overness?’ Rowena said.
‘Yes, Rowena?’
‘Were you crying because of me, last night?’
The Governess paused, and said, much more softly than she usually spoke, ‘Yes, but not because of something you had done wrong. I was crying because I… when something terrible happens, sometimes we cannot but think of all we should have done, to prevent it. We think perhaps we should have done this, or that, and it is… difficult, to accept that something bad did happen, and that one is… one is not so much in control of the world as one is of oneself.’
‘But you would have? If you had known?’
‘Of course, Rowena,’ Governess said instantly, stroking Rowena’s cheek with the back of her soft hand, as she could not gather the girl in her arms, since Rowena was having her breakfast. ‘That is not the life I wanted for you, you are such a perfect Lady, you deserved a Keeper worthy of your Accomplishments.’
‘Like you,’ Rowena said, and looked down, ashamed. ‘Only I am not a Lady anymore, Governess. I am a Whore. I am Ruined.’
‘You are not—Rowena,’ Governess said, ‘who taught you that word?’
‘She did. She said only Whores come from being fucked,’ Rowena said the last word with quivering hesitance, and covered her mouth after, turning so red in shame she started crying. ‘And I did, so I—I must be,’ she said, trembling. ‘You should punish me, and you are not, and—I should be punished, Mistress!’
‘Rowena, did you want her to do those things to you?’
‘No, but—but my body—’
‘A Lady does not listen to her body, Rowena,’ Governess said, trying to be stern, having to exert a great deal of control to not reach to take hold of Rowena’s clitoris and stroke it reassuringly. ‘And you are a Lady. A painting is no less a masterpiece because an Evil person slashed it with a knife. It is still a painting by an old master, and it will be repaired, not thrown out, because it is valuable. You are my masterpiece, Rowena. The criminal that tried to destroy you is being punished, as is Good and Right. You are a victim, and we do not punish victims. We take care of them. Say “Yes, Mistress”.’
‘Yes, Mistress.’
Governess gifted her with a smile. ‘Good girl,’ she said, stroking Rowena’s cheek. The Machine finished, and she helped Rowena down. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘I will have to do some things over again.’
‘I would like that, to be… to pretend I am still a little girl.’
‘We can pretend that if you wish,’ the Governess said, on a very uncharacteristic whim.
‘Oh! Could we?’
She was so happy, and she had not smiled like that since before; the Governess could not say no. And, too, it was an inviting idea, a way of revisiting a better time, not so long ago.
The Governess dressed Rowena in a bathing costume, a sensible dark blue that went so well with her colouring, and a hat of course, to protect her skin from the sun, tied with a pink silk ribbon beneath her dark chignon. The Governess was gentle as she pulled Rowena’s swollen, flushed teats through the holes in the costume, tying the ribbons around the base of each teat very gently, being similarly gentle as she pulled Rowena’s clitoris through the hole for it in the lower part of the modest one-piece.
‘I remember when we went to the seaside,’ Rowena said softly, as she watched Governess touch her clitty and felt nothing at all. It was a little fascinating, even though it was also very, very upsetting. But she mustn’t be Melancholy, it was Rude to be Melancholy while Chatting, ‘It’s so strange, living right next to it!’
‘It is,’ the Governess said, standing back and inspecting Rowena’s appearance. Rowena’s belly was a beautiful—but small—swell that pushed her teats up only a little, but if you did not know all that had been done, she looked normal enough; that was somewhat comforting.
‘Quite satisfactory,’ was all she said, as she had many times before, and saw Rowena’s smile, which she’d never been taught to hide, and her blush. ‘Such a pretty girl you are, Rowena,’ she added, which was quite a lot of praise, for her; but Rowena more than deserved such things, now. ‘But I think we shall try a good heavy luncheon, after our constitutional on the seashore.’ She held out her hand. ‘Come along, sweet girl, we must air you out, get you accustomed to being Seen.’
They were words she’d said when Rowena had been younger, but the pretend was helpful to more than Rowena’s spirit. She walked with Rowena on the fine white sand, and the smell of the sea and the good fresh air, the warm sun, were good for both of them, made the future seem possible to bear.
The sea was in Rowena’s blood, the Governess knew that; her pedigree was Respectable, but there was a thread of the wild sea in it, and so it was no surprise that Rowena immediately quivered with the desire to go toward the frothing tide, her clitoris twitching—there was nothing numb about the muscles around it, only the organ itself—with her tightly-reined excitement.
‘You may wade in the tide, Rowena,’ Governess said, knowing of all things that the seashore was the time and the place that Rowena struggled most to be Obedient. She did so like the water…. But such things were dangerous. There were snarks, and besides which there were porpoises.
‘Yes, Mistress,’ Rowena said, glancing up at her. ‘Do you think—do you think bathing in the sea might help?’
‘The cold water will certainly help your poor tiddies feel better, I should think,’ the Governess said thoughtfully, and gave Rowena a smile. ‘But be careful with your clitty, my dear, it’s ever so delicate.’
‘Yes, Mistress,’ Rowena said, and the Governess knew she was in earnest. She had always been very careful with her clitoris, anxious even.
She deserved a good Keeper. A Husband, this time, the Governess thought, as she watched Rowena splash in the water.
She thought on the Old Tutor’s words, and wondered if she could secure this mad inventor. If he wanted for a Governess, if he was a little high-strung… well, that might just work, she thought, if he were suitably pliant in character. After all, an eccentric and a Prince were both entitled to a household that was a little bit… nonconformist.
She indulged herself in wonderings of how she might ply a Governess’ skills on a gentleman… well, they were no different in body than knave-girls, but of course a grown person was very different from a girl, the flesh less pliable… she could still fill his belly and train his bladder, though… and phalli were so very nice to plump up with Expansia and a gravity-syringe… oh, such forbidden desire! For after all, a Keeper wasn’t meant to be helpless and obedient, certainly not to a Governess! But in her own thoughts, well, who would know?
She had to admit, the idea of controlling a young couple, of reigning supreme over a Household…well, it was delicious in fantasy, but did she want that in reality? She watched Rowena, her full belly, her teats, her hips and thighs, all wet and shining in the sun as she played. She wasn’t nearly so fat and bouncy as she had been, and if circumstances hadn’t been so awful, the Governess might have enjoyed this opportunity to have more time with her, to… have carte blanche to shape Rowena as she willed, she realised. She had no Standards to set other than her own…
What would you do to me, if I were your Ladywife?
Governess wanted to see Rowena pregnant, to see her belly swell with life as her Governess still kept filling her routinely, increased her lades to support the babies within her womb, stretched her vaginal passage as wide as it could go and kept it there, put her in the Ladies’ Parlour and make her teats big with perpetual milking…. But to fill her womb with more than eggs, the Governess needed a phallus’ seed… and there was the other half of the fantasy.
The Inventor’s portrait had been beautiful, and the Governess well-remembered Lily, such a pretty girl; it was very likely Vartan was just as beautiful as the portrait, and the Governess indulged herself. What if she could turn him as close to a knave-girl as could be done? She could… yes, train his urethra wide and make his phallus into a coque, plump and soft and useless… but she could milk the seed from him, perhaps train him to produce more… she knew how to train up a knave-girl to produce copious little fishes….
She took out her pocket-notebook and made note of all of these thoughts; writing it out gave her a thrill, and made it clear how much she wanted what she had never considered before. But oh, to have a matched little set of girls, one filling the other with life, and then to be able to raise up a family from afar, to still reign supreme in the Nursery while also having hand in everything from conception…
The Governess had felt deeply, unsettlingly Out Of Control, with this whole misadventure—and being forcibly Retired did nothing to occupy her busy soul. She needed her Work, she needed the Occupation or she would go mad.
Well, she should not get ahead of herself. She still had to meet this Inventor, and see what he was like. She should not get too excited. But she had a Direction, and if not the Prince, she yet might be able to find a different very young Gentleman, one who was not quite Finished, to Shape for herself….
⁂
Writing Vartan, one had to be prepared to reply just as quickly as did he—for he answered right away; as, if he did not, he would never answer. His Tutor had been the one to train in that habit, however, so that old gentleman was not at all surprised when the letter he’d sent that morning had a reply by luncheon.
My Dearest Tutor,
I shall be Delighted to come and assist the Gentlewoman and Lady; making a new set of remote controllers for the SPDER device is no trouble at all, they only need to be Attuned, which can be done in Privacy—I have a copy of the Instructions. Only tell me how many are needed, and if they are for a single or pair of SPDER devices. I suppose it is indelicate to ask a Lady directly, but it is something I must, alas, know.
I can come in time for supper, if convenient; only I have some small idea that this might be the self-same Lady lately Rescued from a Terrible Ordeal? I am afraid that I do follow these things, as the Courts often Consult me for my Expertise in Matters Mechanical. I have every sympathy for the Lady, and have long wished to help her, for… well, I sha’n’t write it down, it is perhaps Unwise. Suffice it to say I am very Passionate about aiding her in every way I can, and am
Yours Sincerely,
Vartan
The Old Tutor waited for his colleague to read the letter, feeling quite proud of his former pupil’s penmanship and care with his phrasing. It was likely he’d made several drafts of the letter, for he struggled with arranging his words politely. Even so, the Gentlewoman before him was inscrutable (as Gentlewomen were supposed to be), and it was impossible to know just what she thought.
‘What a kind young creature he sounds to be,’ she said finally. ‘So eager to be helpful to others.’
‘Oh, yes, quite a good-hearted boy.’
‘I should like to meet him today,’ she declared, handing back the letter.
‘Then I invite you and your charge to sup with me tonight in the formal dining room. It will be just us, you know,’ he said, knowing how shy the poor Lady was bound to be, but wanting her to feel she could participate in some sort of formal affair, as Ladies were meant to.
‘Yes, I think that shall do nicely,’ the Governess said, seeming much lighter in spirit than she had when she had arrived. ‘Thank you, my dear friend.’
‘Oh,’ the Old Tutor was a little flustered at being called so intimate a title, but flattered. ‘Think nothing of it, nothing of it at all!’ he blustered, all blushes. ‘I only wish I could do more to help the Lady.’
‘You have done much,’ said the Governess, laying her gloved hand on his arm companionably, ‘by giving us a home.’
⁂
Rowena needed a thorough bath, inside and out, after going to the seaside, and was trembling by the time the Governess was done making sure every speck of sand was washed out of every little fold and crevice of her body, and moved on to dressing her in a silk chemise of sangoire (a colour Rowena had never worn), with pomegranate-coloured ribbons around the teat-openings drawing the silk gently snug around her teats; then came the dinner stays, curving bones ready to support her growing belly, holding her heavy teats up and making sure the large and becomingly puffy nipples were lifted rather than pointing lasciviously downward; and then, the corset-cover of crisp black-shot-red organdy over them, Governess fitting a gold ring around each of Rowena’s nipples to hold the stiff, shiny, transluscent fabric in place (it tickled horribly); next, Governess slid a cover of the same stiff organdy over her clitoris, smoothing it down and tying the ribbon around the base of Rowena’s clit rather snugly (it did not feel like anything at all), before lacing on the corset that held her clitoris properly up.
Rowena was pleased to know she had no more golden ring, that her clitoris was covered again, modestly, rather than being laced into the open-top cover that was meant to show off a married Lady’s ring.
Then was the clocked and brillianted silk stockings, and their suspenders, and the slippers that held her arches becomingly up with gilded springwood, and showed off how long and fine-boned her feet and ankles were.
Rowena didn’t at all wonder about this—formal dress was one of her favourite torments—but she did wonder about the colours. As a girl, of course, she had worn all manner of blues for every day, as befit a young unmarried Maiden (and blue went so prettily with her eyes), and sometimes pink for when she was presented to her parents for formal dinners. But black and dark reds were Courtly hues; where they receiving a royal visitor? How exciting!
There would be a seat for Rowena, of course, with a nozzle in the seat-cushion of the chair, and she would be filled the same as always, having to keep her composure; it would be a challenge, but she was quite excited about it—she had not had a chance to practise such composure in quite a long time, and never around anyone but the Governess. She fancied even her tiddies were feeling a little better, not quite so tight and painful and… “stuffed up” was the only way she could think to describe them, as they felt quite the same as her head when she had caught a chill.
Then again, it might be the fact that she was chiefly feeling the awful itch of the stiff organdy being pressed so tightly against her nipples—didn’t they look wonderfully fine! Dressed even this far, she felt almost normal—if it were not for the fact that she could not feel the torment of the organdy and the corset on her clitty, she would be in a very exciteable sort of mood; she felt very pretty, was very proud of her nice big tiddies and how fine they looked in their clothes, the sheer fabric clinging to their curves, the dark colour fascinating in how it shimmered black and then red in different angles of light.
And of course, as it was near the end of the day, her bladder was quite full; and, even though it was Naughty, she’d taken to fluttering her little muscles around her plugs, because it comforted her to remind herself that, for all that her clitoris, A Lady’s Pride, was numb, and may as well not be there, everything else was still plugged up and felt everything perfectly—and having the pretend that she was still a little girl helped with the shame at her plugs being so small.
She sat still as Governess curled her hair with the irons, and pinned it up. She couldn’t see it in the mirror, her vision was too blurry for that, but she knew she would look pretty, and she liked the warmth she could feel from the hot irons, and the way the pins slid through her hair, sliding their blunt tips against her scalp and giving her lovely tingles. Governess didn’t talk, and so Rowena didn’t either—a Lady didn’t speak unless spoken to.
‘One of the Royal Princes shall be at supper,’ Governess said, presently. ‘Master Ketterly shall make introductions.’
Rowena gasped a little, her chest heaving up prettily with the movement, but she otherwise held still, eyes wide. ‘Oh!’ she said, softly. ‘Oh!’ she said, again, not knowing what else to say.
‘He is very beautiful,’ Governess said, ‘and quite accomplished.’
That was… a very curious thing to say to her, the Governess saw the confusion in Rowena’s expression; ‘beautiful’ and ‘accomplished’ were words used to describe Ladies, not Gentlemen. But it was all part of her plan. She wanted to plant the seeds, in Rowena’s mind, that Vartan was like her, a helpless little pawn—as much as she wanted Rowena to see him as a potential Match, a handsome Prince that she could fantasise about when being filled and tormented by Governess’ daily routine (as was right for a young girl to do).
The more she took action, the more the Governess was finding she was very much enjoying this idea of taking the young Prince and subjecting him to her Art. Oh, it was a little perverse, but she was Retired now, was that not the time when one indulged Perversity? Within Reason, of course….
‘There,’ she said, as she finished the last spiral-curl, ‘stand up, let’s get your petticoats and bustle on.’
The bustle was a necessity for any Lady of Fashion, to balance her silhouette; and the quilted petticoat of peony linen kept Rowena warm (but not too warm), and softened the wires of the bustle beneath her skirt. It was, like everything, open at the front, her clitoris pulled through the opening at the front of the skirt and the opening drawn snug around the base, buttoned to the corset. After that came a petticoat of darker pink silk, with many ruffles on the inside and outside, and then, finally, the dress, a deep red silk taffeta with plenty of gathered draping and pleated ruffles, and a few tasteful roses made of red silk at the base of her soft throat, nestled between her teats, tiny pearls sewn onto their petals like dewdrops. The collar was high but open in the front, boned to keep its Courtly shape, and the sleeves were cleverly made to make her shoulders appear even more narrow and sloped, with fullness for her upper arm, and tightly buttoned around her forearm, to show off her hands.
For extra helplessness, the Governess glued long false nails of glass to Rowena’s fingernails, which were lacquered to match the dress and heavily encrusted with glass pearls, gold charms, and small paste jewels. Rowena was in awe; she had not known her parents had gotten these made—for such adornments had to be specially-fitted to their wearer.
‘Did they mean to present me at Court, Mistress?’
‘Did whom?’
‘My parents, Mistress. Aren’t they the ones that had these made?’
‘Are they not,’ the Governess said gently, but did not answer, and Rowena was too Ladylike to press. The Governess painted Rowena’s face with soft brushes, and Rowena wondered what she looked like; she had never seen her own face, her vision had never been good enough. It didn’t matter, anyway—a Lady’s beauty was all in how well she took her Finishing, particularly the length of her clitoris. Rowena’s body had ballooned to a very pretty size, and her clitoris had been stretched successfully to show off her Accomplishments Invisible to potential suitors quite well. Thirteen inches because she could lay two eggs a day and her apertures were all so big that Governess had even commented she needed specially-made plugs ordered, because Rowena stretched so well. Some Ladies didn’t even have faces. Rowena wasn’t sure she had one.
‘Mistress, may I ask a question about the world?’
‘Yes, Rowena, what is it, dear?’
‘Do I have a… do I have a face, Mistress? Only I’ve never seen it. I know it doesn’t matter,’ she said, worried Governess would think she’d gotten the idea from somewhere. ‘But I wondered.’
‘Don’t worry your pretty head, darling. It’s far better that you were given the gift of not being able to see; how many young creatures I have known that fell into despair unending by being able to see themselves in mirrors, I can’t tell you. No, Rowena, you’re quite gifted to not be able to see into mirrors. A Lady shouldn’t really know what she looks like, except by what others tell her. You’re quite a beautiful Maiden, your body and mind have been shaped and tended very well by me and you have been so very obedient and so beautifully still for it. That is all that matters.’
‘Is that what will matter to the Prince?’ Rowena said, before she could stop herself. She expected a scolding for that, but the Governess only chuckled—chuckled! Oh! What a pretty sound, it made Rowena breathless—as she finished gluing the last nail on.
‘If he is worth his crown, it will,’ she said, which seemed a shockingly Opinionated thing to say! She grasped Rowena’s nipples and pulled her up. ‘Come along, dear one,’ she said fondly.
‘I suppose you cannot pull me the usual way?’ Rowena said sadly.
‘No, pet, the Doctor said I mustn’t yet. It won’t be long,’ she reminded Rowena. ‘That’s why the Prince is here. He’s going to help. Now, come, no little black rainclouds. A Lady is always hopeful and speaks of cheerful things at table.’