by my governess's presence. Slowly it emerged. It was thick and engorged. I screamed as it forced its way out. Miss Strang had gone and as I looked down I saw that the snake had only half emerged. As I stared at it, I saw that it had become a penis. I began to masturbate like a boy. Never had I experienced such pleasure. Slowly, inexorably, I felt the snake's excitement mount. I stroked its bulbous head. And then I cupped my hand around it and rubbed more firmly. And suddenly the snake began to vomit. Thick creamy liquid poured out of its mouth, soaking the bed, surging on to the floor, rising ever higher until I knew I was about to drown in the viscous mass. I awoke screaming.

Before I had fully come to my senses, I was aware of the door opening.

"What on earth is the matter, Livia?"

"Untie me. untie me. I'm drowning. Drowning."

I felt Miss Strang's hand on my brow.

"There is nothing to fear, Livia. You have had a bad dream. That is all. And you are very hot."

She continued to stroke my brow.

I began to cry, such was the relief that I was not to drown in the snake's vomit. That I had been rescued.

"You poor, child."

I could sense her deliberating. Her hand on my forehead was warm and now very still. Then she spoke very gently.

"Livia, perhaps you should come into my bed for a while, until you have calmed yourself and your fears have gone. Would you like that?"

Never had I experienced such a swift upsurge of joy.

"Oh yes, Miss Strang. Please."

"Good. I am sure that will be for the best."

I slipped out of bed and she took my hand like a little girl and led me to her bedroom. There was a low light that she must have switched on when she heard me crying out. She pulled down the cover. The bed was large and welcoming.

"In you get. We shall be warm and comfortable together, and you will be safe and there will be no more bad dreams."

I crawled into her bed and nestled down. Miss Strang got in beside me. Her nightdress was soft and welcoming.

"Thank you, Miss Strang. It is warm and nice."

She said nothing, but I felt her arm slipping around me and I moved closer. I was now fully awake and sleep seemed a long way off. She whispered to me.

"I hope you were a good girl in bed, Livia? Your hands did not wander where they were forbidden?"

"No, Miss Strang. I didn't touch myself, I promise."

"And was that difficult, Livia?"

"Ye . . yes, Miss Strang. Yes, it was."

She held me closer. She was deliciously soft and scented and I revelled in the comfortable warmth of her embrace.

"Well, Livia . . . "

I waited holding my breath, a trifle nervous.

"Well, Livia. I think you deserve a little reward."

Her free hand was now gently stroking my tummy. I wriggled with pleasure, basking in the sign of renewed favour.

"Livia if you had asked me before bedtime whether you could touch yourself, and pleasure yourself, I would have said no. And, despite you nightmare, I am still not willing that you should comfort yourself in that way by your own hand. However . . . "

And I felt a tremor run through her body.

" . . . I am prepared to comfort you myself."

I lay very still.

"Would you like that, Livia?"

Her voice was a firm whisper.

"Yes, yes, Miss Strang. I would."

Her hand slipped down between my legs, and rested over my slit. I gave an involuntary gasp as the tip of her long central finger gently parted the lips of my vulva and glided slowly upward from the base. This slow delicious stroking was repeated again and again, until I was squirming in ecstasy. Then, the rhythm changed. The finger started to penetrate deeper into my vulva, wriggling its way in, deeper and deeper. It curled around caressing the walls until the tip came to rest on that little sensitive piece of gristle beneath the skin. And as it did so the finger vibrated gently on the spot, teasing me to an ever more delicious arousal.

Miss Strang was unhurried and skilful in her comforting. A boy who delights in masturbation may wish to prolong the delectation, but he soon finds himself inexorably drawn to that burst of enjoyment that tips him into a guilty melancholy. And so too with a girl. But for Miss Strang, there was no precipitate rush to a conclusion. Rather a long, lingering, tantalising torment, that brought a girl to the very gates of paradise and then denied her. A delicious disciplining of her selfish, sensual greed that aroused a deeper craving, that demanded yet further discipline and agonising denial.

When release was granted, I was almost beside myself. I writhed and screamed, gnawing at her nightdress. Then I lay in her arms, and relaxed like a small animal safe in its lair. She pulled me gently against her. I felt the hand that had tantalised and aroused me, exploring down my back, until it came to rest on my bottom. Gently, oh so gently, she fingered the weals so recently inflicted. And then her warm soft hand rested there. I felt myself drifting into sleep.

Then, after an indeterminate time, I was aware of her soft, low voice, almost musical.

"Livia, it would be better for you to sleep in your own bed. There will be no more nightmares. Come."

And with her arm supporting me, I staggered drowsily back to my own sheets. They were cold, but were soon as warm as I was.

(To be continued)