Miss Strang Chapter 79

By Governess

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This story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced nudity, spanking, and sexual activity of preteen and young teen children for the purpose of punishment. None of the behaviors in this story should be attempted in real life. If you are not of legal age in your community to read or view such material, please leave now.

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I must have been about six or seven when I began spanking my favourite doll. This was the rag doll, Amanda, that had been given to John when he had to dress as a girl. I would give Amanda chores to perform and pretend that she had failed to complete them. Then I would lift her skirt and pull down her little frilly knickers and spank her. At first with my hand, but then with a small wooden spoon that I took from the kitchen. Nobody seemed to miss it. I kept the spoon hidden at the back of a drawer underneath some gloves and scarves. Although the thought of spanking Amanda was always exciting, the spanking itself was always a little disappointing. Then, one day, after disciplining Amanda I looked at my own bottom in the mirror. I gently ran by hand over the soft, yielding surface. If only Amanda had a bottom like that! And I wondered what it would be like to spank such soft resilient flesh. That evening, when I had undressed for bed, I examined my bottom again and ran my hand over the fullness of each buttock. Then, hearing my mother coming, I quickly dropped my nightdress and scurried into bed. But I found it difficult to sleep.

The next afternoon, when I went to play in my room, I turned the key in the door and pulled down my knickers. I raised my dress and petticoat and pulled up my under vest. If this was Amanda’s bottom how I would love to spank it. I went to the drawer and retrieved the little wooden spoon.

You have been a naughty disobedient girl, Amanda, and you must be spanked.

I bent forward and holding my clothes up with my left hand, I began to spank my bottom.

I hope you are learning your lesson, Amanda.

I watched in the mirror as each cheek quivered and reddened slightly, and I continued until both were quite red. I was unsure which I was enjoying more: being Amanda having her bottom spanked or being her mother spanking her. I felt hot and confused. And also nervous that someone might find the door of my room locked. For the rest of the day, I went about without my knickers, with a bare spanked bottom under my dress. Already I was wanting to spank Amanda again.

Soon spanking Amanda had become my favourite game. The doll Amanda still figured in my play, but when she was disobedient I would give her a quick smack and tell her that she would receive a proper spanking later in my bedroom. And I had no difficulty in combining the twin roles of a naughty girl and a strict mother.

Well Amanda, what have you to say? I thought I made it quite clear that you were to finish clearing out the grate. Why was it not done?

I’m sorry mother but I went upstairs and then I forgot.

So what happens to little girls who forget to do what they’re told?

They’re spanked, mother.

“Yes Amanda. Spanked. Take down your knickers and lift your dress.

I used a more adult voice for being a mother, and a little girl’s voice for being Amanda.

And it became important to me to make Amanda’s punishment as realistic as possible. It might be play but it was not silly play. It was a serious enactment of what ought to happen to a naughty, disobedient little girl. Although rarely spanked myself, I knew how it ought to be done. And the small wooden spoon didn’t hurt enough to make the spanking a real punishment. So I started using my hairbrush. The spoon was left in the drawer and it remained there a long time for I was reluctant to return it to the kitchen in case questions were asked.

Up to that moment, combining the roles of naughty little Amanda and her strict mother had been easy. But the introduction of the hairbrush introduced a harsher reality. As Amanda’s mother I wanted to spank her really hard and to see the marks of the brush imprinted on her quivering flesh, to hear her scream and plead for remission. And while as Amanda I wanted to suffer for my naughtiness, I found that the will to inflict the penalty and the will to submit to it were in conflict. The smack of the hairbrush on bare flesh was searingly painful, and I had to screw myself up to inflict each stroke. And that detracted from the reality of the proceedings for I knew that if I were spanking a child other than myself I would have no such hesitation . . .

I brought the back of the hairbrush down across Simon’s small compact bottom with a satisfying smack. The sense of liberation made me feel giddy. He reared up and let out a sharp scream. I watched as the imprint of the brush left a red angry mark on his flesh. I had watched Simon being punished both by Miss Strang and by Mrs Mountfield, but to inflict pain myself on his small wriggling body was utterly different. When one watches a play, it is possible to enter into the situation of each character: to sympathise with the indecision of Hamlet, the arrogance of Claudius, the vulnerability of Ophelia; but an actor can play only one part and must see the other personages of the drama through his own character and role. When I had watched Simon being spanked, I had been both admiring of Miss Strang’s unswerving commitment to his discipline and also sorry for the suffering that my brother was enduring. But now I had a single role and there was no scope for compassion. Compassion was not for a governess to feel, lest she ameliorate the punishment and render it useless.

Once in the kitchen, Mrs Mountfield had given me a wooden spoon and let me smack a jelly she had made. It was a raspberry jelly. I must have been about five or six.

“Just like a naughty boy’s bottom, Miss Livia.”

I smacked it again and watched it wobble. The spoon made a rather dull smacking noise.

Mrs Mountfield smiled.

“When I was over at Windrush as a girl, Miss Livia, I’d often see the two little Clayton boys’ bottoms bounce around like that. Dr and Mrs Clayton were that strict with them. One word out of turn and over their mother’s knee they’d go. Mrs Clayton would spank them with a hairbrush until their bottoms were as red as that raspberry jelly. My, they must’ve felt sorry for themselves. That’s until their governess arrived. Then, they’d have given anything to be spanked over their mother’s knee, rather than face Miss Smythe’s birch. That’s for sure.”

As I continued to spank Simon, I thought of the two Clayton boys as Simon’s bottom quivered under each smack of the brush, and like the jelly retained its soft firm shape for the next stinging stroke. Soon both cheeks were a deep raspberry red. I looked up at Miss Strang.

“Thank you, Livia. Off your sister’s lap, Simon. You will thank her for spanking you, and you will kiss the back of the hairbrush. And remember, you are to address her as I have instructed you. She has been acting under my direction and with my authority.”

He struggled off my lap and stood, tearful and ashamed. His hands crept round to clasp his smarting bottom cheeks.

“Hold out the brush for him to kiss, Livia. No the other way round with the back uppermost. Now kiss it, Simon and give thanks for your spanking.”

He bent forward and touched his lips to the back of the brush. Miss Strang frowned.

“That is not a kiss, Simon. It is more like a bird pecking at seed. Come here.”

She tapped his mouth, and then left her finger against his lips.

“When you kiss, Simon, the lips are pouting and soft, as soft as your little red bottom. Push them against my finger. And relax them. And again. And now kiss my finger.”

She removed her finger, and smiled.

“That was much better. Less like a bird with a beak, and much more like a boy with soft lips. Kneel.”

He dropped to his knees, looking up at her anxiously.

“Each night I kiss you goodnight, Simon, and each time you offer me soft lips to kiss. That you have forgotten how to kiss seems to me remarkable. I can only put it down to a wilful refusal to comply with my instructions.”

She sat on the chair, with Simon facing her on his knees. about two feet away. The cane was held across her lap.

“Now bend forward on your knees and kiss the wooden floor in front of you, and then come back to an upright keeling position.”

She tapped the floor where he was to plant his kiss.

“And any bird pecks and you will start again from the beginning.”

I am standing behind him, and I had the pleasure of seeing his bottom poke into the air as he stretched forward to embrace the floor. And the breathless pleasure of knowing that it was I who had printed the marks of the spanking visible on the taught skin of his bottom.

As soon as he was in an upright position on his knees, Miss Strang made him bend forward again and kiss the floor. And then again, and again. By the end, he was weeping and the floor at Miss Strang’s feet was damp with his tears.

“Stand up, Simon. Livia offer him the hairbrush to kiss. And hold it firmly.”

He bent forward and I watched as his soft red lips pouted and pressed onto the hard ebony back. There was a distinctive kissing sound as he took them away.

“And now thank your sister for spanking you. Hopefully, she has spanked away your resentment and your ingratitude. And address her as you have been told.”

His eyes were wet and bleary and his face hot.

“Th . . . thank you, Miss Livia.”

And what are you thanking her for, Simon?”

“F . . for . . . sp . . . spanking me.”

“Then say that, please. All together.

“Tha . . . thank you for spanking me . . . Miss . . . Livia.”

“Good. And are you now ready to be corrected for your poor schoolwork and learn from it?

“Ye . . . yes . . Miss Strang.”

“Then back over the arm of the chair, please. And hands well tucked down.”

I watched as the cane was swished across his small, compact, little bottom. How I admired Miss Strang at that moment. Her determination and utter commitment to his discipline. Her ability calmly to continue in the face of his screams and agonised writhing. As a little girl I had subjected the doll, Amanda, to my maternal discipline. Other girls of my age never did that. They kissed and cuddled and dressed their dolls in different outfits of clothing, and put them to bed. But those aspects of mothering had little appeal to me. From an early age, I was far more a governess than a mother. Not that I didn’t love Amanda. But for me love was not soft and sentimental, but strong and unbending. And that unyielding nature of love, meeting a child’s real needs, shaping conduct and moulding behaviour, was expressed most perfectly in discipline.

After twenty three strokes, Miss Strang laid the cane aside.

“You will stand facing the wall for the next half an hour, Simon. You have been caned for a lack of effort in your school work. It is not so much a punishment for your failure but an encouragement to make a greater effort in future and to strive for success. And you will do that by listening more attentively and concentrating on what you are doing, rather than letting your mind wander. Is your bottom smarting and painful?”

“Ye . . yes, Miss Strang.

“Then let it be a reminder to you of the need for greater effort and commitment to your work.”

I listened to him, sobbing quietly to himself, as Miss Strang turned her attention to John.

(to be continued)

(The End)