Miss Strang Chapter 50

Miss Strang Chapter 50
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 50

I slept heavily, and awoke to sunlight filtering through the curtains. After several moments of reflection, wondering about the day ahead, I slipped out of bed. As I passed the mirror I saw there was a red mark on the front of my nightdress. It was still a little damp. I was not so much shocked as curious. I lifted the material and felt between my legs. It was blood. Suddenly I had the idea that it might have something to do with the way I had masturbated against the bed knob. I reddened at the thought that, if so, my secret would surely be exposed. And only then did I worry that I might have done myself some serious injury.

But before I could think or do anything further, the door opened.

"Good morning, Livia . . . but what is this?"

"It . . . I think it's blood, Miss Strang."

"I am sure it is, Livia."

"But . . but why, Miss Strang?"

"It is menstrual blood, and nothing to worry about. Sit on the stool and I will fetch a napkin. Then we must have a little talk."

She left the room, returning in about three minutes. In her hand was a narrow length of towelling

"Put on your knickers, Livia and come and stand here."

She reached into my knickers and laid the strip of towelling in the crotch. It was narrow and fitted not uncomfortably. She had two small safety pins that she used to secure it in place. There was something reassuring about the confident way that she did this. I was then told to dress.

"Come into the schoolroom, Livia."

It was early, and neither Simon nor John was yet up. Breakfast was at seven thirty and three quarters of an hour away.

"Let us sit in the armchair."

I remembered the last time we had sat together and how warm and intimate we had been.

"I expect your bottom is rather sore. It was necessary to punish you severely. I trust you have learned from it."

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"And did you sleep sweetly after being in my bed?"

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"Good. Now the blood on the nightdress. As I said it is nothing to worry about. It just means that you are growing up. Do you remember when we were talking about boys masturbating, I explained how a man's penis can become thick and hot, and how he drives it into a woman and shoots his seed into her, so that she can have a baby? How the seed meets a little egg and the baby starts to grow inside her? Do you remember, Livia?"

"Ye . . . yes, Miss Strang."

"Good. I am pleased. Well, just because a man shoots his seed into a woman, does not means that she has a baby every time. He has to do it at the right moment. The moment when the woman's body is ready and prepared to accept the seed. And that Livia is when an egg has been released from her store and sent to a special place in her body where it waits to see whether a seed will be coming. Now if a seed does come and meets the egg, then the egg travels further into her, to a place inside her called the womb, which is like a bag where the baby can grow and be nourished until it is born. Are you listening, Livia?"

"Yes . . yes, Miss Strang."

"Well, each month not only does the woman's body release an egg to wait to see if a seed arrives inside her, but also her body prepares her womb to receive the egg should it arrive. If no egg arrives and there is to be no baby, that special lining comes away. And each month, it comes out of a woman. And that is what the blood is. It is the lining of your womb that is cast off, just as a snake casts off its skin, because it is not needed because no fertilised egg has arrived."

She paused.

"Do you understand, Livia? It is nothing dreadful. It is quite natural. And it will probably happen about every month from now on."

My mind was in a whirl. I sat there for a while saying nothing, with Miss Strang's arm around me.

"But . . . but Miss Strang, does this mean I can have babies?"

"No, certainly not, Livia. Your body prepares for a baby, but no baby is going to grow until a man thrusts his penis inside you and shoot his seed into you. And that is not going to happen until you have a husband. And that is a long way off."

"But why does my body think I might have a husband?"

"Well at one time girls did have husbands at your age, but that was a long time ago. Today, a girl like you will not have a husband until she is much older."

"And . . . and how long will the blood be there . . . Miss Strang?"

"As this is your first bleed, probably not for very long. But you will keep the towelling in place as long as there is blood and you will wash it out each night and insert a new strip."

She smiled.

"Yesterday you wondered whether you were really a girl. Well, this is certainly confirmation that you are certainly not a boy."

But my dream came back to me vividly. The snake emerging from between my legs and turning into a boy's winkie, thick and eager for attention.

"I . . . I suppose so, Miss Strang."

"There is no suppose about it, Livia. I want no more of this nonsense. You will dress and go into the schoolroom, and before breakfast you will write out one hundred times 'I am a girl'. And I want it done in good clear script with all the letters formed neatly."

I went, inwardly seething at being treated like a small child, and angry that my inner anxiety was not being taken seriously. I sat at my desk and took out my rough book. I started to write. I am a girl. I am a girl. I am a girl. I am a girl. On and on. Endless repetition. I counted. Forty four. I paused and looked out of the window, while through the door to the dining room I could hear the clinking of crockery. A spirit of rebellion overcame me. I am a boy. I am a boy. I am a boy. I am a boy. On I wrote. Eventually, I stopped and counted. Ninety seven lines completed. I am a boy. I am a boy. I am a boy. I put my pen down.

"Have you finished Livia?"

"Yes . . . yes, Miss Strang."

I trembled at my boldness, and was already regretting it.

"Bring it here, please."

She placed the book on her desk. Her pencil poised to mark the work. She saw immediately what I had done.

There was a long pause. I stood there in fearful trepidation. Why had I done it?

She looked up.

"But Livia you have written again and again, 'I am a boy'. Did I ask you to write that?"

I hung my head.

"No . . . no, Miss Strang."

She slipped from behind her desk and walking round stood in front of me.

"But that is disobedience, Livia. Wilful disobedience. Is that not right?"

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"So why did you disobey?"

"I . . I don't know. Miss Strang."

"Well I do, Livia."

There was now a harsh edge to her voice.

"You consider yourself too big a girl to write out lines like a ten year old. Much too grand and important for such a thing. And in your anger and petulance you choose to defy me."

She dropped the book dismissively on to my desk.

"Well, my girl, if you want to be a boy, then you shall be a boy. From now on you will dress as a boy . . . and be treated as a boy"

She paused her eyes were narrow and threatening.

"And punished as a boy. So I suggest you make every effort to control those reprehensible, schoolboy urges. Or it will be more than your hands being strapped. Much more."

I remained silent.

"Kneel on the floor."

I knelt and she went to her desk.

"If you are a boy, then your hair is overdue for a cut."

I gasped. My hair was long and came down below my shoulders. I was very proud of it. Perhaps too proud.

She reached out and held it, running her hand through it. Then holding it bunched above my head. I heard the snip of the scissors. And she hacked her way through the thick tresses. Tears welled up as I saw them drop to the floor.

"Remain kneeling."

She left the schoolroom but in a moment returned. In her hand was a brush and comb. She ran the comb through my hair, snipping with the scissors and then brushed what remained into a boyish style with a parting.

"That is better. Now you will fetch the shovel and sweep up these cuttings and deposit them in the wastepaper basket."

There was something sharply humiliating in having to collect my own hair, so recently an adornment, but now useless waste, only fit for the bin. While I was sweeping it up, Miss Strang returned and sat behind her desk. And when I had finished she called me to her.

"Come and stand here. And put your hands behind your back.

She waited, letting me stand in disgrace, her authority weighing upon me. After a while she looked up.

"From now on you will forget the name Livia. Your name is Oliver. I have governed many boys of your age, Oliver. Strong, sturdy, wilful boys. Boys who needed to be broken and rendered submissive."

She smiled as though at a pleasurable memory.

"And when I had finished with them, they would be rigid with fear at the merest sound of my approaching footfall, and their knuckles white."

I felt as though my whole stomach had drained away. The memory of the night before, the closeness and the warmth, were but a passing fancy.

"Now, go in to breakfast. And consider yourself in disgrace."

I went and sat at the table. As soon as my brothers came in, Miss Strang spoke to them.

"Your sister has developed some unpleasant boyish ways and obsessions. As a punishment, her hair has been shorn and she is to dressed as a boy and treated as such. She is no longer your sister, but your brother. And her name is Oliver. That is how you will address her and how you will refer to her. She is no longer a she but a he. No longer a her but a him. You will both remember that. And if I hear the name Livia on your lips or the use of the incorrect personal pronoun, you will be punished."

She looked at Simon.

"And if that happens, it will be for a gross disobedience to my explicit command. So remember, Simon, there are still four green buttons to be returned."

She turned to me speaking kindly now.

"Well, Oliver, eat up your breakfast like an obedient boy, please."

As I did so, she engaged my brothers is conversation.

"Tell me, John, have you ever seen a boy dressed as a girl?"

John reddened and glanced at me.

"N . . . no Miss Strang."

"Have you not? Well, rude, naughty, little boys are sometimes dressed as girls as a punishment. They find it very shameful. I governed a boy, not so long ago, called James whom I put into petticoats. He had been a loud, arrogant little boy. Most disobedient. Only a little younger than you, John. Can you imagine, having to walk into town, wearing a pretty dress, perhaps a little too short, girl's shoes on your feet, and a velvet bow in your hair. And with everybody staring. How his arrogance shrivelled up in the burning heat of his shame! What a change there was in that boy!"

John hung his head, no doubt thinking that perhaps Miss Strang might choose to discipline him in such a way. But Simon opened his eyes wide.

"And was he naughty again, Miss Strang."

She smiled.

"I am afraid he was, Simon. The punishment shrivelled his arrogance for a while. And for a while he was obedient and needed only an occasional spanking as do all boys. But a boy's naughtiness is deeply rooted. When a forest fire burns a great forest, the trees shrivel in the terrible heat and are destroyed. But their roots are still there, deep in the ground, and they shoot again and new growth springs up. And it is the same with the root of sin in a boy's heart, Simon."

She looked at me.

"Well, Oliver, I and your brothers are going to treat you as a naughty little boy who has been put into petticoats. And that is how you will be introduced to others. And after a little schoolwork to get the day started, we shall all go into town and buy you some new boy's clothes."

I swallowed and felt the saliva thick in my throat.

(To be continued)