Miss Strang Chapter 68
By Governess
Copyright 2010 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 68
"And do you know what I wanted to strengthen in Elizabeth, Livia?"
I shook my head, overcome with a strange concern for this unknown girl.
"No, Miss Strang."
"I wanted to strengthen her spirit of obedience, to help her to resist temptation. And especially that soft, insidious temptation to touch and stroke herself where hands had been forbidden to roam."
She smiled.
"You see, Livia, she was like you. The sensual appetite of a small boy with all a boy's weakness and lack of resolve to resist sin."
I reddened and hung my head.
"So, Livia, with her legs secured to the end rail of the bed, I made her raise her body a little, and pulled free her nightdress. And then I slowly drew it up. Well above her waist. She wriggled, tugging at her feet so that the bed moved.
"'So, Elizabeth, you enjoy stroking and pleasuring yourself?'
"I paused and looked at her, helpless and subject to my discipline. And then I gave her permission to masturbate, to do what she enjoyed so much.
"She lay very still. She looked startled, and was reluctant to touch herself. But I insisted.
"Slowly her hand went down. She shut her eyes and started to stroke herself. But what would in secret have been a long, lingering pleasure, was under duress nothing of the kind.
"'So dry and unresponsive, Elizabeth. Let me put some comfort cream on your fingers.'"
"And I took both her hands and smeared her fingers generously.
"'And now continue.'
"She did so, rubbing the strong wintergreen ointment between the plump little lips between her legs. And then deeper into her cleft. After a minute, she began to writhe. Soon she was gasping and howling.
"You saw, Livia, how John suffered. Well it was no less tormenting for that girl. She tore her hands away. But I caned the front of her thighs, and taking her fingers, dug them deep into the jar of wintergreen.
She paused.
"Do you know the story of Odysseus, Livia, when he had to steer his boat between a huge whirlpool and a cave where there lived a savage monster with many heads. The whirlpool was called Charybdis and the monster Scylla. If he steered away from the whirlpool he came closer to the monster and if he avoided the monster he came nearer to the whirlpool. He was caught between Scylla and Charybdis. And so was that girl, Livia. Between the Scylla of my cane, and the Charybdis of her own fingers. Fingers that rubbed in the fiery embrocation until it seemed that flames were licking between her legs, curling into her, consuming her, until there was nothing remaining but a charred stump."
She stopped. My breath was coming in little gasps.
"And that Livia is how I should deal with you. If not more severely. For while Elizabeth had sunk into the mire of sin, you dragged a small boy into the filth with you. Is that not right?"
There was no anger in her voice. It was calm, almost sweet.
"Well, Livia?"
"Yes, yes, Miss Strang. I am sorry. I truly am. Please, I am sorry."
"So what is to be done?"
I was quivering with fearful expectation.
"I . . I don't know, Miss Strang."
And I began to sob.
I felt her arm around me. She spoke gently.
"Livia, a governess makes the rules and she can also set aside the rules. A child may be deserving of the severest punishment but a governess can spare that child if she chooses. And can bestow favours even on those who do not deserve them."
She paused.
"And yet it is not as easy as that. When a child has sinned so grievously, then into the scales must go a penalty that is sufficient to offset its dreadful weight."
Her arm was still around me.
"Only then can forgiveness be conferred."
She took her arm away and stepped back.
"I may spare you the punishment that Elizabeth had to suffer, Livia . . . "
My heart lifted.
" . . . but without punishment, your guilt will remain. To the world you will appear as a young girl, full of life and beauty, but to the Almighty Judge you will be hideous and misshapen. Your soul deformed on that rack of sin upon which you so eagerly stretched yourself. And until you are forgiven you will belong with the demons in Hell."
She spoke with such seriousness and with a voice that was sweet, yet heavy with sorrow.
"And there are children there, Livia. Be in no doubt about that. Children who spurned forgiveness, who evaded the punishment due for their disobedience and sinning. And I believe their shrill cries and the writhing of their small bodies give particular pleasure to the demons whose task it is to torment them. To torment them endlessly."
My heart was racing. My breath was short. I could feel the weight of my sins pressing upon me, heavy and suffocating.
"No . . . no, Miss Strang. I don't want to go to Hell. Please, Miss Strang. No. Please. Please, forgive me." I could hear the screams of those children and almost smell their burning flesh.
"But I cannot, Livia. I have told you that if you forgo the punishment then forgiveness also must be withheld."
"Then punish me, Miss Strang. Please. Any punishment. Please."
"Is that you want, Livia? A punishment sufficient to outweigh your sin? So that you may be forgiven and snatched like a brand from the burning? Is that right?"
"Yes, yes, Miss Strang. I don't want to go to that place. Please."
"Then go to my bedroom, and wait there. And while you wait you may rest in my bed."
I lay in the bed with a strange feeling of excitement, yet overshadowed by the ordeal ahead of me. The sheets were soft and inviting against my naked body. And the whole room smelt sweet with an indefinable scent. I stretched out and tried to ease the stiffness in my back. The numbness in my knees had eased to be replaced by a dull ache. I reached down and ran my fingers over the indentations where the ridges of the washboard had dug in. The contrast between the torment of the penitential kneeling and the luxury of the bed was so great that tears pricked at my eyes.
The door opened.
"I am going to undress for bed, Livia. So please shut your eyes."
I did so and listened intently as she busied herself in her bedtime preparations. I imagined her removing her skirt and letting it drop to the ground and then bending to pick it up. Hanging it in the wardrobe. And then unbuttoning the white blouse with its puffed sleeves. Slowly divesting herself of everything until she stood naked, glancing at herself in the long cheval mirror, admiring herself.
"You may open your eyes, Livia."
She was standing, looking down at me, smiling. She was wearing a long cream nightdress with sleeves that were buttoned tightly around her wrists. I thought she looked very beautiful.
"Out of bed, please, Livia."
I pushed back the sheets and reluctantly sat on the edge.
"No. Right out. And stand by the side of the bed."
I watched as she went to the wardrobe. Opening it, she reached in and selected a hanger from the rail.
"And what do you think this is, Livia?"
"I . . I'm not sure, Miss Strang. Is it a jacket?"
"Yes, Livia. It is a jacket. But a jacket with a very special purpose."
It was a dark blue and was made of what looked like heavy cotton. It buttoned almost to the neck and the buttons ran down to the garment's waist. I noticed that strangely each cuff had two lengths of strapping hanging from it.
She laid it on the bed.
"And what do you see on the front of the jacket?"
"Lots of buttons, Miss Strang."
"Yes. Many buttons to secure it tightly. But what about these?"
She pointed to two smallish buckles on the breast of each side on the jacket.
"I . . . I don't know . . . Miss Strang."
She held it out.
"Put it on, Livia."
Still naked I slipped in an arm and pulled it on.
"Does it feel comfortable?"
The strange little jacket was lined and had slipped over my bare shoulders easily.
"Yes . . yes, Miss Strang. It is quite comfortable."
"And quite a good fit, too. Let me do up the buttons."
She bent forward and started to fasten the buttons from the top, and finished, stooping before me. She stood up.
"And have you still no idea what such a jacket might be for?"
"No, Miss Strang. Isn't it just a jacket?"
"Oh no, Livia. Not just a jacket. Let me show you."
She lifted my right wrist and bent it across my chest. Then threading one of the little straps through the small buckle on the left breast she tightened and secured it. She then quickly fastened the second strap. Then without a word she did the same for the left wrist. I stood there my arms bent across my body and tightly secured. I felt a sudden sense of desperation, and tugged and pulled, but with the jacket tightly buttoned and the cuffs of the jacket strapped to its front, my arms were completely immobile.
"And now, Livia, have you still no idea what a jacket like this might be for?"
I hung my head, and whispered my reply.
"Ye . . . yes . . . Miss Strang."
"Well?"
"It's . . . it's to stop me touching . . . anything?"
"Not just anything, Livia. It is to stop a child masturbating."
She pushed me gently before the mirror so that I could see myself.
"This jacket was made for a boy. An incorrigible boy. He abused himself so regularly and so often that this was the way I had to restrict his nocturnal activities. And do you know what that boy did, Livia? The first time he wore this jacket?"
I shook my head. The tears were trickling down my face.
"I found in the morning evidence of a seminal emission on his sheets. He was twelve. Of course he denied it. But the wrinkled stain condemned him. I made him show me how he had masturbated. How he had turned over on his stomach. How he had rested on his folded arms and then wriggled and rubbed himself into that state of shameful excitement. And then . . . "
She paused for a moment.
" . . . I reached over the end of the bed and I pulled that disobedient, shameless boy towards me. And then I hung him, face down, over the round brass rail at the end of the bed. He winced and gasped as the cold of the metal pressed against his tight little scrotum. But that was only the beginning of his distress. I punished him as he hung there. Punished him severely. And afterwards, for a week, I made him wear that little jacket. Wear it continuously. The only time it came off was for his bath. How he hated it with his arms folded and restrained across his chest. I made him sit at table and watch other eat. And then when all was cleared away, he would be fed by hand, given a piece of bread, and then some water to drink. He particularly hated having his bottom wiped like a baby."
She said nothing for a moment.
"And each night I secured his feet to the end rail of the bed. So no more turning over and wriggling on his stomach. No more staining his sheets."
She smiled.
"And there was no sister to creep into his bed and comfort him in his distress."
With her hand, she indicated that I was to climb back into her bed.
"But . . . but Miss Strang am I not to take off the jacket?"
"Can you take it off?"
I wriggled.
"No, Miss Strang."
"Then, I am afraid, it must remain on. But you have no need of hands or fingers in bed."
She spoke softly and enticingly.
"So into bed, please, Livia."
She extinguished all but a low night light on her dressing table and then swept the sheets back. Once in bed, she immediately drew me, on my back, between her spread thighs. She put her arm under me and eased me upwards until my head was resting on her shoulder. I felt her right hand between my legs. Then, that long central finger stroking my little slit. Again and again. So cunningly. So tantalisingly.
"Is this what you wanted John to do, Livia?"
She was whispering in the semi-darkness. And I whispered too in reply.
"Ye . . yes, Miss Strang."
"You wanted him to stroke between your legs? To wriggle his finger between these plump, soft, little lips? To stroke and caress this little piece of delicious gristle?"
I gasped.
"Ye . . yes . . . Miss Strang."
"But was that not wrong, Livia? Was it not forbidden?"
The tip of her finger was now gently vibrating on the sensitive little stub of my clitoris.
"As wrong and as forbidden as your masturbating him."
"Please Miss Strang. Please. Please."
Still she whispered in my ear. Her voice gentle and unthreatening.
"But you have been punished for it. And Mr Rattan is not a fat jolly fellow is he, Livia? He is not a bringer of joy and happiness? Oh no. He is thin and mean and full of swishy venom and spite. No child is ever pleased when he visits. And when he leaves, no child is smiling and laughing."
Still her fingers stroked and caressed.
"Is that not right?"
"Ye . . . yes, Miss Strang."
"And did Mr Rattan do enough to teach you the error of your ways, Livia? And Mr Bristle Brush? Did he scrub your bottom clean of its sinful wish to wriggle into places forbidden? Well?"
There was something reassuring about this whispered, intimate conversation between the sheets.
"I think so, Miss Strang."
She took her hand away and I gasped. I was aware of her arm stretching out from the bed.
"No, please, Miss Strang. No"
And her fingers returned to their caressing.
"And after Mr Rattan and Mr Bristle Brush, what happened then. You knelt for half an hour on the washboard. And what did that teach?"
And as she spoke, her fingers were again taken away. And the question was again whispered in my ear. Her voice now a little sharper.
"Livia, what did kneeling on the washboard teach?"
Like a tide on the turn, the pleasure of paradise was ebbing away. And I was becoming resentful.
"I don't know, Miss Strang. I'm not sure it taught me anything."
"Did it not?"
"I . . . I'm not sure . . . Miss Strang."
"Well, it should have taught that obedience however costly and unwelcome has to be endured. That a small child must kneel and abase herself before her governess whatever the pain of so doing."
I bit my lip under the warmth and darkness of the bed clothes.
"Did it teach that? Are you determined to be a good and obedient girl from now on?"
I could feel the warmth of her mouth as she whispered in my ear.
"Yes . . . yes, Miss Strang."
"Good. That is how it should be."
She paused. And I felt her hand resting on my stomach. I wriggled appreciatively.
"What a shameless, sensual girl you are, Livia. You want me to continue stroking you? Is that right?"
"Yes . . yes, Miss Strang."
But the hand was taken away.
(To be continued)