A Step Too Far
1. À la recherche
It was strange how memory worked. Some things he remembered clearly: his first bike, going to the zoo, his first teddy, what he’d had for breakfast. Others were just hazy mist. Everything was such a blur, recent events especially. They were lost in times past. He remembered yesterday. He remembered the day before that. He could even remember most of the last week although the days did become a bit of a jumble. They were all so similar. It was why he liked the routine. The routine helped.
He thought he could remember coming to the house. Getting out of the big black car. Meeting the Governess. (She seemed familiar. An old friend?) Settling in. When would that have been? How many days ago? Before that, pretty much everything was a blank. He wondered if eating a sponge cake dipped in tea would help bring things back. But there were never madeleines for tea, not at this house, and he struggled to recollect why it would help in any case.
Fortunately there were things he still knew. Obvious things, mostly, but they gave him comfort. He knew that he was a girl for a start. He knew he liked swimming. He knew he liked ponies. He knew that he liked other girls. He liked girls’ magazines. He liked fashion magazines. He definitely knew he liked ladies. Pretty ladies. He knew he liked shiny things, girly things. He knew he liked wearing high heels. He knew he liked the Governess; he liked her a lot.
The Governess gave him pretty clothes to wear, shiny clothes. She could be stern but she could also be kind. Very kind when she made him feel squidgy and nice. She often made him squidgy. Very squidgy. He liked being squidgy. It made him feel special: all shivery and relaxed. He liked the times each day when she made him squidgy. He looked forward to them. It’s why he liked the routine. If he was good she let him put on a nice dress in the evening and took him down to the Drawing Room to meet other ladies. He always tried to be good for her since it usually meant he could wear a latex dress. He liked latex.
The Governess warned him about other ladies. She particularly advised him to avoid ladies with silver gray hair with wavy curls. He stayed close to the Governess even when he was in the Drawing Room. She made him feel safe. And she made him squidgy when she took him back up to her bedroom.
He knew he didn’t like boys. The Governess had warned him about boys: nasty smelly, noisy things. He would steer clear of boys. “Where’s a will, there’s a way,” he expected her to say, but she always said: “Where there’s a Will, there’s a willy,” instead. “Stay away,” she advised. He didn’t understand what she meant.
At least he could read. It occupied his time when he wasn’t with the Governess or doing his make-up. He was sure he’d liked reading books but couldn’t call to mind any titles. There weren’t many books in his bedroom in any case but there were magazines. Reading was fine. He could see things close to. It was just things a bit further away that were a problem. They could be and fuzzy indistinct. It helped that the things he liked most were always in close-up. Reading. Doing his make-up. Dressing the Governess. Kneeling before the Governess. Kissing the Governess. Lying on his back for the Governess.
If only he could remember his name. Surely it wasn’t just ‘Sissy’?
2. Dress for Success
He admired himself in the mirror. He liked his new wig but he would need to get used to having such a pronounced fringe. It was such a change from his usual red bun. He liked wigs. It made him feel more natural. Better than being bald. When he’d arrived at the house he’d found he’d been shaved. ‘To help with the healing’ someone had said. The Governess had kept him bald but allowed him to wear wigs. She said that she wanted a proper ‘Sissygirl’.
He fiddled with the side bangs of his platinum blonde bob, twirling it in his fingers and letting it flick against the latex collar and padded shoulders of his dress. He decided to apply another layer of gloss to his lips. He wanted them as kissable as possible for the Governess. He wanted them smooth and greasy so that their kisses slid and so that he could leave his mark on her. He liked how she never wiped herself after their moments together , at least not down there, and kept his prints on her like a trophy. He wondered whether she ever displayed them to her fellow Governesses. He hoped so. He felt the bond between them was so close. It had grown since she’d given him his own uniform. He knew before that he was accepted, now he felt sure he was loved.
She’d asked him to come to her room for eleven o’clock and he wanted to look his best. Squelches and clicks accompanied his slow progress down the corridor. He felt his way along. He found the lighting dim but he knew to count the doors. His latex stockings screeched as they rubbed together, restricted within his tight hobble skirt. Try as he might, he still couldn’t walk with the elegance and poise of the Governess. How he envied her. He struggled to breath. She had laced his corset far tighter this time. He couldn't recall when she first put him in a corset. He only remembered that he’d loved it. Its tightness. Its shapeliness. As soon as he wore one, he knew he never wanted to be without. He wanted to look like the girls in the magazines. Not the boring ones with slim straight figures, he already had a figure like that and had grown to dislike it. He wanted an hourglass figure, like a model’s or, better, like the Governess.
But today his corset was tight. Really tight. The tightest it had ever been. It was his own fault: he’d requested it. He was never going to get a waist like hers unless he made the effort. He needed to try harder if he was going to impress her. He had to try harder if he was going to look like her. He had to try harder if he was going to become like her. Become a Governess. Become her daughter.
He knocked on the Governess’s door and waited. She liked to make him wait but this time he could hear voices inside. The Governess was not on her own. He was confused and uncertain. Would this mean no squidgy time or simply much shortened? A peremptory “Enter”.
As soon as he opened the door to her bedroom, he saw that the Governess was meeting with a colleague. His heels clicked on the polished floorboards as he walked across to stand beside his mentor. He felt so privileged. The Governess wanted to show him off. It was such a confidence boost. He looked at the artwork above the Governess’s bed. Artwork that he’d admired so often from below as the Governess emulated some of her favourite images. He'd spent so many happy hours being trussed and tied by her. He loved being trussed and tied since it was always the natural precursor to being squidgy. Except she always made him wait. Was it an hour? An hour of anticipation. An hour of stickiness and frustration. It only made squidgy time better when it came.
The routine had its own rhythms but it always ended the same way with Governess Dark displaying her furious passion for him. For him he loved to remind himself. No-one else. All for him. She had such a feverish intensity as she drove him to fresh heights of pleasure. His moans were normally muffled though that just made it more exciting as he bit down, but sometimes she’d cry out. He didn’t understand what she meant when she yelled: “That’ll teach the bitch!”, “She’ll never defy me again!”, “He’s mine now!”, “He’ll never be yours!”, “I own him!” He didn’t mind. The more furious she got, the harder she tried, the longer she pounded and the more squidgy he became. And then she’d untie him and it was back to his room for the start of another cycle. The routine was always the same: a shower, make-up, dressing, lacing and primping, and then back to her bedroom for another experience. He always wondered how she’d tie him the next time or what position she’d choose to make him squidgy. It added to the thrill.
“This is the sissy, Governess Staff. Say hello, sissy,” ordered Governess Dark.
“Hello, Governess Staff.” He made a half-hearted attempt to curtsey but found his corset too restrictive to bend.
“Very impressive,” said the imposing lady who could almost have been a clone of Governess Dark. As he stood beside the ladies he felt complete. It confirmed his feelings about how he wanted to look. He felt at one with them. He wanted to be a Governess too.
“Isn’t he perfect?” asked the Governess. “His conditioning is progressing well. Only a few more weeks and he will be the vision of submissive loveliness that he could have been four years ago.”
“Yes, but are you sure it is wise?” enquired the Governess’s visitor.
“Dutiful. Compliant. Submissive. And, of course, willing. What more could be desired? Sissy perfection. The Sisterhood will want all sissies to be conditioned this way. In time he will beg them to become my daughter.”
“This is very dangerous, Governess Dark. I fear they will not accept this,” said Governess Staff. “Taking an un-willing daughter has never been heard of.”
“He will be totally willing. It will only be The Sisterhood with their antiquated views and materialistic attitudes who may prove unwilling.”
“Is it squidgy time, Governess?” he asked, trying to pick up on the cues.
“Not quite yet, sissy. I just want Governess Staff to meet you. You see what I mean about willing? Eager and willing.”
“Yes, but he can never be a Governess. Not a proper Governess,” protested Governess Staff.
“Of course not. But won’t that make him even more amusing and adorable? And willing. Did I say willing?”
“Yes,” said Governess Staff growing increasingly concerned about her colleague.
“Our very own mascot. My very own mascot,” Governess Dark corrected herself. “A mascot in my image purged of the last vestiges of that woman’s influence. A totally tame sissy reflecting all her weaknesses.”
“Be careful. There may be other factors,” interjected Governess Staff. “I understand there are plans to rehabilitate that …..” she looked nervously at Governess Dark and then at the boy looking enchantingly sweet in his Governess uniform, “that woman.”
“What do you mean?”
“Since losing that woman’s involvement when she went on the run, B⚥y?’s fortunes have declined. They want her back. They need her back. The Sisterhood feels she’s nearly served her penance in any case. I expect she will have conditions of her own if she does return. B⚥y? is likely to need its top model too.” She glanced again at the apprentice governess.
“Never! I can’t have that woman interfering again. He’s wasted on her. I am going to have to get support for my proposal before she has a chance to get involved.” Governess Dark turned to Andy. “You like me don’t you, Sissy?” she simpered.
“Yes, Governess Dark,” affirmed. “Is it squidgy time yet”? he implored.
“Would you like some squidgy, squidgy, Sissy?”
“Yes please, Governess Dark.”
“And how do you ask, Sissy?”
“Squidgy, squidgy, please Mummy,” he implored excitedly.
“Good girl. Would you leave us, please, Governess Staff? This sissy would clearly like some more conditioning. Like I said, willing.”
He couldn’t wait for Governess Staff to leave so that he could start his worship of the Governess, but he was left wondering: “What was The Sisterhood?” and “Who was ‘that woman’?” and “Why were neither of them able to say her name?”
3. Overreach
Madam Thash couldn’t help eyeing Governess Dark with suspicion. It was hard to dispel thoughts about past misdemeanours but everyone deserved a second chance. That was what the programme was all about after all. Demotion to the rank of Governess and being given an important task would allow her to get back on track with The Sisterhood.
"I understand that you've achieved excellent results, Governess Dark" said Madam Thrash. "I admit that I had my doubts about you especially after that unfortunate incident at Knightley Towers four years ago. It seems that you have learned from our rehabilitation programme."
"Thank you, Madam Thrash. "
"I confess that I was not at all convinced about you using a more benign approach," the head stable mistress continued. "I would have applied far more severe chastisement to this wretched absconder. But, if he shows no marks on his body after what he’s been through, it does you credit."
"I have found that gentler and more seductive techniques can have their benefits, you just need to find the right incentives. A few weeks conditioning is all that's been needed. Frustration and desperation can be excellent motivators. 'Carrot and stick' may have its place but 'carrot and cock' work much better with girls like this. Girl cock, of course.”
“Naturally,” agreed Madam Thrash.
“You will find that he's now a devoted and submissive girl willing to do whatever I ask."
Governess Dark thought she heard the word “Good” breathed by a stablegirl standing near the window. The girl was shuffling some papers. Madam Dark wasn’t deceived. The girl might be dressed like a young stablegirl, she might look like one of Madam Thrash’s young stablegirls, but Madam Dark wasn’t fooled: it was another of The Sisterhood’s bloody accountants. Fucking bean counters. They typified everything that was wrong with The Sisterhood. Who was running the organisation these days: the mistresses or young kids in finance who’d probably never tamed nor trained a sissy? She was determined that she was never going to let The Dark Institute become a Temple of Mammon like the Sisterhood. The Dark Institute would always be for mistresses and run by mistresses.
"I think you're right Governess Dark,” agreed Madam Thrash. “After what the Bounty Hunters and the pony trainers did to him, I can see why he would respond to kindness. I’m sure you’re very generous with your kindness,” said Madam Thrash knowingly, “…and your cock. It was such a shame he tried to escape from his last client. Jumping from her Highness’s yacht when he learned that she had purchased an extension seems to have tipped him over the edge in all senses. Such a shame since a further hundred and five days with the Rani it would have sorted out all Lady Jane’s financial obligations to The Sisterhood and meant we could consider bringing her back into the fold.”
Governess Dark blenched at the mention of Lady Jane’s name. “Really? You do surprise me. She was a renegade and led The Sisterhood on such a merry dance.”
“It takes one renegade to recognise another,” smiled Madam Thrash. “But The Sisterhood can be forgiving. We believe in giving our members second chances. If you can change your ways, why not Lady Jane?” she said quizzically. “And in her boy we have a prize asset who should earn us returns many times over.”
“He wouldn't go back to Lady Jane?” queried Governess Dark.
“Definitely not,” confirmed Madam Thrash. “A condition of Lady Jane’s readmission would be the permanent surrender of her rights. He would still be required for B⚥y? work but that would be the only linkage. If only she’d done what we asked two years ago it would have made life so much easier rather than running off to the US with him. So foolish.”
“Good. She always was a snooty cow,” opined Governess Dark.
“Indeed. And how is the boy after his unfortunate injury? Serving as a stewardess on the Rani’s yacht, it’s surprising he hadn't realised the height of the upper deck above the sea. He must have hit the water hard. How is he doing?”
“Physically he is well and prettier than ever, as you will see, but he’s shown little progress with his head injury. There’s no scars but the poor thing has no real memory.”
“And optically?”
“Vision has improved quite a bit he’s still short-sighted like he was before. We’ve kept him with no glasses nor contacts while it continues to settle. On the plus side, he’s not going to run away again if he can’t see where he’s going and his vision is good enough for close-up work. It means he is sweetly reliant on his custodian and whoever holds his hand.”
“Perfect. We can’t afford him running away again.
“We lost a fortune having to cancel that second contract with the Rani,” piped up a small voice by window.
“Thank you, Miss Count,” said Madam Thrash cutting off the girl and scowling at her for interrupting. “Shall we invite him in? I would like to see the result of your efforts.” She clapped her hands and the double doors to the office opened. A red-haired boy wearing a sleeveless pink latex mini-dress entered.
The boy was scowling. He resented not wearing his Governess uniform and his blonde wig. Worse was the absence of a corset. Without his corset he felt naked. His figure looked so shapeless that anyone might mistake him for a boy. At least he was wearing a latex dress and heels. But most importantly, Governess Dark had let him wear his ankle bangle and his gold collar. He loved his bangle and collar and what they signified. He felt so grateful to Governess Dark. He peered round the room. He made out the shimmer of Governess Dark’s black latex. He walked over to her. Governess Dark motioned to him to squat at her feet. He went down on his haunches. He realised his Governess was stood beside a lady in boots. He wondered whether he was going to be expected to lick.
"See Madam Thrash how we now have a devoted sissy.”
“Excellent, Governess Dark!”
“A devoted sissy whose highest aspiration is to become like us."
"Like us, Governess Dark?" Madam Thrash seemed perplexed.
"Yes. He no longer wants to go back to being a maid, and it might be difficult with his poor vision. A future owner is not going to want any breakages. He wants to be a Governess, or at least play at being a Governess. To help us, to be with us and, most importantly, to look like us is what he aspires to. As you can see, he follows me like a devoted puppy. He wants to be with me at all times."
"I see. This is quite irregular, Governess Dark. We were expecting to hire out this beauty and achieve a significant return on our wayward asset. Isn't that right, Miss Count?"
"Yes, Madam Thrash." said the accountant. "We were envisaging a series of quarterly hires. There is high demand for cabin boys, harem boys, nautch boys, ponyboys ... the list is endless..... and obviously sissymaids. In fact the first auction is planned for next week."
"I realise that but this girl has higher aspirations," said Madam Dark. She looked down at Andy. "What would you like so ask, Madam Thrash, sissy?" Andy started to raise his face to look at Madam Thrash only to be brought to an abrupt halt by a peremptory command from Governess Dark, "Head down sissy. No eye contact. Head only raised when the Mistress's skirt is lifted and you are invited to lick. Now ask your question."
Andy lowered his head and asked softly and sheepishly, "Please Madam Thrash, may I be Governess Dark's daughter?"
Madam Thrash seemed shocked. She looked hard at the Governess Dark. This was bringing back bad memories of past events involving the Governess and the boy. But to Madam Dark’s dismay, it was the accountant who spoke, intervening before Madam Trash could answer. “Absolutely not,” said Miss Count. “He is too valuable to be taken as a daughter.” This was everything Madam Dark feared: The Sisterhood was indeed being run by the accountants. The accountant was on a roll: “We shall accelerate his feminisation and place him on the international list to regain our investment.”
Madam Thrash recovered herself and began to admonish Madam Dark: “You overstep your boundaries. Do not forget your place ….. Governess Dark. This is irregular. Highly irregular. I can see that a bond has developed between you and Andy like there was between him and Lady Jane but this is most inappropriate. I will need to consider and discuss with other members of The Sisterhood’s High Council what we do about you when we next meet at Knightley Towers. Until then you are suspended from duty and will be taken to the basement cells to await our verdict.”
Madam Thrash pressed a button on her desk and leather clad security guards appeared. Governess Dark regretted that she’d ever raised the issue of ownership of the boy. She should have just taken him when she had the chance. The guards began to escort her away. The boy rose from his haunches as if to follow. He needed to follow: it would soon be squidgy time. He was to be halted by a command from Madam Thrash. “Stay here, Andy. Governess Dark is no longer your trainer or your Governess. Stay here while we have some tea and discuss our next steps.”
“Be a good slut, Andy. Just don’t ever go back to that fucking bitch, Lady Jane Fullerton-Jones! I hate that cu….” called Governess Dark as the guards led her out the door.
The boy was puzzled. Not by the disappearance of his Governess although that was perplexing. Not by the apparent loss of the afternoon’s squidgy time, that could wait (he hoped). He was puzzled by what he was hearing. Andy? The Sisterhood? Knightley Towers? Lady Jane? Lady Jane Fullerton-Jones? Dark? Governess Dark? Or was it Madam Dark? Yes, Madam Dark. All those names sounded familiar. He’d heard them somewhere before. He thought he remembered a Jane. Was it a Lady Jane? And Andy? Was his name Andy? He could feel his memory stirring. He needed to find the will power to remember. That’s right! There was a Will. Why did thinking about Jane and Will make feel a bit sticky and yearn to be squidgy?
He wished he could ask his Auntie. Auntie? Where had that come from? Yes, he knew he had an Auntie. Was it Auntie Jane? Aunt Jane? He wondered if he could ask Madam Thrash for some sponge cake to go with his tea.
