Miss Strang Chapter 7
By Governess
liviaarbuthnot1@gmail.com

Copyright 2008 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 7

I woke early for sunlight was reflecting off my mirror on to the ceiling. I looked out of the window and watched the cows in the field beyond the hedge. Below me there were about twenty rabbits nibbling the grass. I managed to button my dress without difficulty for feeling had returned to my fingers, although where the strap had repeatedly struck the bony parts of my hands they were still bruised.

Breakfast was at seven. The door was open and the table laid. Miss Strang was already seated. She indicated that I should sit beside her.

"Come and sit here, Livia. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you, Miss Strang."

"And how are the hands this morning?"

"Still sore, Miss Strang, and they itch."

"Well, that is quite normal after a good strapping."

John and Simon arrived and we ate breakfast. John looked more than a little downcast and whether this was because of an early visit from Miss Strang or because of an expectation of a spanking, I was not sure. During the meal Miss Strang drilled us in table manners, and I could sense both John and Simon becoming restless.

"Well, we have a busy day ahead of us. It is important for me to see how well you all read, so we shall be doing some English this morning. Later, if the sun continues, we may take a short ramble in the countryside."

Her mood and the friendliness of her manner lit a faint hope that she had forgotten the spanking I was to receive before the commencement of school; or had decided that, after all, I had been punished enough.

When we moved to the schoolroom, my hopes were further increased when she handed each of us a reading book. I picked it up and opened it, for I desperately wanted school to start.

"I want you each to open your book at the place indicated. You are to read through the marked passage and prepare to read it aloud to me later in the morning. However, before that there are one or two things to attend to. If they do not concern you then please continue with your reading preparation."

Hope drained away. I cast a glance at John who looked equally apprehensive. Neither John nor Simon knew what was in store for me, and I am sure John assumed that he was the only one to whom Miss Strang had to attend. I wondered whom she would spank first, and I rather hoped it would be my older brother.

"John, do you remember what I suggested you might dream about last night?"

He coloured up and shifted uneasily in his seat.

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"And what was it?"

"You said I might dream of a little boy getting spanked."

"And did you?"

"No, Miss Strang."

She smiled.

"Do you think that was because the little boy in question did not deserve a spanking?"

"I don't know Miss Strang."

"Well, when I tell you that he had been instructed to undress and place his clothes tidily over the back of a chair, and instead had left them on the floor in a heap, do you think a spanking was deserved, or not?"

John writhed in discomfort and apprehension.

"Stand still, John and answer the question."

"I suppose . . . I suppose he deserved a spanking."

"Yes, that is the right answer. And when you left your clothes untidily in a heap last night, and your socks screwed up in a ball, is that not what you deserve?"

"Please, Miss Strang?"

"Answer the question."

John was caught, as many children are often caught, on the horns of a dilemma. Either he could disagree with Miss Strang which was unwise, or he could lamely accept the punishment proposed. I knew that all John's instincts would be to try and avoid the spanking. I held my breath.

"Pleas, Miss Strang I don't think I deserve to be spanked."

She raised her eyebrows.

"And why not, John? I hope you have a good reason for saying that."

"But . . . if you hadn't come into the room, the clothes would have been put on the chair. Really, Miss Strang, they would. I promise."

"And how would that have happened, John? You were in bed and had been told to remain there until the morning? I hope you were not intending to disobey me on that, too?"

I was filled with anxiety for I could see where this was leading.

"Livia was going to tidy them for me."

She looked at me with a questioning look.

"I see. So Livia was going to tidy them for you?"

It was at this point that John realised what he had said. He looked at me and bit his lip.

"But John, I did not ask Livia to tidy your clothes. I asked you. Did you tidy them?

"No, Miss Strang."

"And is that obedience or disobedience?"

John flushed and looked utterly miserable under this remorseless cross examination.

"I suppose it's disobedience."

"There is no suppose, John. It is disobedience. And please remember to add "Miss Strang" when you reply to me.

She paused.

"And what do little boys require when they are disobedient?"

John hung his head, utterly defeated but reluctant to pronounce sentence on himself.

"Come on now. It is not a difficult question."

Slowly drawn out of him like a splinter from a finger came the whispered reply.

"A spanking . . . Miss Strang."

"Yes, John. A spanking. And can you think of anything else that may be required?"

John was on the point of tears.

"No, Miss Strang. Please . . ."

"Well, I should say that you needed some practice in folding your clothes. Is that not right?"

John was sent to fetch a chair from the dining room.

"Place the chair in front of my desk, please. Now, take off your shoes and socks. Place the socks neatly on the seat of the chair, and the shoes side by side beneath it."

John did so, and then stood in his bare feet waiting.

"And now you will undress. Just as you would for bed. All your clothes off, please, and as each one is removed you will either fold it neatly and place it on the seat of the chair, or else hang it on the back. Quickly now!"

Although Simon and I were supposed to be reading, and made every effort to give the appearance of doing so, all our attention was in fact focussed on John.

For the last few years, my elder brother had been shy of undressing in front of me, or even of being glimpsed by me in the bath. Having slowly to divest himself of his clothes, item by item, until he was utterly naked, was a deep embarrassment. His face was aflame and contrasted sharply with the paleness of his body. His bottom had lost most of the redness of the previous day although the pink outlines of the hairbrush and the narrow tramline marks from the caning were clearly visible.

Miss Strang picked up the wooden upright chair used for the spanking of Simon and John the previous day, and placed it next to the armchair. Then sitting on it, she beckoned John towards her.

"Stand here, John. Now, bend forward and across my knee."

John was small for his age and she pulled him up and forward so that his body was partially supported by the low padded arm of the armchair. I had never seen a small boy spanked completely naked before and a small shiver ran through me. It seemed to start in my diaphragm and run down to the pit of my stomach. Miss Strang's arm was wrapped tightly around his nakedness. His buttocks were already clenching in anticipation of what was to come.

"How many times do I have to tell you John. When I spank a boy, I do not allow him to clench his bottom. I want a soft accepting bottom, John, not one that is tight and resisting."

She waited and slowly his buttocks relaxed. Although my mouth was dry with desire to see the hairbrush again smacked across his bare little bottom, I also wanted time to stand still. The strange sensual pleasure I was feeling was utterly delicious. I glanced at Simon. There was a soft dull crack as the brush impacted on John's left bottom cheek and then almost immediately the brush was raised again and a similar mark was imprinted on the other buttock.

John writhed across her lap, howling and kicking. Last week I had stared into the broad stream at the bottom of the meadow, and had seen a fish, pale and wriggling in the depths. John's pale, twisting body reminded me of it. And I knew that from now on the pale wriggling fish would remind me of my brother, naked and squirming, over Miss Strang's lap.

"You may get down, John."

She helped him off her lap, and he stood clutching his bottom and crying.

"Stop that noise. You are to get dressed."

I remember the look on John's face as, against all expectation, he was being told to dress after only two strokes of the hairbrush. Miss Strang turned to Simon and me.

"I trust that you are both preparing the reading passages I gave you?"

"Yes, Miss Strang," we both replied. Although I am sure she realised that our eyes had been more on John's bottom than on the pages before us.

John was now dressed and looked almost pleased with himself, as though receiving a spanking of such short duration was somehow his achievement. He went to sit down at his desk.

"And where are you going, John? I do not recall having told you to sit down."

"But . . . "

"You surely cannot think that the lesson I am teaching you is over? Or that you have received adequate punishment for the disobedience of last night? Well, do you?"

John stood with his mouth open.

"I asked you a question, John.

"But, Miss Strang . . . I am dressed?"

"That comes as no surprise, John. If I remember, it was I who told you to get dressed."

John stared as though he could not believe what he was hearing.

"In view of your obvious amazement, John, let me explain. I have told you to dress, so that you may now undress. So that you may again remove every stitch of clothing, fold each item and neatly place it on the chair, as you did a moment ago. When that has been done, you will again be spanked. Two strokes on your bare bottom with the back of the hairbrush. And that will be repeated again and again, until you have undressed ten times and be spanked ten times. Do I make myself clear?"

John was red and I could detect a smouldering resentment.

With a sharp edge to her voice, Miss Strang again asked if she was making herself clear.

Any thought of argument was driven out. In a small rasping voice, John replied.

"Yes, Miss Strang,"

(To be continued)