Miss Strang Chapter 64

Miss Strang Chapter 64
By Governess

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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 64

Miss Strang slowly tightened her hold on John's scrotum. His knees were knocking together and he was hunched forward, whimpering. With her thumb and forefinger circled around his little sac, she dragged him toward the end of the bed.

"Kneel."

He did so, facing the brass bedstead, relieved that he had been released from her grasp.

"Raise your arms."

She stooped and drew the nightdress over his head and tossed it on the bed, leaving him on his knees in his nakedness.

She turned to me.

"And now Oliver, tell me why your fingers and John's fingers have the same distinct smell upon them. Is that not strange?"

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

"What do you not know, Oliver?"

"W . . . what, the smell is, Miss Strang."

"I see. Well I am surprised."

There was a faint smile on her lips.

"Lift up your nightshirt. Right up and hold it there."

She came close to me and reaching down ran a finger from the bottom of my little slit to the top, probing into the soft moist cavity. She withdrew it, stepped back and placed it under my nose.

"Smell my finger, Oliver. How would you describe that smell?"

I knew that slowly, inexorably, the truth would be drawn from me.

"I . . . I'm not sure, Miss Strang."

She stepped across to John.

"Stop fiddling and put your hands on your head."

She put her finger under his nose.

"And what is that smell?"

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

She turned back to me.

"You saw where my finger went, did you not, Oliver?

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"Where?"

"Be . . . between my legs . . Miss Strang."

"And where, between your legs."

"In . . . into my . . . little slit."

"Yes, Oliver. Into your little slit. Where it is soft and moist and smells of that girl smell that I am sure you have smelt before."

She paused, savouring my shame. I felt as though the blood was boiling in my veins.

"Well have your smelt it before?"

I had, of course. I hung my head, biting my lip. Hating her for stripping me so bare.

"Ye . . yes, Miss Strang."

"I am sure you have, Oliver. I know how you lie in bed and stroke yourself until your fingers are covered in it. And I have no doubt that you then put your fingers to your nostrils, breathing in the musky scent, revelling in it."

She paused.

"So why Oliver is that smell not just on your fingers but also on John's fingers?"

She spoke quietly, almost sweetly.

"Come now. There must be some explanation."

"Be . . . because, he . . . he put his fingers inside me."

Miss Strang turned and stepped across to my brother and twisting a tuft of hair around her finger, pulled his head back.

"And keep you hands where I told you. Did I give you permission to remove them?"

"No, no, Miss Strang."

"So, you put your fingers inside Oliver's little slit, did you, John? And what did you do?"

"Please, Miss Strang, Livia, I mean Oliver, put them there. She took my hand and made me."

"Made you? What sort of boy are you to do unquestioningly what a girl tells him? For we all know that Oliver is a girl, do we not, John? A girl with the disgraceful habits of a boy. So you limply let her take your hand and place it where you knew it should not be placed? Is that right? Well?"

In a small voice, tight and hopeless, he acknowledged it.

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"And you knew it was wrong?"

"Yes, Miss Strang."

He seemed almost relieved by his confession, as though a great burden and worry had been lifted from him.

"Oliver. In the schoolroom, in the table drawer, you will find a ball of string and a pair of scissors. Fetch them please."

When I returned, I handed them to her. She thanked me.

"Stand over there, Oliver, with your back to the wall. I will show you how I deal with small boys who behave in such a disgraceful way."

She put an especial emphasis on the word 'boys', as though to remind me that I might expect no clemency when she turned her attention to me.

"John, you will place your hands through here."

The bed's brass end was hooped with a number of interconnecting twisting bars which formed in its design a number of small circular and oval spaces. Miss Strang was pointing to two of these. John inserted his wrists where she indicated. He was still kneeling on the hard wooden floor. She pulled a length of the thick hairy string from the ball and cut it. And then leaning over the bedrail wound it several times tightly around his wrist before tying it tightly to the bedstead. She then did the same for the other wrist. He shifted uneasily on his knees. I wondered how long he would be required to kneel there. And whether he was to be whipped.

She stepped back.

"Well, John, I have taken the trouble to make sure that for the rest of the night your hands do not wander where they have been forbidden. Sensible hands will learn from that. Do you think yours will, John? Or will further punishment be required?"

"No, Miss Strang. Please. Don't punish me. My knees are hurting. I'm sorry. Please."

She smiled.

"I am sure your knees are hurting. And your back will soon be aching and your arms, too. These are all clear messages to you not to yield to temptation. And not to be led into temptation by another. Do you understand? I am taking the trouble to teach you an important lesson in a way that will truly bring it home to you."

She tousled his hair.

"I hope you are grateful? Are you grateful, John?"

His reply was barely audible.

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"Well, I am pleased. But I am afraid there is something else that needs to be done."

Again, she tousled his hair.

"What was it that you allowed, Oliver to do to you?"

"I . . . I . . . "

"Yes, John?"

He was almost choking now in his desperation.

"Well, I will tell you, John. You allowed Oliver to masturbate you. To rub and stroke your little penis. Is that not right?"

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"And is that not forbidden? Have I not expressly told you it is forbidden?"

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"And yet you allow, Oliver to creep into your bed and masturbate you."

He dropped his head and twisted his body.

"Well, John, what do you think needs to be done about it?"

I could hear his breathing. Quick and shallow.

"Well?"

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

"Do you think you need to be punished?"

"I . . I suppose, I do, Miss Strang."

"You suppose correctly, John. I would not be a loving and responsible governess if I allowed such behaviour, such wilful sinning, to go unpunished."

She left the room for a moment. I had expected her to return with the cane. But instead she was holding a small jar in her hand.

"This is wintergreen ointment. Extra strong wintergreen ointment."

She smiled.

"Life is a matter of maintaining a balance, John. A boy who has greedily overeaten, has to stop eating and go hungry. And a boy who has abused himself and taken sinful pleasure in doing so, has to have his illicit pleasure balanced with a little corrective pain. And that is what this is for."

She unscrewed the lid and held the jar under his nose.

"Smell it."

He did so and wrinkled his nose.

"A nice, strong, clean, smell quite different from the sticky smell on your hands."

She paused.

"And what do you think I am going to do with this ointment, John?"

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

She turned to me.

"Well, have you any idea, Oliver?"

I had, and felt a chill running through me.

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"Would you like to show me."

She handed me the open jar. I took it and looked at her.

She smiled.

"I suggest you apply it liberally.

"You mean on his . . . ?"

"Yes, Oliver. That is exactly what I mean."

I believe John thought that the ointment was some sort of medicine, something to make him feel better.

"Do not be stinting with it, Oliver, rub it on thickly. That is right, on the end of his penis, where you showed me how you pinched and held him. And on that little sac between his legs."

For a short while there was little reaction from the small tethered boy. I looked at Miss Strang.

"Be patient, the wintergreen is being absorbed into the sensitive little folds of skin. At first, like the birch, it seems of little consequence. But then it begins to burn and ache. And soon it will be as if a blow torch is searing and bubbling the skin off that scrawny piece of flesh of which he is so proud."

Already he was squirming.

"It is beginning to burn is it, John? First the forbidden pleasure, and now the painful consequence of taking what was forbidden."

She turned to me.

"How long do you think John was enjoying having his little penis rubbed and stroked?"

"I . . I don't know, Miss Strang. Perhaps three minutes."

"As long as that?"

"Well, perhaps, two minutes, Miss Strang."

He was desperate now. Gasping and tearing at his tightly bound hands. From where I was standing, I could see his eyes starting from their sockets. His face hot and contorted. He was a boy in agony.

"Aaaaaaaaaggghhh."

She placed her hand on his twisting head.

"Two minutes of ecstasy in exchange for hours of torment. Foolish boy! But there is no alternative. How else will you learn?"

"But Miss Strang . . . aaaaaaaaagh."

(To be continued)