Miss Strang Chapter 80

By Governess

Copyright 2011 by Governess, all rights reserved
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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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Chapter 80
 
Miss Strang returned to her desk and sat behind it.  She picked up John’s exercise book.
 
“Come out here, John.”
 
He stood before her, nervously twisting his hands.   She opened the book.
 
“And do you think this was a good and acceptable piece of work, John?”
 
“Please, Miss Strang, I completed all the questions.”
 
She smiled.
 
“Yes, John.  That was indeed well done. I am pleased with you.”
 
There was a palpable sigh of relief and his whole body seemed to relax.
 
“But of the twelve questions you attempted, only four are right.  Or to put it another way, eight are wrong.”
 
She paused.
 
“So why was that?”
 
His hands were twisting again and he bit his lip in his desperation.  To have his governess commend him, and then so swiftly to dash him against the rocks was too much.   His eyes filled with tears. 
 
“I . .  I . . . please, Miss Strang . . . they were   . . .  they were very hard.”
 
She looked at the boy, tearful and in distress.  Distressed at his failure, and fearful of the punishment to come. 
 
“You found them hard?”
 
“Ye . . .  yes, Miss Strang.”
 
She glanced down at his exercise book.
 
“But all you had to do was to underline the parts of speech asked for and then state what their function was in the sentence.  In the first question, to underline the adjectives and say what noun they qualified.  Why was that so difficult?”
 
He hung his head, tears trickling down his flushed cheeks. 
 
“It is not as though you were being expected to do the exercise without any explanation.  We have had several lessons on parts of speech.”
 
She paused.
 
“Have we not, John.”
 
He tried to blink back his tears.
 
“Ye . .  yes, Miss Strang.”
 
“So were you not listening?  Or was your mind elsewhere?”
 
He looked at her, imploringly, shaking his head.
 
“No, no, Miss Strang.  I was listening.  Truly I was.  All the time.”
 
She picked up his exercise book and held it out.
 
“Then, why this lamentable effort?”
 
“But I didn’t understand . . . Miss Strang . . . Not all of it . . . “
 
She raised her eyebrows.
 
“But then why did you not ask, John?  Learning is not just listening.  It is listening with an active and inquiring mind.  A questioning mind.  Not sitting there blankly like your doll Amanda.”
 
She placed her fingers under his chin.
 
“Have you ever known me punish a child for asking a polite, sensible question, John.”
 
“No, Miss Strang.”
 
“Then, why did you not ask for help when you did not understand?”
 
“I . . . I don’t know . . . Miss Strang.”
 
“Well, it seems to me, there are only two explanations. Either because of laziness;  or because you did not want to look foolish.”
 
She titled his head back.
 
“So, what do you think is the consequence for lazy little boys, John, who are not willing to make an effort to learn?  Or silly little boys who pretend to understand when they do not?   Well?”
 
There was a pause as she looked into his eyes, his head forced back. She waited.  Then, almost inaudibly, he whispered,
 
“They’re punished . . . Miss Strang.”
 
She smiled and removed her fingers.
 
“Yes, John.  They are punished.  But there is another consequence for such a boy apart from the rod, is there not?”
 
He looked down perplexed and anxious.
 
“Well, John, do you think a boy who cannot be bothered to ask questions, when he fails to understand, will make progress in his work.”
 
“No, Miss Strang.”
 
“No, John, He will not make progress.  He will remain in his ignorance.  And when such a boy is set an exercise to complete, he will fail.  And whose fault will that be?”
 
“H . . . his, Miss Strang.”
 
“Yes, John.  And would his teacher be right to punish him for such bad work, when he has refused to make an effort to learn?”
 
He shuffled miserably.
 
“Ye . . . yes, Miss Strang.”
 
She ruffled his hair.
 
“And are you such a boy, John?”
 
There was a long pause as he desperately tried to evade the inevitable admission.
 
“Yes . . . Miss Strang.”
 
“So, John, twelve parsing problems and only four correct.  How many strokes of the cane is that?”
 
“Four, Miss Strang.”
 
“No, John.  If you had four problems wrong, then your answer would be correct.  But you had only four problems right, leaving, eight wrong.  So please, try again.  How many strokes of the cane?”
 
“Eight, Miss Strang.” 
 
“Stand facing the arm of the chair.”  
 
He stood there, a small boy in a dress, looking like a very beautiful girl.  Like a tomboy with short cropped hair, her face flushed and her eyes dark and resentful.  
 
“Livia, please fetch three safety pins from the small tray on my desk.”
 
Miss Strang stood behind him and stooping placed a hand against the side of each leg and with an upward movement slithered the dress up.
 
I had almost become accustomed to seeing my brother wearing my old dress.  When first fetched from my room it had worn it next to his bare skin. But this morning, in preparation for the visit to court, Miss Strang had made him put on a petticoat, knickers, and some dark blue woollen stockings with a pair of my old shoes.
 
I watched as the dress, with the petticoat beneath, was  eased up and secured. The hem of the dress was now just above his waist.  Miss Strang inserted her thumbs into the side of the knickers and pulled them down.  There is something deliciously tantalising about a girl with her bottom bared for punishment, with her dress raised but with her stockings still around the tops of her thighs. 
 
The welts of the tawsing inflicted on my brother the previous day were still alarmingly visible.  
 
He stood shivering and disconsolate.  
 
“Over the arm, please, John.  And bury your hands down the side of the seat.  And if you remove them before permission is given, there will be additional strokes.”
 
She swished the cane through the air.  And then rested it across the crown of his buttocks.
 
“So, how many strokes is it, John?”
 
“Eight . . . Miss Strang.”
 
She tapped his bottom.  He flinched.
 
“And no clenching, John.  A nice soft accepting bottom throughout please.  And you will count the strokes as they are given.”
 
There was a deep whoosh as the cane descended, followed by a piercing scream of agony.  Miss Strang waited. 
 
“Aaaaagh . . . . one . . . Miss Strang.”
 
The cane was raised and brought down with another long sweeping stroke that cut deeply into his right buttock. He gave a gasping scream and dug his hands even deeper down the side of the chair.
 
“I am waiting, John. 
 
“T . . . two . . . Miss Strang.”
 
John had a full, well-rounded, apple-shaped bottom. And as the eight strokes were lashed across it, I could have been looking at myself being disciplined, my dress pinned up and my knickers around my ankles.  There was something deeply arousing in seeing this nine year old girl who was my brother, being caned.  As I watched, I ran my hands down the sides of my breeches, and thought about being an older schoolboy with the authority to cane younger boys like John.  I imagined that I was flogging him without mercy until he was shaking and sobbing;  and then, with an older boy’s long thick penis, mounting him, as the stallion in the field had mounted the mare, driving deep into him.  I could hear his shrieks of pain.
 
“Stop that howling, John.  Sit at your desk and get out your exercise book.”
 
I had my hand over the front of my breeches, for I could feel the little snake stirring with excitement in his damp, moist den.
 
“And, Livia, place your hands on your desk, and listen carefully.  I have matters to discuss with your father in the library and will probably be gone for at least half an hour.  I wish you to go through John’s and Simon’s work with them and explain carefully to them their mistakes.  They will then write out the correct answers.   When that has been done you will question them to make sure you are satisfied that they truly understand why that answer is correct.   If during that time, either boy misbehaves in any way, any way at all, you are to note it and I will deal with it when I return.  Do you understand?”
 
“Yes, Miss Strang.”
 
“And John and Simon, you will obey Livia as you do me. Is that understood?”
 
“Ye . . . yes, Miss Strang.”
 
The door closed and I felt a heady sense of pride at the confidence placed in me.
 
“Simon, I’ll start with you.  And John, while I’m helping Simon, I suggest you have another look at your work and try to see where you have gone wrong.”
 
I sat beside Simon and slowly went through the nine problems he had either got wrong or not even attempted.  I thought them very difficult for a boy of his age, particularly a boy who was not very good at arithmetic.  Indeed, I was not sure I’d have done any better at his age.   But Miss Strang’s method was to stretch her pupils, and to apply the rod whenever they fell short. 
 
More than an hour had gone by before Miss Strang returned.
 
“Well, Livia, have you anything to report?  I trust that both boys behaved and are now better equipped to succeed in their next assignment.”
 
“Yes, Miss Strang.   Both tried really hard.”
 
She nodded.
 
“Good.  I have asked Mrs Mountfield to send up an early tea.  After that we shall be joining your father in the library.
 
(to be continued)


 
 
 

   
   
   
(The End)