Miss Strang Chapter 82

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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At half past four, John and Simon were sent upstairs to change into their nightshirts. I sat at my desk reading, but found it difficult to take in the sense.   Miss Strang was writing at her desk.   After the boys’ departure, she slipped down and sat at the table.

“Come and sit beside me, Livia.”

She reached out and took my hand in hers.

“I suspect both boys are in for a very sound spanking at the hands of Mrs Mountfield. I doubt she will spare them. Is that your view, too, Livia?”

“Yes, Miss Strang.   When she spanked, Simon, she was very strict with him.”

“And did that distress you, Livia?”

“No, Miss Strang, he deserved to be spanked. He’d been very rude about Mrs Mountfield’s cooking.”

“Indeed he had, Livia. But that does not mean you might not find the sight of your brother being spanked distressing.   Wriggling across Mrs Mountfield’s knee, howling as his bottom was stung and reddened.   You might believe it to be necessary but still find it distressing. Is that not so?”

“I . . . I suppose so, Miss Strang.”

“So were you distressed by his spanking?   Did you want to look away from his suffering?”

I looked down and bit my lip.

“No, Miss Strang. I was sorry for him, but I wanted to watch.”

She squeezed my hand.

“Yes, Livia, there is something very appealing about seeing a naughty boy spanked.   The bottom is so soft and firm and inviting of correction. Is that not so?”

I reddened.

“Ye . . . yes, Miss Strang.”

She smiled and again squeezed my hand.

“And to see a boy birched, to see him struggle and writhe as the twigs cut and score his bottom. To hear him scream as he pays the price for his disobedience.”

She paused.

“Is not that satisfying?”

I felt a tightness in my chest as she squeezed my hand yet again.

“Is that not right, Livia.”

“Yes . . . yes, Miss Strang.”

“So when you saw the boy, Cameron, birched what did you feel?”

“Well . . . Miss Strang . . . I did feel sorry for him. But I knew it was right that he should be punished.”

“And did you feel nothing else?”

I felt myself blushing and I looked down, remembering how the little snake had stirred within me.

“Well, Miss Strang . . . I suppose, it was as if I were two people. One was sorry for him but . . . but the other . . . the other, enjoyed seeing him suffer.”

My voice trailed off, and I felt my hand being squeezed again.

“That is nothing to be ashamed of, Livia. Our Father in Heaven has given us such feelings in order that we may discipline children and bring them to salvation. It is natural to grieve for a child’s suffering and to regret the need for punishment. And some out of a misplaced sense of love will spare a child a deserved whipping.   But God knows the weakness of our hearts and how the sharp-edged sword of love may become blunt through false sentiment. And to counter that he has given us a deep satisfaction in administering the rod to a disobedient and rebellious child. We may regret the need for punishment but we delight in the visible signs of suffering.   For only by such is a stubborn will broken. And not to rejoice is to turn our backs on the joy of heaven which delights in a sinner’s repentance.”

She paused. And, as she did so, I thought how she had condemned me to a flogging at the hands of Mrs McLaughlan. How I was to be hoisted over that flogging table. And birched. I bit my lip and pulled my hand away.

Miss Strang stood up and tousled my cropped hair as though I were a boy.

“I sense a resentful spirit, Livia. We will discuss your poor attitude later. Mrs Mountfield will be here in a moment. Go and sit at your desk.”

There was a knock at the door and my brothers entered. They were bare of feet and wearing their nightshirts as instructed. John’s, as befitted his older status, was striped blue, while Simon’s was a child’s plain white   Both looked nervous and apprehensive. Simon had already suffered a spanking at Mrs Mountfield’s hands. And John had witnessed it.   Neither could have been in any doubt that a most painful and shaming whipping lay ahead of them.

“Stand facing the wall and not a murmur from either of you. And Livia put your hands on your desk where I can see them.”

Miss Strang sat writing. A good five minutes of heavy silence passed before there was a knock at the door and Mrs Mountfield entered. She had a hairbrush in her hand. Miss Strang looked up, then slid from behind her desk.

“Well, Mrs Mountfield, I see that you have come prepared.”

“Yes indeed Miss Strang. That I have. This hairbrush was Mrs Clayton’s over at Windrush. When I left to wed she gave me this brush and a full half sovereign. She were that good was Mrs Clayton. ‘You’ve seen how I’ve used this brush Cressett’, she says. ‘Well, you’ll soon have your own children. Use it as well and as regularly as I have done, and you’ll have no trouble.’

“Well it was a sad thing, Miss Strang, but I lost my first two and then I was told I never would have any.”

She gave a tight lipped smile.

“But at long last Mrs Clayton’s brush is going to be used as she intended.”

Miss Strang smiled.

“But how was Mrs Clayton able to part with it? Were her children no longer of an age to need discipline?”

“Oh that they were, Miss Strang. But before I left, Miss Smythe arrived as governess. The older boy must have been about nine and the younger seven. Miss Elizabeth had just had her eleventh birthday. And from then on Miss Smythe was responsible for their discipline. And she came equipped as it were. The cane and the birch were her favourites. And was she strict! I don’t know where Dr and Mrs Clayton found her, but they were more than happy to leave the children’s discipline to her. Sometimes Mrs Clayton would watch. Just to reassure herself standards were being maintained, I suppose.”

“But before that the hairbrush had good use?”

“I should say so, Miss Strang. I was thirteen when I went to Windrush as under house parlour maid. And I’d not been in the house for more than an hour before I heard the smack of the brush on Miss Elizabeth’s bottom. You can always tell when a child’s having a bare bottom spanking. You can’t mistake it. Nothing else sounds like it. But you’d know that only too well, Miss Strang.”

Miss Strang smiled.

“Yes, indeed, Mrs Mountfield. Quite distinctive. And Mrs Clayton spanked soundly?”

“She did that, Miss Strang. I was spanked as a girl and saw my brothers spanked, and more. But my mother could have learned a thing or two from Mrs Clayton. That’s for sure.”

She nodded affirmatively.

“When I’d been with the family for a month or two, Mrs Clayton asked me to help with Miss Elizabeth’s discipline. She were that unusual was Mrs Clayton in not having a nanny or governess to assist. I suppose turning to me was natural, me being a young girl and very biddable.”

“I am sure you were a great support to her, Mrs Mountfield.”

“Well, I trust I was, Miss Strang. If Miss Elizabeth had misbehaved during the day she’d be spanked before bedtime prayers. I’d have to bring her down to the drawing room in her little nightgown. She’d be clutching my hand and was crying bitterly!”

She paused and I could sense her recreating the scene in her mind.

“Mrs Clayton would be sitting in an upright chair, waiting.
‘Lift her nightgown, Cressett, and pin it up. There are safety pins on the mantelshelf.’   And I’d pull it up, exposing the soft, warm little body beneath. And the poor child would be standing helplessly sobbing. ‘Over my knee with her, Cressett,’ she’d say. And I’d lift her up and place her, face down, across Mrs Clayton’s lap.”

She paused.

“And then she’d be spanked with this hairbrush.”

She held it out. It was of dark ebony, oval in shape, with bristles that looked almost new.

“And that girl would never get less than ten smacks across each little bottom cheek. Often more. Hard, unhurried smacks they were. And how she screamed. Afterwards, she had to stand in the hall with her red bottom for all to see.”

“And the boys, Mrs Mountfield?”

“Oh they were spanked, Miss Strang. Wilful boys they were, both of them. The older boy was five when I came and his brother not yet four. Neither had been breeched, and they wore hand-me-on dresses from their sister. Mrs Clayton was that thrifty. The older boy was not put into breeches until he was six.”

“And they were spanked often, Mrs Mountfield?”

“Oh yes, Miss Strang. It were rare for a week to pass without a child being spanked. And sometimes a boy would be spanked twice the same day. Mrs Clayton was that strict. For a first offence a boy would be spanked before prayers and bed. That was always Mrs Clayton’s way. But if that boy misbehaved again before the end of that day, he’d be spanked there and then, and still have his bedtime spanking to look forward to.

“And did you assist with the boys’ punishment, Mrs Mountfield?”

“I did that, Miss Strang. Same as for Miss Elizabeth. I’d bring the boy down to the drawing room and it was up with his nightshirt and over Mrs Clayton’s knee. And at that young age, Mrs Clayton would give ten hard smacks across his little bottom, with plenty of time for him to smart and howl. Then it was into the hall with him for a quarter of an hour, nose to the wall, showing off his red smarting bottom. There’s nothing like a bit of shame to bring home to a boy what’s what, is there Miss Strang.”

“No Mrs Mountfield. And if he misbehaved again the same day?”

Mrs Mountfield drew in her breath.

“Well, if he did that, Miss Strang, he was a very foolish boy. A very foolish boy indeed. He’d already a spanking on the slate for bedtime. And defying his mother’s rule again . . . well!”

“So how did Mrs Clayton deal with such a flagrant flouting of her authority.”

“Mrs Clayton was a very organised lady, Miss Strang, and she had a routine for everything. And the children’s discipline was no different. She didn’t believe in a nanny for young children and ran the nursery herself. And she taught those children to fear the rod from an early age.   But you was asking how she dealt with a boy who defied her twice on the same day.”

“Indeed I was, Mrs Mountfield.”

She paused.

“She never had to arraign a child did Mrs Clayton. I think that’s the right word, Miss Strang.”

“Yes, Mrs Mountfield, I am sure it is.”

“Well, she never had to do that. The child knew just what he’d done and was already regretting it. She just say to me, ‘Stand him face to the wall, Cressett, beside the clock.’ And that was all. He knew what that meant.   And he’d already be biting his lip, all white and trembling. And he’d have to stand there, facing that wall with his dress turned up and his bottom bare until the clock struck the time set. ‘When the clock strikes three, bring him into the drawing room, Cressett,’ she’d say. She’d never set less than an hour. Sometimes more. And how they dreaded those minutes ticking away.”

She paused, and wiped her hands against her apron.

“Then when the clock struck the hour, I’d take him by the hand and lead him to the drawing room. How he pleaded with me. ‘No, Enid, no, please, no.’ How he tugged and pulled. But the threat of reporting him to his mother always quieted him.

“Then he had to knock on the door himself, and wait for the command to enter. And there was Mrs Clayton seated, hairbrush in hand. She’d simply point to the floor in front of her and there he had to stand. And how he shrivelled before her gaze. It seemed like an eternity before she’d say, ‘Cressett place him over my knee’ and I’d lift the boy all limp and unresisting and across he’d go. And then down came the hard back of the brush on his small bare bottom.”

She licked her lips.

“Ten smarting strokes, Miss Strang, that had him howling and wriggling. Then he lay there whimpering, sobbing quietly, knowing there was more to come.”

Miss Strang raised her eyebrows.

“And then, Mrs Mountfield?”

“Well, Miss Strang, a boy who’d misbehaved again before his evening spanking didn’t just get another spanking. Oh dear me, no! ‘Turn him over the sofa arm, Cressett,’ she’d say. And I lift the sobbing boy and do as she bid. ‘And now fetch the cane, please, Cressett.’”

“The cane, Mrs Mountfield?”

“Oh yes, Miss Strang. It was the only time the boys got the cane before Miss Smythe’s arrival. And that was when they’d offended again before receiving a bedtime spanking. Although Dr Clayton caned Miss Elizabeth when she deserved it.”

“So how were they caned?”

“Hard and painful, Miss Strang. Ten slow swishy cuts across that already well spanked bottom, and then another ten cuts across the backs of the thighs.”

She gave a sly look.

“And I’m sure you don’t need me telling you, Miss Strang, that the cane across a small boy’s slack tender thigh flesh certainly makes him squirm and howl.”

“No, Mrs Mountfield, I am well aware of that.”

There was a sharpness in her tone.

“But the time has come for you to show these two malefactors facing the wall over there, just how painful a spanking with Mrs Clayton’s brush can be.”

She turned towards my brothers.

“Turn around both of you.”

Reluctantly they did so. Both had faces that were pale and rigid with apprehension.

“By your rudeness and lack of consideration, you have made Mrs Mountfield’s life a misery over the past year. It is now her turn to make your lives a misery. Not for a year as you have done, but just for the next half hour. How she deals with you is entirely for her to decide. It will be without any interference from me. And it will serve as probably a pale foretaste of what you will both suffer in the coming weeks in the reformatory.”

She turned to Mrs Mountfield.

“So Mrs Mountfield, let us see what that hairbrush can do, shall we.”

(to be continued)

(The End)