Saturday, April 2, 2016

Swiss Miss Sissy, Chapter 24b

by Bambi

We walked down a corridor that was lined with windows. There wasn't much to see as they looked out on a back alley behind the school. The only thing notable was directly behind the windows: solid metal bars.

I might have been released from the pit, but I clearly wasn't exactly free yet.

I almost bumped into the sissy before me as the others suddenly stopped. Mildly annoyed, I was still regaining my balance when they suddenly turned right, forming a line while facing a unassuming wooden door. With an embarrassing delay I mimicked their movement.

Assuming a proper posture, I waited with the other sissies for whatever was to come next.

I heard someone clear her throat. I ignored it as I focused on standing perfectly still. I heard it again, sounding much more insistent now.

My curiosity won it from my discipline and I glanced left. The sissy next to me looked back at me, a large ball gag locked firmly in her mouth. She wore a cap similar to mine, but it said 'Dress-up Doll' instead. Her dress was different from mine as well. Though it was also made from satin and with the same pink colours, it hugged her waist more closely and had longer sleeves. Tiny bows lined the hem of the skirt and I saw ruffles on a tight bodice. Instead of boots she wore mary-janes with cross straps and stockings held up by garters.

In a way, she simultaneously looked both exactly the same and completely different from me.

She nodded towards the door. That was the first clear sign of individuality I had seen from these synchronised drones.

“Humm?” I said. Through there?

Her arms were bound like mine, but with her right hand she pointed to the small door sign. 'Dr. C.W. Wächter, Propst', it read.

Guess I'd better knock, I thought. I straightened my back, took a deep breath, gathered whatever courage I could find and stepped towards the door.

I glanced over my shoulder to the other pink panties, each one uniquely dressed. Most kept their eyes looking straight ahead, but the one who directed me to the door glanced back. 'Good luck' I imagined her saying.

After a moment of hesitation, I knocked on the door.

“Enter,” a cold voice replied.

Reluctantly, I turned the door handle and opened the door. With small steps I entered the room.

At first I was blinded by the sun, shining directly through the large windows on the opposite wall. I blinked and the dark shape behind the desk solidified into Miss Wächter. She was working on her computer. I bobbed a proper curtsey.

“Close the door, Cheryl,” she said without looking up. “Then go stand inside the circle.”

Confused, I looked around for what she was talking about. Then I saw a small white circle on the otherwise green carpet. Placed directly in front of her desk, it was not much over a foot in diameter.

I minced over to the circle, and stepped onto the plush white fabric.

Miss Wächter continued working on her computer, I waited in a properly demure position.

Suddenly, she turned towards me. “Cheryl, I run an orderly House here. And I expect my commands to be obeyed by the letter. When I tell you to stand in the circle, I do not mean you can slouch there halfway outside of it.” She looked at me with a frown that could cause water to freeze over.

Startled, I looked at my feet. Everything seemed fine, but then I noticed how the toe of my left boot crossed the edge of the white circle. By a few millimeters at most! How on earth did she see that?

Hurriedly, I adjusted my position, double checking my feet were wholly inside the circle which now seemed ridiculously small. I had only millimeters worth of leeway around my feet. I would have to mind my balance, I thought. 

I assumed my proper sissy posture, and the Head of House turned back towards her computer, apparently satisfied.

“This is the only warning you'll receive as a member of the Pink Panties, girl,” she said matter-of-factly.

She continued working on her computer, ignoring me as I balanced precariously on my stilts.

Finally, she turned towards me, grabbing a large folder that she opened before her. She shifted though a bunch of forms before she found what she was looking for.

“Right... Cheryl Pink Panties...” she spoke as she looked at the papers.

She got up from her chair and rounded her desk, walking over to me. She reached behind my head and undid the buckle of my gag, letting it fall around my neck. “That's you, right?” she asked, like it's the most normal thing in the world to remove a very phallic pacifier from the mouth of a young man dressed like a girl.

I looked at her in confusion, moving my jaw around to relax my muscles. “Er... I don't think so, Miss. My name is Cheryl. Just Cheryl,” I replied hesitantly.

She looked me straight in the eye, giving me that ice cold stare. “While you are here your name is Cheryl Pink Panties, understood?” Her eyes didn't let go of me. “Moreover, you will address yourself like that as well. No 'I', 'me' or 'my'. Use your name in the third person instead. Or 'this sissy' if that is more suitable. Now then, what is your name?”

“Er... Cheryl Pink Panties, Miss,” I said, telling her what she wanted to hear. But what was the point of this?

“And how would you introduce yourself to one of your betters?” she asked in a stern tone of voice.

I had to think about that for a moment. “Er... Greetings Miss... I'm... I mean... this sissy's name... is Cheryl Pink Panties,” I finally managed to utter.

She looked at me blankly. “Hum... that will do for now, I suppose,” she said stoically, then walked back to her chair.

She sat down and turned to her file, selecting another page. “You have an interesting psychological profile, Cheryl Pink Panties. Listen to this: 'High levels of cognitive dissonance'. 'Class five selective social adaptability'. And 'imprinting susceptibility dependant on reciprocal emotional conditioning'.”

She looked up from her papers, an expression on her face that was closest to anything resembling human I've seen so far. “Rather remarkable, don't you think?” 

“Er... I'm not sure... I mean, Cheryl Pink Panties is not sure, Miss,” I managed to utter. What on earth did she just say? And since when did they have a psych report on me?

“Well, it is. The training and indoctrination of sissies is a risky enterprise. Not because of unwillingness, resistance or other such insignificant obstacles, mind you. No, the real risk is that being subjected to a constant barrage of femininity will desensitise a sissy.” Her voice sounded like she was a university professor giving a lecture about black holes, instead of the process of trapping men in girls clothes and turning them into sissies.

She continued with her monotone voice. “We don't want you to get too accustomed to your position or appearance. Meek and helpless, yes. Obedient and bashful, for sure. But not indifferent. As the headmistress undoubtedly told you, you should rejoice in your femininity your every waking moment. We are not in the business of creating empty shells in high heels, you know?”

“I see... I mean, this sissy understands, Miss,” I said, not sure if I really did.

The Head of House continued. “This means we need to have a good idea of a sissy's limits, to see how far she can be pushed without breaking her in ways that are undesirable. All new pupils are therefore carefully watched and evaluated.”

I didn't say anything. Was all of this happening behind the scenes while I was running around in the pit?

The wiry woman gave me an interested look, which was rather unsettling coming from her. “But you do not seem to have well-defined limits. You are like a spring... You can be pushed and pushed before gradually coming back to your original shape.”

“Oh...” I managed to utter.

“Which makes you a promising addition to the Pink Panties. The program I have devised for my wards is far more taxing than that of the other houses. But I do think that you will be able to conclude it satisfactorily, which will imprint some very valuable traits on you without causing mental damage in the process.”

“...Mental damage?!” I cried louder than was appropriate.

“Don't you worry about that, girl,” she said dismissively. “Your sponsor will receive a very generous discount on your tuition if the end result is less than satisfactory.”

“But... But...” I tried baffled.

“Now then, as part of this program there are a few things you should know,” she continued as she ignored my wailing. “First and foremost, you are yourself responsible for your education. You are no longer a novice and no tutor will come drag you out of bed, brush your teeth, wipe your behind and take you to class. You are expected to do this yourself. Classes are mandatory of course, and breakfast, lunch and dinner are served at set times, but otherwise you are free to do as you please, provided you do not break any of the school's rules.”

She took a page out of the folder and held it up.

“Here is a program of the various classes you are to attend,” she told me. “Including their times and locations. There is a copy in the dormitory. If you cannot find the classroom, simply follow another Pink Panty. You mostly attend the same classes anyway. Or just ask another student.”

“Another student, Miss?” I asked surprised.

“Yes. You are no longer sequestered from the other pupils. You are free to mingle with the students of the other houses. Their dormitories are off-limits however, as yours is to them.”

I didn't know how to feel about that. Having a bit more freedom was nice, but I could barely stomach the idea of a school full of people seeing me in my sissyfied state. Even if they were sissies themselves. Perhaps I'll stay in the dormitory then, locking myself in the closet, I thought.

“Secondly, what you are wearing now is your school uniform.” She gave me a hard look. “You are to wear it at all times when you are outside your dormitory. Obviously, it has to be kept impeccable. Failure to do so will quickly draw the wrath of the Mistresses-in-Training.”

“Mistresses-in-Training?” I asked confused.

The woman nodded. “Yes, your 'welcoming committee' were all women learning to be a good Mistress. This school has a program to instruct women in the subtleties of being a dominant. There is much, much more to it than just spanking a sissy, you know? It requires strength, confidence, grace, discipline and wisdom. Skillsets suitable not just for in the bedroom, but in society, business and politics too.”

“Like the sissies, they are pupils of this school,” she explained as she leaned back in her chair, folding her hands. “They may have their own curriculum, but they do share the building with you, having their own Houses, dormitories and classes. But as far as you are concerned they are your betters and you owe them respect, deference and obedience. Part of their training is to detect any infractions or unwanted behaviour of our sissy-students and correct them using a suitable chastisement.”

She pointed a finger at me. “Which brings me back to your uniform... It is the physical representation of your status in the school. It doesn't just tell people what House you are part of; it conveys which rules and regulations govern your daily routine and the obligations and privileges you have. The Pink Panties are subjected to a regime very different to the Yellow Ribbons, for example. Your cuffs...”

I glanced down to my right hand, to the frilly cuff around my wrist. I saw the metal ornaments that looked like cryptic pictograms. They came in different colours. Some were gold-coloured, others bronze or silvered.

“...Contain even more detailed information on you and your status. The Mistresses-in-Training know how to read this information, and it tells them what they can and cannot do when dealing with you. The school has a very strict policy that no Mistress-in-Training oversteps the boundaries placed on her by your uniform, but within these limits they are free to deal with you as they please.”

I was trying to wrap my head around all this, hoping against hope that one of these pictograms said to be merciful with me. But really, what were the chances of that? 

“Because of its importance, a uniform that is not impeccable will be dealt with quickly and severely. Your uniform is unique, and you may not have to deal with crooked seams, but make no mistake: if something is wrong a Mistress will pick up on it and hold you accountable.”

She leaned forward, giving me that cold stare.

“And above all, make sure your outfit is complete. A uniform that cannot be adjusted immediately is considered to be incomplete. An incomplete uniform offers its wearer none of the protection or privileges that come with it,” she said chillingly. “This means there a no longer any limits to what a Mistress may do to you. If something is missing, ripped or stained, you are out of uniform. And if you are out of uniform, you are fair game. So I strongly suggest you check and double-check your uniform before stepping out of your dorm room.”

She looked at me like she was expecting a reply.

“Yes Miss,” I said perplexed, suddenly feeling very cold. Then a thought occurred to me. “Er... Miss? Are these bonds part of my uniform as well?”

The ribbon that was tied to my upper arms, keeping my elbows by my sides, wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but severely limited my reach. I wasn't looking forwards to having to wear it all day. Not to mention the ribbon tied between my ankles.

She raised an eyebrow. “Is there any reason for you to raise your arms or make large steps? No? Then be glad you have been granted this subtle reminder on the importance of proper posture. Of course, if the circumstances require it, a teacher may allow you to take it off for a while.”

“...And the gag, Miss?” I asked.

“You may wear it around your neck. But if someone puts it in for whatever reason, it stays in until one of your betters takes it out again or you get back to your dorm, where you can do it yourself.”

“Oh...” I managed to utter. I didn't even bother asking about the plug.

Miss Wächter closed her file and got up from her chair. “That will be enough for now. Your first class starts in two hours, and you better not be late.”

She walked over to me. “Until that time you are free to explore, but don't go beyond the designated areas.”

And with her face as stoic as before, she grabbed the straps of my pacifier. I uttered a dismayed squeal as she slid the penetrator into my mouth.

“That will be all, Cheryl Pink Panties,” she said as she buckled up my gag.

She walked back to her seat and turned her attention to her computer, never giving me a second look.

I took the only option I had: I bobbed a curtsey, turned on my heels and left the office. I heard my heels click as I stepped on the stone of the corridor, closing the door behind me.

Then I was at a loss. The hallway was empty. All the other Pink Panties were gone. I had no idea where they were, where I was, where I should be and when I should be there.

My dress and petticoats swished as I turned around in desperation: what on earth was I supposed to do now? I thought.

My eyes fell on another door at the end of the corridor. There was nothing special about it, but my legs started to carry me there anyway.

As I came closer, I noticed the small sign next to the door.

'Pink Panties Schlafsaal. Nur Mitglieder und Personal', it read. Was this the dormitory? I wondered.

I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. I hesitated for a moment, but then I reached for the handle and slowly opened the door, fearing that any moment now someone would yell at me for my impudence.

Nothing happened, and as the door swung open it opened into an antechamber.

The room was nothing like the corridor or Miss Wächter's office. The walls were covered in pink wallpaper with white motifs on it: butterflies, balloons, hearts and kittens. A plush carpet covered the floor and tawdry chandelier hung from the ceiling. On the left there was a coat rack from which several identical plastic pink raincoats hung.

But the room was dominated by a large door on the other side, which was painted by an elaborate illustration. On it I saw a girl wearing an outfit similar to mine, her posture that of a proper sissy; bashful but tantalizing. The expression on her face that of an emptyheaded ingenue. She was framed by two words in massive letters. 'Think Pink' it read.    

This had to be the dormitory. If there was any further doubt, an extravagant sign above the door even said 'Pink Panties'.

I minced towards the painting, and opened the door. I stepped into the next room.

I entered a wide hall, with a row of beds on either side. The room was even more pink and gaudy than the antechamber. Not a single surface wasn't covered by some combination of pink-and-white, with needless frills everywhere. The beds were covered in sheets more suitable for a four-year old girl, each one so perfectly made the sheets seemed steam-pressed against the mattress. A frilly doll was placed at the head of every bed.

There were several large lockers or closets, and enough vanity tables for every member. To my left there was a sitting area with a few couches and I saw a large table on the other side.

Three beds did not seem to be utilised, but the others had clearly been claimed by my roommates, who were going about their business in the room. One of them saw me.

“Hey, there she is,” the sissy called.

Five pairs of eyes looked in my direction, looking at me with various expressions. Curiosity, pity and annoyance.

The one who called out walked over to me. I recognized her as the one who pointed me to Miss Wächter's office. The ball gag hung loosely around her neck, and her bonds were untied, but otherwise she was still in uniform.

She made a quick bob, one suitable for acknowledging another sissy but nothing more. I replied in kind.

“Do you need help with that?” she asked me.

I muttered something, not sure what she meant.

She smiled at me. “Hold still,” she said.

Startled, I saw how she reached behind my head. I had to suppress the urge to back down, but relaxed as I felt her unbuckle that horrible pacifier.

As the straps became slack, I let the penetrator fall out of my mouth and on my cleavage.

“Better, yes?” the sissy asked me.

“Yes. Thank you...”

“This sissy is called Bibi Pink Panties,” the girl told me. “What is your name?”

“I'm... Er... I mean, this sissy is Cheryl Pink Panties,” I answered awkwardly.

“You are new, aren't you? Fresh out of the novice class?” she asked me with mild interest.

I nodded “Yes. I just arrived. I mean... Cheryl Pink Panties just arrived from the novice wing.” It was incredible, but hardly an hour ago I was still in the pit, and now it suddenly seemed like a lifetime ago...

“First cycle, huh? Well, good luck with that,” a sissy said tauntingly. She had 'caught and collared' written on her cap. She bobbed a pretty curtsey. “Tammy Pink Panties. Pleased to meet you.”

The other sissies joined us too. We exchanged names and curtsies. I met Prissy, Tabitha and Buttercup.

“So you are the reason I was sent back here?” the latter said annoyed. “Thank you so much for that...”

I looked at her in confusion. “Er... Sorry?” I stammered. What did I do?

Bibi put her hand on my shoulder. “Just ignore Buttercup Pink Panties here. She is just grumpy,” the girl said. She unhooked the ribbon tying my arms together “This her fourth cycle, after all.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, rubbing my arms. I thought about what I just heard. “Fourth cycle? What do you mean?” I asked.

The sissy called Prissy giggled. “Did Miss Wächter tell you about 'the program' yet?”

I nodded. “Yes... She told me I should conclude it satisfactorily...”

Prissy smiled at me, her ditzy eyes supporting the statement that ignorance truly is bliss. “Teehee. Did she also mention that the program never ends?”

“Wait, what..?” I asked astounded.

Prissy winked at me. “You are here forever, sweetie.”

“Prissy Pink Panties, why don't you go check if your doll needs to go potty again?” Buttercup sneered at her.

“Oh, good idea! Teehee,” she replied as she scampered off.

“What was she talking about?” I asked distraught.

The other sissies looked at each other for a moment, silently discussing who would explain this nonsense to me.

Bibi spoke up first. “Well, now that you are a Pink Panty, you start you training with us, right? And when they are satisfied with you, they'll throw you a graduation ceremony and you can go back home, okay?”

“Okay...” I replied. She made sense so far.

She continued. “But that's not the end of it! It was only the first 'cycle', or training period. Within a year, within six months if you are really unlucky, you are called back to school. For a refresher course. You next 'cycle'. Then you get to do this all over again! Rinse and repeat.”

I felt my chin drop. “How many cycles are there?”

Buttercup snorted, giving me the stink-eye. “You dumb sissy... You do at least one cycle a year. Every year. Once you are a Pink Panty, you are one for life. Get it now, airhead?”

Her hostility heckled me. “Hey! What are you angry at me for?”

“It's only four months since my... Buttercup Pink Panties' last cycle,” she sneered, ”and thanks to you they called this sissy back!”


Bibi shrugged. “They always start a new cycle when a novice advances. We were summoned the moment they decided you were to join us.” At least she did not seem to bear ill will towards me, I thought.

“This will be this sissy's fourth cycle,” Bibi added.

“Third one for Tammy Pink Panties,” the other sissy spoke.

Tabitha, who had been silent during the conversation, just said: “Second cycle.”

We heard Prissy giggle. “...No idea how many cycles she went through,” Bibi told me.

A cold shiver went down my spine. 'Mental damage' Miss Wächter had said...

“We'd better get going,” the one named Tammy said.

“Going?” I asked “Go were?”

“To class, of course, silly goose,” she said merrily.

“But classes don't start for two hours or so!” I protested. “Shouldn't we stay here until then?” I had absolutely no desire to mingle with a bunch of overactive Mistresses-in-training.

She shook her head. “We can't. The dorm room is off-limits at daytime. We're only allowed in during meals and for the night. Miss Wächter gave us permission to use it long enough to show you your bed, but we need to be gone in twenty minutes.

“It's that one, by the way,” Buttercup said, pointing to one of the unclaimed bed. It was the only one that had some weird high chair in front of it. 

“Time to get back in uniform...” Bibi said with a resigned tone. “Can anyone help Bibi Pink Sissy with that nasty chain, please? This sissy can't get it on herself.”

That ended out little meeting, and my roommates turned back towards their own concerns. Tammy helped Bibi with her bonds, Tabitha wiped her shoes with a cloth, Buttercup straightened her stockings. Even Prissy was diligently checking her appearance.

I followed their example and hurried to the vanity mirror. The gag had smudged some lipstick and I had to correct it. A speck on my boot was quickly removed. After straightening my dress, I got to work on the awkward business of binding my arms again.

“Cheryl Pink Panties?” Bibi suddenly called. “Out there you need to obey a couple of rules, or they'll eat you alive. So listen carefully...”

And as I struggled with the ribbon, I listened very carefully to Bibi's rules. Don't wander off alone, or Mistresses will gang up on you. Do exactly the same the rest of them, or you'll attract undue attention. Ignore taunts, but instantly obey direct commands. Do not speak unless spoken to. And above all, never let them get you excited...

With only minutes to spare, everyone was done and we lined in front of the door. It had the same illustration on this side, reminding us all to 'think pink'.

“Tammy Pink Sissy will give the sign to move. Watch for hand signals,” Bibi told me.

I looked closely, and I saw her count off with her fingers. Four... three... two... one... Go!

And with that our pink procession got moving. I put the wrong foot forward first, unfortunately.

“Mind your step, airhead,” Buttercup snapped at me. “You'll get us all into trouble!”

I mumbled something under my breath, probably a snappy comeback that no-one heard. I adjusted my pace and fell into the cadence.

Tammy opened the two doors, while Tabitha closed them behind us.

Clacklack! Clacklack! Clacklack! our heels went as we mince-marched down the hallway.


We marched down the corridor and back into the room where my welcoming party had been held.

It wasn't empty. A small group of sissies was busy rearranging furniture, overseen by several mistresses. As the poor sissies did their best to look suitably girly while moving loads, removing the circle I had previously found myself at the centre of, the mistress seemed much more interested in taunting the girls than to direct labor effort.

“Dani Yellow Ribbon, put that chair down over there. No, that's no good. Bring it here instead. More to the left, girl. Hmm, no I don't like it,” one of the ladies said sniggering “Try setting it down over there. Nope, that's not it either. No matter, we have many more options to try. Take it over there, girl. Now, you dumb sissy!”

“Clarissa! What the hell do you think you are doing?” Another shouted. “I want to see those panties when you put something down. I don't care if it's heavy. Keep those legs straight, girl.”

“Hey you, Blue Bonnet! Get over here. Now, sissy! Some dust landed on my shoe. Come here and wipe it off,” a lady in black leather called out.

“The pinkies are back,” a mistress in dark blue called out to her colleagues as we entered the room.

Several of the mistresses turned towards us, all smiling wickedly. The other sissies continued their allotted tasks, but I could see the relief that someone else had drawn their overseers' attention. As we crossed the room towards the double door at the opposite wall, the two sissies in our way made room for us to pass. Not really for our benefit, mind you, but because they didn't want to be anywhere near the group of newcomers that the mistresses had suddenly become very interested in.

They watched us pass by in silence, and for a moment I hoped we could reach the door with nothing more than mocking smirks directed our way.

Then one mistress broke the silence. “How's your ass, Cheryl? I didn't spank it too hard, did I?” She called out. I recognized her from the gauntlet. “Or didn't I spank it hard enough?”

Another joined in. “What about your little clitty, Cheryl Pink Panties? Still rock hard? Want to have another accident?”

The others burst out laughing.

I heard buttercup snigger. “Heh, sounds like airhead is in trou-hou-ble...”  She said softly enough for only me to hear.

Not that my companions were spared, though. All the mistresses joined in mocking and taunting us.

“Hey you, girl in front! What's your name? Want me to collar you again?”

“I know you. You're Prissy, aren't you? Can you count to five? Go ahead, I can wait for another hour!”

“Don't forget to smile, Buttercup Pink Panties! Remember, you are delighted to be a frilly sissy.” 

Though some of the heat was off me, as the new girl in town most of the taunts were still directed at yours truly.

“Your clitty is showing, Cheryl.”

“Need me to change your diaper, sissy?”

“Are you going to cry again, crybaby? Need mommy to kiss a boo-boo?”

I kept my eyes straight ahead, trying to ignore their abuse, but I felt my cheek turn red.

The trek across the room seemed to last forever, but we finally arrived at the double door. Tammy reached for the handle...

Halt!” Someone called out, her booming voice thundering through the room.

Our pink procession stopped instantly. I didn't even bump into my predecessor for once.

“Turn right!” the voice cried.

As one, we turned (though admittedly my turn was more awkward). We faced a mistress, the one clad in black leather. She had her hands crossed before her, a stern gaze directed at our pitiful group. Her face betrayed that her age was closer to thirty than twenty, but her exposed midriff revealed a slenderness that would the envy of legions of women worldwide. Her chestnut hair fell over her shoulders and onto her short leather halterneck. Her flared skirt just covered her underwear, but left her belly button unobscured. Her long legs disappeared in a pair of patent leather boots that were so shiny you could see your own reflection in them. 

She put one hand on her hip and with a seductive sway slowly walked over to us. “Well, well, well, what have we here?”

She stopped before our line, and instinctively we all bobbed a curtsey.

She turned to me. “Hello there, new girl,” she said. “What's your name?”

I curtsied again. “Greetings, Mistress. I'm... I mean, this sissy is called Cheryl Pink Panties.”

She looked at me thoughtfully. Then slapped on my cheek. Twice.

Startled, baffled, I looked at her. What? What? My jumbled mind cried.

“You said 'I'. Twice,” she told me casually. “You are a Pink Panty. There is no 'I'. No individuality, no independent thought, only the pinkness of femininity. Isn't that your House motto? 'Think pink'? Now then, let's try again. What's your name?”

I did my best to put up my best behaviour. I even managed to smile, although I was closer to crying. “This sissy is called Cheryl Pink Panties, Mistress.”

She smiled at me, but it had no warmth in it whatsoever. “Better...”

She looked me up and down. “You just arrived,” she said.

“Yes Mistress,” I replied. “This sissy just transferred from the novice wing.”

She gave me a hard look. “That wasn't a question, stupid girl. Nor am I interested in your whole life history. If there is something about you I want to know, I'll just make it up. And you better not prove me wrong. Understood?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I answered quickly, even though I had no idea what she was talking about.   

A smile returned to her face, but if she attempted to appear affable, she failed specatularly.

“I heard about you little welcoming party. Such a shame I wasn't able to participate. I had other matters to attend to. Much more important than an insignificant pink fairy like yourself. I'm sure you understand.”

I wanted to say: 'that fine, Mistress', but stopped myself. This woman clearly wasn't interested in hearing my opinion.

“Give me your hand,” she demanded.

“Mistress?” I asked confused.

“Your hand, stupid girl. Show me your tags.” she sneered.

“Tags? What are...” I tried, but she just impatiently grabbed my right hand, almost pulling me off-balance on my towering heels.

I suppressed a squeal and regained my composure. The black-clad Mistress looked at my cuff, studying the pictograms around my wrist.

Ah, those tags, I thought.

“Interesting...” she said, as she turned tilted my hand left and right. She called out to her colleagues, who joined her.

I just waited passively as they examined the ornaments. They exchanged some sentences in French. I had no idea what they said, but I had the impression they were pleased with whatever they were seeing.

Finally, she let go of my hand. “Interesting...” She said again.

She smiled again, but this time is wasn't just cold. It was outright evil. “I think we'll be seeing each other again very soon, sissy.”

Her smile frightened me, but I managed to utter a weak “Yes, Mistress.”

She turned to my neighbour, her companions following her. She completely ignored me as she turned her full attention to my roommates, one after the other, subjecting each one to her wicked interrogation. Even Prissy seemed frightened of her.

After having scared all the others, she turned to the last Pink Panty standing. “Well, hello there, Tabitha...” she said with the voice of a venomous serpent.

“Hello, Mis... Mistress Désirée...” she said stammering.

“Fancy meeting you here. What are the odds our two cycles overlapping? Isn't that wonderful?”

“Yes Mistress... Very wonderful...” Tabitha's voice sounded anything but enthusiastic.

“We never did have our second... rendez-vous... now did we?” she said with an evil wink. “Your monitor always seemed to get in the way, right?”

“It seems like it, Mistress,” was the weak reply.

The mistress sniggered. “Well, wouldn't you know it? Your monitor is ill. Bad case of the flu, I've heard. Will probably take a few days before she returns. Don't worry though, I'm sure to take care of you in the meantime. Perhaps we can even continue where we left off...”

I heard Tabitha gulp. “Yes, Mistress.”

The black-clad mistress called Désirée said something to her posse, who burst out laughing. Tabitha, who seemed to understand what they were saying, became even smaller.

I guess that the other mistresses had a certain respect or esteem for Mistress Désirée, because they were silent during this whole process. Only when the latter turned away from Tabitha, did they unleash themselves on us.

“There is a spot on my shoe! Clean it, pinky!” one called out.

“Show me a curtsey, girl,” one dressed in dark blue fabric said. “Call that a bob, you stupid sissy? Do it again!”

“Turn around and bend over, dolly. Show me your panties.”

Being the new girl, just starting with her first cycle, I was particularly popular.

“Yes, Cheryl Pink Panties is wearing a plug, Mistress,” I admitted, then being forced to add: “This sissy loves it, it is very big.”

“Yes Mistress, it moves with every step this sissy takes,” I replied to the continuing line of questioning. “Well... guess so, Mistress. This sissy probably would feel even more if she jumped up and down.”

And of course they made me put the hypothesis to the test. Spoiler: she does. 

Finally the women seemed to have their fill of our dread and humiliation, and they sent us on our way.

“Alright, girl,” Mistress Désirée called. “Turn left. Forward... March!”

We got moving. Tammy was quick to open the door. A sigh of relief went through our procession as we left the room.


We spaced through the corridor. Our tempo was at the upper limit of what was allowed (or even possible, since we all were hobbled one way or the other), as if to get as much distance between us and the Mistresses back in the room.

I heard someone mince out of synch with the rest, and it wasn't me this time. I traced the disturbance to the back of the column.

“Are you all right, Tabitha Pink Panties,” I dared to say.

“Shush!” Buttercup told me.

I ignored her. “Tabitha?” I tried again, glancing over my shoulder.

Her eyes met mine. “...Don't let her catch you...” she said softly.

“Be silent!” Buttercup said more insistently.

“What do you mean?” I asked Tabitha.

“That was Mistress Désirée. She is mean. If she catches you alone, she'll take you to the boiler room,” she said frantically. “You don't want to go to the boiler room...”

“What on earth do you mean by that?” I asked concerned.

Tabitha didn't say anything else. Whatever courage she had found to warn me, it was gone now. Bibi answered instead.

“It's a locked room in a dark corner of the basement,” she said softly. “Nobody goes there, since it is off-limits to all students. It is said that sometimes the less scrupulous mistresses take a sissy inside, far away from prying eyes, to deal with her without the constraints placed on them by the school rules.”

“And Mistress Désirée does this?” I spoke startled. “Someone should report her!” Surely such an infraction would not go unpunished?

“Seriously, someone will hear you, you dimwits,” Buttercup tried again “Do you want to be gagged, or something?”

If Bibi even heard her, she ignored her. “Hah. Go right ahead,” the girl told me. “She'll just deny it and the staff takes the word of a mistress over a sissy anytime. Besides, they say she's one of the Black Cloaks. They can get away with anything.”

“Black Cloaks?” I asked puzzled. “Who are they? Another House?” Miss Wächter had told me the mistresses had their own houses.

“No. More like a secret society,” Bibi explained. “The black cloaks are an elite group of Mistresses-in-Training. Membership is by invitation only, and they select only the very best. Officially they are sort of student council, but in practice they form a sort of inquisition. They protect the traditions and spirit of the school, and persecute those who they deem unworthy. Much of what they do is against school regulations, but the headmistress tolerates them nonetheless.”

“Why!?” I cried astonished. “Surely the headmistress isn't that mean?” If anything, I couldn't imagine Miss Wytenbach being so callous or capricious.

Bibi snorted. “As long as it helps stimulate what she calls 'excellence' among her students, she will turn a blind eye to the Black Cloaks antics. And in a school where bullying sissies is part of the curriculum, she tolerates a lot.”

She had a point there...

“Someone's coming!” Buttercup whispered insistently. She was right. Three students turned the corner before us; two sissies and a mistress. The woman in red latex seemed preoccupied with her charges, but we kept our mouths shut as we passed them, mincing towards a staircase that led into the bowels of this insane school.

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