Another Apron Strings ripoff

Jessica was sitting in the garden, anxious to see her son for the first time since he had eloped. She saw Mike before he could see her. Obscured by the garden wall, she could only see him from the chest up. There was something odd about the way he moved, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. And his looks seemed different, as well. From afar, she first noticed that his jet black had grown all the way down to his shoulders. Then, she saw that her son was wearing expertly applied makeup and a pale pink cotton blouse, with a high, frilled collar and short, elasticized sleeves that accentuated his pale, girlishly thin arms. As he stepped away from the wall, she could see that his blouse was tucked into the high waistband of a black knee length pencil skirt, and that he was wearing smoky-hued nylons and a pair of four-inch heeled court shoes. No wonder he’s mincing like that, she muttered to herself.

“Hello, mummy,” Mike weakly said as he put the tea tray down on the garden table.

Jessica kissed him and hugged him.

“Why are you dressed like that?” she said.

“I let him wear my clothes around the house,” his wife Sandra replied, “He says he feels more comfortable in them.”

Jessica couldn’t help but to notice how similar Mike looked to his wife. Sandra’s blouse was draped and made of dark purple satin, but her skirt, apart from being gray, was just like the one her son was wearing. But the most striking resemblance was in their almost identical hairstyles.

“You don’t have to hide the truth from me,” Jessica said dryly, “I know Mike wears skirts to avoid getting a trashing.”

She saw Mike blush furiously as he poured tea.

“There’s a little more to it that just that,” Sandra said, lifting her cup to her lips.

“I’m sure there is,” Jessica replied calmly, “But I think I got the gist of it.”

A moment of silence passed, disturbed only by discrete tinkling of china.

“I hope you’re not here to…” Sandra warily began.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to meddle in your life and marriage,” Jessica said.

“Though I did have a good mind to pull you over my knees for running away like that,” she turned to her son, “But I see that you’ve been punished enough.”

Sandra snickered.

“Actually, I think you should spank him,” she said to Jessica, “It would be good to formalize our new relationship.”

Jessica stared at her daughter-in-law, then at her feminized son. She saw him twitch with a deathly fright when his wife shot him a glance, then beckoned to the house.

“Put on your special punishment outfit,” she told him and he scurried away in utter silence.

Jessica took a moment to compose herself.

“I’m here because I’ve been contacted by his employer,” she said to Sandra, “Before he ran off with you, Mike used to work for a friend of mine, Martha Taylor. To say the least, she was a little put out when he just stopped showing up at work, without any notice. But she is willing to take him back, provided he returns to work immediately.”

“Mike has a lot of work at home, already,” Sandra said.

“That’s hardly a full time job,” Jessica replied, “I think he’ll still manage find time for his household chores.”

Sandra thought for a minute.

“I have,” she paused again, then continued cautiously, “I have invested a lot of effort into bringing Mike to discipline. I think it’s easy to see I’m worried that a change in arrangement will undo a lot of my efforts.”

“Mike has always been a handful,” Jessica replied, “But I don’t think going back to work will make him less obedient.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure he remains obedient, don’t worry about that,” Sandra said, “The only question is how I will achieve that. You see, if we break the current, …, arrangement, I might have to resort to, …, previous methods.”

“Don’t mince words,” Jessica replied, “Just say you’ll start beating him again if he stops wearing your clothes.”

“Well, you see my conundrum,” Sandra said.

“That’s hardly a conundrum,” Jessica said dismissively, “You’re not the only one who will profit from Mike’s new found obedience. And I think that Mrs. Taylor will agree that corporal punishment should be avoided, if possible.”

Sandra stared at her mother-in-law. Making her husband wear her clothes about the house was one thing, but to make him wear them to work was something she didn’t even dare dream about. Her breasts were now heaving with excited breathing.

Just then, Mike reappeared. Jessica couldn’t help but laugh in surprise as she saw him. He was wearing a ridiculously frilly, empire waist dress, make of layers and layers of pink chiffon, shiny pink nylon stockings and a pair of patent pink sandals with an even higher heel. His makeup was now heavier – his eyes had a strong, smoky shadow, his cheeks glowing with rouge and his lips were almost dripping with crimson lipstick.

Wordlessly, he placed himself across his mother’s knees.

“You know, I feel guilty about stealing your son away like that,” Sandra said.

“You had your reasons, I suppose,” Jessica said, slowly lifting layer after layer of her son’s dress.

“Still,” Sandra said, “I’d like to make it up to you. We’re going to have a second wedding ceremony.”

Having finally exposed her son’s frilly panties, Jessica stopped. She drew a long, excited breath.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Sandra blurted out.

“Yes,” Jessica said, “I’ve kept my old gown. You can wear it for the ceremony.”

She saw the puzzlement in Sandra’s eyes.

“Tomorrow, I’m taking my son shopping for his brand new bridal gown,” she announced in a throaty voice, as she pulled down Mike’s panties.

He squealed as she, for the first time in what would be a long series, brought her hand down in a resonating slap.

Apron Strings

Remember Halcyon Publications?

That was an UK magazine in the nineteen-nineties, with two daughter publications, Apron Strings and Pinafore Pages. They both catered to that narrow segment of the public which is interested in the feminization of men. Each magazine was supposedly aimed at a particular sub-segment, but in the end, they were very much alike one another. Mostly, they published stories and erotic illustrations. Judging from the website, they were published as actual physical magazines at first, but later on it looked like they had switched to online only issues. Each monthly issue focused on a certain theme, with several feature stories (such as case histories of husbands who enter the Empowerment Academy, where they are transformed to simpering shemales) and some other, miscellaneous stories. The content was pay-per-view, however it was relatively easy to get around the protection – something that the owners realized but failed to do anything against. Anyhow, they stopped updating the magazines around 2007 and after that, the domain names have been snatched up by others.

The stories, sometimes published as true confessions, other times as fantasies, were, in the end, remarkably similar – at times identical passages can be found in two stories (often one of them marketed as a true confession), with only the names changed. In some stories there is some “very rational” pretext for the feminization, in others the woman makes it clear from the beginning she wants her man in skirts. As far as the feminization alone is concerned, every story pushes the right buttons for me, though it is obvious that whoever wrote them had a thing for older women so, unless the hero has an older wife to begin with, always ends up in bed with the mother in law.

If reading Bea’s stories is like eating a wonderfully structured cake, layered with layers of gentle, moist sponge, refreshingly crunchy fruit and rich, rich cream, reading these stories is like eating sugar by the spoonful. They don’t mess around. There are no surprises, once you’ve read more than two, but they always work.

Lately, I’ve attempted to re-create the spirit, and the literary style of these fine publications. Here’s my first attempt.

Swiss Miss Sissy, Chapter 20

Apologies to those of you who have been wondering when the next chapter of "Swiss Miss Sissy" would be posted.  In light of Bea's passing, it seemed appropriate to wait a respectful span of time before returning to business as usual.   Regarding Bea, I think I've already said about all I can say in my reply to Carrie's post and my journal on deviantART.  Carrie is right; Bea would have wanted the blog to continue.  Though we didn't talk all that often, after he stepped away from the blog due to his health, he did tell me that he was pleased that people were keeping the blog going in his absence.  And he also did say that he was pleased that someone had finally taken it upon themselves to finish "Swiss Miss Sissy," since that was a nut he'd never quite been able to crack.  So, without futher ado, here is Chapter 20:

by Bambi

Chapter 20: The pit and the panty-boy. Cheryl's education begins.

It seemed I did not have to wait for long. I watched the display next to the door, which showed the time. Twenty minutes had just passed when a voice came from the speaker.

“Cheryl? A tutor is coming to collect you. Stand at attention in the centre of the room. Curtsey when she enters, but do not speak unless asked a direct question. Follow her instruction to the letter.”

“Yes, Miss. But who's coming?” I asked the voice. “Where is she taking me?” There was no response. I realized I had to press the green 'speak' button first.

I did as I was told. Got out of the chair and stood in front of the door. I postured myself in a proper sissy-stance. Legs together, arms at my sides and eyes humbly downward. This dress wasn't nearly as flared (or preposterous) as my previous outfits, so some of the effect was lost, but I trusted that I still looked suitably humble and submissive.

Then? nothing.

I stood there at attention, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But nothing happened. No tutor appeared.

But Mistress had trained me well, so of course I didn't move, just kept standing there in the centre of the room, eyes aimed at the floor.

And again I waited.

These low heels were a joy to walk in, but even they started to hurt as I stood here in this tiresome position. I began to feel sore at my lower back, and my arms felt heavier.

I think I heard some noise on the corridor, but I couldn't identify it. I hoped it was the tutor, but the noise died down again.

What's taking them? I thought. Annoyed, I looked up at the display.

I blinked in surprise. Only two minutes had passed? Was that all?

I took a deep breath and continued waiting, trying to ignore the increasing discomfort I felt. Slowly I placed my weight first at one foot, then another. I scratched an itch I felt on my leg. At one point I stretched my back to to ease the discomfort.

More waiting. I felt like I've been standing like that for half an hour. I looked at the clock. I saw the last number change. Four minutes.

“Did I lose my skills when I arrived here?” I said out loud. “Four minutes? I can stand that long in heels twice as high. Easily. What is wrong with you, Cheryl? ” I asked myself.

I stood in attention again, but I couldn't stand still, my tendons feeling like overstretched rubber bands.

“Gah! You stupid sissy!” I sneered. I sat down on the bed, nursing my legs and feet. I was tempted to take my heels of, but that was a a bridge too far.

Annoyed and disheartened, I pushed the green button.

“Yes, Cheryl?” Was the curt reply.

“Hello... er... Miss,” I said shyly. “Can you please tell me when the tutor will arrive?”

The voice sneered at me. “Are you telling me you cannot even be patient for...” there was a brief pause. “...four minutes?”

I gasped at this reprimand. “I'm sorry miss! I was just... I mean... My feet... er...” I said stammering.

“Be silent!” The voice snapped. “A tutor is coming your way. Go stand at attention.”

“Yes, miss,” I replied quickly. But I do not think anyone was listening anymore.

I got back to my position at adopted my sissy-stance again. My body still hurt, but the fright had given me second wind.

I heard something on the corridor, and actually sighed relieved when I saw the door handle turn.

A woman in her thirties stepped into the room. She looked quite pretty, though her ages was beginning to show around her eyes. She wore a black suit with low heels underneath.

Remembering my instructions, I remained silent and bobbed a curtsey.

“Stand at attention, girl.” She spoke with a heavy accent. “Raise your arms. Turn around. Good.”

She walked up to me from behind, and I felt her hands on me as she inspected my dress.

“Follow me,” She finally said as she turned towards the doorway.

“Yes, Miss,” I answered out of habit.

She turned towards me like a striking serpent. Her eyes bored into mine, and her gaze pinned me down. I felt my mouth open to apologise for my mistake.

A hard slap hit me on my left cheek.

Startled and dismayed, I stared at her. My face was burning, and I felt tears in my eyes.

She looked at me with a face carved from granite. Not another word, sissy, she said with her eyes alone.

She stepped into the corridor and walked to the common area, and I hurried after her. I passed the rooms of my classmates, and noticed all other doors were already open, save one. I looked over my shoulder and saw that even Daniëlle had been collected already.

We crossed the lounge and passed the door on the other side. I arrived in another hallway, and the tutor directed me to a large door right in front of me.

She stopped halfway. “In there,” she said.

I didn't understand why she stopped here. Heck, I didn't understand anything about this place. But I didn't dare ask. My cheek still tingled.

So I just nodded and headed for the door.

I put my hand on the handle, and looked over my shoulder at the tutor. She gave a quick nod and turned around, marching down the corridor in the opposite direction.

I took a deep breath, then turned the handle. I opened the door and stepped inside.

*********************

“Ah, there we have Cheryl,” the baroness said as I entered the room.

I blinked as I took in my surroundings. Three pairs of eyes were looking back at me.

I saw three sissies sitting next to one another, each behind her own little desk. I recognized Daniëlle in the middle, but the other two were unknown to me. They all wore dresses identical to mine.

The baroness gestured to a empty desk next to a sissy with boyish short hair. “Have a seat my dear,” she said.

My mind was in doubt whether I should say 'yes, baroness' or not, but by then my heels had already carried me to my seat. Prettily, I sat down.

I looked at the classmate next to me, who quickly looked away, his face blushing.

 “We only have to wait for one more,” the baroness said smiling. “She'll be here shortly.”

There was silence in the room, aside from frightful breathing of my classmates. Nobody spoke, not even the baroness, who just smiled knowingly.

I looked around me. This must be the classroom, I thought. I seemed far too large for just five students, though. Positioned in front and slightly to the side of us was a large desk against which the baroness was leaning against. The rest was taken up by a low platform, barely a foot high, that reminded me of a stage. Behind that was a wide blackboard.

Just when the silence seemed to become unbearable, I heard noise coming from beyond the entrance. First it was just the shuffling of feet. Then I heard grunts and curt commands.

“There she is...” The baroness said with a grin.

The door flew open and a woman stepped into the room backwards. I recognized her as the tutor that had come for me. She was holding a long stick, pulling it towards her. She said something in German, and gave the stick a hard tug.

A sissy stepped into the room. She wore the same dress as the rest of us, but that is were the similarities ended.

She was completely bound. Hands crossed behind her back, her elbows fixed with a separate bar. Her legs were tied together above the knees, with a short chain connecting the ankles for good measure.

On her neck she wore a massive collar with several D-rings around the circumference. The tutor's stick connected to one of the rings in front. Another stick was linked to the back of the collar, and I saw someone else push the unfortunate girl forward.

The girl fought back. Resisted her captors as they guided her towards the empty seat. She sputtered and grunted, undoubtedly cursing horribly if her potty mouth wasn't silenced by a large gag.

It was clear this poor sissy was utterly helpless in that bondage, even though she apparently did not understand that fact herself yet. Mistress Margot would have approved, I thought grimly.

With a concerted effort the tutors sat her down behind her desk. The tutor quickly moved up behind the sissy, and started connecting her bonds to the chair. I heard a couple of clicks and snaps, and the girl was immobilized.

She continued fighting her bonds, tugging and pulling them, but the tutors didn't seem concerned. They casually removed the sticks from her collar, and nodded at the baroness. “She is all yours, miss.”

“Very good. Thank you.”

The baroness waited for the tutors to leave then turned towards us.

“Now that we have everyone here...” she said with a smile.

The bound sissy continued her hissy-fit. Chains dangled, and she grunted and groaned in her gag.

That annoyed me. What's the point, you stupid girl? It's not like you can get loose. And where would you go even if you did? Can't you just be quiet?

Perhaps I should have been empathic with her. At least she had the courage to fight, while I was sitting here silently like a good obedient sissy.

But I wasn't. What can I say? She was bothering me.

Apparently, the baroness thought the same thing. She walked over to the girl's desk, who looked up furiously, mumbling something.

The baroness cuffed her around the ears, then pinched the girl's earlobe. She squealed into her gag and I saw tears in her eyes.

When the baroness finally let go, she was quiet. And she remained quiet.

“...And I have everyone's attention, let me give you a very warm welcome at  Von Wytenbach's Etikette-Schule für junge Damen aller Geschlechter.” She was smiling as she said that.

I actually believed her. She wasn't being sarcastic. She really was happy to have us down here.

She strolled back over to her desk. “For those who do not know me, I am Gisele Freifrau von Wytenbach von Schwarzwasser von Hochfeld von Steinmühle von Seitenfeld...”

Quite a mouth full. Try to fit that on a business card, I thought somewhat amused.

“..but to you I'll simply be the 'Headmistress'. You will address me as such,” she added with a grave tone.

She gave Daniëlle a stern look. “No exceptions.”

The girl shivered under the baroness' gaze, but was unable to look away. She kept Daniëlle's eyes captive with her stare, like a deer caught in one's headlights. It must have lasted only a couple of heartbeats, but when the the poor girl was finally released from the headmistress' gaze she almost slumped into her chair, breathing heavily.

The baroness stood in front of her desk. Her posture remained domineering, strong and upright. Her eyes focused on each of us in turn. “I am the ultimate authority of this school. I do not care who you think you were, or what you were accustomed to. In here, my word is law and I expect it to be obeyed without question. Failure to do so will result in severe consequences.”

Then her eyes softened. Her expression became friendly. Jovial even. “But more importantly, I am also a teacher. It will be my pleasure to instruct you about the glories of femininity.”

She walked past our benches. “Perhaps you are here to learn the proper etiquette required by young ladies. You are right, of course, but my goals are much grander. I founded this school with the purpose of the preservation, stimulation and cultivation of femininity for future generations.”

She passed my own bench. I tried to look in front of me, but couldn't help that my eyes followed her as she continued her speech. “For centuries, it was one of the greatest treasures of mankind. All of mankind.”

She short me a glance, and I quickly looked at nothing in particular. “Yes, for men as well,” she said with conviction. “Women wanted to possess it. And men desired women who had mastered it.”

Suddenly she turned around, her voice louder. “But times change, and it has brought some much needed emancipation to women. But there was a downside to all this progress,” she frowned as she let the answer hang in the air, her gaze passing over her quiet pupils like a searchlight.

“With all this newfound equality, femininity had suddenly become an outdated concept,” She said with disbelief in her voice. “Much like chivalry and nobility,” she added with clear distaste.

“Fortunately, the march of history took another turn, and womanhood became fashionable again. For now, at least.” She leaned over the bound sissy's desk, a frown on her face. “Nevertheless, we came dangerously close to a future where all would wear bland coveralls and loose-fitting dungarees. No dresses, heels or makeup. Sacrificed in the name of equality.”

She smiled softly, then gave the girl a playful pat on the head, causing her to grunt. “Well, If that is progress, I want no part of it,” she said, her voice resonating with conviction.

She was silent for a moment, as if she was challenging us to contradict her. Nobody did, obviously. A soft smile appeared on her face.

“As luck would have it, I was blessed with the means and will to prevent such an occurrence to happen ever again. Within these halls the art of femininity will endure forever.” She looked at us in turn, still smiling, but with fire in her eyes. “And my alumni will spread its glory far and wide. That is my gift to humanity and her future.”

I couldn't help looking at her, and it wasn't in adoration. A rebellious thought popped up at the back of my head. Is she crazy or just very full of herself?

Her eyes caught mine. “Is there something you wanted to say, Cheryl?”

“What?... Er... I mean... No, baroness... I mean, headmistress,” I replied startled.

She didn't let go. “Out with it, girl,” she said sternly. “Now.”

I gasped as I tried to say something that would not get me into more trouble. “How... how are a couple of mere sissies supposed to preserve femininity?” I managed to utter.

A smirk appeared on her face. “You underestimate yourself, silly girl. Why, I feel girlish just by standing close to you. Just look at yourself. Aren't you a picture perfect sissy? A paragon of femininity?”

A actually blushed at that compliment. At least, I took it as a compliment.

She turned to my classmates. “Aren't you all?”

“But we're guys!” A voice cried out. We all turned to its source. It was the sissy sitting at the other end. She had pitch black hair, long enough to fall down to her waist. When I looked closer, I saw it was a wig. It gave me some twisted pride that Daniëlle and me were the most convincing 'girls' of this dismal bunch.

“Do not speak unless spoken to, Tiffany!” The headmistress said icily. “I'll overlook it just this once, but do not do it again. Ever.”

She observed the girl for any signs of disobedience, but wig-girl wisely held her tongue. The headmistress then smiled at her.

“So you were born male, what of it? Men want women who are feminine, submissive and obedient. Why is that?” she asked her class.

I had an answer to that question, but I wasn't sure if she meant it rhetorically. Besides, 'men like getting laid' sounded a bit too vulgar and unladylike.   

The headmistress continued, steel in her voice. “Because they desire femininity for themselves! But they think they need women to be able to claim it. Nonsense, I say! Why not cut out the middle-man?” She sniggered. “Or should I say, 'middle-woman'?”

She relaxed, leaning against her desk. “A treasure it may be, femininity is not something to be hidden away by those fortunate enough to poses it,” she spoke softly. “It needs to be spread around, shared with even the most unlikely of candidates. All are welcome, no matter your background or history.”

“And with some help, it is accessible to all.” She held out her arms wide. “Are you a lowly born commoner? I will teach you class. Lived like a cheap tart? You will gain strength and confidence. Born as a man? I will strip away your silly male bias. Femininity is a multifaceted diamond, and there is a niche for everyone.”

She walked up to our desks. She looked right at me. “Some of you have already discovered the wonders of femininity.” She turned to my bound classmate. “Others foolishly tried to rejected it. It matters not. In the end you will all bask in that glory. You will be part of this great sisterhood.”

She walked past my table, while I kept my eyes straight ahead. “More sissies join our ranks every day,” I hear her say behind me. “But you are still few. The vast majority of the school's capacity is filled with natural women who simply want to claim their birthright. The sissy-program is quite small, really. But one with a disproportionate importance.”

She came back into view as she passed Daniëlle, patting the girl on her shoulder. “Many women have learned their craft here and some wondrous transformations have been accomplished, yet all pale in comparison to what I achieve with the sissies. When wearing heels, their legs are straighter and steps shorter than most of my female students. They corsets are laced-up tighter. And their demeanour...” She took up position in front of her desk, looking at us with burning eyes. “Well, suffice to say you are the true vindications of my creed.”

I finally understood. She wasn't crazy or arrogant. And she wasn't anything like Mistress Christina or Margot. She was a pseudo-religious zealot talking to her congregation. Who had me under her complete control...

The headmistress leaned back against her desk. After this thundering sermon, she addressed the topic of our education.

“Right now you are assigned to the novices, who wear innocent white. You will receive lessons in the feminine arts.” She paused for a moment. “But above all your skills and capabilities will be carefully evaluated. Depending on your talents and the wishes of your sponsors, we will develop a curriculum specifically tailored to to you and you alone. You will then be assigned to one of several Houses in this school, where you will join fellow students with a similar education. Until then you'll remain here, safely sequestered in the novice wing.”

She looked at us intensely. “Any questions?”

Only wig-girl dared to speak: “How long will our education last?“ She noticed the frown on the baroness' face. “...Er... Headmistress,” she quickly added.

The baroness gave a wicked grin “That will depend entirely on yourself. I care only about results. I promised your sponsors I would return each of them a good girl, properly trained according to their specifications, and that is exactly what they will get. I am true to my word...”

She gave a mean grin to the bound sissy next to me. “...No matter how long it might take.”

That sat the girl of, all right. Furiously, she twisted and turned in her bonds, chains jingling and her chair creaking. She snarled unintelligible, which I assumed to be some very profane curses.

The headmistress just smiled mockingly, which enraged the sissy even more. She shook her head violently to get her gag out.

We all looked at her, but I was probably the only one who didn't show fear. Just... annoyance.

Don't bother fighting your gag, stupid sissy. I thought. It always wins. Just be a good girl and shut up.

The headmistress continued talking while the bound sissy raged.

“Nevertheless, I will not tolerate any laziness,” she said as she walked over to the noisy girl. “So we will start your training right away. Get up from your desks. All of you. Hurry up now. Just ignore little Suzy here, she's just a bit shy.”

That was an understatement. She was tugging her bonds and throwing her head around. She could harm herself if she didn't calm down. Cuffs can hurt if you pull them too hard. I know.

I stood in front of my desk, lined up with my classmates. I stood in my well-practiced sissy-stance. The other girls stood in their own pose. Daniëlle's looked well enough, though it had her typical lack of enthusiasm. The wig girl called had a different pose, that I assumed was taught to her by her own Mistress. The sissy with the short hair next to me looked hopelessly lost and was just mimicking me.

The headmistress stood behind the chair of the bound sissy, placing one hand on her shoulder. The girl grunted spitefully.

“All right, girls. I want to get a good idea of your skills. So, show me your best curtsy. Cheryl, would you start please? Just hop onto the stage and show the class your moves.

“Yes, headmistress,” I replied dutifully. I minced over to the platform and daintily step onto it. Wooden boards clicked underneath my low heels.

I took up position in front of the class, where five pairs of eyes were aimed at me. Well, four actually. The bound girl called Suzy was still moving her head from side to side.

“Begin, my dear,” the baroness told me.

I did as instructed, placing one foot behind the other while holding my skirt between thumb and index finger. I bent my knees and bobbed a respectful distance. I stood upright in my normal stance.

The headmistress didn't say a word. The only sound came from the raging sissy in front of her.

“Cheryl, you will have to repeat that. It appears sweet little Suzy wasn't paying attention,” she said thoughtfully.

Immediately she reached around the bound girl and grabbed her nose. Squeezing it tight, she cut off the girls air supply.

The girl grunted on surprise, then tried to shake her head, but the headmistress held on effortlessly.

She became even more frantic as she was being suffocated. Struggling in her unyielding bonds, burning oxygen in vain.

Now even my heart was pounding, and I looked at the scene in utter dismay. The headmistress just kept looking back at me with a thoughtful expression, completely at odds with the desperate struggling right in front of her.

Just when I thought she was going to kill the poor girl, she relaxed her grip. Suzy drew a deep breath through her nose. But the baroness smothered her again before she could fill her lungs.

More struggling, but less vicious. The headmistress let go of her nose once more, and Suzy drew another breath until it was interrupted as well. Now the girl put up only a token resistance.

This happened another two times. The message sent was clear: Don't fight me. I control everything here, even your breathing.

Only when the girl was completely pacified did the headmistress let go. She looked dazed and confused, but otherwise unharmed. The headmistress never once took her eyes of me.

“Now then... Repeat, Cheryl,” she simply said.

I bobbed again, making sure it was the best one ever despite my newfound fear of this woman.

“It's not bad,” she told me with that same thoughtful expression. “But it still needs work. Girls? What was wrong with Cheryl's performance?”

The whole classroom remained silent. The headmistress walked over to the platform. She was smiling warmly. “Oh, don't be shy, girls. How can dear little Cheryl ever improve her performance if she doesn't get constructive criticism from her peers? Now then... Daniëlle, what did you notice when Cheryl bobbed?”

And with that my education had truly began. After several repeats and multiple rounds of criticism, the next sissy took my place and it was my turn to provide feedback. This continued until everyone had their turn.

All save for Suzy, that is. Still bound and gagged, she didn't took the stage or even say anything. But she was paying attention, all right.

**************************

After the curtsies we showed our mincing gait. Again, I was first. I stepped up and down and left to right over the platform, my heels clicking loudly on the wooden boards. I got feedback, and minced about again. More criticisms. More mincing.

Tiffany was really annoying. Each time I minced around, she had something to say about me. 'Her feet are not aligned', 'her hands need to sway more', 'her back is not straight'.

Bitch. Let's see you do better, I thought. When it was her turn, I burned her good. When she stepped off stage she was on the verge of tears.

Daniëlle gave me a surprised look. I might have gone a bit too far, but I didn't care. Besides, it had nothing to do with me being spiteful. Tiffany's technique simply was sloppy. She should be thanking me for pointing it out. Any capable mistress would undoubtedly spank her silly after such a performance.

The headmistress even gave me a content smile. I felt vindicated. I didn't wonder why her eyes had lit up so fiendishly.

Alice, the girl with the short boyish hair, was next. She was terrible. Clearly she didn't have much training yet. Just walking in those low heels seemed to be a chore for her. I don't know when she had been feminised, but it must have been very recent. I gave her a few tips, but I doubted it would do much good.

Daniëlle didn't look too happy when it was her turn. Her steps were awkward, and she kept looking away from her classmates. Being feminised was still difficult for her, and being seen by others (even if they were fellow sissies) made it even harder.

“Cheryl, do you have any comments?” the headmistress asked me when Daniëlle finished her first attempt.

“No, headmistress. It looked fine to me,” I said. That wasn't true, of course, but I wasn't about to dishearten her further. “Very pretty, Daniëlle. You are a very capable girl,” I added more truthfully. This even made her smile.

I noticed the headmistress was frowning, but she did not say anything.

Making pretty faces was next. I winked, made kissy-faces, licked my lips seductively and opened my my mouth invitingly. I got few comments on that. Even Tiffany mostly held her tongue. She even complimented me with my 'well trained mouth'. I knew what she insinuated.

Still, I didn't let her provoke me. So when it was her turn I limited myself, with my sweetest, most humble voice, to a few snide remarks.

Alice looked horrible. I didn't want to hurt the poor girl's feelings so told her a couple of meaningless platitudes.

“It looked good, but maybe you should put a bit more feeling into it. More 'je ne sais quoi'.” Even I didn't know what I meant with that.

Daniëlle was hardly better. Looking like a girl was bad enough, but looking inviting and willing? That was just too much for her to handle.

“Wonderful, Daniëlle,” I said nonetheless. “Very sensual. Very sexy.”

The headmistress looked straight at me. Frowning.

“Is that all you have to say, Cheryl?” She asked me.

“Er... Yes, headmistress.”

She made a step towards me. “So you have no remarks. No comments or some constructive criticism?”

Where was she going with this, I wondered. “...No, headmistress,” I answered hesitantly.

Another step. “So it was absolutely perfect?” Her tone sounded ominous.

I began to feel very uncomfortable. “Er... well... Perhaps not perfect, headmistress...”

“It's not?” I hear her heels click as she came closer. By now she was standing right in front of me. “So you saw something that could be improved?”

Her eyes filled my field of vision. “Er... I mean... She.. Er... maybe a couple of things?”

“Really? Like what?” The headmistress said as she stepped around me.

I turned my head to follow her. “Er... She could...”

“Don't tell me!” The baroness snapped at me in my face, then pointed at Daniëlle. “Tell her!”

I felt shivers run down my spine as I faced Daniëlle. “...You could try to open your mouth a bit further,” I told her.

“Anything else?” The baroness asked behind me.

“...You should wet your lips. They are too dry.” Daniëlle's hand went up to her face, touching her lips self-consciously.

“Continue.”

“You don't look willing enough. Like... you are scared,” I said. Daniëlle stared back at me. Her eyes saying: that's because I am scared, you dolt.

“You hear that, Daniëlle? Seems there is a lot of room for improvement, Try again, girl,” the baroness interjected. “And Cheryl? You pay close attention to Daniëlle. If anything is not perfect, I want you to be honest with her. Brutally honest if need be. It's for her own good. Is that understood?”

“Yes, headmistress,” I said dejected, seeing Daniëlle make a couple of basic mistakes. I told her so.

“Again, Daniëlle. And listen to what Cheryl told you,” the headmistress said.

Daniëlle tried the best she could.

“Was that better, Cheryl?” She asked me. “No? Daniëlle, pay attention to what Cheryl tells you. You are not getting off that stage before Cheryl is satisfied with your performance. Now, try again.”

Again and again Daniëlle performed. And each time I had to correct her. By the time the headmistress finally let her off the stage, she had tears in her eyes.

And all I could say was that that wasn't sensual at all. She should smile instead.

*********************

More poses followed. I don't think I ever was enthusiastic to perform, but I sure was down-heartened now. Tiffany had ample opportunity to criticize me. I just stood there and took it as I made my moves. Conversely, when her turn came up, I had little to say. The headmistress did not seem to care.

What was worse however, was that Daniëlle had found second wind to perform. She put quite some effort in it, even if her technique had improved little. But as she stood there on stage, she looked at me spitefully. Sometimes she glared, as if she wanted to say 'is this good enough for you, Cheryl?'.

Which made me angry in turn. After all, if she hadn't screwed it up the first time, I wouldn't have had to correct her.

And all the while the headmistress would smile contently.

********************

After spending the rest of the morning posing for our classmates, we were led away to the dining hall, where we were fed a simple but nourishing lunch.

Well, all but Suzy that is. She was led towards her seat the same way I saw her enter the classroom. Though much more compliant, the fight wasn't quite out of her yet.

When the tutors removed the gag to feed her, she yelled at them. It didn't do her much good, though. They just put the gag back in and let her stare at her plate for the rest of the lunch break.

As for me, I ate my lunch in silence. I felt angry, saddened and confused. I glanced at Daniëlle, who was trying to ignore me. That made me feel even angrier. Which in turn made me feel guilty. Daniëlle was my friend! I shouldn't be angry with her.

I sighed, then looked to the other side of the table, where Tiffany was seated. She caught my eyes, and gave me an arrogant smirk.

I certainly did not mind being angry with her. Just look at her! She doesn't even have real hair and still she thinks she's better than me. Well, I'll show her...

Being a sissy was not something to brag about, but at least I was Mistress Christina's sissy. And that makes me a league apart. And I would prove that to her, to the headmistress and everyone else!

*************************

The afternoon program was rather different. The headmistress was gone. Instead, when we were escorted back to our classroom, an unfamiliar face was waiting for us.

“Greetingz class. Have-a zeat,” she said with an Swiss accent so thick I wasn't sure was speaking English at all. I was glad that English seemed to be the spoken language at this school at least.

“I am Frau Keller. Welcome zu Make-up Vun-Oh-Vun,” she continued. “I vil teach you ze theory und practice of ze makeup. Please open your desks, vhere you will find your book und ze pens und papers. I suggezt you vill make notes und study zem in your spare time, for zhere wil be a test. Now zen, vho can name some make-up? Alice?”

I looked at our new teacher in astonishment as she wrote in chalk on the blackboard. For a moment I almost felt like I was back in highschool.

Then I looked down and saw my cleavage peeking out of my dress, and the moment passed.

“Cheryl? Pay attenzion, girl. Can you name anozher mak-up itzem?”

“Er... Blush, Miss Keller?”

“Yes, very good.”

I shot Tiffany a wicked gloat. It was only a small victory, but surely the first of many, I thought content.

*************************

The rest of the afternoon went as one could expect. Frau Keller gave us a rather basic introduction to makeup; she told something about its history (I had no idea that the ancient Egyptians already used it) and outlined a couple of broad categories. There was some practical training, where we had to apply blush and makeup.

Next came Mademoiselle D'Ives, who instructed us in walking properly in heels. She skipped the theory completely, and got right to the exercises.

“Cheryl? Would you show the class how pretty you mince, please?” Our teacher asked me. I did as was told, mincing slowly and daintily past the benches, giving Tiffany a quick smirk in the process. Let's see you top this, it conveyed.

“Yes, not bad,” miss D'Ives said neutrally. I silently concluded that was the highest praise one could earn at this demanding school.

She picked up a book. “Stand still, Cheryl.” She walked over to me. “Don't move...” She said as she placed the book on my head.

She stepped back. “Try again, girl. Don't drop the book.” 

Was she kidding? I thought. The book wobbled while I was standing still, and I was expected to walk around with it?

I carefully put my weight on one heel, then moved my other foot directly front of the first. I slowly transferred weight on the other shoe.

“Keep your back straight, girl. Let your hips do the walking,” my teacher said.

The book wobbled dangerously, but didn't fall of.

“Don't compensate with your arms, Cheryl. Keep them at your sides, sweet and humble.”

I finished my first step, then continued with the next. The book had stopped wobbling.

My teacher didn't say anything, but I assumed she was content with my performance.

Now that the book remained stable, I moved a bit faster. I felt how the book, by forcing my back straight, forced an subtle sashay in my gait. A much more natural one then my exaggerated (and slutty) mince I usually performed.

I felt confidence build as I heard my heel click. Even more-so when Daniëlle looked at me with a mixture of admiration and envy.

Then the book wobbled. I compensated with a quick correction, but that only made it worse. I felt it's centre of gravity shift.

“Keep your back straight, girl,” my teacher called.

But it didn't matter. I turned my neck and shoulders to move it the other way, but the book slid down the side of my head.

In a desperate movement, I tried to force my head back underneath the book, but as it fell of completely, I merely pushed it to the side… And caused myself to lose balance. 

I tilted over to the left, so I quickly stepped left to compensate. My heel tipped over and I twisted my ankle. With a yelp I tipped over completely, and with a undignified bump I fell on the ground.

Confused, dazed and utterly humiliated I lay on the floor. To my right I heard Tiffany snigger, which sounded like booming laughter in my mind. I wasn't hurt, but my ego had been seriously bruised. And there wasn't much of that left to begin with.

To add insult to injury, the book had fallen open in front of me. On the chapter, 'The importance of proper posture: the devil is in the details'.

Our instructor looked down at me. “Hmmm, I was afraid of that. You received training, but not from someone with an expert eye. You've picked up some very bad habits.”

I couldn't help pouting as I got up as dignified as possible. Tiffany was still sniggering as her eyes beamed victory.

“Be quiet, girl,” our teacher snapped at her. “You can go next. Return to your seat, Cheryl. Don't worry, we'll get you sorted out soon enough.”

Other courses followed. Postures and curtsying. Feminine fashion 101. Standards and etiquette. Voice lessons. Each time another teacher would enter the room and introduce us to another topic of ultra-femininity.

Though the training proved much more demanding than I had expected, it was clear Mistress Christina's training served me well. Despite my 'bad habits', and the fact my knowledge on theory was basically non-existent, I had a significant advantage over the others. Suzy just sat there, bound, muttering something into her gag. Alice didn't even know the simplest of techniques. Daniëlle put years of her aunt's indoctrination to good use, though it lacked natural grace and enthusiasm. Begrudgingly, I had to admit that Tiffany wasn't as bad as I had hoped. Worse still, not once did she fall down like I had.

*****************

After our lessons, we had supper. Then we were gathered in the common area, where the headmistress was waiting for us. Other women were present as well. I recognized the tutor who had escorted me to the classroom, and those two women who had been dragging Suzy about all day, but the others were new.

The headmistress sat in a chair closest to the fireplace. A small fire was burning therein. You could see it was one of those fake fireplaces, that really burn on propane, but it looked remarkable cosy nonetheless. The effect was amplified by the increasingly red light falling through the windows.

The headmistress gestured to the sofas surrounding her chair. “Have a seat, girls.”

I turned to the nearest couch. So did Tiffany, who had the same idea. It was a two-person divan, but I had absolutely no intention of sitting next to her.

I looked for Daniëlle, hoping to claim a spot next to her. She had already sat down next to Suzy, whose gag had been removed, but her hands were still cuffed. Daniëlle moved to the side as much as possible, distancing herself from the bound sissy.

I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I turned around, then looked up. And up.

Next to me was the biggest woman I'd ever seen, with more muscles than any woman was supposed to have. She was like a cross between an East-German athlete and the Minotaur.

“Sit,” she growled eloquently.

Faster than was entirely ladylike, I sat down next to Tiffany. I tried to ignore her taunting smirk.

“Everyone comfortable?” The headmistress asked. We muttered some words of affirmation, but I don't think there has ever been a gathering as uncomfortable as our little band of misfits.

If the headmistress had picked up on that, she chose to ignore it. “I hope you've had an instructive day,” she said enthusiastically. “I wish I could have been with you, but I had other responsibilities. However, your instructors have given me some extensive assessments. You'll be pleased to know we are working diligently to develop the education most suited your needs.”

She let that sink in for a moment. “You've already met some of your instructors. You'll meet others in the days to come. They are all experts in their fields, and no matter how well trained you think you are, you can learn a lot from them. I expect you to give them the respect and obedience they are due,” her penetrating stare hinted at the consequences otherwise.

Her gaze softened, a smile appearing on her face. “But I would especially like you to meet your tutors,” she gestured to the six women standing behind us, one behind each sissy (two for Suzy). “Though your instructors will organise the various courses, these ladies will oversee your daily routine. They will closely observe your behaviour and performance. If it is found wanting, they will... correct it.” 

I looked around, seeing each tutor stand closely behind one of the sissies. The two behind Suzy looked ready to pounce on her is she made any sudden moves.

Tutors? My panty-clad behind! I thought. These are our wardens!

The headmistress continued. “They have the authority to reprimand you as they see fit, of course, but each one of you is assigned to as specific tutor as her ward.” She held up her finger to underline her words. “Which makes that tutor responsible for your actions. I highly suggest you do not disappoint her.”

“Say hello to your tutors, girls.” The headmistress said as she introduced us. “Cheryl, this is Frau Ochsenhorn.” I heard when it was my turn.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, miss,” I said as I bobbed a pretty curtsey for her. I didn't dare to look her in the eyes, but that was hardly a problem since I barely got up to her chest, even in heels.

I had been assigned the ogre. Great...

“Unfortunately, they even they can't be around all the time,” the baroness spoke.  “But that doesn't mean any infractions will go unnoticed. Isn't that right, Big 'S'?”

“Yes, miss,” someone suddenly said. Startled, I looked around but could not find the source. The mysterious voice spoke again: “A pleasure to meet you all.”

It sounded like a female, but with a distinctive electronic ring to it. I realized it was coming from a speaker.

“Girls, may I introduce you to 'Big Sister'?” The baroness pointed to a corner.  “Perhaps you've noticed that camera over there. Or one of the others scattered about? In case you are wondering: yes, their feed is being monitored.”

I heard a soft buzz as the camera changed its angle. “Big Sister is watching you...” the voice said tauntingly.

“Treat her commands like they were my own,” the baroness said.

She picked up a bag next to her. “It is my challenge to get give you the best training possible. For that I believe in the stick-and-carrot approach. Here is my stick...”

I swallowed hard as she took out a large black paddle. The struck the palm of her hand with it, the loud 'slap' making me wince.

“Some of my colleagues prefer other tools, but you get the idea what will happen if you get a reprimand.” An evil light shone in her eyes.

“There is a long list of infractions that will earn you a reprimand, which I will not bore you with.” The looked around the circle then focused on Suzy. “Suffice to say, if you show any disruptive or unruly behaviour,” she turned to Daniëlle, “laziness or lack of enthusiasm,” she looked at Alice, “incompetence and forgetfulness,” Tiffany was next, “shifting blame or responsibility...”

The the headmistress looked at me. Her eyes bored into mine. 

“...Or fall below the level of competence we've come to expect from you, you will be held accountable,” she said gravely.

Then her face softened. She put away the paddle. “But of course, that is only half of it. There is an equally long list of laudable actions. Admirable behaviour and a willingness to learn will earn you commendations, granting you certain privileges. Your sponsors will also be informed, so they can keep track if their girls have been well-behaved.”

I actually smiled at that. This was a chance to show Mistress Christina what a good girl I was.

“Also, you can 'spend' your commendations to mitigate your reprimands. You will still be punished, of course...” She leaned forward, giving us a knowing look. “...but you will soon learn there is a huge difference between being paddled ten or fifteen times.” I wiggled on the couch, my behind suddenly starting to itch.

She leaned back into the chair. “Of course, you will find we are not easily impressed, so don't expect to you'll be showered in commendations. However...” she reached into her bag again. Pulling out some envelopes.

“...you can gain extra credit by performing certain tasks.”

She handed each us an envelope with our name written on it. “In these you'll each find an assignment, which is completely optional. If you fail or refuse to a task, you will not be punished, you'll merely lose an opportunity gain commendations.”

Her eyes turned hard as diamonds.  “There is one rule however: do not reveal or even talk about your assignments with your classmates. Your task is yours alone. Your little secret.”

She picked up the paddle again, slapping it against the palm of her hand. “Understood? Good.”

The headmistress continued talking for a while longer. Trivial matters mostly. Some general notices. Stuff about maintaining our rooms and possessions. Each of us had to briefly introduce ourselves to our classmates

“...And now I'm here,” Daniëlle said, concluding her story. I looked at her emphatically, unable to actually say anything, but wanting to console her nonetheless. To my regret, she avoided my gaze.

“Thank you, Daniëlle,” the headmistress said. “Now then, that concludes the evening. It's time for bed, girls.”

I noticed how the windows had turned dark, dimming the entire room. The flames in the fireplace gave the room a reddish glow.

The headmistress stood up from her chair, and we followed suit. “In your room you'll find nightwear, a fresh uniform and anything else you'll need for tomorrow,” she told us. “Make whatever preparations you like, but remember it's lights out at ten. Wake-up at six.”

We each bobbed a curtsey for the headmistress. Even Suzy, though her hands were still bound. Our tutors then escorted us to our rooms.

My tutor growled a couple of instructions. Yes, I know to remove my makup before going to bed, I thought annoyed. And I know what a babydoll is for, thank you very much.

I held my rebellious tongue, of course. So I just smiled, thanked her politely and bobbed a proper curtsy.

After Big Bertha had left, I got out of my uniform, removing my plug with a grunt and a sigh, then put on my nightwear. I laid out tomorrow's clothes, so I could slip in them quickly.

I noticed something strange. The uniform was mostly similar to the one I had worn today, but with small differences. More lace, for example. Stockings had been added, as well as small petticoat.

I didn't know what to think of that, so I ignored it as I finished my preparations for the night.

I finally opened my envelope. I looked at my instructions. The assignment seemed simple enough, but made no sense at all. What could this mean?

I was still pondering this when a voice blared form the display: “Ten o'clock. Lights out, Cheryl.”

“Yes, Miss.” I replied, hurrying to bed. “I'm ready.”

“Cheryl? Did you hear me?” Big Sister asked again.

Oh right, I need to push the green button, I thought.

I pressed the knob and spoke into the microphone. “Yes Miss. Apologies. I'm in bed.” Then I realized something. “Er... where is the light switch, Miss?”

“Don't worry about that, we've got it covered,” the voice said. Then suddenly the room turned pitch black on its own. “Sleep well, girl.”

“Er... thank you miss,” I replied. 

I laid back into my bed, which was soft and warm. I tried to make sense of everything that had happened today. It wasn't as bad as I had feared, nor as easy as I had hoped. But who knew what tomorrow would bring?

Despite my concerns, fatigue crept up onto me, and soon all thoughts drifted away into the darkness.