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fancy's First Visit Chapter 1
It was an unusually cold early Fall late afternoon and I watched the long hand of the
clock move one more notch hearing the chimes count out six bells, only minutes now until She arrived.
Walking into the foyer hallway I stopped at the gilded mirror on the north side wall checked
my makeup and the turned my back and looked over my shoulder to ask the age-old question but
before I could speak a key turned in the heavy metal lock and the door opened.
Turning a quarter-step more and looking backwards I continued; “Good evening Mistress
Louise, does my ass look big in this dress?”
She threw back her head and laughed.
“Broad as a battleship,” She replied, “And ready for the boys from the Seventh Fleet
would be my guess.”
We both giggled and I took Her raincoat and umbrella and hung them on a hallway clothes
tree, an ornate 1930’s beauty that I’d bought for a pittance at a local antique shop, then took Her
by the arm.
“Come along Miss, I’ve just the way for You to warm up and relax.”
Her home office was blessed with an old oversized fireplace and an overstuffed Captains
chair perfect for curling up in, the fire was already blazing when I slipped an afghan around Her
perfect little shoulders.
“Relax for just a moment Miss,” I said then mixed a perfect Martini with Stoli’s Vodka
and topped it off with an anchovy olive.
“Six to one Miss, just as You like it,” I sat down and removed Her stiletto shoes and
began massaging those precious feet.
“You must start wearing more sensible shoes Mistress,” I scolded, but with legs like Hers,
I knew that was never going to happen, at least I hoped not!
The fire crackled and She sighed as I rubbed away the day’s fatigue from Her feet and
calves, “you do spoil Me martina,” She said, then sipped from Her glass, “How long has it been now?”
I thought for a moment, it had been a long time, what seemed like a lifetime, and yet far
too brief. I vividly recalled that urgent email: fancy dear, I’m at my wits end, work, the dissertation,
my home, it’s become too much, can you help, please pumpkin.
The next morning at 5:30 She was seated in front of a steamy bowl of oatmeal sprinkled
with fresh blueberries.
“I usually just have coffee,” She said.
“You’ll eat a good breakfast everyday,” I demanded, “Without that You’ll be looking
for a doughnut at 10:30, and by spring there will another inch at Your hips!”
I’d become what I always wanted to be, Her personal maid, girl-Friday, secretary, and
Lesbian confidant and through it all I found what had been missing in my life for so long, I found
my womanhood.
Chapter 2
Our very first session had been exploratory and investigative with several questions in
addition to the rules of Her house that at all costs must be adhered to.
“I fear I may be a sissy, Miss,” I said, and She answered, “There’s nothing to fear,
you are a sissy, now remove those course male trousers and show me your lingerie!”
Of course when I called for an appointment I had identified myself as Fancypants and
it wasn’t a leap of judgment to assume a boy with a name like that may very well be addicted to
feminine underwear. Yet at that moment I found Her to be the most intuitive, the most introspective
Woman I had ever met in my life.
I still do.
I learned at that meeting that Mistress, like me, had an addiction to vintage foundation
garments and that She delighted in giving long hard disciplinary spankings. When we stood at the door
to say goodbye She handed me a 4x6 index card with the names of several books written on it,
“You’re not alone,” She said, then gave me a delicious hug and a farewell pat on an already sore
derriere. And just that fast I’d fallen in love.
Between the first and second session I read every book on that list finding some in
mainstream retailers and others at discreet bookstores that catered to those with esoteric tastes.
It seems as far back as Victorian times and earlier randy young men were given over to
a controlling Governess or concerned Aunt’s who practiced an effective if unconventional way of
tempering their sexual fires.
The more I read the more excited I became at the tales of boys humiliated with petticoats
and pinafores, seduced by silk and humbled by corporal punishment! As the days drew down to my
next session I began a long preparation shaving my entire body then shopping some reputable
second-hand stores for just the right chemise, the most flattering knickers decorated with bows
and lace, an excruciating waist cincher with four frilly suspenders for each thigh, and finally silk stockings.
Mistress Louise seemed thrilled by my efforts and ran Her hands over my soft thighs
and chubby bottom. She pinched my nipples till I was close to swooning.
“A wonderful beginning,” She said, “And so much more to come darling, the luxury
of powders and polishes, perfumes and mascaras, but you will suffer for your beauty.”
The remainder of that session was devoted to posture and try as I may, I seemed unable
to grasp the nuance of feminine form, that is until a frustrated Louise took down a sorority paddle
from a rack on the wall and introduced me to a new motivation. Isn’t it funny how quickly a gurl
can learn when she sets her mind to it!
At the door that evening Mistress handed me a journal bound in pink leather with the
instructions to read the sissy rules listed on the first two pages and suggested that I record my daily
triumphs and errors in my quest for femininity.
We hugged and the rubber cock strapped between Her legs poked at my middle, oh did
I forget, I’d learned that day that Mistress Louise had Her own passions, learned in a way that
would effect the rest of my life!
Chapter 3
As soon as I got home I curled up on the couch with a glass of Pinot Grigio and my leather
bound journal to digest the rules of conduct written in Mistress Louise’s precise, pretty hand.
The rules were a simple list of behaviors and etiquettes including the necessity of feminine
underwear, proper toilet procedures, and the monthly observance of our gurly days; I began keeping
a calendar immediately.
It all came very easily to me since I was already practicing most of the items and had been
for several years; easily until that fateful Saturday in Columbus, Ohio.
Our beloved Buckeyes were playful a national powerhouse team in a rare night time game
on national television.
The winner might surely play for the BCS Championship at season’s end, and I had Section B tickets
on the forty yard line.
The tailgate party in the parking lot at Fawcett Center was in full swing when I arrived at
noon and by one o’clock I’d shot gunned four beers and was standing discretely facing a large maple
tree relieving myself when the horror of it all struck me.
There I was with a pair of Jockey boxer shorts under my corduroy trousers spraying the
tree like a male animal.
It was after all a perfectly natural error, wasn’t it?
I couldn’t very well explain to the boys that I had to find a clean toilet where I could sit
and daintily expel my waters could I?
Louise would understand, wouldn’t She?!
Of course She would I convinced myself.
I popped open another cold one, and made my way towards a sea of folding tables that
held a symphony of snacks; cheese, salsa, bean dip, pasta salad, veggies and all accompanied by
the savory smell of burning charcoal, bratwurst, burgers, and hot dogs!
Another hour and two more beers later I was standing cross-legged in a slow moving line
outside of a Porta-Pot.
As I expected it was filthy and I relieved myself in manly fashion as had been my custom
for the majority of my life.
The day forged on with hearty shouts of O-H from one side of the parking lot and a
corresponding I-O from the other and by the time I had taken my seat in Ohio Stadium I was bloated
with beer and ready to cheer on the Buckeyes.
I sat down the next morning with my journal to record the day’s highs and lows feeling
like Porky Pig with a hangover. I had kept a meticulous journal since my session with Louise and
had only two demerit items up until that fateful day when I forsake my panties and stood not once
or twice, but nine times to relieve myself in the shadows of Ohio Stadium. To add to the misery
my Buckeyes had received a thorough spanking at the hands of the boys from Southern California
and sensed it would be just a matter of days before I’d receive mine!
Chapter 4
I handed Mistress a lunch bag filled with my too-die-for Tuna Medallions and an Arugula
salad with cherry tomatoes, sliced porcini mushrooms and cucumbers adding the wry comment that
Her days of eating “Polish Boys” was over. The reference to the garlic sausages sold by vendors
on the streets of Chicago with its double entendre meaning evoked a smile on Her gorgeous face
that stretched from ear to ear.
“Off You go,” I scolded, “I’ve got work to do”.
As soon as the door closed I went to Her desk where a huge calendar had been completely
filled in for the month written in Her own precious and precise hand. The dates were aligned in a
rotating seven day cycle, the first six in red pen and seventh in lavender ink. At the top of the page
were the legends “Gurly chores” in red and “Gurly Rewards?” in orchid. I quickly scanned the page
passing over the duties that were mine to do, simple task that any accomplished maid could handle,
dwelling instead on those scattered seventh days where Mistress was suggesting gifts of reward
beyond my wildest dreams.
But what did the question mark denote; potential rewards, possible rewards, probable
rewards? Or was it all just another one of Her teasing games? She was after all a Master of that
craft and had kept me tantalized and tingly through out the process of my feminization.
Either way She certainly had gotten my attention and I felt a pleasant movement at the
center of my panties.
I gathered up my gear; bucket and bleach, the tools of my trade and walked off to the
bath to begin my day’s work. Her bath was a sparkling feminine shrine with 1930’s retro appliances
as well as modern day conveniences like a heated tile floor and warm towel racks.
Everything was of the purest white enamel, tub and tile, sink and shower, a sensible bidet
where Mademoiselle might freshen Herself with ease, and of course Her throne. The vision of it
brought me back memories of that session following that Saturday in Columbus.
She’d read my journal while I nervously removed my male outer skin hoping that Mistress
would be pleased with my taupe body stocking and coconut brown bikinis, but Louise never looked
up until She had finished reading my complete report.
Then a dark cloud moved over Her face and a red pen was produced quickly jotting down
demerits. She rose and snapped Her finger in command and I followed Her to the bath and then
watched as She demonstrated that most fundamental act with an air of old world charm and grace.
It was impeccable, the way She raised Her skirt and lowered Her knickers, the way She
sat demurely with knees touching and hands folded properly on the lap. Finally, that magical tinkling
symphony when Her golden wine met water and porcelain and my mouth went dry thirsty for a
taste of that ambrosia.
She glared at me while dabbing a tissue to the folds of Her femininity with the look of a
goddess, a Madonna born to be worshipped.
Louise had lectured me at an earlier session. “Your journey will not be easy my darling,
"She said.
“Many traits that define femininity are a product of birth, gender, and hormones. Others
are learned through association with other women over a long period of time; mothers, sisters,
other females in the family. You must first unlearn your male habits, and then quickly acquire new
more delicate ways of doing just about everything. No, your journey will not be easy my darling”!
And watching Her at that very moment I was struck by the truism that Women are all
inherently superior to men, that I had failed miserably so far in my quest to mimic Her, and even
without a single word being uttered, that I had earned the beating of my life.
Chapter 5
We returned to the office where I stood in front of a gilded full length mirror and bent
forward while Mistress secured my wrists and ankles with gauzy flimsy pink ribbons. The bondage
was ceremonial and we both knew I could free myself easily, but wouldn’t dare.
“Legs good and straight gurl” She said tapping the fullest portion of my rump.
A cold fear traveled up my spine as the tapping continued and Louise played a vicious
cat and mouse game. The muscles in my derriere clenched in anticipation of the first stroke, then
relaxed when it didn’t come, She laughed and left the room.
When She returned I felt the tiny triangle of my knickers pushed aside and a something
wet and slippery inserted into my intimacy. The cane tapped again, and again, and again in a
maddening progression till I clenched again, then screamed as a fire exploded inside me.
I relaxed myself to relieve the pain of the fire and in that instant Louise moved like a
jungle animal: Thwack!
“Oh no Miss, please”.
Tap, tap, tap; I felt like I was going mad, an involuntary clench, another scream of fire,
my buttocks went slack; Thwack!
By the time it was over I had squeezed all the fiery liquid out of the fresh slice of Ginger
root and I wore thirteen vivid red stripes on my ivory white buttocks reminiscent of the flag.
“You’ve been a rude and disobedient gurl, I want you to gather up your belongings and
let yourself out, I’ll consider if you will be granted another session”.
The words stung me like the cane and I was close to tears when I realized Her excitement.
As I may have mentioned before my Mistress Louise is driven by Her own demons and it was
obvious that delivering that whipping had stimulated Her sexual juices.
She entered Her boudoir and locked the door and just as I finished my duties and was
about to leave I heard a soulful moan and an insidious buzz.
I tiptoed quietly then knelt at the keyhole of Her bedroom door.
She was laying crosswise on the huge King size bed so that all I could see were the locks
of Her curly brunette hair and two knees sticking up in the air. The pitch of the buzzing kept
getting higher and higher and Her moans became wails then exploded into a scream of pagan
sexual energy.
I hurried out with every nerve in my body trembling with sexual electricity. My nipples
grew hard and stiff with excitement, my rosebud fluttered for attention. Yet even with my energies
peaking like never before I was determined to remain chaste until I might find in myself that
marvelous expression of feminine orgasm! My quest for the gurl in me had finally begun.
Chapter 6
The first week at Louise’s flew by in a flash as I accustomed myself to my duties and
Her schedules. Cooking, cleaning, and the like had always come easily to me and serving a gourmet
meal or polishing the servings and silver were nothing more than a joyful distraction. It was here
where I first realized my feminine disposition.
The classic literature that I’d read always revolved around “forced femininity”, the conflict
and struggle inside a sissy as he becomes a slave to satin while still desperately hoping to cling on to
his masculinity. In books like “Miss High Heels” and “Confessions of a Young Crossdresser”
their pleas of “but I don’t want to be a girl” are repeated over and over.
Early in my training it became perfectly obvious to both Mistress and me that I had no
such conflicts! My mind and my attitude were firmly feminine and the transformation ahead had
more to do with the outside packaging than what was inside.
On the seventh day of that week I arose early even though it was my day off with a
smile of high anticipation since Her calendar had a large lavender question mark in the square
denoting the date. I spent a long time grooming, soaking in a delicious bubble bath of raspberry
and mint, shaving my legs and enjoying a cleansing douche, a habit I began only a few weeks into
my training with Louise.
I examined my naked body in a full length mirror to satisfy my vanity. Louise had done
a marvelous job of coaxing my Plus size body to what She called 1950’s perfection. With the use
of corsets and long line body shapers She had squeezed, laced, and molded my figure to Her liking
than demanded a rigid diet and exercise regime that resulted in a much smaller waist line that
accentuated my flaring hips, plump thighs, and womanly bottom. She was pleased with results;
I was thrilled.
After dressing carefully and applying my make-up I sat down to coffee and the morning
paper and was surprised to see Louise appear carrying a Rubbermaid bin full of not one, but two
weeks soiled unmentionables.
“Darling,” She began, “will you help me, I’m almost out of foundation garments and so
so busy today, please”?
Then She performed one of those acts, one of those teasing tantalizing acts that are
Her trademark.
Louise put down the basket of soiled underwear, took hold of the front clasp of Her
midnight blue bra and snapped it open in one swoop so that both delightful little breasts spilled out
at exactly the same moment. My jaw went slack, then my eyes almost popped out of my head
when She took hold of the waistband of the knickers and slithered them down Her long legs.
In all our years I’d only seen Her naked a few times and sometimes with my eyes confined
to the reflection in a mirror, but this was different. She was so close, so vibrant; I studied Her
deliciously flat belly, the womanly swell of Her hips, and the Delta of Her femininity that seemed
to almost be glistening with liquid excitement.
Both undergarments were dropped into the basket and She implored once more, “Be a
darling for Mistress, wash them all by hand they’re very delicate”.
Then the saucy brat Mistress turned around and marched out the door with hips swaying
and buttocks bouncing to such a ribald rhythm I was almost driven to my knees with by the desire
to kiss Her bottom and bury my face into those warm wet temples.
Her knickers were still warm when I picked them out of the basket with both hands
and lifted them to my face to be intoxicated by the fragrance, the scent of goddess.
How could She be so cruel, so tempting and tormenting to someone as weak and willing
as me, and why did it make me love Her even more?
Then I pushed my hands down into the pile of flimsy garments and at the bottom found
something cylindrical, bulbous, and oh so familiar. Without looking down I moved my manicured
hands over the precious Aneros tool and understood my gift of reward.
My moments of joy had long been restricted to acts of penetration and now I had Her
approval for release and a basket full of fragrant scanties.
I rushed to the window and looked down at the curb where Louise was standing in a
grey flannel pants suit and black turtle neck sweater, Ralph Lauren would be my guess. There was
a gold Lucien-Pickard watch around her wrist and tiny golden hoop earrings; no other jewelry that
I could see, but then you never know about Mistress Louise D.
She looked up at the window and smiled then stepped into a black limousine assisted by
a tanned male hand, the third finger on his right hand wore a large gold signet ring like those common
with heads of state.
I wished to feel as femy as possible, so I removed my sensible work shoes and found
my highest heeled shoes, 6” stilettos that punished my body like a medieval torture device. My feet
were forced down into an evil tiny pointed toe that forced me into a sharp forward leaning angle.
Walking in them required a perfect posture that put stress on the entire body; back, shoulders, neck,
everything hurt. But my calves looked magnificent, and my ass wiggled seductively when I walked
and I could still hear Louise’s words the first time I wore them; “You look fucking hot, gurl”.
The remainder of the day was a romantic interlude, a season of extended foreplay. First,
I placed a stack of vinyl LP’s on the record player, decades old syrupy-sweet music; Nelson Riddle’s
orchestra with a thousand violins. Next, I opened a bottle of rich Malbec that had a smooth finish
and under tastes of chocolate and berries. Finally armed with a squeeze bottle of Ivory liquid, I
began my chores. Stockings first, wispy garter belts, soft delicate bras, and finally the panties that
caress Louise; you can’t imagine my excitement at the thrill of performing this intimate task for my
Mistress.
I made a make shift clothes line in the laundry room and hung everything neatly with the
very same clothes pins that had punished me in one way or another during my training, even
attached to my tongue when I complained so that Louise could proclaim “If you can’t hold your
tongue, you sassy little bitch, I’ll hold it for you”!
The sun was low in the sky when I finally finished my work and the bottle of wine.
You can imagine my excitement, my nipples buzzed and I’d already dripped my panties wet when
I went to the privacy of my bedroom to find my feminine joy with the Aneros. Perhaps it was the
device buzzing or my girlish squeals of ecstasy but I never heard the outer door open.
Yet for some reason I suspect Mistress might have returned to peek through the keyhole
of my bedroom to witness the zenith of my femy orgasm, at least I dream that She did!
Chapter 7
Even with daily applications of a Navajo Indian salve made from Arrowroot it took for a
full week for the welts to fade from my chubby posteriors and another day for the lingering soreness
to finally disappear.
It was easy during this period to stay loyal to my commitment to remain chaste since
the tiny object of my excitements lay placid inside a snug soft nylon prison. But after that first
week it began to stir when confronted by all things feminine; a sight, a smell, the whisper of a stocking.
Yet, I remained true to my word and obedient to those sissy rules received from Mistress.
In addition to the frilly knickers underneath my male clothes I had taken to wearing thigh-hi
stockings, painting my toenails with blushing pink lacquer, and wearing a delicate gold bracelet
around my left ankle.
My bathroom habits were entirely feminine and at my desk I concentrated on my posture
and worked on pectoral exercises hoping to mold my bosom into a realistic little cleavage.
My confidence began to grow and I sensed that it was time to beg for a session.
I began with emails telling Mistress of all my accomplishment and how eager I was to
present Her with a faultless journal chronicling my time away from Her. She responded by
commanding me to spend another two weeks before calling for an appointment and to cool my
fires by inserting a penetrating plug into my intimacy and keeping it there for the entire work day,
everyday!
It was of course a cruel and wicked joke, another way of proving and maintaining Her
Superiority and finding amusement in me and my silly gurlish ways.
Rather than diminish my longings the phallus rode in and out of me in a sensual frigging
fashion as though I was being timidly mounted and in the first hour of work that very first day, I was
driven to excuse myself and rush to the pharmacy on the next block to secure a rather large box of
feminine pads to sop up my sissy glee.
I was quite near lunacy when She finally agreed to accept me for session and giggled
rather lewdly when She saw my state of excitement. She sat down and I handed Her my journal;
“Undress darling, show Me your pretty underwear”.
Louise sat on an old-fashioned straight back chair made from very sturdy and heavy
oak wood its seat covered in well padded elegant emerald silk brocade. It was the type of furniture
that had become fashionable during the Victorian era when house servants of both genders were
routinely taken over the lap of Master or Mistress for lessons of obedience and a lazy butler or
sassy maid learned a good lesson. Next to the chair was an oval table and on the table a red glazed
ceramic bowl decorated with some geometric design, it was full of the plumpest, largest black grapes
I’d ever seen.
She greeted the chair’s silk brocade with Her very own well padded rump, crossed Her long
shapely legs, and began to read, smiling now and then and placing grapes slowly in to Her mouth
between Her ruby red lips. Louise was the classic “Femme Fatale”, the “Deadly Woman” capable
of taming any man with Her beauty, charm, intelligence or strength. I was mesmerized by the
sensuality of Her every act; the way She rubbed Her thigh together, dangled an expensive shoe from
a perfect tiny foot, wrapped Her lips around each succulent grape. It was impossible to think of Her
as anything less than goddess!
When She finished reading, She patted the seat of a wooden folding chair a few feet away
from Her, “Park your panties here you little weakling, lots of work to be done”.
I was naked to the waist and wearing tangerine hip huggers with dark fishnet thigh-hi’s,
when I sat my plug penetrated a few inches farther and I squealed lightly.
Louise took out a pink zipper bag that had my name embroidered on the side, opened it,
and a decidedly feminine fragrance filled the air.
“Eyes first Miss, we can create the mood we want; sophisticated, elegant, dangerous or
natural”.
When the eyeliners, mascaras, and shadows were applied She handed me a mirror, then
took a few digital pictures. I couldn’t believe the miraculous transformation.
I cooed like a dove, and then sat straight up when She began work on my lips shaping
them into a sexy little pout.
“Lick your lips darling, don’t they feel soft and smooth and supple”.
She scratched Her long fingernails over my swollen nipples, “Shoulders back precious,
let the world enjoy your perky little breasts”.
Then there was more. Subtle coloring to my cheeks that made me feel like a Parisian
model and lots of wigs, lots of different colors and coiffeurs.
Ever time She handed me the mirror I was a little more thrilled, a little more excited,
my breathing became labored and I pressed my thighs together fearing I might cream in my panties.
The camera continued to click as I posed and primped and flirted.
It was an extraordinary session that filled me with dreams of another world and ended by
me following Her to the bathroom as I had the session before; Louise placed a towel on the floor
and ordered me to lie down.
“I want you to put your hand inside your panties carefully and just with your forefinger
rub your tiny swollen clit very softly and very rapidly”.
And oh, it felt so wonderful.
“Now precious, work the little pussy muscles around your plug, grip it passionately as
you would a lover”.
As I did that waves of pleasure ripped through my entire being. I moaned softly, my clit
throbbed like a tuning fork; the lips of my tiny sex were fluttering in a delirious spasm.
Mistress was standing with Her legs spread wide and Her hands on those delightfully
round hips looking every bit an Amazon princess.
She pushed aside the little triangle of nylon covering Her femininity with one hand and
parted Herself with the other with the first two fingers of the right hand in a inverted V. Then She
cocked Her hips and laughed!
The boiling golden waters splashed against my tiny triangle of tangerine nylon while I
continued to move my index finger quickly over the swollen nub and I felt myself being transported
to another dimension.
I was a new gurl, in a new land, and I’d found my femininity through Her teachings
and Her wisdom.
At the doorway I asked for Her hand, the hand that hade given me that vicious caning
and brought me to my senses, and I kissed it in gratitude!
Chapter 8
Now after all these years of training by Louise, I was happy to confront my weaknesses and
live my dreams!
I quickly mastered running the household and relieving Her of all the mundane chores that
seem to complicate one’s life. Now I was ready to prove my worth to Louise and take my place as
a valued assistant and confidant.
“Use your feminine skills,” She’d instructed, “Read what is in their eyes and always use it
to your advantage, men are weaklings there for us to manipulate.”
It was fun and it was easy, almost too easy.
Mr. Steinmetz the butcher had beady little eyes like a rodent and my casually unbuttoned
blouse and Merry Widow corset gave him a scrumptious cleavage to arouse his fantasies. My purchase
of veal or fowl or even expensive Argentinean beef always got an extra quarter pound at no charge.
The green grocer Mr. Earl coaxed me to lean into the bushels of peaches and pears to smell
their goodness and my tiny tennis dress inched up revealing the tightest little panties. “No charge Miss,”
he’d say bagging my vegetable and fruits and giving me a saucy wink.
I wore stilettos and silk stockings for the baker Mr. Mangini to feed his fetish and that always
brought me a discount or a free box of canollis, so often so that Mistress became quite addicted to
the delicious pastries.
One day I heard Her swearing and grunting and when I entered the room witnessed a most
humorous sight. Louise was struggling mightily with an expensive pair of Italian made skinny jeans
and I just had to giggle.
“What’s so funny sissy, She demanded”.
“It seems Mademoiselle has a mathematical problem,” I quipped, “Too little denim or too
much derriere”.
I laughed out loud at my little joke but stood for supper that evening nursing a very sore bottom.
In less than one month’s time I had paired the household budget by a full 20% and provided
Her with a nutritional organic menu. One evening after work while massaging Her feet I announced
my accomplishments adding that the savings were stored in a Mason jar under Her bed and available
for the little luxuries that a woman like Louise craved.
She smiled and looked at the desk calendar.
“Tomorrow’s your day off pet, a lavender day, perhaps a very special lavender day, we’re
having some guests.”
In the morning after my bath and grooming Louise came to help me dress. I had chosen a
high waisted brief and matching bra in bright red with tiny white dots as decoration and a little white
lace here and there. She added a black body shaper, garters, and stockings, lacing me very tightly
and exclaiming my figure resembled a chorus girls.
Oh how I loved when She teased me like that!
At one I answered the doorbell to two exciting creatures.
Louise handled the introduction; “Lady Beth, this is my sissy and gurl-Friday Ms
Martina”.
Beth was an obvious Domina, a little older than Louise, a little fairer, full hipped and long legged.
“And this,” Beth continued, “is Roberta, my assistant and my amusement”.
Robert stepped forward and looked into my eyes, “Just call me Bobbie”, and then she
closed her eyes and opened her mouth.
Bobbie was an adorable little Gothic Lolita dressed in a black lace ensemble with striped
cotton stockings, her eyelids were heavy with mascara and she had lots of tattoos like those exciting
“suicide girls” on the internet. She was exquisitely skinny like a young Hollywood starlet and I
immediately envied the little bitch.
“Go ahead Martina this is your reward day.”
I felt all tingly when our lips met and I’ll never forget that first sissy kiss, never.
Bobbie’s lips were soft and smooth and tasted like licorice. We nibbled and licked right there in
the door way like senseless little bimbos till the Mistresses moved us down the hallway with slaps
to our bottoms.
It turned into a soft, sensual, erotic day and seemed like we all had wet panties in moments,
all of us except Bobbie! Bobbie was bound in a highly polished stainless steel chastity belt.
“I had to lock her puny property away,” Beth said, but she remains available to me”.
“Turn around pet,” and Bobbie complied bending slightly so we could see the rear module consisting
of two separate straps in the shape of a heart that formed a frame around the tiny lips of her intimacy.
“See Louise, it allows me to use her anytime I wish, to give her away to a complete
stranger, or give her the pleasure of a daytime dildo or an electrified phallus”.
I envied Bobbie’s misery and Mistress Louise saw the longing in my eyes and acknowledged
it with a little smile and a nod of Her pretty head.
We drank wine and spoke of girly things; fashion and grooming, waxing and wearing
perfume, then things got hot.
The Mistresses asked probing intimate questions that mad us giggle and blush yet I felt
somehow happy to be sharing my guilt and my wretchedness with them.
Bobbie and I danced seductively while they drank and laughed and ordered us about the
way Dominant Women do to sissies like us. If we got within arm’s length they would pinch our
thighs or slap our bottoms, then have another drink and another laugh till the next opportunity.
It was quite sumptuous and erotic being with Bobbie in that way and as we stood clutching
each other it seemed as though our entire bodies were kissing; nipples, tummies, thighs. Louise and
Beth led us to the bedroom and took us over their laps and started their foreplay of good hard
smacks on our girlish behinds. Bobbie and I climbed up on either side of the huge King sized bed
facing the center, our lips millimeters apart while the Women busied themselves with harnesses and cocks.
I looked up to see Louise positioning Herself behind Bobbie and heard Beth growl at me,
“Stick it up high baby”, and I arched my back and spread my legs. They positioned, they pushed,
then that first marvelous jolt of pain thatmakes a gurl cry, oh, oh, oh and the reward of penetration,
and that incomparable feeling of fullness that defines our sexuality.
I climbed into the seventh balcony of some sissy heaven that afternoon and I’m betting
my panties I’ll be going back!
Chapter 9
I don’t want to pat myself on the back or the bottom preferring that act be done by
someone else, yet I can’t help but brag a little.
Everything, and I mean everything at Her home was perfect and in place and nothing had
ever come easier to me except maybe a seventh grade erection when a female teacher crossed her legs
and I got a quick glimpse of garter and thigh.
The house was spotless, the pantries stocked with nutritious healthy foods, and the meals
were gourmet quality, even down to the lunches I packed for Louise each and every day.
Her closets were color arranged and the shoe wall grouped by designer, Blanik, McQueen,
YSL, all in their own little family. Intimate apparel was delicately laundered folded and arranged in
bureaus by style and type each drawer accented by its own intimate potpourri fragrance so that even
when I was standing in next room I could smell that Mademoiselle was sorting through Her knickers
or deciding on Her stockings. I needed a new challenge!
It was then that I began to catalog the mail and provide Louise with a check list much like
an email filterdoes with spam. Now when She arrives home the letters are arranged by sense of
importance, slit open with a little plastic dagger, and sitting in a gold metal file on the desk. Catalogs
and flyers are off to the side in a whicker basket and these too are filtered so that Mademoiselle
always has access to the latest Victoria’s issue and never has to bother with those publications of
little interest like Lane Bryant or Roaman’s. The Plus-size fashion magazines find their way into my
boudier!
Louise seemed very pleased and pinched my nipples or bottom and called me a darling,
what more could I have asked for?
But now having achieved all that, rather than a sense of accomplishment I was plagued
by a feeling of boredom and uselessness and it was those emotions that led to my next adventure.
Most days I had finished my chores by one in the afternoon and began going online to visit
sissy spots and chat rooms to bond with others in my sisterhood and even sometimes be a little
naughty. One day when Louise came home early She found me in front of the computer’s pink interface
with a blush on my face and a dark gold stain on my buttercup yellow panties.
“Have you been touching yourself Miss?” She asked me, “Have you been wanking, did
you squirt”?
I turned a deep crimson but responded truthfully, “No, Miss, I have not, but You know
me as a passionate gurl and my fluids betray my passion”.
And then I said it!
It wasn’t meant to be whiny and belligerent, but looking back I’m sure that is exactly how
it sounded.
“It seems you’ve been a bit too busy to cool my fires,” I said, and regretted it as soon as
the words left my mouth.
I suppose I expected a good spanking or a scolding that brings me close to tears, but none
of that happened.
Louise opened a desk drawer and removed a pacifier, one containing a four inch rubber
cock rather than a nipple and pushed it between my painted lips, “Calm yourself with this darling,”
She said.
The following morning was my day off, my lavender day, but a hand written note in Her
strong cursive writing directing me to travel several miles to the east to Her studio and spend the entire
day at work. I felt like crying, no rewards for me today, not for this bad gurl!
Chapter 10 My hands were trembling as I read Her note over and over again, the last line cut me like a dagger; “don’t disappointment Me…….again”! A tear left the corner of my right eye and slid ever so slowly down my cheek. “Why didn’t You give me a whipping,” I shouted, but of course there was no one there to hear me, no one there to find amusement in my misery. I actually hadn’t disobeyed Her, but we both understood the vestiges of testosterone were still directing me like a caressing hand between my legs. As much a gurl as I was and wanted to be, natures cruel joke would haunt me forever and demand my feminine mind take total control! That morning, I dressed in a Victorian chemise and bloomer ensemble crafted from a delicate silk-chiffon. I’d fallen in love with it the moment I read the description on the internet sales page; “easily opened two button back for those moments you need a spanking”. Well, I guess I needed a spanking now that I’d lost my status as gurl-Friday and been demoted to nothing more than a cleaning gurl. As I stepped on to the train, I moaned with the knowledge that this was to be my rewards day, my lavender day. I might have just as easily been called on to shave Mademoiselle’s legs or to barber those precious little curls. “Stupid little bitch,” I said out loud loosing control of myself like never before then turned a bright red when I sat down across from two eighty year old Hasidic Rabbis who looked at me with curious eyes and whispered to each other in Hebrew, probably something about the Shiksha trannie with the great legs. Once off the train, I walked quickly to the Studio pausing outside the door for a moment remembering all my visits, how I would arrive always a little early, how She would make me stand outside and wait. The Studio was a mess! I began by gathering all the hampers and starting the laundry then went to the Sissy Salon where I had received most of my education, it was a disaster. “What kind of trannie trash are You schooling these days, Mistress,” I said, again out loud, wondering when and how I hade developed this odd trait. The floor was covered in puddles of gowns and girdles, stocking hung carelessly over the mirrors and chandeliers, lipstick tubes and mascara tins were left lying about opened and the mirrors were dusty and streaked. “Perhaps both You and Your students would profit from a good session over my knee,” I said, rather thrilled by the notion of being Madame Martina and paddling their bottoms pink. Over an hour later the room was sparkling and I moved on to the Schoolroom for an easier job of simply sweeping and dusting. The blackboard was covered in penance, a thousand written lines: I will never look under Miss D.’s skirt again. “Of course you will, you fool, we all do,” I laughed remembering all the times I had been caught. I opened the top right hand drawer of Her desk and removed the “Board of Education” used to keep order in the classroom and read the names of all the students written on the broad blade, smiling when I found what I was looking for, “fancypants 5/19/99”. I gave it a good shining with some Pledge and a soft cloth before returning it to the drawer. The next room was very dear to Her and frightening to me and in all my days of education I’d only been to the Clinic twice. The first time for a disciplinary enema that She said was three quarts but felt like three gallons. The humiliation of that agonizing slow walk to the bathroom with the cheeks of my bottom clenched in fear lives with me to this day as does the memory of Her mocking laugh. The second visit was no less humbling as Dr. D. in a white lab coat and latex gloves conducted a thorough examination with me on an examination table and my legs shamelessly spread over chrome metal stirrups. Her questions were intimate while Her hands probed and prodded, She asked about my “pussy”, I thought I’d die! It took a long time in the Clinic cleaning and sterilizing all the tools of Her dark art; catheters, speculums, anoscopes, almost all of them in wicked shiny stainless steel. I washed the bags, rinsed the colon tubes, tidied the cupboard full of lubricants, greases, bandages and a host of other products. The only room remaining was the Dungeon, the S&M room that I’d never visited, I’d asked once and Louise replied, “don’t be ridiculous, it’s no place for a sissy, you would just wet your panties”! Chapter 11 I stood trembling outside the Dungeon’s heavy oak double doors and then opened them slowly
to the erotic music of rusty hinges creaking. The first thing I saw was a leather sling hanging from the
ceiling and dominating the center of the huge room, no surprise there, slings had been the preferred
fucking furniture of leather boys since the 1970’s!
The floor was alternating black and white tiles, dingy looking and soiled. Leather boys are
notorious drippers and squirters and although Mistress Louise had a “lick it up” policy I guessed there
remained noxious fluids; I attacked the floor with buckets of hot water, Spic n Span, and strong bleach,
twice. When I was finished it gleamed with such brilliance you could have seen the reflection of the
beauty between Her legs.
I bathed the sling with alcohol swipes then moved to the stocks and pillories to purify every
part. I’ve always been drawn to these devices and this time was no different as evidenced by the stretch
in my knickers. The Puritan devices had been developed for the pageantry of public disgrace that was
so thrilling to me and I often dreamed ofliving in another time, another place where discipline was
delivered in open forum usually held in the town’s square.
The room had so many toys I had to divide it into sections and concentrate on one line of
items at a time. First came the whips, paddles, and straps. Cock rings, ball stretchers, gags, muzzles,
nipple clamps, and a symphony of anal toys including a string of mega bootie beads the size of cue balls!
I sterilized them all and arranged them by “use” in their own little sections. When I found
the leather body bag I shuddered and when I realized the latex gloves were elbow length I did wet my
panties, if only a little!
The job was time consuming and by the time I had almost finished the late afternoon sun
was forming long shadows on the tile floor. It was then I saw an odd platform in the southeast corner
of the room.
It was built of oak wood and perhaps five feet square with U shaped bolts sticking up, two
in front and two in the back that were placed much wider. In the center was a hinged contraption made
of what appeared to be very old industrial pipe. I guess my cat’s curiosity got the best of me or perhaps
it was the raw sexuality of the room that moved me to action.
Anyway, I bent over the first bar, assuming that was its purpose, and placed my wrists
beneath the front U bolts and my slender ankles under those in the rear. My heart almost stopped when
I heard the snap, snap, snap, snap as the metal bolts closed.
Another section of pipe pressed against my neck and still another low on my thighs, right
behind my knees. It began to squeeze me forward stretching my calves and pushing my legs closer to
my chest so that my big fleshy behind rose higher and higher, inch by inch. The fabric of my knickers
stretched and stretched till finally the two back buttons popped and the cotton spread open.
I wanted to scream, but why? This was a deserted building in late afternoon so I just tried
to relax, to make the best of it till I could be rescued.
The trap doors in the wall behind me opened quietly and a robotic arm slithered out like a
viper from its nest.
It was titanium, medical grade, space age like those used in delicate operations. But instead
of a scalpel or healing medical tool attached to its end it held a thick eight inch gently curved rubber cock!
The cock’s heat seeking sensor moved quietly to the center of my warmth and pressed
against my yawning rosebud. I heard a swoosh like the spray from an aerosol can when the slit in the
head of the big cock opened and felt an injection of cold sex grease The fragrance of Louise’s favorite
lubricant, orange scented “Wet” filled the room.
Several miles north four gorgeous women were sitting in their garters and stockings on
Louise’s huge King sized bed, giggling and waiting for their turn with the remote control.
“Aren’t they fun” a pretty brunette named Kate asked, “why can’t every woman own a little
weakling like this sissy, like martina fancypants”?
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