Miss Strang Chapter 51
By Governess

liviaarbuthnot1@gmail.com

Copyright 2009 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 51

"You will sit at your desks and open your arithmetic books. There will be an hour's solid work before our short excursion into town. I am going to arrange for the trap to be brought round to the front of the house at nine o'clock. And while I am gone, there will be no talking."

At nine o'clock, we were told to close our books, and Miss Strang sent us to dress for the trip into town. She herself wore a long brown coat, a jaunty hat and carried her riding crop capped with its silver skull. The boys were in breeches and boots for by now the early sun had gone and a wind had got up. I wore my schoolroom dress and a coat. Before we departed, Miss Strang insisted that I wear around my neck, visible to all, the placard declaring I was in disgrace.

We rattled off in the trap. I was seated beside Miss Strang and the boys were on the bench behind. The countryside that had looked so lovely in the sunshine was now dull and flat, with heavy clouds billowing up in the west. We passed the gingerbread house. It looked empty with dark windows and a garden that seemed in need of attention. Miss Strang did not seem disposed to talk and I was fearful of doing so uninvited. Eventually, we arrived and the trap was parked in the cobbled square. Being a Monday there were few people about.

"Please keep together children and follow me."

We made our way down Fore Street where there was a gentlemen's outfitters. In the window was a prominent sign declaring that the shop was under new ownership. As Miss Strang pushed the door open, the bell attached to it jangled loudly.

"Simon and John, you will stand over there with your hands behind your backs. And you will not move until I grant permission."

A gentleman in a dark suit emerged from the back of the shop.

"Good morning, Madam."

"Good morning, Mr . . . ?"

"Wilberforce, Madam, Eustace Wilberforce."

"Well Mr Wilberforce, I have here a boy who as you can see is dressed as a girl. As I am sure you are aware, there are times when a boy benefits from such discipline. But the time has come for him to shed his girl's clothes. And as he has been in petticoats for some time, new clothes are required. You understand?"

"Certainly, Madam."

"Say good morning to Mr Wilberforce, Oliver, and please address him as Sir."

"Good morning, Sir."

"Good morning, Master Oliver."

He smiled.

"The young man must be much relieved that his petticoat discipline is coming to an end. But I must say, he does make a beautiful girl and his voice not yet broken."

Miss Strang smiled enigmatically.

"Yes, indeed. A beautiful girl. But not for much longer."

She raised her crop and the tip was inserted under my chin and my head pushed gently back.

"Your days as a girl are numbered are they not, Oliver?"

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

"My goodness, do I detect a reluctance to cast aside your girl's clothes and become a boy. What ever are we do with him, Mr Wilberforce?"

"Keep him as a girl, I'd say. He's much too pretty for a boy."

"Well that I fear is not possible, Mr Wilberforce. Come we are wasting our time. We must select some suitable clothes. We have a busy day ahead of us."

Suddenly, a spasm of fear passed through me. Was I going to have to undress before this man? Let him see my girl's body? Reveal my knickers with the towelling pad for my bleeding? I could feel my face hot with embarrassment.

"So what are we wanting Madam?"

"Everything, Mr Wilberforce. Shirts, breeches, neckties, underwear. A jacket. All that a boy needs for his dress."

"Then let me measure the young gentleman."

He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a tape measure. He ran it up my inside leg. There was no sign that he thought anything unusual. He then measured my chest and waist. Each time he jotted down the figures on a small pad.

"Now let us see what we have that may be suitable."

Mr Wilberforce busied himself. And slowly laid an assortment of garments on the large counter. Miss Strang selected the undergarments.

"Is there anywhere Oliver can try these on? Is there a changing room?"

"No, Madam. But I could shut the shop for ten minutes, and young Oliver could undress and try his new garments on over there."

He pointed to an area of the shop that was slightly recessed and would not be visible through he glass door, or the windows.

"Well, thank you Mr Wilberforce. That is most generous of you. Thank Mr Wilberforce for his generosity, Oliver."

I did so, with little enthusiasm. Miss Strang pointed to the place that Mr Wilberforce had indicated.

"Over there, Oliver. Hand me the placard around you neck. And now off with everything. I want one nice, naked boy ready for his new clothes, please. Quickly now."

Mr Wilberforce bolted the door of the shop, turned the sign around so that it read closed, and then pulled down the blind. While he was doing so I had begun to undress. Slowly I removed my coat. Miss Strang took it and hung it on a hook. Then, I unbuttoned my dress and pulled it over my head. I felt a hideous panic rising within me.

"Hurry up Oliver. Off with the petticoat and vest."

I continued to disrobe until I stood in my knickers. I was burning with shame, looking down at the floor, but I glanced up at Mr Wilberforce and his eyes were examining me, greedily. With my hair cut short and my little girl breasts not yet fully swollen. I was sure he still took me for a boy.

"Come on, Oliver. Off with everything. How can you try on new clothes when you are still wearing the old."

I turned away and pulled down my knickers and stepped out of them. The bleeding seemed to have ceased.

"Hand me the knickers, please, Oliver."

I did so, making sure that the piece of towelling did not drop out. I stood shivering and humiliated. I turned away, hiding my lack of a boy's genitals but exposing my bottom.

"I trust you do not mind Oliver stripping off like this, Mr Wilberforce. As a governess I have seen so many boys in a state of undress that it is easy to forget that others may be shocked by the sight."

"No shock to me, Madam. A gentleman's outfitter sees many a boy in a state of undress."

He paused and swallowed.

"But I must say that few have been so thoroughly chastised as . . . as Master Oliver seems to have been."

"There is no 'seems' about it, Mr Wilberforce. I am a governess who believes in the rod, and the marks on the boy's flesh are surely clear evidence of that."

"Indeed, Madam. And may I hazard a guess that he has been soundly birched."

I squirmed inwardly, and my flesh crawled at Mr Wilberforce's prurient interest."

"The boy has been birched and his thighs tawsed, Mr Wilberforce. But I did not come into your shop to discuss the boy's discipline but to purchase some clothes. Hand me the underpants and vest from the counter, please."

Despite my shameful exposure, I relished the way in which Miss Strang had put Mr Wilberforce in his place.

"Here are your new underpants, Oliver."

I remained facing away, huddled in my distress, and praying that Miss Strang would not insist that I exposed myself further.

"Oliver, turn round, please. I think we have seen enough of your bottom."

Slowly I turned, and reached out for the garment that was held out to me.

I glanced up. Mr Wilberforce was staring, his face red. He choked and held a handkerchief up to his mouth.

"Are you all right, Mr Wilberforce? Whatever is the matter?"

"I beg your pardon, Madam. But . . but the boy . . . "

"Yes, Mr Wilberforce?"

"But, the boy is lacking . . . There . . there is nothing there."

"I . . . I . . . think . . . I . . . I . . . Please, Miss
Strang."

"Oliver has the bad habits of a boy. Indeed the vices of a boy. And he believes he is a boy."

She placed her hand on my bare shoulder.

"Is that not right, Oliver?"

How could I deny it.

"Answer me, Oliver. Is that not right?"

"Yes, Miss Strang."

I looked across at my brothers still standing obediently with their hands behind their backs. Their faces rapt with attention and white. I felt my entire body, with the recent marks of chastisement upon it, was blushing at such public exposure. Years later, I was to see a painting by Hieronymus Bosch where the damned are tortured by devils, skewered with pitchforks, the flames licking around them. And at that moment I was in such a fiery place impaled on the prongs of my governess's unremitting discipline.

Dimly I heard her voice.

"Oliver, we have seen enough of your nakedness. Please put on your underwear. Quickly now."

I did so. Miss Strang deftly and discreetly inserted the protective towelling pad. Then, she handed me the other garments and slowly I acquired the dress of a boy.

"And a very pretty boy, I'd say, Madam. A boy to be proud of."

I was taken to a long mirror and for a moment was startled at the reflection. But as I registered that the boy was myself I felt suddenly tearful.

As I left the outfitters, breeched and jacketed, with the placard again around my neck, I felt nervous. Despite the humiliation, there had been a strange excitement at entering a different world. But that was passing, and I became swiftly oppressed by the unnerving thought that from now on Miss Strang would rule and discipline me as a boy. I recalled how she had conferred clemency on me while telling me that were I a boy no such concession would have been granted.

"Come children, we have one more call to make before we return home."

She led us across the street to a small shop that sold walking sticks and umbrellas. As she went to open the door, she turned to John and Simon.

"I am most pleased at the way you conducted yourself in Mr Wilberforce's shop. Please continue to behave in the same way here."

She turned the handle and we followed her in. Again a bell rang and a woman of about fifty came through a curtain to serve us.

"Good morning, Madam. My apologies, but my husband, Mr Claxton, is feeling unwell this morning and has asked me to keep the shop for him."

"Good morning, Mrs Claxton. I am sorry to hear about your husband. But I am sure you will be able to assist us. This is Simon and this is his brother John. But it is their brother Oliver that is my concern. He has developed some bad habits that need to be beaten out of him."

She placed her hand on my shoulder.

"Is that not right, Oliver?"

I fought back the tears of shame and of anger that were pricking at my eyes.

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"So, Mrs Claxton, I need a suitable school cane, a punishment cane for the boy. Are you able to help?"

"I am sure we are, Madam. And how old is the young, er, gentleman?"

"Tell, the lady how old you are, Oliver."

I blushed even more.

"I . . . I am nearly thirteen, Ma'am."

"And the voice not yet broken. Well, we have a range of canes, Madam. The choice will depend on how strict you need to be with him."

"Well, Mrs Claxton, how strict do you think I need to be?"

She looked at me and smiled. I could feel myself curling up like a caterpillar.

"I suppose the answer to that is as strict as necessary and then half as much again. As my mother used to say."

She stroked the apron she was wearing.

"He's a voice like an angel, and is pretty enough to be a girl."

She narrowed her eyes.

"But it's boys like that that are often the most trouble. My brother was the same. All wide eyed innocence and lovely as a picture. But a week seldom went by without his breeches having to come down for a sound whipping."

"So, what sort of cane would you recommend to keep such a boy in order, Mrs Claxton?"

"Let me show you what we have, Madam."

She opened a long drawer and bending down took out several canes. Each had a crook handle.

"Place them on the counter, please, Mrs Claxton. Oliver, select a cane suitable for punishing you as you need to be punished."

I looked at her imploringly.

"Please, Miss Strang . . . "

"You see, Mrs Claxton, the boy is quite incapable of obeying the simplest instruction without argument and prevarication."

(To be continued)