This will probably be the last chapter for a while. Bambi assures me that the story is neither dead, nor even on life support, but it's currently just not possible for our author to keep up the same pace as previously. Whether you love the story or not, I think you can probably agree with me that Bambi has already produced an impressive body of work. I trust Bambi's commitment to seeing this story through to the end, but after putting in this much time and effort, I wouldn't blame anyone for needing to at least slow down, if not take a break altogether.
Chapter
25: School spirit. Cheryl is submerged in
the daily life of a very remarkable school
We
arrived at the ground floor, and for the first time I got a good impression
just how big the school was. Through the windows I could see the enclosed
schoolyard, surrounded on all sides by the main building.
The
complex wasn't nearly as bustling with life as a regular school. The long
spacious corridors were largely empty and despite the chatter of mistresses, as
well as the odd sissy brave enough to speak out loud, I mostly heard the
echoing clicks of heels on stone. It seemed that despite the Baroness' best
efforts, sissies were still a rare breed in this world. Yet, even if I the
building could have housed the number of students present five times over, I
dare say it did contain the highest concentration of sissies and dominants
anywhere on the globe.
Students
were moving out and about. I saw sissies dressed in light blue, yellow, green
and purple uniforms. Each colour had its own theme, apparently. The ones in
yellow were dressed in fetish maid outfits, while those in blue all wore
bonnets above their more elegant dresses. Similarly, the mistresses in black
all wore leather, while those in latex outfits were bright red.
But
despite being part of a theme, whether it was a sissy or a mistress, every
outfit was unique. Here I witnessed the curious situation where our uniforms
were not quite... well... uniform.
I
already knew all students were allocated to one on the school's Houses. In time
I would learn their rather creative names; aside from the Pink Panties, there
were the Purple Petticoats, Blue Bonnets, Yellow Ribbons and Green Corsets. The
mistresses were part of either the Red Latex, Black Leather or Violet Velvet
Houses.
I
noticed how outnumbered my new House was compared to the others. There were
only six Pink Panties, while the others seemed to have dozens of members.
Later
I was told that although the Pink Panties was a small house, we were somewhat
of an elite group within the school. And that everyone loved us. That is to
say, the mistresses loved us because, compared to sissies from other houses,
they had far less restrictions placed on them when dealing with a Pink Panty.
Conversely, the sissies loved us because everywhere we went we would draw the
mistresses' heat away from them and onto us. We were both the highest of the
high and the lowest of the low. We were special. Yay...
“Try
to look busy,” Bibi whispered to me at some point. “No Mistress is allowed to
prevent a sissy to arrive in class on time. So pretend you have urgent business
somewhere else.”
With
that in mind, it wasn't that our little procession simply marched down the
corridors without stopping quickly passing dominants before we drew their
undivided attention and evading those who my classmates had particular bad
experiences with. Smiling prettily we tried to ignore the occasional jeers, whistles
and taunts.
But
it was still an hour or so before class would start, and it was impossible to
mince-march up and down the corridors before a dominant would realize we were
far less preoccupied than we pretended to be. Fortunately, Tammy knew a quiet
corner of the building where we could hide and take a load of our heels.
Bibi
had taken it upon herself to give me a brief overview of building. “See those
big doors down that hallway? They are off-limits to sissies. You can get in
trouble just for being close to them.”
“Why?
What's behind them?” I asked.
“The
rest of the school,” she told me. “Sissies are restricted to this part of the
complex. Beyond those doors is the residential building. Students who don't
want to stay in a dorm can have their own room, for a fee. Some of the
mistresses have the privilege to take a sissy up there for some one-on-one
time. Beyond that is the regular finishing school.”
“Why
do you waste your breath of that airhead, Bibi Pink Panties?” Buttercup
snapped. She had become increasingly agitated as we hid in our sanctuary. I'm
sure she would be pacing around if her towering heels had allowed her. Instead
she just fidgeted with the same garter she had adjusted three times already.
“Oh
now, be nice with your sister, Buttercup Pink Panties,” Prissy admonished her
with a sugar sweet voice devoid of any malice or anger. “After all, we are all
sissies here.”
“She's
not my sister!” Buttercup snarled as she glared at Prissy. “And I'm nothing
like you!”
“What's
your problem?” I called out annoyed. I went from the frying pan of the pit into
the fire of the Pink Panties, and I don't think I could deal with yet another
sissy pestering me all the time.
“You
are my problem,” she said angrily. “Thanks to you they dragged me back to this
place.”
“Hey,
it's not my... this sissy's fault you are a one too.”
And
a well trained one at that, I had to admit. Despite her rage and defiance, her
posture was prim and proper. Her eyes were a different matter entirely. If
looks could kill, I would have dropped dead then and there. “I'm not a sissy!”
she said with a voice that quivered with anger.
“Could
have fooled this sissy,” I said snarkily, nodding at her ridiculous attire.
Though it looked a lot like my own, it felt good to heckle someone else about
it for once.
“She
means to say that she wasn't born a boy,” Tammy interjected.
“Huh?”
I said startled, my brain still processing what I just heard.
“It's
true,” Bibi added. “Buttercup Pink Panties was a girl before becoming a sissy.
A woman even, wasn't that right?”
Buttercup
didn't reply, but it was obvious that a dozen different replies fought in her
throat to be uttered first. Finally she just stammered a few unintelligible
sounds.
“Wait...
What?” I could only say as I looked at Buttercup.
Her
defiance collapsed around her like a house of cards, leaving only a shy,
ashamed and very embarrassed little sissy. She turned around as to evade my
gaze.
My
annoyance with her evaporated, at least for now, and instead I felt an honest
shock. And curiosity as well.
“...
How did that happen?” I could only say. Is it even possible to feminize a
female?
Next
to me Bibi shrugged. “How does it happen to any of us? We meet someone, someone
who urges us to do things we never dreamed of doing before. And when we realize
it has gone too far, we discover there is no way back...”
“I
met a man,” Buttercup suddenly said, her voice sounding weak. “He was... so
charming. Older than me, but I didn't care. I wanted to sleep with him, and
after making some effort, I succeeded.”
I
heard her take a breath, then she turned towards me.
“We
had a great time,” she spoke. “He almost seemed too good to be true, you know?
So I should not have been that surprised when he finally told me he was already
married.”
I
suddenly thought about that fateful encounter at that cafe, where I met three
beautiful women. Almost too good to be true...
“I
realized I was 'the other woman',” Buttercup continued. “But I didn't care. I
wanted him to be with me. I was certain he'd leave her. In the end
though, he didn't.”
She
looked down ashamed. “So one day I did the stupidest thing I could do: I went
to his wife and I told her everything.”
“Why?”
I asked incredulously. Surely nothing good would come from that?
“I
don't know why!” she cried. “Perhaps I wanted to break up their marriage, so
he'd have to be with me. Perhaps I just wanted to hurt him. Maybe I even
wanted to hurt her, my rival for his love.”
She
wanted to raise her arms in exasperation, but failed. She had forgotten her
upper arms were tied like mine.
“I
didn't know how she'd respond: she might yell at me. Perhaps even get
physical.” She shook her head. “But nothing like that. She didn't even get
angry. She just asked me all those questions. What we did. Where we did it.
Especially about the kinky stuff. And how that made me feel...”
She
barked an eerie laugh. “I could hardly believe my ears. This woman, who was
twice my age, asked me the most personal questions. She was my enemy, for
goodness sake!” I heard her take a breath. “But I opened up to her. She was such a good listener. I couldn't help
telling her everything about my life and all my dirty little secrets. I knew
this was foolish, but I kept talking anyway.”
She
shook her head in disbelief. “In the end I tried to apologize for sleeping with
her husband, but she would have none of that. She put her hand on my shoulder
and told me she wasn't mad with me. Or him for that matter. Their relationship
was 'different', she said. He would never leave her, she assured me. But she and
I could become friends. And if I really wanted... I could continue sleeping
with her husband. ”
“...What?”
I only managed to utter.
She
snorted. “That's exactly what I said. It sobered me up. I wanted to leave and
put him, her and this madness behind me. But she took my hand, and asked me to
think about it. She offered me to spend my next holiday with them.”
“And
I assume you said yes,” I replied rather redundantly.
She
nodded. “They both treated me very well. And I had the best sex ever with her
husband.”
She
blushed. “There is something exciting about fucking a man knowing his wife is
on the other side of the wall... And he was so creative. Then we indulged in
some roleplay....”
I
saw where this was going. “And you had to wear slutty outfits...”
“No,
I already had those,” she said without a hint of irony. “But he asked me to
wear them in the house, in full view of his wife. Then things started to...
change.”
I
thought back to the day Mistress' daughters presented me to her, completely
dressed. “I guess it quickly escalated from there.”
“It
did,” she said remorsefully. “Especially when they told me to call them Mommy
and Daddy...”
“So
how did you end up here? At the school I mean.”
She
shrugged. “Like Bibi said, when I finally realized it had gone too far, I could
no longer turn back. When I didn't accept that, Mommy sent me here.”
I
nodded, but didn't say anything.
After
a brief moment of silence, Buttercup seemed to regain her defiance. “So you
see, I shouldn't even be here! I'm not some frilly panty-boy,” she said
haughtily. “I'm a real girl, and nothing like you feminized freaks!”
I
thought about what Miss Ingrid had told me: a sissy is not defined by what's
between her legs, but what's between her hears. In a weird way, sissification was
a very egalitarian concept...
Unperturbed
by her invective, I replied. Not maliciously, merely stating a fact: “No. You
are no more a girl than I am a boy. You are a sissy. Exactly like the
rest of us.”
That
struck a nerve. Buttercup wanted to respond, shout even, but again the words
did not come out.
Her
eyes betrayed her shame and doubt. Deep down she knew I was right.
“You'll
always be my sissy sister, Buttercup Pink Panties. Teehee,” Prissy said warmly.
She simply tried to be friendly, but inadvertently just rubbed salt in the
wounds.
“Girls?
This sissy hears someone coming,” Tabitha called out. “We need to get moving.”
We
quickly checked our uniforms, then formed up in a line. Now Prissy was in
front, and gave the signals. Three... two... one... mince.
We
left our temporary hideout just before two dominants arrived.
“Oh,
hello there, pinkies,” One called out. “Where are those lovely legs going so
fast?”
“These
six sissies are heading to class, Miss,” Buttercup Pink Panties told her as we
sped past. There was no longer any defiance in her voice.
*******************
“What's
your name, sissy?” the Mistress in the blue dress asked me.
“This
sissy's name is Cheryl Pink Panties, Miss,” I answered demurely.
She
smiled contemptuously. “Quite a mouthful, new girl. Do you expect me to
remember all that?”
“No
Miss,” I answered meekly.
“And
why's that, pinkie?” she sneered. “Are you suggesting I cannot remember three
simple words?”
I
gasped “Of course not, Miss. This sissy didn't mean...”
A
cuff on the ear silenced me. “Look at me when you address me, stupid girl!” She
snarled.
“Chery
Pink Panties is sorry, Miss!” I replied hurriedly, looking up, my ear still
burning from the impact.
“No
you're not, but be fresh with me again and I promise you will be sorry!”
Her voice cut like a scalpel, but as I fought back the tears, I saw her eyes
just radiated mirth. She was clearly enjoying herself. Glad that one of us
was...
I
was standing in front of my roommates. The Mistress had made me step out of line
to get a better look at me.
We
had managed to avoid undue attention by stoically marching down the corridors,
while occasionally hiding in some remote corner or blind spot. It was almost
time for our education to begin and we had been steadily heading towards the
classroom. Just when I thought we would reach it without further ado, we got
intercepted by this mistress in her tight velvet dress.
She
leaned in, her nose almost touching mine. “...Are you eyeballing me,
sissy?” asked viciously. She may be just pretending to be malicious, but she
certainly was convincing.
“No
Miss!” I quickly said as her eyes bored into mine.
She
moved in even closer. “Why not? You think I'm not good enough for you to look
at?”
“No
Miss! Er...Wait... Yes... No... Er... Cheryl Pink Panties is very confused
Miss....” I said weakly.
She
looked at me icily, and I was sure she was about to kick my ass.
Suddenly
she leaned back, then burst out laughing. “Oh, you pinkies are the best!” she
told me with a girlish squeal. “If only you could see yourself now, sissy. Hilarious!”
She
continued laughing, thawing the icy atmosphere. Even I began to relax. As she
laughed, I couldn't help uttering a relieved chuckle myself.
“Shush,
girl,” she immediately snapped at me in her firm voice, making me snap at
attention.
She
straightened her back and suppressed her amusement. “Let me have a look at you,
sissy. Twirl around.”
I
had been preparing for just such an eventuality, checking, double-checking and
triple-checking my appearance. Here goes nothing...
Leaning
on the ball of my right foot, I spun around my axis. The skirt fluttered around
me, completely revealing my already exposed panties in the process. My gaudy
earrings jingled annoyingly.
“I
didn't say stop, sissy,” the Mistress told me sternly.
So
I continued twirling around as she watched me. I tried not to get dizzy as I
kept balance in my unforgiving boots.
“That's
enough, girl,” the Mistress said. “Stand at attention. Eyes down.”
Easier
said than done, with the room still spinning around me. My stilettos didn't
help either.
The
woman stood impassively before me as I watched how her shoes drifted before my
eyes, waiting for her to give her verdict on my appearance.
“Not
too shabby,” she said noncommittal. Given the circumstances I considered that
the highest praise. I suppressed a deep sigh of relief.
For
a moment the Mistress watched me in silence. “It's Cheryl, wasn't it?” she
finally asked. “It is? Well, too much effort to remember. I think I'll just
call you 'Teacher's Pet'. You wouldn't mind, would you, sissy?”
“No,
Miss,” I lied. I hated it. This reminder of my greatest shame. Which is saying
something for one who wears a pink dress, butt plug and a diaper.
“Good
girl,” she said with a mean grin. “You know, I've been told that the text on a
pinkie's cap always refers to something they did. Something so scandalous it
affirms their status as a Pink Panty for ever and ever. “
“...
This sissy supposes so, Miss,” I answered weakly, not wanting to go too deep
into the subject.
From
the corner of my eye I saw her watching me with interest. “...I wonder what it
is...”
I
thought back on what had happen just hours and a lifetime ago, shame and regret
rumbling like a volcano underneath my frilly surface. This dreadful day lasted
forever, it seemed.
“Well?”
she asked me sternly.
“Mistress...
Please...” I asked pleadingly.
“Spit
it out, girl!” She snapped at me, brooking no opposition.
“Cheryl
Pink Panties betrayed her best friend. So she could become the best sissy in
class,” I blurted out with barely contained sobs, lamenting my poor choices.
“That's
it? Oh you silly girl... That's nothing to be ashamed of! It's a good thing
that you try to be the best sissy you can be,” she told me rather kindly, but
with a nasty grin. “Besides, you can always get new friends. Watch...”
She
turned to my housemates. “Prissy Pink Panties, step forward.”
Prissy
bobbed a pretty curtsy. “Yes, Miss,” she said happily, then stepped out of
rank.
“Prissy,
do you want to be friends with little miss Teacher's Pet?” The Mistress asked
her.
Prissy
smiled a smile of blissful ignorance. “I sure do, Miss.”
“Very
good.” She turned back towards me. “Teacher's Pet, do you want to be
friends with Prissy?”
“Er...
Of course, Miss,” I said rather awkwardly.
The
Mistress in blue velvet smiled wickedly. “Well then, what are you waiting for?”
She nodded towards Prissy. “Make friends
with her.”
“Er...
Yes, Miss.“ I bobbed a curtsey. “Prissy
Pink Panties, I would be honoured if you would become...”
“Not
so formal, silly girl,” the Mistress interrupted. “Just give her a kiss. A nice
wet French kiss...”
Aghast,
I looked at Prissy. The brainless bimbo pouted her lips happily. Eagerly even.
She looked at me with warm and welcoming eyes, straightening her legs and
bending slightly forward to receive my lips. She patiently held her posture
form me to bring my mouth to hers.
I
hesitated. Despite all the training, all the drills, I couldn't force myself to
kiss her. Him. This man in a dress and heels.
My
delay should have earned me a cuff around the ears, but the mistress in blue
just watched me with delight, drinking my dread and humiliation.
I
fought back against my hesitation. Come on Cheryl, you can do it, I thought.
It's not like I would be kissing a guy, after all. Like me, she is a sissy.
There
certainly was nothing masculine about her. In fact, she looked rather cute,
with her pink dress and high-heeled Mary Janes. Her outfit included bondage as
well, but there seemed nothing wrong with that: more like they were necessary
accessories to keep an over-enthusiastic and overly-incautious little girl safe
and out of trouble. Her make-up couldn't quite hide she was older than me, but
overall she looked like a happy young girl who was just about to experience her
first kiss.
Actually,
the only thing that reminded me about her masculine origins was the fact that I
knew that she was a sissy; a feminized man. But as my Mistress, her
daughters, Margot, my teachers and basically everyone else had said time and
again, I was just a stupid girl. So really, what do I know? Didn't Buttercup's
history prove that whatever I thought I knew about sissies was wrong? Prissy
wasn't a man, she was a proper sissy. A very pretty little sissy...
The
little voice in the back of my head refused to be silenced completely. Are you
crazy? It said. Don't kiss a guy. This is ridiculous. Humiliating. Be strong,
they cannot make you do this.
But
its complaining was drowned out by the shy jitters I began to feel as I looked
at Prissy. When I was still a man I never dated typical girly-girls. Too
girlish for me. But now I realized what I had been missing out on. Her pretty
dress, her long chestnut hair, her cute heels, a picture of perfect
femininity...
My
aversion still tried to put up a fight, but attraction put it in a headlock. I
felt a blush appear on my cheeks.
“Oh
my, Teacher's Pet, you're blushing. Feeling a bit shy, are we?” the Mistress in
velvet said sniggering. “Don't leave Prissy hanging, girl. Go on, kiss her.”
Aversion
struggled, but couldn't stop my body from moving. I mimicked Prissy's posture,
placing my feet next to one another, straightening my legs, pushing my behind
backwards a bit as I leaned forward, arms locked to my sides and hands dangling
limp from my wrists, fingers spread.
I
pouted my own lips, and kept my eyes focused on Prissy's as I moved my head
forward. The mistress smiled when our lips made contact.
Then
aversion broke free and tried to regain control, but it was too late. Prissy,
eager sissy she was, opened her mouth and slipped her tongue between my lips. I
froze, but relentless drills took over and opened my mouth receptively. Out
tongues touched. And we kissed...
Our
postures were of little children experimenting with our first kiss, but our tongues
moved as those of passionate lovers: tickling, stroking, wresting and tasting.
But
aversion refused to accept the situation. It recruited dread and humiliation to
its cause and fought attraction, lust, submission and training. The only
outward sign of my internal struggle was a deeper shade of red on my cheeks.
Naturally
the mistress saw this, and she loved it.
“Ah,
puppy love,” she said. “See, Teacher's Pet? Who cares about friends when you
can always get new ones?”
That
stung. I had just lost Danielle. By my own hand, no less. And one thing was for
sure: Prissy could never fill her heels.
Suddenly
the spell was broken, and I realized I loathed kissing Prissy. They could not
be doing this to me. To all of us.
My
revulsion must have shown on my face. “Smile, Teacher's Pet. Sissy loves
kissing her new girlfriend.”
With
effort, I did as was told. The mistress realized she had struck a nerve, and
she kept up the pressure.
“In
fact, you love it so much, you are getting all giddy with excitement,” she
spoke with malicious glee. “Suddenly you feel like flapping your arms. Like a
little bird. That's it, good. And now you begin to feel all funny in your
groin. You start moving your feet up and down, like you need to go to the
bathroom real bad... Yes, excellent...”
The
mistress watched as I danced for her amusement, while my mouth remained locked
with Prissy's. The girl never relented, her tongue as vigorous and enthusiastic
as when we just touched. She seemed insatiable. Not a hint of malice, just...
being very friendly.
As
our tongues wrestled, my moving legs and hands provided additional stimuli. The
clicking of my heels filled my ears, mixing with the noisy tinkle of my
earrings. The sensation as I pulled the heel of one leg along the calf of another,
stroking it as it went. The flapping of my hand put strain on the ribbon
binding my arms. My petticoats tickled my thighs each time I pulled my legs up.
The rhythm of my steps jiggled my boobs.
Prissy's
perfume filled my nostrils, and I tasted her in my mouth. I loathed it, for
sure, but it was so stimulating...
Only
then did I notice the strain against my diaper.
No,
not again, I thought. I must stop. Before it's too late. Must stop. Can't stop.
Everything I felt had become an aphrodisiac. Even my loathing and humiliation
had become mere stimuli that urged me on.
Smothered
by Prissy's mouth, my I could only gasp as I had another 'accident'. I felt
like crying from both joy and indignity.
“Prissy
Pink Panties, step back in line,” the Mistress ordered. And as merrily as
everything else she did, Prissy obeyed.
Flustered,
I tried to regain my composure. With effort, I managed to assume my properly
demure and submissive position, but probably wouldn't score any points on
technique.
Unsteady
in my towering heels, I desperately tried to ignore the wetness around my
sissy-clitty as it oozed down, then disappeared as my diaper absorbed the
moist. All things considered, I began to appreciate Frau Ochsenhorn's addition
to my uniform. I wondered just how many accidents this diaper could handle.
Hopefully I would never have to find out the hard way.
The
Mistress stepped up right before me, a mean grin on her face. She didn't say a
word as she looked me straight in the eyes and slowly, theatrically, lifted the
hem of my skirt with one hand, then the other disappeared below it.
I
yelped when I felt her fingers touch my panties. “Don't look down,” she
snapped, “eyes forward, sissy!”
I
did as was told, but couldn't suppress a shudder when I felt her fingers found
the rim of my panties, then slip underneath. Underneath my diaper. She didn't
probe too deep, or touch my clitty, just far enough to confirm what she already
knew.
She
withdrew her hands and graciously rearranged my skirt. I just stood there,
perplexed and abased, as she pulled out a handkerchief to clean her hand.
“You
know, us dommes have something of a contest going on,” she told me with
satisfaction. “It's called” 'getting those stupid little sissies excited'. You
score one point for causing a rise, three for getting a sissy moist with
pre-cum. Ten for full blown panty-spillage. You just put me in the lead.”
“You're...
welcome, Mistress,” I said aghast.
“I
wonder if I should tell my friends that you are an easy score, or if I should
keep you to myself,” she said thoughtfully, then shrugged. “Ah, I guess I
should just tell them. One way or the other, it will be common knowledge by
tomorrow anyway.”
Patronizingly,
she pinched my cheek with the hand she had just cleaned (thoroughly, I hoped).
“See you around, Teacher's Pet. Now step back in line and get out of here. That
goes for all you pinkies. Get your frilly asses to class or something.”
We
simultaneously bobbed a proper curtsey, said “Yes, Mistress,” and got moving,
getting as much distance between us and this devil in blue velvet in case she
changed her mind.
The
experience had left me unsteady in my boots, and only with the greatest effort
did I manage to make it to class without stumbling, tripping or otherwise
making a fool of myself and attract more vultures in red, black or violet.
***************************
“Welcome,
ladies,” the teacher spoke as she addressed her audience, “to my course in
Communicative Dance. And I would especially like to welcome those fortunates
who are still in their first cycle. Are you enjoying the wonderful experiences
this school offers its students? Great.”
When
we arrived at our designated classroom, I expected something similar to the
pit's lecture room, where I had received my training. But there were no desks
here. A couple of chairs, but not enough for us all to sit on. No blackboard.
Not even a podium to perform on. Instead I saw a mostly empty parquet floor,
surrounded by mirrors on three sides. A large stereo set had been placed in a
corner. It was an archetypical dance studio.
“And
of course I'm glad to see many familiar faces. I hope this time you managed to
remember at least some of the things I taught you last cycle. We can't have
another Waltz-Twist fiasco like last time, now can we Tabitha Pink Panties?”
A
round of laughter went through the room. I was standing at attention, so I only
saw her from the corner of my eye, but even I could see Tabitha's face turn
bright red.
“Aww,
not even a little fiasco, Miss Engelbrecht?” one of the other students asked
mockingly.
I
hadn't exactly been looking forward to class, but at least there we would be
safe from roving Mistress-in-Training. Or so I thought. Imagine my shock when I
discovered a group from House Black Leather would be joining us....
“Alas,
Miss Black,” our teacher said with a beautiful smile. She almost seemed to
glide across the floor as she spoke. “I understand why you'd think a sissy's
failure to be funny, but I pride myself on high standards and will not accept
anything less than excellence.”
She
walked past us, inspecting each Pink Panty with a quick scan; stern eyes moving
up and down. Then she went over to the Black leathers, where she exchanged a
few light-hearted words with several Mistresses.
I
noticed Miss Engelbrecht didn't wear sweat pants, leotard or one of those other
very practical garments dancers often wear while training. Just a neat blouse,
skirt and low heels. Still, her outfit was much more sensible than what her
students were wearing, that's for sure. The Mistresses wore the outfits of
their house, and none of those women wore heels I would consider suitable for
dancing. Still better than the towering monstrosities my feet were encased in,
though. Never mind the bonds...
“Anyway,
some of you may be wondering why the graceful art of dance is part of your
curriculum,” our teacher continued. “Why would a dominant or a sissy need to be
able to hop around the dancefloor?”
Good
question. Even since I became a sissy, I didn't dance much (though the time
where I first danced the lady's part led by Miss Haltenburg was...
enlightening). Come to think of it, I hadn't really danced since my visit to
London, and that unfortunate attempt at break-dancing, followed by a trip to
the hospital...
Miss
Engelbrecht glided to the center of the room, “Dance is a form of
communication. One as old as humanity itself. You use it to talk with your
dance partner. Not with words and sounds, but with graceful movements, majestic
postures, soft touches and subtle turns.”
She
raised her finger to accentuate her point. “You talk with your body. And
contrary to speech, your body never lies. Dance allows you speak your
heart without the static caused by your mind or mouth. It lets you hear your
partner’s deepest emotions without uttering a sound. You'll get to know your
partner on a level no sweet-talking can ever achieve.”
She
patted her shapely tummy. “...And it is great for burning calories as
well!”
This
elicited some amused sniggering from the Mistresses. Us sissies remained silent
while trying to smile blissfully.
“So
in the course of this class, whether you are a Mistress or a sissy, you will
learn the language of dance. I will not focus on perfecting your technique. I
can teach a monkey to make the 'correct' step or 'proper' movement. But listening
to your partner' body, understanding what she says, that is true mastery.”
Our
instructor began to explain the dance she would teach us, followed by a quick
demonstration. I would have expected a simple three-step foxtrot or perhaps a
formal waltz, but I did not recognize what Miss Engelbrecht was demonstrating.
I
was no expert, but I recognized elements of the foxtrot, quickstep and tango,
all blended together into a dynamic yet graceful whole. It also looked very
complicated.
When
she was done, she addressed her students. “All right then, partner up and give
it a try. Remember, there are no right or wrong moves. The most important thing
is that you communicate. Mistresses, it is your job to guide your
partner. Tell your sissy how you want her to move. Sissies, listen closely what
your partner tries to tell you and act accordingly. Now then, get on with it,
ladies.”
Immediately
the Black Leathers assailed us, laughing and giggling. Each one trying to claim
their first choice for a dance partner. Two were arguing about which one would
pair up with me.
“Hold
it, ladies,” Our teacher interrupted. “She is fist cycle. Miss Anna Black, you
are first cycle too, aren't you? Would you please pair up with Cheryl Pink
Panties instead?”
“Of
course, Miss,” a young woman with long golden hair said. Smiling warmly, she
walked up to me. I reckoned she was about my age, and she clearly was not shy
about showing her young body. Her leather top covered her breasts, but not much
else, exposing her narrow waist and belly button. Her skirt was short (though I
envied the fact that her panties were covered, albeit barely) and tightly
hugged her voluptuous hips. A pair of fishnet stockings ended into two neat
black patent pumps, and matched a pair of fingerless fishnet gloves.
She
wiped a loose lock of hair out of her face as she studied my appearance.
“Hi
there, cutie. I'm Anna. What's your name?” she asked me.
I
bobbed a curtsey. “This sissy is called Cheryl Pink Panties, Miss,” I replied
with my best behaviour.
She
squealed with delight, which sounded very nice. “Oh my, you're adorable.
You are like a little pink dolly. You look amazing in that dress.”
“Thank
you, Miss,” I answered suitably grateful. It was the sort of compliment I could
do without, but at least she meant it in a nice way.
“And
you have to do everything I tell you to, right?” she asked me rather awkwardly.
“Er...
Yes, Mistress,” I replied rather baffled. She was probably new at this.
She
clapped her hands excitedly. “Golly, this is awesome.”
She
looked me up and down. Not stern and critical, but with wide open eyes that
could hardly believe what they were seeing.
“Is
that a gag? You have to wear that?” she asked me incredulously.
Please
don't remind me, I thought. “Yes Mistress. I need to carry it around in case
one of my betters wants to silence me,” I told her as I felt my cheeks flare
up.
“You
mean I could gag you. Now? Right here?” she asked me with a mixture of
wonder and expectation.
I
gulped. This was going in the wrong direction. “If Mistress desires it...” I
answered meekly.
Luckily,
another accessory drew her attention. “And what's this? A leash?” she asked
incredulously, giving it a tug.
Take
by surprise, I uttered a soft yelp as my weight was pulled forward. I had to
make two mincing steps in my accursed boots to compensate and stay on my feet.
“Wow,
for real?” the mistress named Anna said. Then she tugged the leash again,
forcing me forward once more.
She
laughed joyfully. It was a wonderful sound, but I had little chance to enjoy
it. I was kind of busy with mincing behind her as she kept pulling, leading me
across the room.
“Hey,
Diana? Look at me, I've got a sissy on a leash!” She called out to one of her
fellow Black Leathers.
“That's
great, Anna,” a less easily impressed mistress replied, then continued giving
Bibi the dressing down of a lifetime. The poor girl looked even smaller than
normal.
“You
know, I read all about this in the school's information package,” Mistress Anna
told me as she kept tugging my leash, forcing me in a quick mince, “but never
really believed it. Biased and highly exaggerated advertising, I thought.”
She
gave me a nice smile. “So glad I was wrong,” she told me with a cute wink.
Despite
my struggle to keep up, I blushed shyly. In another life I would have loved to
meet her. I would have courted her, for sure. Bring her flowers, take her out
on a date, share a kiss...
But
now I had to face the insurmountable fact that I was trapped in drag, forced
into the outfit of some fetish doll and paraded around like some trophy. And
this dream-girl not only saw me in my abased state, she was even holding the
leash. Literally.
“That's...
nice, Mistress Anna,” I managed to utter with forced enthusiasm, my smile
hiding my caged emotions.
“Was
this what you were hoping for when you enrolled?” she asked me with sincere
curiosity.
“Er...”
I replied awkwardly. What was I supposed to say? Actually, Mistress, I never
enrolled; I was just dropped off in some underground lair and spanked silly
when I did not go with the program. And now I'm just mincing around in the most
ridiculous outfit so that students like yourself have something to vent their
dominant side on...
“...Yes,
Mistress,” I said with a pretty smile.
Mistress
Anna wanted to say more, but she was interrupted by Miss Engelbrecht. “Miss
Black? I'm glad to see you are enjoying yourself, but may I remind you that you
will be graded at the end of the course. May I suggest you and Cheryl start
practicing?”
“Oh...
yes,” Mistress Anna said reluctantly. I saw the regret on her face as when she
let go of the leash.
She
turned towards me, grabbing my right hand with her left, and put her hand
around my waist. I felt her fingers probe the ridges of my merciless corset,
which forced my waist to be almost as narrow as hers.
“You
will find that dancing is much easier, Miss Black, if you would first untie
your partner,” our teacher said with a healthy dose of snark.
Now
it was Mistress Anna's turn to blush. “Yes, of course. Miss Engelbrecht.”
She
reached for the bonds around my arms. “Sorry about that,” she told me with a
shy smile.
“No,
no, no! Do not apologize, Miss Black!” Miss Engelbrecht called out.
She
came over to us, and gave Mistress Anna a serious look. “Never apologize
to a sissy! You are a mistress. You just change your mind, or you try to
keep a sissy on her toes. Heck, you may even redefine the laws of reality
itself for all I care, but you never ever make a mistake before a
sissy.”
Miss
Engelbrecht let that sink in with Mistress Anna.
“You
know who do make mistakes?” she continued, “Sissies! All the time. If they
screw up because something you said or did, obviously they
misinterpreted your commands. The fault lies solely with them, and they should
be punished accordingly.”
She
turned towards me, and looked at me furiously. I could only look back in
bafflement.
She
slapped me in the face. Hard.
I
wanted to squeal in dismay, but the utter surprise I felt over this
chastisement robbed me of my voice. I felt the outline of a hand burn on my
cheek.
“You
stupid girl,” she snarled at me. “Why didn't you inform Miss Black you were
tied up? Do you expect her to notice every insignificant little detail about
your pathetic appearance.”
“I'm
sorry Miss!” I wailed “I didn't... I mean... I wanted to... Er...” The words
got blocked in my throat. I felt utterly confused. What had just happened? I
was being punishing for what? Something I did? Something Mistress Anna did? I
wasn't sure.
“Eyes
front, sissy!” She barked at me. “Stand straight. Legs together. Now apologize
to Miss Black.”
I
was still trying to make sense of what had just happened, but training took
over and I bobbed a respectful curtsey.
“I'm
deeply sorry, Mistress Anna,” I said reverently, though my mind was still
racing. “I'll strive to do better next time.”
Miss
Engelbrecht turned to Mistress Anna, ignoring my bob. “See? Firmly under your
heel. Instead of showing fallibility, and thus exploitable weakness, you
reassert your dominance.”
Mistress
Anna looked at me, to Miss Engelbrecht, and back to me again. Her eyes betrayed
utter fascination with this concept. ”But do I really need to be so strict,
Miss? Can't I be lenient with her, every now and then?”
“You
can, but not in this stage.” our teacher told her. “First you must be stern,
make her fear you. A sissy's entire existence must revolve around you. Then and
only then can you start being merciful, so she'll bond with you. You will learn
all about this in your course in Applied Psychology.”
Miss
Engelbrecht clapped her hands. “But enough theory, let's get to dancing. As it
is your first time, focus on the basic steps. One-two-three-four-turn,
five-six-seven-eight-spin. Got it?”
“Yes,
Miss,” Mistress Anna said as she untied me. I muttered an affirmation as well,
but my mind was still far too jumbled to focus on dancing.
Mistress
Anna threw my bonds to the side and took my hand, escorting me towards the
centre of the room. Around me my fellow sissies were already gliding around the
dance floor under the frim guidance of their partners.
She
turned towards me, putting her free hand on my waist, just above my skirt. I
placed my own on her shoulder. “Ready, sweetie?” she said with a tone devoid of
any malice.
I
looked straight in her pretty eyes, which were a rare form of green, and saw
the warmth radiate from them. My thoughts and emotions were hardly untangled,
but I felt a shy blush tint my cheeks. “Yes, Mistress,” I answered overawed.
“Here
we go,” she said as pulled on my hand and put pressure on my waist, telling me
to move right. “And a-one and a-two and a-three and a... shoot!”
She
had stepped on my toes! I tried to keep a sweet face, but I couldn't supress a
groan.
“...Was
that my left, or your left?” Mistress Anna asked me confounded.
I
tried to wiggle my tortured toes to ease the pain, but in my agonizing boots
there was almost no room to move. I bit my lip to focus on something else.
“...My left, Mistress,” I said strenuously.
“Miss
Black!” our teacher called out “Don't forget what I just told you.”
“Right,
Miss,” she replied a bit startled. Then the young mistress straightened her
back and looked me straight in the eyes. Her warmth was gone.
She
hesitated for a second, as if she was thinking what to say. “No, it was my
left, you stupid sissy,” she snarled at me.
I
must have turned pale. Not because of her sneer; that was positively mild. But
because this pretty girl had suddenly turned into a towering dominant, that
swept away my illusions of dating her and dragged me back into my reality as a
forcibly feminized sissy trapped in her satin prison.
Mistress
Anna let go of her fierce stare. I read concern in her eyes. Maybe my dread
gave her pause, or maybe she was still too unaccustomed to her role as
uncompromising dominant.
“Keep
the pressure on, Miss Black,” our teacher told her. “A chastisement that shows
weakness is infinitely worse than no chastisment at all.”
Behind
the green pools of her eyes I saw her steel her heart. She let go of my waist
and slapped me on the cheek, which was still sore from Miss Engelbrecht's
wallop.
“Oh!”
I called out. It wasn't all that hard, actually. Mistress Anna seemed almost
more reluctant to strike me than I was about receiving it, but I couldn't help
sobbing. I felt tears run down my face.
“That
will teach you, you pink little bimbo,” she told me sharply. “Now tell me you
are sorry for screwing up.”
Snivelling,
I told her what she wanted to hear. “This sissy is very sorry, Mistress. She
will promise to do better next time.”
“Oh,
you'd better. Or I'll give crybaby a real reason to weep, understood?”
“Yes,
Mistress,” I said humbly.
She
gave me a long look. In her eyes I saw whatever reluctance she had about her
dominant role, it was rapidly evaporating. “Say you are a pathetic crybaby,”
she told me sternly.
“This
sissy is a pathetic crybaby,” I said with tearstained eyes. It was the
godshonest truth, it seemed.
“Say
you are a stupid little sissy who loves wearing a pink dress and high heels,”
she told me.
I
obeyed.
“Tell
me you are a sissy-princess who loves it when a real woman twirls her across
the dancefloor like a pretty ballerina.”
I
spoke the words she had placed in my mouth.
Then
I had a vision of myself, gliding gracefully across the dancefloor, held by
this strong woman as the led me around. It should have been a disturbing sight,
but somehow it seemed enticing.
“Now
then, princess... Let's forget all about your little screw-up,” she said. The
warmth returned in her voice, but it now had a sharp edge, like silk hiding
steel. “Let's go, my little dancing-queen. Feel the beat of the tambourine.”
She smiled at me. It was a patronizing smile, but an honest one.
I
smiled back. This girl had slapped me. Been mean to me. Made me cry. And I was
genuinely smiling at her. I wanted her to take me across the dancefloor. It was
insane...
Miss
Engelbrecht, who had watched my dressing down in silence, walked up to Mistress
Anna.
“Impressive,
Miss Black,” the told my partner. “You seemed a bit uncomfortable with
disciplining a wayward sissy. Many mistresses are, at first. But you overcame
that particular obstacle rather quickly. And you followed a chastisement with
an enticing promise. Normally our dominant students need a week or two to grasp
the stick-and-carrot approach. Well done.”
“Thank
you, Miss,” Mistress Anna told her.
“You’re
welcome, Miss Black. Just keep up the good work.” she gestured to the floor.
“Now show me your dance moves, girls. And Miss Black? Be firm with Cheryl. She
needs guidance. It's her first day as a ballroom-belle, after all.”
And
with that, my partner took me across the dance studio. We were both newbies,
but Mistress Anna knew what she wanted and I followed her lead. I learned
quickly, for Mistress Anna indeed was firm with me.
She
kept on stepping on my toes, though.
****************************
After
our dancing lessons (and the very unfortunate reattachment of our bonds), we
were expected in another classroom. It was close-by, so no overenthusiastic
Mistresses bothered us in our mince-march over there. The room itself seemed like
a carbon-copy of the lecture hall in the pit. Luckily, no students from other
houses joined us. It was just the Pink Panties and whatever out teacher had
cooked up.
“Welcome,
girls, to this course on Cognitive Adaptability,” our lecturer said as she
adjusted her glasses. “Or as I like to call it, Sissythink 101.”
I
heard some of my classmates groan. I don't know what shocked me more, the fact
that my fellow sissies dared to be so insolent, or the idea this course was so
bad they couldn't help uttering dismay.
I'm
sure our teacher heard it, but chose to ignore it. “I understand we have a
student fresh from the novice class, haven't we? Cheryl Pink Panties?” the
bespectacled woman asked, and I strained against my bonds to raise my hand
daintily.
“Hello
there, sweetie,” she told me in a nice tone. “In this course I will teach you
the skills and techniques of Cognitive Adaptability. In other words, how to
apply Sissythink in your daily life. So pay attention.”
And
I did, if only to get a clue what on earth this course was even about.
“So
what is Sissythink?” the teacher asked my unspoken question to her audience.
“It is the ability to know and not to know. To be conscious of the facts while
telling richly disguised lies. To hold simultaneously two thoughts which cancel
out, knowing them to be contradictory and honestly believing in both of them.
To use your strength against your strength. To repudiate masculinity while
desperately clinging on to it. To believe that femininity is the ultimate bliss
while being ever fearful of it. To forget whatever your Mistress finds
necessary to forget, then to draw it back into memory again at the moment when
it is needed, and then promptly to forget it again. And above all, the ultimate
subtlety, to apply the same thought process to the process itself: consciously
inducing unconsciousness, and then becoming unconscious of the act of
self-hypnosis you have just performed. Even to understand the word
'Sissythink', a girl has to apply Sissythink.”
She
let that sink in for a moment. I thought about what she said and could help
uttering the only word that came to
mind: “...Huh?”
The
teacher smiled at me with a satisfactory grin, as if she considered me to be
some dimwit that was easily confused by a superior intelligence.
“In
other words: to both love and hate being a sissy,” she elaborated.
Okay...
that I understood. Sort of. I already hated being a sissy, so I got that part
down.
“And
instinctively being consciously unaware of that fact,” she added with an
enigmatic grin.
...And
she had lost me again.
“Perhaps
I should explain with a demonstration,” she said as she readjusted her glasses.
“Cheryl Pink Panties, front and center.”
I
gulped. I hated being the center of attention in class since high school, and
even more so since I had been transformed into a sissy. The fact that my
teacher took out a wicked looking crop didn't inspire much reassurance either.
“Hurry
up, girl,” she said impatiently, “we haven't got all day.”
Somehow,
my ankle ribbon had gotten caught by the leg of my desk and I was frantically
trying to get it loose (no easy task while having your arms bound and wearing
towering heels, not to mention the added chore of looking cute while doing it).
Fortunately, it came unstuck just before my teacher's frown became a glare, and
I hurriedly minced over to the blackboard.
“Turn
around, sissy,” she told me sternly. “Face the classroom. Greet your
classmates.”
I
bobbed a pretty curtsey, then assumed a proper sissy-stance.
My
instructor took up position beside me, just inside my field of vision. I was
keeping my eyes aimed towards the classroom, but could still she her threateningly
bend the rigid crop in a 'U', then let it snap back in its original position. I
swear I could feel it make the air move.
“Listen
carefully, Cheryl...” she told me. “If you had five franks and twenty cents in
your purse, and a tube of lipstick costs 1 frank forty, how many tubes of
lipstick could you buy?”
“Er...
What?” I said confused.
I
heard a swoosh, then a loud slap. I yelped as my thigh lit up.
“How
many tubes, Cheryl?” she asked again.
I
frantically searched my mind for an answer, my dry mouth giving voice to my
thoughts. “Er... five-twenty... one-forty.... divide one by the other...”
Thwack!
A sharp sting went through my left ass-cheek. “Answer me, girl!” my teacher
snarled.
“Two!
Two!' I blurted out.
Thwack!
“Incorrect answer,” she told me icily.
I
gasped, desperately trying to keep hold on the numbers in my head while my rear
was on fire. One-forty... Two-eighty...
Three-eighty-plus-forty-is-twenty-so-three-twenty-no-four-twenty...
five-sixty...
Three.
The answer was three!
“Three
tubes, Miss!” I called out just as she was readying another strike.
She
stopped for a moment, giving me an amused look. “Incorrect answer,” she said as
she let the crop fly.
Shocked,
stunned, I felt could only watch the crop come down and spread its fire on my
leg. That answer was correct, I know it was! What did this fiend want me to
say?
“Four!”
I called out. “Five! Three-and-a-half!”
Thwack!
“Now you are just guessing, girl. I want a definitive answer,” she said coldly.
She
moved the crop back for her next strike. I looked at it in dismay.
“I
don't know!” I blurted out. “I'm sorry, but I just don't know. I swear.”
She
stopped, then lowered her crop. A content smile appeared on her lips.
“Better,”
she said. Then she leaned in a bit closer. “Why don't you know?”
“Because
I'm stupid, Miss,” I said with a sulk. “I'm a stupid little sissy.”
“Yes,
you are,” she told me fiendishly.
Then
her voice suddenly changed. Gone was the threatening tone, replaced by a joyful
note. “But does that excuse you from not knowing some simple arithmetic?”
I
don't know what had just happened, but somehow I had told her what she wanted
to hear. So I just went with it. I let go of all logic and reason, and dove
into the abyss of ignorance.
Without
any effort, a blissful smile appeared on my face. My posture, tarnished by the
slaps of the crop, returned naturally to its dainty state.
“Oh
I wouldn't know, Miss. I'm just a silly sissy, after all. That is for my
Mistress to decide.” For some reason, I giggled.
“But
what if you do need to buy something? How would you take care of yourself?” she
insisted
I
squealed, amused by the ridiculous idea. “Teehee. My mistress makes sure I have
everything I need. She takes very good care of me, and I try to be as attentive
to her as I can be.”
My
teacher smiled at my answer. “That's very good, Cheryl. And what if your
Mistress would ask you to perform for her amusement? What would you do?”
I
smiled prettily. “Oh, I would do whatever she wanted. Give it my best effort.”
“Like
what?” she insisted.
“Well...”
I said hesitantly as I thought about this. “Perhaps I would pose for her. Or I
could flash my panties. Mistress likes seeing my panties...”
I
turned around, took hold of the hem of my skirt with the tips of my fingers,
then slightly lifted the hem as I pushed my bottom slightly outward. Though my
skirt didn't even hide my panties, I was certain that this subtle move would
accentuate my pretty rear.
“And
your boobies?” Teacher asked.
I
giggled. “Oh yes, she'd love seeing those, as I turned around and bent forward.
I felt my bra strain to keep my falsies inside my dress.
My
teacher got something from her desk, then held it before me.
“What
if your Mistress asked you to pleasure a big cock, what would you tell her?”
she asked as she showed me a sizable dildo. “Would you obey?”
“Yes,
of course, Miss.”
“How,
exactly?”
“First
I would take the tip between my lips,” I explained. “Then I'd slowly slide down
the shaft towards the base, tickling the underside with my tongue as I went.
Then I'd pull back, keeping my lips tight as a sissy hole....”
“Show
me,” my teacher told me.
I
leaned in towards the dildo. I wanted to grab it for support, but the bonds
trying my upper arms down limited my reach. Fortunately, my teacher held it
firmly so there really was no need. I closed my tips around the rubber phallus,
tasting its sharp flavour.
I
began showing my technique. For a moment, I wanted to explain what I was doing,
but that only resulted in some funny mumbling. It made me giggle.
My
teacher let me demonstrate my skill for a while, then she leaned in next to my
ear.
“...I'm
recording this,” she whispered.
My
lips moved up and down the shaft twice before the words finally sank in.
“Humff?”
I muttered in confusion. Wait... What did she just say?
“I'm
recording this,” she said again. “And I'll make sure a copy is distributed to
the various Houses on campus.”
The
blissful ignorance evaporated as the pink-shaded scales fell from my eyes. The wrongness
of the situation jumped me like a hungry wolf. My eyes shot side to side, and I
realized where I was. Suddenly my classmates, who had somehow not existed while
I gave my demonstration, reappeared. I'm not sure they really looked at me in
contempt and disbelief, but I certainly imagined it.
“You
are such a sissy,” teacher told me mockingly. “Dressing up in a pink dress and
heels. Sucking a cock! You are pathetic! Do you have no shame!?”
The
words hit me like a wrecking ball, and a dreadful humiliation washed over me.
Worse still, I suddenly realized the horrible dildo was still thrust deeply in
my mouth. I desperately wanted this horrible penetrator out of my mouth, but my
shame had frozen me in place. It had been locked in my mouth more firmly than a
gag could ever manage.
My
teacher let go of the dildo. “Stand up straight, girl,” she told me. “Turn
towards the classroom. That's it. Now, Cheryl. How does it feel, being such a
pathetic sissy-boi, dressed in your girly outfit, having that big cock in your
mouth, standing in front of your peers, knowing that shortly everyone
will have seen you like this?”
I
remained frozen, but my mind was somewhere else, trying to faint and end the
dreadful shame.
But
where my mind recoiled from the horror, one part of me was... elated.
I
felt my teacher's crop stroke the front of my panties, probing the hard bulge
that was pushing inside my diaper. She gave a satisfied laugh.
“Blushing
cheeks, excited clitty,” she told me. “A reluctant mind in an eager body. That
is the essence of Sissythink. This ends our little demonstration.”
Our
lesson in Sissythink didn't end there,
of course, but at least I was no longer the center of attention. After our
teacher allowed me to return to my seat, the actual lecture began. We had to
perform exercises that made no sense to me.
For
example, we had to discuss important historical events. I listened in utter
confusion as my classmates talked about the first moon landing.
“...
And then Commander Nellie Armstrong stepped onto the lunar surface, forever
leaving the prints of her high-heels in the dust,” Bibi said in dead
seriousness. “And she said: 'this is a small step for a woman, but an impossible
one for a man.'..”
“...Miss
Armstrong was accompanied by her sissy Fuzzy Aldrin, who didn't do anything
important, obviously. But her mistress was gracious enough to take her to the
moon with her on her rocket...” Buttercup added. We had to take alternating
turns in elaborating on this 'well-known' historical event.
“...And
then Miss Armstrong took another 'rocket', big enough to make Fuzzy squeal...”
Prissy added enthusiastically.
But
it wasn't just adding fanciful factoids to the story. Our teacher would
regularly quiz us about things we had just made up.
“Cheryl,
what was the name of the organization who sent the Athena 11 to the moon?
“Er...
that was... the...” I stuttered. Shoot, Tabitha had added that part. What was
it again? “... Female... Er...”
Thwack!
The crop went, slapping me on my fingers. “Gah! The FASA, Miss! The Feminine
Achievement and Superiority Agency,” I said uttered strained as I rubbed my
fingers.
“Good.
Now, tell me about this organisation, girl.”
I
had to think for a moment. Just blurting out some silly factoids would not
satisfy her. We all had been on the receiving end of her crop for not putting
some mental effort in it. Well, except for Prissy, that is. Our teacher seemed
content if she just managed to use words that actually excited.
So
I envisioned a female dominated organisation, where strict Mistresses manned
computer terminals and performed complex calculations, while dumb sissies
cleaned rooms, brought coffee and just being around when their superiors needed
something to spank. “The FASA was created long ago to prove and claim female
dominance, and to ensure males would fill their proper place as sissies...”
It
was a load of nonsense, but it was spirited and self-consistent nonsense, which
was met with approval. At the end of the exercise I could readily imagine a
female dominated lunar project.
After
several such assignments, it was time for our next class. After properly
thanking out teacher for her lessons and promising to continue our exercises,
we gathered outside to head towards the next class.
“What
on earth was that all about?” I asked my classmates, still confused
about I had just been taught.
My
fellow Pink Panties seemed in various states of confusion as well. Bibi was
taking deep breaths while Buttercup rubbed her temples. “What, you never been
brainwashed before?”
“Brainwashed!?”
I cried out in dismay.
“Don't
listen to Buttercup Pink Panties,” Bibi spoke, “It's not that bad. Just some
helpful techniques to exorcise unwanted thoughts and ideas.”
“It's
not nearly as innocent as that, Bibi,” Buttercup called out, her voice
regaining some of her earlier attitude. “Try as they might, they cannot control
your mind. But they can make you control it yourself.”
“Care
to elaborate, Buttercup Pink Panties?” I said rather annoyed. I was getting
very tired of all this weird and enigmatic stuff.
“Listen,
airhead,” Buttercup told me snappy, “they can dress you in ridiculous outfits,
tie you up, discipline you, whatever, but they cannot get into your mind. But
if they teach you to think only 'good' thoughts, believe your own lies no
matter how stupid they are, they have shackled it just as effectively.”
“Hush
now, Buttercup Pink Panties,” Bibi urged. “Don't talk like that! Do you want to
get sent to the nursery?”
Buttercup
froze. Then demurely shook her head.
“We'd
better get moving, girls,” Tabitha said. “Or we'll be late for our next class.”
In
silence we lined up and marched off to the next lecture hall. I began applying
Sissythink: trying to ignore all the alarm bells that were ringing in the back
of my head.
**********************
More
courses followed: Basic Exhibitionism (how to look enticing), Proper Grammar
(speaking like a dimwit), Fellatio (self-explanatory)... and then it was time
for dinner.
My
stomach war growling as we prepared to march towards the great dining hall. I
was fearful too, since my classmates warned me it would be full of Mistresses,
but hunger overcame my reluctance.
As
were about to march off, Miss Wächter herself intercepted us.
“Ah
girls, there you are. Cheryl Pink Panties, come with me,” she said. “Hurry up,
little lady. The rest of you can get dinner in the mess hall.”
Unsure
what this meant, I joined Miss Wächter.
“Heh,
someone is having a date with the 'chair'...” I heard Buttercup whisper. As I
was under Miss Wächter's scrutiny, I didn't dare ask what she meant by that.
“Follow
me, Cheryl Pink Panties,” she told me and marched off. “And keep up, girl.
Don't force me to hold your leash.” I hurriedly minced after her.
We
crossed the hallways, and I felt the predatory glances of Mistresses as they
observed the solitary Pink Panty. Though I felt no love for this woman, I was
glad that she was escorting me.
We
headed towards the Pink Panties dormitory, and finally I dared to ask her a
question.
“Miss
Wächter, why can't I get dinner with the others? Have I done something wrong?”
She
smiled, but it was a dutiful smile. No emotion behind it. “No, girl. But for
reasons that you don't need to concern yourself with, I've decided you'll have
dinner in the dormitory.”
We
crossed the room where I had my surprise party, the furniture rearranged, then
passed Miss Wächter's office and arrived at the dormitory. The passed the door
with the sissy who urged me to 'Think Pink'. Guess she was well versed
in Sissythink...
We
entered the sleeping hall. Two women we already inside. One mistress in red
latex, one in blue velvet. “These two ladies are Miss Red and Miss Violet.
They'll be responsible for your dinner,” Miss Wächter told me.
I
froze in place. I had a bad feeling about this. But Miss Wächter put her hand
on my back and pushed me forward.
The
two women stepped forward and uttered some greeting in a language I did not
recognize. Then without bothering to wait for me to properly greet them, they
each gently took my hand.
Flanking
me from either side, they urged me onward. Not towards the large table, but
towards the high chair at the foot of my bed.
Before
I could question this, they had already guided my onto the step of the chair,
turned me around, and sat me down in the small seat.
Confused
and at a loss for words, I could only watch in bafflement as my two escorts got
to work.
The
one in red produced a belt she attached to the chair, then wrapped around my
waist to hold me firmly in the bucket seat, putting pressure on my plug. The
other one lifted up a small table that went over my lap and connected with the
back of the chair, snapping in place. It also went over my lower arms, so that
(especially with my upper arms still tied by my regular bonds) my wrists were
pushed against my body, immobilizing my hands.
The
latex mistress bent over my feet, and I heard something click. With the table
blocking my view I couldn't see what she was doing, but I felt the step fall
away and my feet came to rest on a short bar of sorts, with the heel and tip of
my extreme boots resting on opposite sides. Then something was pushed against
the front of my ankles. With my knees locked underneath the table, I wouldn't
be able to lift my feet far enough to unhook my stilettos from the bar.
Finally
the blue mistress adjusted my headrest, and connected a hook to the back of my
collar.
They
did it quickly and effectively. In moments they had tied me down firmly on this
adult baby chair.
The
two women stepped back from their handiwork. “What... What is this!?” I finally
managed to cry. I looked up at Miss Wächter, who ignored me. She gave the two
Mistresses some instructions, after which they left the room.
“Miss
Wächter?!” I tried again. “Haven't I been a good girl? Am I being punished?” I
asked her doubtfully.
Finally
she turned her attention towards me. She shook her head. “No my dear. As a
matter of fact, you've been a very good girl. All your instructors were very
satisfied with your performance.”
She
walked over to me. “But still, one does not simply become a good girl. One
needs to grow into it. And for that, one needs to experience the first
stage of a girl's life..”
“What...
What do you mean?” I only managed to utter. Miss Wächter said nothing. Then the
two women returned.
One
was carrying a tray with a couple of bowls. No plates or cutlery, save for a
single spoon.
But
it was the other mistress that really frightened me. She was carrying an
oversized baby-bottle with a huge phallus for a nipple. It contained a greenish
liquid that reminded me of something you'd find in a stinking bog.
“What
is that?” I called out in dismay.
“Dinner
for baby-girl. Spinach, Brussels sprouts, cabbage, broccoli... and some other
stuff. Purred and mixed into a convenient slurry, mostly. Full of fiber and
nutrients for the developing sissy. If you are a good girl and finish your
bottle, there is some dessert for you as well.”
Fear
gripped my heart, and I felt the rising urge to get up out of this stupid
chair. I tried to move, but the belt and table held me down. I wanted to get my
arms free, protect my mouth from the horrible bottle, but the chair wouldn't
budge. I felt like kicking my legs, but I could only shift then a few inches
along the bar, not lift them. I wanted to pull myself forward, but the collar
remained firmly attached to the headrest.
As
the two mistresses approached, my movements became frantic. I heard several
components of the chair squeak as I fought it, but it kept me in its grip.
One
mistress placed a bowl on my table, the other shook the bottle to mix the gross
fluid inside.
“No!
Don't! Please!” I whined as the bottle was pointed towards me.
Furiously,
I fought the chair. I turned my head side to side, trying to evade the nipple.
The violet Mistress pinched my earlobe, causing me to yelp, then relax. She
grabbed my chin, pushing her fingers on my cheeks to force my mouth open.
“Open
wide, baby-girl,” the Mistress in red latex said with a heavy accent. The
bottle moved forward...
“No-ompfh!”
...And
the phallic nipple slipped into my mouth. The Mistress in blue held on to me as
I gave one final display of resistance, then meekly slumped into my seat.
The
Mistress in velvet let go of me as I faced the reality of being force-fed;
there was nothing I could do but accept it.
I
kept pulling my bonds, but it was a token resistance. Who was I kidding? I was
a pathetic pink sissy, tied to a baby-chair, being fed like a baby, and I had
been too weak to stop them. Perhaps I deserved this.
The
two mistresses chattered excitedly with one another. I couldn't understand
them, but it was clear they enjoyed their assigned task. And from the
unnecessary pinching of my cheeks and patting of my head did I conclude they
considered me adorable.
The
mistress in red began to feed me. She squeezed the flexible bottle in short,
rapid pulses, squirting small jets of the thick and vile liquid into my mouth. It
tasted as awful as it looked, containing all the vegetables I hated since I was
a child, blended together into a revolting mush.
With
difficulty I forced myself to swallow as the sticky goo filled my mouth. I was
sure I would be sick, and mumbled some protests. The latex-clad Mistress responded
by squirting some more in my mouth.
I
was halfway done with the bottle when I was pulled from between my lips. Now
the Mistress in blue began to feed me from a bowl. Using a spoon she fed me
some yellow stuff that was at least mildly edible.
Miss
Wächter, who had remained on the background during my 'dinner' came up to my
chair. “You'd be happy to know that your sponsor has been informed on your
performance,” she told me. “From what I've heard, she is delighted. You should
be proud of yourself.”
I
snapped at attention. My sponsor? Delighted?
My
thoughts drifted to Mistress Christina. I saw her stately appearance, her
strong and graceful body. A beautiful face that has defied the march of time. I
imagined her looking upon me with pride...
Suddenly
everything... didn't seem all that bad anymore.
“Thank
you, M...” I said, interrupted with another spoonful. “...Miss Wächter. I'm
happy Mistress Christina approves-smpff...”
Another load was shoved between my lips.
Miss
Wächter tilted her head, watching me with keen interest.
“Christina?”
she replied, slightly raising her eyebrow. “I'm afraid you got it all wrong,
girl. It's true that Miss Jäger has paid for
your tuition, but she is not your sponsor.”
My
eyes went wide. My mouth went agape, allowing another spoonful easy access.
A
cruel smile appeared on Miss Wächter's face. “Your sponsor is...”
A
cold chill went through the room and down my spine.
“...Miss
Rosenberg.”
My
heart skipped a beat. My mind went blank. No...
“We
have adjusted your curriculum to her desires,” the Head of House added. “It was
her wish for us to train you as her bondage babe and bimbo plaything.”
An
explosion went off in my mind and burst through my heart. I spit out the mush I
had in my mouth and cried a dismayed 'No'.
“'Fraid
so, dear,” Miss Wächter said stoically as she shrugged.
“No...
No!” I wailed. This is not true, I said to myself. Everything I've done,
everything I've endured, it was for Mistress Christina! Not Margot, never
Margot!
I
began pulling my bonds. “Let me out...” I said “Let me go. This is a mistake...
You got it wrong! I need to... Let me talk to Mistress Christina. It's a
mistake, she'll tell you. She is my Mistress. My sponsor. Not Margot.
She's horrible! I'm not hers. I can't be hers!”
I
was thrashing in the chair, which firmly held me in its constricting grip, but
was now wobbling dangerously. The mistress in blue had to hold on to prevent me
from tipping over.
Miss
Wächter glanced casually at her watch. “Finish feeding her, then get the pen,”
she told the two Mistresses. She went to the door and left the room, leaving me
alone with the two women.
I
struggled to get my hands free, to get out of this madhouse and back to
Mistress Christina. A strong grip turned my head forward, and I felt latex push
against my lips.
“No!
Leave me alone!” I cried. “Help! Someone! Mistress?! Help! Please! No-ompfh!”
Once
again, the bottle forced itself between my lips. I was still resisting when
liquid shot into my mouth.
By
the time the bottle was empty, I was as helpless and docile as a little baby.
************************************************
My
classmates returned a few hours later. Maybe they wondered why I hadn't joined
them after lunch. Perhaps they already knew. They didn't seem that surprised
when they entered the dormitory.
Most
tried to ignore me, but Buttercup couldn't help gloating. “Heh, told you she
got the chair,” she said with malicious satisfaction. “And the pen too?! A
twofer! Imagine that.”
“I
didn't think Miss Wächter would put her in either on her first night, let alone
both,” Tammy added. “Seems like Cheryl Pink Panties managed to make quite an
impression.”
“Hear
that, airhead?” Buttercup said grinning. “Who's the very special sissy? Whosit?
Whosit? Who’s the sissy? Why, you are!”
“Humpf!”
I sneered at her. Who are you to mock me, with your ridiculous pink outfit? I
wanted to say, even though that was clearly impossible. But I had to grudgingly
admit that my current predicament Buttercup had me at a severe disadvantage.
After
my dinner, the two Mistress placed me into my next ordeal: a playpen...
But
not just any playpen, mind you. Sure, it had some familiar details, like the
soft pink mattress, the pile of stuffed animals and dolls, and the bright white
bars that kept me inside, but otherwise it was completely unsuited for an actual
baby.
For
starters, it was absurdly small! Hardly three feet by three feet. Out of
necessity my legs stuck out from between the bars, my ankle ribbon tying them
together on the outside. With my hands I grabbed the bars like a prisoner in
his cell; which I was forced to as short chains had been connected to my wrist
cuffs and wrapped around the nearest bars. This was on top of the ribbon that
obviously still tied my arms together and my red and blue tormentors never
bothered to untie. My back rested against the bars on the opposite side, a
stuffed dolly squeezed in between to give me at least some comfort.
Tied
down as I was, I wasn't going anywhere. Still, the two Mistresses thought it
was necessary to close the playpen's top lid: metal bars covering the top of
the pen's small cube. I had to be careful or risk bumping my head.
Buttercup
made the most of her rare opportunity to look down upon someone, making lame
quips about birdies in cages. Guess it was kind of comical; young man in pink
dress locked in tiny playpen, for all to see. With me as the subject however, I
did not see any humor in it..
Infuriated
by Buttercups mocking, I kicked my legs and pulled the bars. Not that it was of
much use: though painted in a bright white colour, the bars were clearly of
high grade steel. Shouting was impossible too; after finishing my bottle, they
put my pacifier gag back in my mouth and firmly tied it in place.
After
the Mistresses brought up the playpen, I was so horrified I actually dared to
resist. They had little trouble dragging me out of the chair and guide me to
the box, but I refused to cooperate stepping into it.
I
would have expected a spanking to 'motivate' me, or perhaps a few cuffs around
the ears, but instead the blue Mistress just giggled, then pushed hard against
my plug.
I
moaned in my gag, for that was uncomfortable enough. Still, I resolved not to
let that stop my tantrum.
But
then I became aware of the soft vibration I felt in my sissy hole...
My
mind couldn't understand what was happening, why my legs were suddenly turning
into jelly. Why a low hum travelled through my rear, past my groin to my
clitty, causing a raging stiffness.
Later
I was told all our plugs had this little surprise. Officially as a reward for
good sissies, and a correctional tool for unruly ones. Personally, I think it
was because Mistresses thought it was good fun. At any rate, I was completely
blindsided by this subtle and insidious assault. Now the Mistress in blue had
no trouble at all to pick me up and lift me into the playpen.
I
had no idea how long the plug had been vibrating, nor how long it would last
(pretty darned long, I would discover). But as I was impotently acting out my
anger with Buttercup, the penetrator just kept on going on and on and on, keeping
me on edge the entire time. It didn't help that in my confined space I could
barely avoid sitting with my full weight on this penetrator.
“What's
that, airhead? You have something to say?” Buttercup said, finally acknowledging
my agitated grunts. “You want me to take that take that gag out?”
“Yoff!
Yuff!” I mumbled. Get me out of this thing!
In
the dormitory I was allowed to undo my bondage. The two Mistresses had ensured
I couldn't do that myself, but with my Housemates' help I certainly could get
free.
“Sorry,
can't do, airhead!” She said with a grin.
“Whu..
Whuff?!” I mumbled surprised.
Bibi
intervened. “Buttercup Pink Panties, stop being so mean,” she said. “Our sister
has enough difficulty without you pestering her.”
Buttercup
snorted, but a guilty look drifted over her face. Without a further word she
turned to her bed.
“Are
you all right?” Bibi asked me empathetically.
No,
I'm not all right, I wanted to sneer. I'm bound, gagged and stuffed in this
miniscule box with a vibrator in my bum! Get me out of here!
“Opfhem...
unthum muh!” I managed to mumble.
“I'm
sorry, Cheryl Pink Panties,” Bibi told me regretfully. “But Buttercup Pink
Panties is right. This sissy cannot get you out.”
“Huff?”
“Miss
Wächter explicitly ordered the Pink Panties not to help you. I'm not even
supposed to talk to you. Miss Wächter will let you out... eventually.”
Eventually?
How long was I supposed to remain in this ridiculous thing?
Bibi
didn't elaborate, but turned away and walked over to her bed. She untied one of
her bonds and unzipped her dress. Like her classmates, she was preparing for
the night.
“Don't
make a fuss at night, airhead,” Buttercup called to me as she put on a
nightgown. “Or so help me I'll call for Miss Wächter, and she had no tolerance
for girls who cause a ruckus. Believe me, I know. Not that it would do you much
good anyway.”
Baffled,
I watched my fellow Pink Panties complete their evening ritual before turning
in. I tried to enlist the others for help. Tammy, Tabitha, Prissy, please help
me. Get me out, untie me, listen to my lamentation, whatever! just stop
ignoring me...
Tammy
was about to turn off the light when suddenly Prissy came over to me, her
babydoll fluttering loosely around her.
I
looked at her hopefully as she leaned down before me.
“Here,
let me help you,” she said warmly.
“Yoff!
Phanpf yuff!” I uttered relieved. Help me. Anything. Just don't leave me like this.
And
she didn't... technically. She only placed her doll in my lap. “When you need
to go potty, just think about dolly... She needs to go potty too! And she
doesn't wear a diaper when she has an accident...” Prissy told me helpfully.
Blissfully
satisfied with her constructive contribution, she returned to bed, leaving me
tied up in my playpen, completely flabbergasted.
The
light was turned off, engulfing me in darkness. I grunted for help a couple of
more times, but no response came from the black void. I was utterly alone: just
me, my thoughts, and the incessant buzzing in my rear.
No,
there was something else, I realized with dread. Slowly but surely my liquid
dinner was finding its way to my bladder. Vibrations were amplified in my
crotch as the pressure rose...