Trial and Tribulation Part 2

In less than a week’s time the new governess/therapist arrives at your aunt’s home. She is brought in a handsome carriage early one morning and has with her with many large travelling cases, boxes and trunks. You watch from your upstairs window as the lady steps from the carriage and is greeted and welcomed by your aunt.

The governess is less old than you had expected, or so she appears. She is of course wearing a hat that conceals part of her face, but overall you can make out the lady is younger than your aunt. You do not know if this dismays or pleases you.

A formal introduction will not be made until the governess is settled in. She will need the rest of the day to begin unpacking. Just before evening dinner your aunt calls you to her. She informs you of what you already know.

“A new guest will be joining us at the dinner table from now on. The governess has arrived. I am sure she will be eager to start your therapy. I do not know what her exact plans are, but you are expected to obey her in all she says. After all, she is here on the doctor’s orders.”

Your aunt gives you a stern look and straightens an imaginary crease in your vest.

“Yes, Ma’am. I understand.”

“Good. I expect more cooperation than you showed at the doctor’s office.”

You nod again and hang your head, wondering what humiliations will be visited upon your adolescent body. It sounds as if there will be more in store for you than just a doctor’s visit.

Your aunt takes you to the drawing room where the governess is waiting. You are introduced and greet the lady in the proper fashion. She looks you up and down, smiles knowingly and engages you in innocuous conversation. You strive to make a good impression upon the lady.

Dinner is announced and you walk along with your aunt and your new governess to the dining room. It is difficult to enjoy the meal when you do not know what the new situation will entail.

After dinner all three of you retire to the drawing room. Normally you might read some in a book or boy’s magazine, but tonight you cannot keep your mind on what you have in your hand. You listen to the conversation between your aunt and the governess.

“We’re very gratified that you could come at such short notice Miss.”

“Thank you Ma’am. I always try to accommodate the Doctor in cases such as yours. I have found her to be generally correct in her diagnosis and prescribed treatments. It may all seem superfluous at first, but in these cases, an ounce of prevention is indeed worth more than one can imagine.”

“So I have been told. If I am not too bold, may I ask when you propose to begin with the therapy ?”

“Certainly. I find it best to take the bull by the horns. Or if I may be so bold Ma’am, the willy by the hand….” The governess smiles at your aunt and she in turn puckers her mouth and titters in mock amazement.

“Ahem … well yes …. Though I must say I am a bit bewildered.”

“These are modern times Ma’am. We must keep stride.”

“So I keep hearing. The doctor has of course made her argument and stated her reasons. I shall abide by her expert advice.”

“You shall not regret it Ma’am.” The Governess now looks in your direction. “Perhaps it might be best if I start with a few minor preliminaries tonight ?”

“So soon ?” your aunt asks, though she does not seem dismayed at the proposal.

“Preferably so. There is much to be done.”

Your aunt of course agrees. She asks what the new Governess proposes to do.

“It is a bit complicated to go into in any detail for the moment, Ma’am. I would however like to make the lad’s acquaintance, give him a quick look over before I bathe him, choose a suitable wardrobe and perhaps start on the retraction therapy if time permits.”

“My, you do not seem to be one to sit idle.”

“No indeed Ma’am.”

“But tell me,” your aunt inquisitively asks. “Is it so important to select clothes for the boy ?”

“Oh indeed so Ma’am. Quite important. By being suitably dressed the lad will perforce adapt more rapidly and assume the desired attitude and state of mind.”

“Very well then. I’ll instruct one of the maids to escort you to the boy’s room. All his clothes are in the wardrobes.”

“That’s quite all right Ma’am. But I have all the necessary garments along with me.”

“My my,” Your aunt acts surprised. “Your own wardrobe and a collection of suits, trousers and what not. However do you manage it ?”

“It is easier than you think, Ma’am. Though I do not have any traditional garments for young lads as such.”

“Ah ?” Your aunt looks at the governess in question.

“No Ma’am. In cases such as your nephew’s it has been found that a moderate amount of feminine apparel does wonders for a young fellow’s attitude.”

Your heart misses a beat as you quickly understand the governess’ drift.

“Of course it just wouldn’t do in public, but in private surroundings in the home, at mealtimes, bath-time and in bed it’s best to have the lads dressed up daintily. A frock or dress complimented by the necessary accoutrements; knickers, chemise, slip or perhaps even a brassiere from time to time. Does a world of good.”

“I see….” says your aunt with a blush and a goodly smile on her lips at the same time. She slyly glances in your direction. “Well I shall leave things in your capable hands.”

Your aunt calls to you. With trembling hands you put down the book you were pretending to read and approach the two ladies.

“It’s time to start your therapy. I want you to go with Governess and obey her in all she asks. Is that understood ?”

You nod, not daring to look either of them in the eye for fear of tears. The Governess stands and taking hold of your hand leads you up into her room.

“You look a bit wary lad. I hope you’re not apprehensive ?”

Of course you are and the lady knows it.

“Well no matter. You shall see that I am not unreasonable, though I do demand obedience. After all, the therapy is for your own good. Remember that whatever we must do is meant to correct the imbalances in your body. From what I’ve been told, your bowel habits are very irregular, your intimate hygiene leaves much to be desired and you’ve not much knowledge about the ways of the world. Is that a fair assessment ?”

How she expects you to answer such questions is beyond you. But luckily it appears they are meant to be rhetorical.

“Now first things first. A good thorough bath is just what you need along with a session on the potty.” The governess pulls on a bell to summon one of the servants. When a maid appears she orders a hot bath to be prepared. Then, after retrieving several items from her luggage, she tells you to remove your clothes.

“Here Miss ?”

“Indeed so young master, indeed so. And if I must ever repeat myself again you shall bear the consequences. Is that understood ?”

“Yes Miss,” you mumble with unsteady hands undoing the buttons on your vest and shirt.

She watches you remove your clothes until you are down to your undergarments. As you hesitate ever so slightly with your briefs she approaches you and pulls them down herself. You step out them and stand naked before the lady.

“There. You’ll be getting used to this in the future. I daresay I’ve seen more lads and lasses in their birthday suit than you can imagine. Let’s have a quick look at the little willy.” She takes hold of your prick and moves it up and down and to both sides. It is already stiffening but she takes no mind.

“Hmmm…. I see what the doctor is concerned about. An obviously tight foreskin, but otherwise not undeveloped.” She cups your adolescent testicles in her hand and gives a good squeeze. “Seems to be in order, though I imagine they will grow a bit in the coming years.”

She pats you on the behind. “Turn around now….”

As you stand with your back to the Governess she puts a hand in front and presses at several places on your abdomen, prodding with one or more fingers. Then she pushes you forward, bent at the waist. She pulls your buttocks apart and feels your little hole, pressing with a finger up against the puckered little opening. “I want you to push with your bumhole … that’s it my lad … push as if you were going potty….”

The feeling is disconcerting and mortifying. Here is yet another older lady fiddling around with your private parts and fanny, as if they were interested in nothing else. But even though you are flustered and embarrassed by this intimate handling, it is arousing as well.

You are allowed to turn around again. “Tell me lad,” the Governess asks, “Have you already moved your bowels today ?”

You pretend to think on this matter though the answer is simple and short. This lady already seems to know the negative answer anyway. You shake your head.

“I thought so. Well no shame in that. That’s one of the reasons why I’m here in the first place. To get you good and regular, so you can go potty everyday like a healthy child.”

“Yes Miss … “

The Governess gathers several items and leads you out into the hall, still in the nude. Together you walk to the main bathroom.

Your aunt has modern hygiene appliances in her home, water heaters and flushing commodes among other things. The bathroom is a relatively large room, clean and sparkling white with many gleaming brass and copper faucets and pipes. The place smells fragrantly soapy as well with a hint of more flowery scents and odors. The bath is almost full as you enter the bathroom. The maid is laying out towels, washcloth and soap.

This is not the first time she has seen you naked, for she has been charged from time to time to overseeing a bath or a change of clothes. But even so her eyes open in surprise as she sees you enter the bathroom already unclothed and accompanied by the newly arrived governess. Your apparition in this state is a sign and portent that things will be different with the lady therapist around.

The Governess asks that a chamber pot be brought into the bathroom. When the maid points out that a very modern convenience is present in the bathroom the Governess politely insists. Curtsying the maid looks at you with a mixture of compassion and craving. She understands that you will subjected to an unusual manner of bath tonight, and perhaps to other unusual treatments as well. She would not object to being required to assist.

The maid brings a large enameled pot and sets it down. The Governess nods in approval and waits for the maid to leave the bathroom. When you are alone together the Governess unfolds a soft towel over a small table and tells you to sit down upon it.

“We’re going to start by going potty like a good little lad. To help your bowels get ready I’m going to insert a suppository or two into your bumhole. Do you understand ?”

You nod.

“Good. I want cooperation in your treatments. If you do so wholeheartedly, you will find me to be a kindly and rewarding Governess. If you balk or act headstrong, it will only make things disagreeable. So. Do you understand ?”

“Yes Miss, I understand.”

“Fine. Now lay down on your back and pull your knees to your chest.”

Though you have assumed this position previously at the doctor’s office, it is still embarrassing. The Governess takes you by the ankles and maneuvers your legs into position. With your anus exposed the Governess takes a white colored object, a longish cylindrical shaped thing and dips it into a jar of a thick gel-like substance. Then she tells you to push out. As you are straining your fannyhole, the Governess inserts the object, an irritating suppository, into your bottom. Her finger follows, pushing the suppo deeper into your rectum. She holds it there for a while as your sphincter pulses and contracts.

She then tells you to push outward again, and as your fannyhole puckers and strains, she slowly retracts her digit from your bumhole. Though you would not have expected it to be so, this was not an un-pleasurable experience. Already your anus is a tingle from the double invasion of suppository and finger. And more is yet to come.

“There. You may sit up again. I do not want you to expel the suppo until I have given permission. Understood ?”

“Yes Miss…”

“Good. It may start to tingle a wee bit inside your poophole, but that is the intention. I want you to hold everything up until I say so.”

Even as the Governess is explaining her intentions, you feel the onset of a series of mild cramps and contractions in your tummy. The suppository is indeed working as intended. The Governess sees you straining to hold up the anal cylinder and nods to herself. She then places a thick cloth under your fanny.

“Tell me now young man. Does it feel like you have to move your bowels ?”

“Yes Miss … it really burns.”

“Nonsense, you exaggerate. This is just a preparatory suppository, a mere chandelette to activate your insides. Nothing more. Now, I want you to let it come out, but of it’s own accord. No pushing of your own. Understand ?”

You say you do, though in truth you have no idea why the Governess is so exacting in her procedures. “May I go to the commode please ?”

“Certainly not child. You’re only to expel a little wax baton, nothing more. That’s what this cloth is for.”

You redden and blush and feel a hot wave of embarrassment spreading over you. The Governess admonishes you to just lay still on your back and let your bumhole relax.

You close your eyes and it is indeed as the stern lady therapist predicted. The inserted suppository slowly emerges from your pulsing little hole and flops down onto the cloth under your behind. The Governess examines the object and nods in satisfaction.

“There now. That wasn’t so difficult now was it ?”

“No Miss…. I suppose not….” That is not far from the truth, though far from being a physical problem, the difficulties are more of a mental nature. You are embarrassed and flustered and feel helpless. The lady doctor and nurse have already treated you in a similar manner, but they were medical authorities. The surroundings were also quite different. Here you are in the shelter of your aunt’s home and yet are being subjugated in a similar manner. And it seems as if this will done to you on a regular basis from now on.

“Of course it wasn’t difficult at all. Nothing I require of you will ever be difficult. You must just do as I say and we’ll have all of your problems corrected in no time.”

The Governess rubbed your behind softly. “You’ll get a few more chandellettes first and then you can go potty. Understand child ?”

“Yes Miss … “ Yet another suppository ? You wonder how you will ever be able to do as she asks. Surely next time you will be unable to contain yourself.

But apparently the Governess-Therapist knows how to proceed and what she can expect of her young charges. She unwraps yet another baton and coats it with a slick substance. She tells you to push with your bumhole and as you do so, her finger rubs your rosy red sphincter and then slips the waxy cylinder up into your poophole. She keeps her finger inside you yet again and this time you are more acutely aware of its presence. Though an invading object and despite the irritating substances being released by the chandelette, it seems as if you welcome the intrusion. A warmth, deeply intimate and interior spreads along your tummy, your little bumhole pulses and twitches in unison to the contractions inside your bowels and your youthful prick and balls, not much more than a boy’s wee-wee, stiffen and throb. An amount of moisture collects along the tip of your prick and drips down onto your belly.

The Governess notices this and wipes you clean with a washcloth. “You see child ? That is an unmistakable sign that in part you are enjoying this type of therapy. Is it not so ?”

She retracts her finger from your behind and rubs it around your fannyhole gently as she questions you.

“Tell me. Does that not feel fine ?”

“It feels funny inside of me … and it burns a little …”

“Ahh, you see ? Now it just burns ’a little’. And this is but the second. You see how rapidly you accustom yourself ?”

The Governess has you wait a while before again she tells you to expel the baton and nothing else. With little effort the waxy object slides out of your puckering bumhole. The lady examines the expelled object, again satisfied.

“Good, you’ve been a good child up to now. We’ll give you a nice soap and glycerin suppo now so you can go potty.”

She unwraps yet another long baton and delicately places it on the wax paper wrapping. She takes a bottle of thick liquid and pours a bit into a small saucer. Then she adds several other ingredients, the result being a whitish colored solution. The Governess places the suppository in the saucer and covers it with the viscous liquid.

“Right now child. Legs up in the air if you will. Up we go ….” The Governess takes the bullet shaped suppo between finger and thumb and places it up against your bumhole. She tells you to relax and push as if going potty.

You do as she requests and feel the suppo being inserted. Her finger follows as a matter of course. She lets it rest inside of you, as your sphincter twitches and contracts involuntarily. Already irritated by the previous suppositories, your bowels are especially sensitive to any new irritating compounds. You feel a deep rooted interior contraction build up inside of you. The Governess keeps her finger where it is, from time to time moving it around, pressing the dissolving suppository yet deeper into your bowels.

She looks you in the eyes and asks how you feel. “Do you feel anything yet ?”

Of course you do, but it is difficult to say what exactly. A burning sensation, a beginning of peristaltis, an onset of cramping and intestinal spasms. Such things are not normally talked about with your aunt.

Even so, the Governess urges you to respond to her questioning. “Tell me child, do you feel an urge to go potty yet ?”

“Yes Miss, a little …..” you stammer ashamed.

“But you can hold it up without any difficulty?”

“If I must Miss …. I think so….”

“Perhaps an extra dose of glycerin is called for then …” The Governess slowly retracts her finger and dips it in the saucer with irritating liquids. Her digit is dripping wet, gleaming and glossy. “This will be the last dosage for now.”

She pushes her finger up into your fannyhole. The liquid causes an added burning to run up along your bowels. You shiver and shudder at the feeling of warmth. Involuntarily your bottomhole clenches tight around the lady’s finger.

“There we are, my lad. I’m going to leave it in for a little while, and then we should be getting some results.”

Now indeed you do feel the oncoming contractions that presage a bowel movement. Something seems to shift in your tummy, you feel an interior stirring, a displacement of matter. You stiffen your muscles and contract your bumhole around the Governess’ finger.

She cannot help but notice and smiles. “That’s the way child. I can feel your tummy moving already. We’re going to wait just a little bit more and then you can let it all come out. Can you manage ?”

You nod, a grimace on your face as you feel the urge to evacuate your bowels build.

“Good. It will all come out soon enough. You’ll feel ever so much better.”

You did not feel un-well before the arrival of the Governess, but you know it would be to no avail to say so. Instead you nod with eyes closed, your attention focused on the impending event in your intestines. “Yes Miss ….”

“Does it feel good like this child ?” The Governess wiggles her finger and moves it in a slow in and out rhythm.

It adds to the already building tension in your bowels. You tell her it does.

“That’s as it should be.”

While she keeps her finger impaled, her other hand is busy pressing and rubbing along your abdomen. Your willy is stiff and straight of course, but the Governess pays it no particular heed, does not make any disparaging remarks.

Several minutes pass in silence as you are overcome by the intensity of the contractions in your bowels. You will not be able to put it off much longer. You must rock to and fro and clasp your knees together to retain the contents of your bowels. The Governess notices this and other signs.

“I’m going to take my finger out now, child. We’ll get a nice nappy underneath you and then you can go potty.”

A nappy ? Such an indication of youthfulness, of helplessness, of humiliation. You ask to use the commode.

“Certainly not child. We shall start off doing things in the proper sequence. When you’re better able to control your bowels you can use a potty. But not yet….”

There is little time to argue as the Governess unfolds a second sheet underneath your buttocks. It is thick and fluffy, feels warm and soft. Thankfully she does not pin it around your loins this time, but leaves it spread open, tucked under your behind. You are spared the embarrassment of wearing a true diaper.

Nevertheless you feel the onset of an unstoppable bowel movement. The Governess lets you sit upright to a degree, but keeps your legs spread open, knees flexed, fannyhole visible and in view.

“There we are now. I want you to be a good little darling boy for your Governess and let everything come out, the suppo stick first and then all the nasty poo. Understand ?”

“Yes ….. Miss ….” you pant. You feel your bumhole puckering and expanding.

“That’s fine child. Now don’t push too hard. We mustn’t strain ourselves …..”

You feel the remains of the suppository being expelled. It slides out almost effortlessly. Then comes the waste matter. Your sphincter expands as it is forced out in several expulsions. The Governess is watching you intently for certain signs and indications of abnormalities, but apart from a typical youthful unwillingness to adhere to regular habits she finds nothing amiss.

The bowel movement is so overpowering and unstoppable that you let it run its natural course. Had you thought about it before hand you would not have credited yourself doing this in front of a Governess. It is a curious feeling, an embarrassment that defies description and yet a feeling of relief that you have persevered in what was required of you. You feel empty and stretched, your bottom still a tingle and sore.

The Governess removes the nappy and cleans you with a damp washcloth and soap. “Now we’re going to use a little water to clean you inside as well,” she announces. The Governess fills a clyster-bulb with water and inserts it into your bumhole. She squeezes out the contents. This she does several times.

Now you are allowed the use of a potty. She exhorts you to expel the water she has just squirted into your fanny. You push and do as she says.

Once again she cleans your bottomhole and towels you dry. She then has you stand in front of her.

“Now let’s take a better look at your piddler, shall we ?” Your prick is no longer erect, but as soon as she grabs it in her hand, it starts to swell again.

The Governess takes hold of your member by the shaft. This she holds tightly in a firm but by no means unpleasant grip. Her other hand she places on the tip if your prick, also squeezing but pulling downwards at the same time. It is meant to retract your foreskin, but in this she does not succeed.

She pulls up and down several times and you see the reddish extremity of your glans peek from around the stretched opening of your foreskin. It smarts even in spite of natural secretions flowing from your pee-hole. The fluids are sticky and slick and cover the Governess’ fingers gripping your piddler.

“Well, you seem to be in serious need of some remedial widening up front too child. You know that a lad of your age should be able to easily uncover the tip of his piddler, don’t you ?”

Her admonishment does not sound unkindly, rather she appears to be giving good advice and a stern invocation that all necessary steps will be taken.

You nod, trying to keep from grimacing at the discomfort she is causing you.

“Does it smart when I pull down lad ?” she asks unnecessarily.

“Yes Miss ….. “

“Well, we’d best use some ointment then.” The Governess takes a bottle and unscrews the top. Daintily she pours an amount of whitish cream onto two fingers and her thumb. This lotion she then rubs onto your glans and foreskin, moving in circles and working a finger underneath the skin of your prepuce. The surface of your glans is especially sensitive and you tense your body. The Governess pays little heed however and continues her rubbing and massaging.

Now that your member is well lubricated and lotioned, she again commences to pull downwards on your foreskin. She is not rough in her handling, but decisive, and books no interruption.

Up and down go her fingers, pulling, stretching and squeezing alternatively. With each downward pull more of your glans is exposed, the bulging head poking through the corona of tight skin.

Finally you feel something give way and out pops the reddish-purple tip of your piddler, the extremity of your stiff and pulsing member. The air feels cool on the exposed flesh.

“There we are child. That wasn’t so difficult, now was it ?” The Governess pronounces.

Your are clenching your teeth together and squinting your eyes from discomfort. But dutifully you nod nonetheless.

“Good, there’s many a lad who don’t get treatment in time. You’re very fortunate.”

You think not. But then again this is only your first acquaintance with the therapy the Governess will carrying out. It is all still new and embarrassing, unusual and seemingly humiliating.

As days and weeks pass you will come to be enlightened, to recognize the gratifying stirring of desire and loving submissiveness that this therapy engenders. You will no longer dread each session with your Governess-Therapist but come to look forward to them. You will realize that all is being done for your benefit, to better prepare you for the ways and wiles of the world, for the play between the sexes.

True, she is harsh and demanding at times and books no opposition or back talk. But that is the way things are and should be among Governess and charge.

The Governess continues with her pulling up and down for a while yet, but finally pronounces herself satisfied. Inwardly you sigh in relief, but even so as your glans penis is covered again by its protective sheath of skin, there is a mild pang of regret growing in your heart. There is a form of gratification to be found in this activity in some vague and as yet not understood manner.

The bath that follows is a relaxation of sorts, a return to semi-normality. True, she has you bend forward and open your legs overly much and displays an inordinate amount of effort in cleaning your piddler and bumhole. She even pushes a slippery finger into your bottom, as if in-sufficient objects have not already been inserted during the evening. But you will learn such is her way of doing things.

After you are washed, soaped, rinsed and dried you stand before her, glowing with warmth, pink of skin, clean, pristine and naked as Eve.

This comparison is not unapt, for she has prepared a sleeping garment of the feminine sort. It is long, frilly with lace and straps over the shoulders instead of sleeves. The chemise longe is made from a satiny silky material, thin and sheer. The upper bodice is bulged, formed to accommodate a female bosom. It feels soft to the touch.

You make signs of protest and seem to cringe away from the garment.

“Come now child,” the Governess admonishes. “This is your night gown for tonight. See how soft and smooth it feels ? This is what you’ll be wearing from now on.”

Timidly you allude that such apparel is for girls, for females.

Far from being cross, this first time the Governess puckers her lips in suppressed mirth. “An interesting remark, but surely a matter of opinion. I know of many gentlemen, both young and old who quite prefer such garments. I myself find it very becoming and of great help for the therapy as well.”

Your heart sinks and your eyes widen.

“Now there will be no talking back,” she says even though you have said very little. It is your demeanor that speaks for itself. “Besides, from now on your entire wardrobe will be slightly different when you’re here in the house amongst your aunt and myself.”

Just how different it will turn out to be you will discover in the coming days. French knickers and drawers, slips and bloomers, bustières and brassieres, frocks, dresses, gowns and blouses. At one time or another, depending upon the occasion and the Governess’ disposition, she will have you wear such apparel. It is a time of changes.

“Arms in the air child.” You do as she says. Standing behind you she lets the night gown down over your head and shoulders. Softly and sensuously it falls over your shoulders and torso, clings to your thighs. You shiver from the unusual yet luscious sensation. The Governess runs her hands downward along your torso and abdomen, smoothing the fabric against your skin, cupping imaginary breasts, smiling in an imagined transformation on your part.

Feeling lower, she squeezes your buttocks but to the front meets the undeniable reality of your male prick. Female garb notwithstanding, your piddler is stiff and erect, bulging against the sheer satiny fabric, pushing it outwards in anything but feminine grace.

This causes the Governess to frown. An illusion dispelled. She tsk’s to herself, in mock annoyance, secretly amused that you are aroused and erect with desire, in spite of your protestations. She knows all too well the patterns that gentlemen, young and older alike follow when confronted with a forced mixing of gender accouterments. She is sure that after this first transgression against clothing customs, you will become a apt pupil. She has seen it many times.

But is will not due to make a tent out of such a delicate and alluring garment. She has you lift up the night gown to your breast, exposing your stiff piddler.

“Dear me, lad. This won’t do at all. We can’t have you waving your pole about while dressed like this.” She has you lay down on a small table, night gown still pulled up. “It’s still too soon for your slumber frigging. We can’t present you to your aunt like this, now can we ?”

You would prefer not to be presented to your aunt in any manner whatsoever, certainly not so attired. But you realize that there is no escaping the normal ritual of kissing your aunt good night. Wearing a girl’s night garment is disheartening enough as is. To be presented with a jutting and stiff boy’s prick would be much worse.

So for once this evening you welcome the Governess’ intervention right off hand.

She fetches several items and places them next to you on the table : a cloth and some pins, a metal container of powder and a bottle. Your legs go up in the air again, a favorite position of the Governess. She slips the cloth under your bottom, arranging it just so.

Taking the bottle, she anoints her fingers with a daub of oil and spreads it over the top of your prick, working it up and under your foreskin. This will help soften that stubborn appendage she remarks, help with subsequent stretching sessions.

The powder she rubs into your bottom and along your crack and groin. It is very soft and dry, perfumed and sweet smelling.

The Governess then begins to fold the cloth around your loins, pulling it together tightly, encapsulating your organ and bottom. As she pins it together you suddenly realize she has fastened a nappy around you. It holds your strutting piddler, allowing no sign of its stubborn desire to jut and stand up straight and high.

What a contradiction in comportment you experience. This is Scylla and Charibdis, you are caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. What is worse ? To wear an infantile nappy and hide the evidence of an eager erection, or to forego it and have your aunt witness the proof of your working masculinity ? In your mind, you cannot decide, But it matters little since the Governess has decided for you.

She has you stand up, lowers the night gown and contemplates your appearance. She thinks it a shame one can longer detect the graceful presence of piddler and balls through the sheer fabric of the gown, that the curve of your bottom is obscured by a cloth. But it will have to do for now.

“There we are. All nice and snug and clean and dry.” She has you brush your teeth then she takes a large brush and slowly strokes it through your hair. It is a sensuous activity, something unexpected and surprising. Your piddler, safely tucked away in nappy, twitches in sympathy with the brushing of your hair. The Governess parts your hair in a novel manner, looks at you from side to side and smiles.

She professes herself pleased. It is now time to take leave of your aunt for the night.

Your aunt awaits you in the drawing room. She looks up in surprise as the Governess presents you for a good night kiss. Is this a nephew that I see before me ? she thinks. Or a dainty female apparition, secreted into the household unbeknown to her.

She recovers her composure without uttering any inadvertent phrase, astonished at the change in your appearance. How oddly charming and cute, how becoming and delightful. She holds a hand to her mouth, eyes wide in appreciation.

“Why, my darling nephew,” she coos. “It is you, is it not ?”

“Indeed so Ma’am,” the Governess answers, urging you forward while studying your aunt’s reaction. “As we discussed before, some changes in your nephew’s wardrobe will be made. I thought it best to begin tonight.”

“I see, indeed I do.” You notice your aunt flush, her face becoming a deeper shade of pink, her lips spreading in an approving smile. “Well, it is certainly a surprise, though I must say a most pleasant one.”

You stand in front of your aunt, head hanging downward. She takes your chin in her palm, forces you to look into her eyes. “Dearest nephew,” she says. “What a novel appearance you make, and so becoming and delightful.”

“Thank … you auntie,” you stammer, not sure what to say.

“It’s all a bit new I fear,” the Governess says. “He’s unused to this new situation, but rest assured. In a few days your nephew will adapt himself.”

“I most certainly hope so,” your aunt replies. “Why it is almost as if he has been transformed into a niece.”

“Yes, one could look at it that way, Ma’am,” the Governess chuckles.

You must turn around for your aunt so she can admire your new appearance. She remarks upon your blushing look, your rosy red cheeks, how eager and glowing you appear.

You wonder if this is not due more to embarrassment than from anything else. But the Governess explains how adolescent tensions and desires, bodily urges and genital functions can bring about a healthy and sound, lively demeanor if channeled and funneled in the proper manner.

“Well, you have certainly made a favorable impression upon me this first day. I am grateful I followed the doctor’s recommendations.”

“You won’t be disappointed Ma’am,” the Governess replies. “But there is of course still much to be done.”

“Yes I suppose there is. I notice however that he is wearing a cloth around the loins ?”

“Ah yes,” the Governess explains. “Hardly a loin cloth Ma’am. It is more in the nature of a nappy actually.”

“Ahhh, I thought so but daren’t remark upon it.”

“It is but a temporary measure. At the beginning of a therapy it is necessary to have my charges so attired. Especially the lads. They are more prone to accidental discharges if you take my meaning.”

Your aunt flushes again, but looks at you with wide eyes nonetheless. “I see…..”

“Now it is time to put your nephew to bed.” The Governess propels you forward, into your aunt’s waiting arms. “Give your dear aunt a proper good night kiss, my child,” she instructs you.

Your aunt enfolds you in her arms, pressing you to her bosom. She holds you tightly, stroking your neck and bottom. “Sweet darling nephew. Now you must off to bed. Promise me that you shall obey your new Governess in all she commands ….”

“I shall auntie…” you reply while enfolded in her embrace.

“I know you shall, dearest, I know.” Your aunt then kisses you on both cheeks and lastly on the lips. She lingers ever so slightly then bustles you off with the Governess.

You are in your bedroom, tucked in under your blankets. The gown feels uncomfortably soft as you move around, finding a suitable position. The diaper is annoying.

The Governess watches until you are in bed, then turns off the lights. Beforehand she has however lighten a candle, an archaic mode of lighting in this day and age, but somehow comforting and intimate. She places it on a nightstand as she sits down on the bed next to you.

“Are you tired child ?” she asks.

In truth you are half exhausted from the odd and remarkable therapy you have undergone. Yet on the other hand, you are far from sleepy and are hardly likely to fall off rapidly.

“In any case there is still one little thing we shall do before I leave you for the night.”

What can it be now ? You think no more indignities and embarrassments could be visited upon your person and here again your Governess is beginning a preamble to yet something else.

“You’ve been a good lad today, and if you keep cooperating in a similar fashion in the weeks to come, we’ll get along famously.” She pats your cheek. “And because I know that boys will be boys no matter what, I’m going to help you overcome one of the more nastier habits so prevalent amongst lads of your age.” She looks you pointedly in the eye, her eyebrows raised in question. “You do understand what I’m talking about, don’t you ?”

In truth you do not, but you flush anyway.

“There will be no playing with yourself. That will be quite unacceptable. Do you understand ?”

At first you think she means ordinary play, amusements and fun. But you should know by now that the Governess-Therapist generally thinks of more naughty pastimes.

“No frigging your piddler by yourself. Understood ?”

Now you do indeed understand. You nod sheepishly, face blushing. Normally you do not over- indulge in such activity, certainly not to the extent that some grown-ups are prone to believe. Nevertheless it is not an overly reassuring message to hear.

“Now it is not to be expected that you no longer suffer from natural urges. Nothing can be done about that, nor should it be. But you will be supervised and assisted from now on, I’ll see to that. It’s not healthy to engage in solitary frigging. From now on I shall help you in that regard.”

The Governess pulls down the bed sheets so that you are uncovered. As she slides the night gown up above your hips you realize what she is planning to do. Your mind is not made up in what manner you will receive this latest announcement by the Governess. Is this to be considered a corrective measure, a penalization, displeasure at your adolescent habits ?

“If you’re an obedient child during the day and cooperate with me we’ll do this regularly for you. But woe if I notice any signs that you’ve been pulling your piddler.”

She unfastens the pins to your nappy and unfolds the cloth. You can still smell the scent of talcum powder on your bottom and a sweet odor of lotion. The Governess has you spread your legs wide and probes between your thighs, feeling and pushing against your bumhole.

“Now, I want you to close your eyes and relax while I frig your John Thomas. Just think of how good it feels, how nice it is to have someone do it for you.”

And nice it is indeed as she slowly starts to move her hand up and down your stiff shaft. Daintily it seems, she grabs your foreskin between thumb and digit and commences a to and fro, each time pulling down further until your glans is uncovered. It pulses in a deep purplish red color while small drops of colorless fluid seep from your pee-hole.

The Governess spreads this around the tip of your organ, rubbing it over and around the bunched up prepuce and the rim of skin connecting it to the shaft of your penis. The result of the movement is almost painful in its intensity but it fades into a heated sensation of pleasure that throbs in your piddler and into your testicles and permeates lower even still. This you realize as the Governess presses her finger up into your bumhole. You groan and close your eyes, breathing deeply you relax your fannyhole and experience an electric spasm as her finger moves about inside of you, pressing here and probing there. She pumps in and out, she pumps up and down, in one place rogering your fanny and in the other frigging your piddler.

The Governess utters soft words of urging to you, half unheard as you drift in a cloud of youthful lust. They swirl about your ears, tender and childish endearments intended to suffuse you with a desire to be obedient and dutiful towards the Governess so that she may continue with her therapy with guaranteed cooperation on your part.

You have frigged before it is true, but never in such a manner. First off you did not stick a finger up your bum. Nor are your own fingers as soft and exploring as those of the Governess. She moves in unexpected ways and to unexpected parts of your anatomy. You would only move up and down the shaft of your prick, while the lady Governess does far more than merely handle your boy’s organ. She kneads, presses, pulls, pinches, stretches and elongates, she rubs and caresses, she invades your innards and handles the most secret recesses and cavities of your trembling body.

Oh for this you will gladly allow her to suffer indignities upon you. Indeed as you gasp and roll your head about in a fog of submissive lust you realize that the indignities are mostly imagined or not much more than unusual customs and habits. They are intended for your well-being as you have often heard from doctor and Governess and Aunt.

As a spurt of whitish liquid erupts from your pee-hole and seeps down over the Governess’s hand and over your piddler, you realize that this is a well-being of a most agreeable kind.

You breathe heavily and fast, you shudder and ejaculate more fluid. You tremble and come to rest as the Governess ceases her movement. Her hand comes to rest.

You do as well. Daintily she removes her fluid covered hand to her face and inhales the scent. She nods in approval and tastes of the same. She rubs the whitish liquid over your prick and small sac of testicles, the she cleans her hand upon your nappy which she then pulls back over you.

“We’ll clean you up tomorrow. But now it is time for your rest. It is time to sleep.”

You fall off into a deep sleep not long after the governess has left the room.

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