Miss Strang Chapter 74

Miss Strang Chapter 74
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 74

Rachel Innes held the tawse and ran her hand caressingly down its length. Much as the daughter of a wealthy boyar might have fondled and stroked a favourite borzoi before setting it on a shivering serf boy stripped of his clothes. There was an intent look on her face. Again she drew the tails through her hand.

"So, Burns, a further eighteen strokes. Across an already raw bottom."

He tried to raise himself twisting his head, a desperate pleading in his eyes.

"Please, Miss. No . . . Please . . . No."

She smiled as she positioned herself, stepping back a little and measuring the distance. She waited, savouring his fear and studying the nervous twitching of his bottom. He was a boy who had been dragged from the burning sulphurous agony of hell, refreshed and rested, only to be cast again into the pit.

Her method of applying the tawse was different from Mrs McLaughlan. She did not rest it on her shoulder before delivering the stroke. Instead she swept it up, letting it drop behind her, her whole body stretching back, and then with a single sweeping movement lashed it forward with all her energy and strength. The heavy leather tails impacted with a fat smacking noise on the boy's already inflamed buttocks. She seemed to be aiming at a point several inches beneath the surface of his skin. He gave a piercing scream and the table shook. She stepped back.

"The first of eighteen, Burns."

She waited for his desperate roaring to cease. And then a further stroke was delivered. Slowly the count mounted. The wealing raised by the initial leathering by Mrs McLaughlan, was now bursting open exposing the red sticky flesh beneath. I wondered how on earth he would sit, how he would perform even the simplest bodily functions.

Up to this moment the boy Cameron had remained kneeling facing the wall. He had heard the smack of the tawse and the ensuing screams but had seen nothing. But now Mrs McLaughlan ordered him up.

"Stand up, Cameron and turn around. Hands behind your back. You will watch Burns receive the remainder of his punishment. If you don't mend your ways, you'll soon be across this table having your bottom flogged raw. And stand upright."

She paused. The boy looked pale and nervous and near collapse. His face was wet and his hair dishevelled.

"Miss Strang would you be agreeable to Livia's standing behind the boy and supporting him?"

"Of course, Mrs McLaughlan. Livia, do as Mrs McLaughlan says."

I stepped across and stood behind him. He rested against me and I rucked up his shirt, placing my hands firmly around his waist.

"And watch closely, Cameron. This is how a boy of fourteen is flogged. Please continue Miss Innes."

Slowly, the further strokes were added until the sentence of the court had been administered. Miss Innes stepped back. She was breathing deeply and there was a spot of colour on each of her cheeks. At the time I thought this was purely from the physical effort expended, but later I came to realise it was as much, if not more, from the emotional release and satisfaction that comes from whipping a young boy of Burn's age.

I could feel Cameron trembling. My left hand was now against his belly, while the other was cupped over his right buttock.

"So Cameron, would you like to be flogged like this? Have a thick heavy tawse flay the skin off your bottom? Leaving you smarting in agony and unable to sit for several days. Well?

Feeling guilty at touching the boy's bottom, I returned my hands to his waist.

"Well, Cameron?"

"N . . . n . . . no, Miss."

"I will repeat the question, Cameron. And this time you will address me as Ma'am, not Miss."

She stepped across and placed her finger tips under his chin and tilted his head back.

"Would you like to be flogged like Burns and have your bottom skin flayed off? Well?"

"N . . . no . . . Ma'am."

"So what will prevent it, Cameron?"

He hung his head limply, sobbing quietly.

"Well, let me tell you. Eight year old boys like you who steal, who cause criminal damage, and who attempt to burn down an old lady's shed have set out on a life of crime. Eventually, they become adult criminals and end up in prison. That is unless firm measures are taken to reform them. And in this reformatory we've found the best way to do that is to set clear rules and to punish a boy severely every time a rule is broken. Every time. Do you understand?

"Ye . . yes . . Ma'am."

"But the delinquencies of which the court found you guilty of have not yet been properly punished, have they, Cameron? The magistrate judged an appropriate sentence for what you'd done would be thirty strokes of the birch. But the law prevented him from sentencing you to more than twelve. And those were given with a birch that while suitable for a naughty boy in the nursery is quite inadequate for a young delinquent like you."

She paused.

"We like boys to start reformatory life with a clean slate, Cameron. So, that deficit of eighteen strokes needs to be made good."

The boy followed her gaze to the pail in which several substantial rods were steeping."

"And that will be done in a moment. But until then you will stand with your back to the wall and your hands on your head."

She turned to Dr Gordon.

"Do you need to examine the boys again, Dr Gordon? Now that the court sentences have been carried out."

"No, Mrs McLaughlan. That's not necessary."

"Then, thank you for attending, Dr Gordon. I am sure I'll be seeing you again in a month or two."

"Yes, there is little doubt about that. And I look forward to it. No need to show me out. I know the way by now."

He politely inclined his head and departed.

The boy Burns was still secured to the birching table.

"Well, Burns I am sure you were listening to what I was saying to Cameron. And in your case, the magistrate was clear that you deserved four dozen strokes for the offences of which you were found guilty. But he was prevented from ordering more than three dozen. In other words a deficit of a dozen strokes. And we don't want your commencing reformatory life with the idea that sins don't need to be fully and completely atoned for. Do we?"

She waited.

"Well do we, Burns?"

The boy was in agony. His bottom raw and bleeding. Where the heavy leather tails had burst open the skin, it was a sticky, glistening red. He was panting, sobbing gently to himself.

"Well, Burns? I'm waiting for a reply."

He looked up, although the effort of raising his head seemed almost too much for him.

"P . . pl . . . please, Miss . . Ma'am. Please. No more."

"No more, Burns? So you think a halt should be called, do you?"

She paused, letting a fragile shoot of hope spring up.

"But when you stole from an old lady, did you call a halt to your thieving ways. No. You went and broke into the house of an elderly gentleman and stole from him. You showed no compassion; so why should you be spared the full punishment you deserve?"

She picked up the tawse.

"You will receive a further twelve cuts across the backs of your thighs."

"No . . no . . . Please . . . no."

But the heavy leather implement was raised and lashed across the boy's thighs. His screams were shrill and piercing. I glanced at the boy Cameron who looked pale and terrified, his eyes large and unblinking.

Slowly, Mrs McLaughlan worked her way down one thigh and then the other, until twelve angry red welts had been imprinted on the soft flesh of the roaring boy.

He was left in his torment for several minutes before his feet were released. And then the straps across his back. With Mrs McLaughlan on one side and Miss Innes on the other, he was helped up. He pulled his arms from the holes in the table and for a moment knelt shivering.

"Down from the table, Burns."

He turned and sat for a moment on its edge, and as he did so gave a shrill scream of agony. Slowly, he separated himself from the table, leaving a red sticky impression on the surface.

"Painful is it, Burns? Well, it's meant to be. And sufficiently painful, I hope, for you to have learned your lesson and to mend your ways. Well we shall see. It would be unusual for a boy like you not to pay several visits to this room during his stay with us."

She glanced at Miss Innes.

"Perhaps you would escort Burns to the infirmary and treat his bottom with a strong saline solution. And for the rest of the day, he may lie face down on a bed."

Miss Innes nodded, and picked up his clothes.

"Well, Miss Strang, I trust this is turning out to be an instructive morning for the children. And probably for you, too."

"Yes, Mrs McLaughlan. But not only instructive. It is reassuring. There are those who regard reform as quite separate from punishment. But it is only severe punishment that makes a boy aware that his behaviour is unacceptable and must change."

Mrs McLaughlan smiled.

"Indeed, Miss Strang."

She turned to Cameron. With his hands on his head, his shirt front had lifted, and his small genitals were clearly visible.

"So Cameron, a further eighteen strokes. But this time with a rod that will bring more than a flush to your eight year old rump. A rod that will raise long throbbing weals. A rod that will hopefully teach you not to damage other people's property and not to steal from them."

At that moment Miss Innes returned, and she and Mrs McLaughlan lifted the boy once more on to the table, easing his arms through the holes in its surface. Any spirit of resistance seemed to have been birched out of him. Soon the straps were secured to his ankles and the broad leather strap tightened across his lower back. Mrs McLaughlan rucked up his shirt and exposed his bottom for the second time that morning.

(To be continued)