Friday, January 13, 2017

Swiss Miss Sissy, Chapter 31

EDIT:  I thought I was pretty clear about this situation in the introduction below as well as my previous blog entry (titled, "O Bambi, Where Art Thou?"), but I just had to write a response to a confused reader, so either they didn't bother to read my intro and last post or I'm at fault for not being clear enough.  Just in case it's the latter, here it is in a nutshell:  This story is incomplete, but I haven't heard from Bambi in eight almost nine months and he won't or can't respond to the numerous emails I've sent.  Therefore, I've made an executive decision to post the remaining completed chapters, even though it means leaving the school arc unresolved.  The only other option is to keep these chapters to myself and hang onto the increasingly slim hope that Bambi will reappear with an update, but I'm not willing to keep the readers in perpetual suspense.  

As I said in my response to the aforementioned confused reader, I know George R.R. Martin's fans have had to wait years in between books, so perhaps I seem very impatient by comparison, but his readers have the benefit of knowing that he's alive and writing (at least some of the time), which is more than I'm able to say about Bambi, unfortunately.

What I'm about to start posting now and in the coming weeks are the first several chapters of "Swiss Miss Sissy" that Bambi wrote.  As I explained in my last blog entry, Bambi wasn't composing the story in a completely linear fashion.  He started by writing these later chapters, then went back to where Bea stopped the original story (Chapter 6) and wrote Chapters 7 through 25.  During that time, the tale grew much more epic in scope than even Bambi had intended and more chapters kept being added. 

In the draft I have, the chapter you're about to read was tentatively titled Chapter 15.  Well, we passed what turned out to be the real Chapter 15 ten chapters ago and have come nowhere close to bridging the gap between Chapter 25 and the one I'm posting now.  Because I have Bambi's notes, I know that at least five chapters were planned in between 25 and this one, so for lack of a better idea, I'm just going to call this Chapter 31.

Despite the fact that we've jumped ahead in the narrative, I don't believe that readers should have any difficulty following what's going on.  I didn't when I first read this chapter and the ones after.

I still feel that it's far from ideal to be posting an incomplete story, but I haven't heard from Bambi in three quarters of a year and he's not responded to any of my emails, so I don't see a lot of alternatives.  Though the circumstances suck, in a way, I'm excited to be sharing these chapters with you.  They were what initially convinced me that Bambi was absolutely the perfect person to entrust with finishing the story that Bea had begun years ago.


It's been a while, so if you need a memory refresher, here is a recap of the story so far:

Charles, age 20, a broke American tourist travelling across Europe, is sitting alone in a Swiss sidewalk cafe when he is invited to share a table with three sisters, Martina, Ingrid and Brigitt.  Christina, the elegant, rich and beautiful mother of the three young ladies, stops by and is introduced to Charles.  Having nowhere to stay for the night, the girls offer to put him up at their place and Christina invites him to her birthday party the following day.


The sisters waste little time in forcibly feminizing Charles, offering the flimsy excuse that their mother's party is a fancy dress, and the only costume available is a maid's uniform.  The next day, their true intention becomes clear as Charles- now renamed Cheryl- is presented to their mother as her new sissy maid and plaything.  He can supposedly walk out the door anytime he wishes... just so long as doesn't mind facing the embarrassment of explaining to the U.S. consul how he lost his passport and why he's dressed as a maid... assuming he can even find the U.S. consul in a town where he doesn't speak the language.

During Christina's party, Cheryl suffers several indignities at the hands of of Christina's friends, most notably the vicious Margot Rosenberg.  Margot's 18 year old nephew Daniel is another reluctant party attendee.  His aunt is in the process of turning him into her sissy niece.

The next morning, Cheryl meets Christina's employee Esther Rosen (aka Madame Directrice), who browbeats him- or rather, her- into signing a contract with Christina, making Cheryl's position in the household official.  Over the following couple of weeks, Cheryl learns how to act as a proper sissy maid and endures numerous humiliations, including being instructed to act as a flirtatious "coquette" for the benefit of Margot and becoming Christina's girl in the bedroom.

Cheryl and Daniel- now called Danielle- are taken on an excursion to Freistaat, a secret and exclusive district for those who wish to practice alternative lifestyles without interference from the outside world.  Their first stop is a salon where Cheryl learns that Christina has agreed to loan her to the dreaded Margot for a week in exchange for Danielle.  Afterward, while shopping at a boutique, Cheryl is befriended by sympathetic shop girl Michaela.  Michaela is somewhat dubious of Cheryl's claims that she was forced into her current circumstances, but nonetheless presents her with her phone number to call in case of emergency.

Cheryl spends a harrowing seven days with Margot and is pushed to the breaking point and beyond by her cruelly inventive mind games and kinky tortures.  At the end of the week, she is relieved to be returned to Christina, her kinder and saner mistress (at least compared to Miss Rosenberg).  Her relief is short-lived, however.  Cheryl's worst fears are confirmed when Martina confides to her that it has been arranged that Christina will marry Danielle (though Danielle is unaware of this), at which point Cheryl will become the permanent property of Margot. 

When we last saw Cheryl, she had Danielle had been enrolled at Baroness Von Wytenbach's Finishing School for Young Ladies of all Genders.  The following chapters take place after both of them have left the school and returned home.    



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


by Bambi

Chapter 31: No good deed goes unpunished. Cheryl discovers no sissy can escape the inevitable.


After I had changed out of my working uniform and into my afternoon outfit, I went up to see Madame Directrice. Now that Mistress Brigitt was out, she was responsible for my corset training, but the turmoil left in Daniel's flight caused her to spend most of her time working in her study. I had to pick a corset myself and constrict it as much as I could before presenting myself for Madame Directrice.

I tip-toed up the flight of stairs in my black ankle boots with four inch heels. Now that for the time being I had to dress myself, I was allowed to wear heels that had zippers since the corset and tight skirt hardly allowed me to bend over far enough to fasten shoe-straps.

My black corset was clearly visible beneath my white blouse, the red lace I thought matched nicely with the bordeaux details on the hem and waist of my black skirt. I also wore a black choker with a gaudy fake ruby and contrasting white gloves. A white apron and maid's cap with reddish embroidery tied everything together nicely.

I made a quick visit to the washroom to double-check my outfit, making sure everything was in order. Since I had to do my dressing by myself at the moment, I was granted a modicum of leniency, but obvious mistakes would be punished. I reapplied my lipstick, which still looked fine, but a sissy could never put on her lipstick often enough.

I let out a sigh as deep as my corset allowed, straightened my posture and walked out towards Madame Directrice's office in tiny mincing steps.

With another sigh, to gather any courage I could find, I tapped the door.

“Yes?” Madame Directrice's voice came from the room.

“It is maid Cheryl, Madame Directrice. May I please come in?”

“Yes, yes. Do come in.”

I entered the room. It was quite large. One wall was covered with bookshelves, each shelf filled with folders and books with titles that were most likely German or French, while those English ones were about legislation and business affairs. The other was mostly empty, except for two filing cabinets and a small table with some plants on it, as well as a silver tray with crystal glasses and a bottle of water.

Madame Directrice sat with her back towards the broad window, which looked out into the garden. The afternoon sun was visible in one corner, but the partially lowered yellow shades diminished the bright light into a pleasant golden shine. She was sitting behind a large oak desk, perhaps decades or more old. It was mostly empty, with two folders at one side, a big mug of coffee at the other, and a classic style pen tray and some statuette in the middle. Most room however, was taken up by the laptop computer Madame Directrice was working on.

“Stand in front of the desk, Cheryl. Hands folded,” she said without even looking up.

There were two chairs in front of the desk, but it was quite clear I shouldn't even dare suggesting using one of those. I took my place demurely one metre in front of the desk, bobbed a proper curtsey and stood straight, hands daintily folded, as instructed.

She continued working on her laptop. Only then did I notice that she was smoking a cigarette. I didn't even know she smoked. With her right hand she held a long slender cigarette holder in which a filter cigarette was burning. It lit up as she pulled on the holder's long end and blew out a whiff of smoke. 

She glanced over her glasses towards me. “Eyes down, sissy! No staring,” she snarled. I immediately looked at my toes, starting to become unsettled.

Madame Directrice has always been strict, harsh even, but her composure was always very professional. Like it was the most normal thing in the world to force a young man into female clothes and then spank him if he didn't measure up. But she seemed rather... agitated. Angry even.

“Shoulders straight! No slouching, stupid girl!” She snapped again.

She put her cigarette down in a small ashtray, and took off her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She looked up again, her eyes had softened a bit.

“I'm sorry Cheryl. The recent... events... have caused a couple of snags. And I have to smooth things out. You know it has been three years since I last had a cigarette?”

I was not sure how to respond, but fortunately she sighed. “So what is it, girl?”

“I'm sorry to disturb you, Madame Directrice, but I'm here for my corset tightening and appearance inspection.”

“Ah yes. Let me have a look.” She stood up from her leather bound chair and circled around her desk. I saw her holding a wicked crop as she approached me from the side.

“I said: Eyes! Down! Sissy! I'm really not in the mood for repeating myself.”

She disappeared out of my field of view as I carefully studied the tips of my boots. I felt her crop as she prodded at my outfit. A shiver ran down my spine as she used the crop to lift my chin up.

“Look at me...” She grabbed by chin and turned from side to side as she inspected my make-up.

“Hmmm, not bad. Not great mind you, but acceptable. Your corset needs to be a lot tighter though. Bend over, hands on the desk.”

I was very relieved I passed inspection, but dreaded the inevitable constriction of the corset, so I was hardly happy. I put my arms on the desk as she pulled my blouse up.

“Open your mouth, Cheryl” she said suddenly.

“Madame Directrice?” I asked confused.

I felt the sharp sting before I heard the snap of the crop “Gah!” I yelped. She had whipped me on my left ass cheek. She yanked my earlobe. It didn't really hurt but I squealed out of dismay anyway.

“If you know what is good for you, you will not make me repeat myself again, you stupid sissy.  Do as I say,” She snapped in my ear.

I did as she demanded, and she let go of my ear. She held the crop in front of me, let me have a good look, then held the stem of the crop in my mouth.

“Now, close it.” 

I closed my mouth and took hold of the crop. The stem was hard, rigid, but it was covered in leather and I tasted the sharp tang of the material.

“Good, now hold it there girly-girl.” She said as she took hold of my corset's laces.

I felt a sharp jerk as Madame Directrice yanked at the lacing. I immediately felt the pressure increase, but I knew Madame had merely increased her handhold on the laces.

I gasped at the second pull as air was pushed out of me. I actually squealed at the third pull as I was squeezed in two.

“Hush now, Cheryl. Be a big girl now,” she said as she pulled again, not as hard, but longer, holding on to the laces. 

I would have cried if I had any air left. Black spots seemed to form at the edge of my vision. Just when I thought I'd faint she relaxed the laces a bit. The pressure around my waist was inconceivable, but at least I felt I could breathe again, albeit in shallow puffs.

If felt her tie the laces not once, but several times. Rarely, if Miss Brigitt had tied my corset, the laces would come undone. I would immediately tie them, because there would be hell to pay if anyone would notice, but not quite as tight obviously. No such luck now, though. Madame Directrice was nothing if meticulous.

Her hands went down to my bottom. She didn't bother lifting my skirt, but felt though the material my panty line, and the outline of my butt plug.

I gasped as she gave it a hard push. “Good enough, I suppose.”

She grabbed me at the back of my neck. “Up. Back straight. Feet next to one another. Elbows at your side and hands outward. Eyes front.”

She took hold of the crop's handle. “Open.”

She removed the crop as I opened my mouth, then held the other end under my chin, wordlessly ordering me to close it again.

From the corner of my eyes, I saw that she leaned against the side of her desk, watching me. She didn't say a word, she just looked at me. I was getting nervous. This should have been the end of the inspection, where she would order me to leave. Something was on her mind, and it involved me.

“Oh Cheryl, what are we going to do with you?” She finally said.

“Madame Directrice?” I replied puzzled.

She just kept looking at me. Intensely. Thinking. She picked up her cigarette took a puff while her eyes wandered to the door. She bit her lower lip as she seemed to come to some internal decision. She turned to me again.

“Tell me, sissy. What do you think that I do around here?” She asked me enigmatically. She picked up her cigarette and took a huff, gently blowing out a wisp of smoke.

“Madame Directrice?” My mouth opened and closed, my head still not sure if I had heard the question right. My eyes glanced at hers as I tried to make sense of it, but I saw cold impatient fire in those eyes. I felt unsteady on my heels, the tight corset preventing me to think. I just started babbling.

“You are... er... Mistress Christina... I mean... You handle...” I took a deep breath, as much as my corset allowed. I felt the phony ruby on my throat move as I swallowed hard. “You are Mistress Christina's accountant. You handle her money and stuff...”

Madame Directrice chuckled. “Money and stuff... Oh, you really are adorable,” she replied mockingly, but her face showed no sign of amusement.

“Actually, I'm more of a...” she looked at her cigarette as she was looking for the right word. “...Consultant. I have my own firm in Bern.”

That certainly surprised me; I’d never heard anything about that. I certainly never saw her do anything that didn't involve Mistress Christina.

My surprise must have appeared on my face. “What, did you think you have to call me 'Madame Directrice' because I am vain? If my employees call me that out of respect, than so help me, a stupid little sissy like you will do no less!” She snapped, her voice making me wince.

She blew another puff of smoke, now in my direction, causing me to cough and further strain my torso. “And believe me, I am very good at my job. But it is also stressful, so my employees now handle most of my business. Christina is one of the few clients I handle personally nowadays.”

My mind was going in circles. By now I was somewhat accustomed to my corset, heels and other restricting clothing, but just standing here in attention like some mannequin doll was very tiresome. And I was getting more and more alarmed by Madame Directrice's demeanour.

“So yes, I do manage her 'money and stuff'. But Christina's business affairs require other kinds of managing as well. I handle that too. This includes this mess caused by Daniëlle's... departure.”

I winced again, heartbeat racing. I tried so very hard not to think of it. Trying to convince everyone, including myself, that I had nothing to do with Daniëlle fleeing the mansion. But I shivered as scenes from that night filled my vision. I thought I needed to faint, but I desperately tried to keep my composure. All the while, Madame Directrice was watching me. Studying me.

“You know, I did some research, apparently some remarkable thing happened at the police station that night. Want to know what?”

My mouth felt dry, but I did want to know what had happened after Daniëlle left. I hadn't heard anything from or about her after I saw her running down the driveway. Madame Directrice didn't bother waiting for my reply.

“Apparently, a young man with long hair appeared at the reception.” She chuckled. “Stark naked! He had dry blood on his face, and several small bruises on his chest and arms. Apparently, he claimed while he was out with friends, he met a girl that promised to have sex with him. When he and this girl and when in a back alley, some big guy attacked him and then both stole everything he had. Including his clothes! Imagine that.”

“Of course, the nice police officers recognized the boy had a rough night and perhaps needs a medic, so they give him some old spare clothes and a cup of coffee before asking him who he is and if they should call a doctor. This young man however, just asks to call someone. Sure, said the nice policeman, do you want to call your friends, or your parents perhaps? No, said the young man, he wanted to call a number on a little piece of paper he had scrupulously been holding from the moment he walked in. Of course, the police officers asked who that person was, but remarkably the young man didn't know the name of this person. Only that she was a friend.”

I closed my eyes in dismay. I think I even gave a sigh, despite trying not to show it. Stupid, stupid Daniëlle. She had forgotten Michaela's name!

“Anyway, the police officers started asking questions. What was his name? Where did he live? What were his friend's names? Who were his parents? What did the girl and thug that robbed him look like?”

She tapped her cigarette-holder dropping some ash in the ash tray. She gave a smirk, as if the story was particularly funny.

“The story he told was barely coherent. And the police officers immediately understood that he was making it up on the spot. However, one officer recognized some casually mentioned details and asked if he was perhaps related to Miss Margot's family. Should they perhaps call her?”

“The young man turned pale on the spot, vehemently denying knowing her even though he apparently called her 'aunt Margot' at one point! When one of them picked up the phone, the young man started claiming he was a criminal that wanted to confess a heinous crime, but apparently couldn't think of which one then and there. Anyway, the officers allow him to call that friend, and after exchanging a few words, he hangs up and falls silent. The police officers think this whole affair to be rather curious, but let the young man rest in the waiting room until he calms down and hopefully becomes more talkative. Some time later a young woman with red hair appears, asking about a young man called 'Daniel'. Of course, the police officers do not know that name, since that is not the name the young man had given them. Nevertheless, when he overhears it he responds and the two have a short talk, after which the young man wants to leave with the girl. And no, he didn't want to press any charges or anything. And since there was no legal ground to stop them, the bemused police officers wished him the best and let him go.”

Madame Directrice took out the remained of her cigarette from the holder, and crushed it in the ashtray, but I hardly noticed. Daniëlle, Daniel now, had made it. He was free! I knew I shouldn't have, but a smile formed on my face. My vision became blurry as tears started to form. Madame Directrice fixed her gaze upon me once more.

“Quite a story, isn't it Cheryl? And apparently, this was a slow night for them at the police station. I dare say that the life of a police officer is filled with strange encounters. What is it Cheryl, why are you weeping? Is it because your little friend Daniëlle left without a goodbye kiss?”

I stammered a 'Yes, Madame Directrice' as best I could. I had given up trying to maintain my composure. I just felt relieved, happy even. I was just as imprisoned in feminine clothing as before I entered this room, but somehow I felt like it was me that had managed to escape.

“I understand. Both Mistress Christina and Miss Margot were quite upset as well, as you surely have noticed. Alas, nothing can be done about it now. But you are going to ruin your make-up, silly girl.”

She took out a handkerchief, and with a empathic smile she gently dried my eyes, careful not to disturb my make-up.

“I think it's best if you get back to your duties, Cheryl. It will help take your mind off Daniëlle.” With a smile she sat walked around her desk and sat down on her chair. She gave me one last look before turning her attention to her screen again. “Off you go, girl,” She said without looking at me, with a gesture from her hands to reinforce her command.

I made a curtsy, as deep and respectful as was proper. Though my whole body now ached, and my legs and spine shivered, I put every possible effort in it, I was that elated. I daintily turned on my heels, and minced for the door. Though as usual my skirt kept my steps very short, I felt like I was taking a giant's stride. I reached for the door handle.

“Oh Cheryl, before you leave. Would you do something for me?”

I turned around, and bobbed respectfully. She was still looking at the screen “Off course, Madame Directrice. How may I be of service?”

“I've been looking at this computer for far too long, and my eyes are getting tired and blurry. Can you tell me what you see here?” She turned the screen around as I approached the desk.

“I'm not sure, Madame Directrice. It looks like a movie of sorts? It is hard to see, it's very dark. I'm not sure, but I thinks that's the...”

The words got stuck in my mouth. My tongue turned dry as ash. My eyes were wide open. Madame Directrice was looking right at me, smiling. But it was the smile of a predator ready to pounce on helpless prey.

“The... what?” She said with mock ignorance.

I tried to swallow, but I couldn't. The room started to tilt, and I had to grab the back of one of the chairs for support. I felt my hands shiver. I felt everything shiver. But I still saw the screen. It seemed to fill my whole vision.

“It's the...”, my voice sounded like a terrified squeak. “It is the front porch, Madame Directrice.”

“Is it now? How curious... Anything else?” She held her crop again, twirling it around in her fingers. “And stand up straight, girl. Hands outward. Mind your posture.”

I tried to describe what I saw, my voice hoarse from dismay. I told Madame Directrice that I saw the front door open, and two girls exit in their nightwear. They were agitated. Scared. There was no audio, but I remembered every word of that frightful discussion. I saw the younger girl take off her shoes, ready to run for it, while the taller girl, me, peeked through the door to make sure the coast was clear. Some more talking, and then the girls hugged. They looked at each other and shared a passionate kiss.

“How sweet, no?” Madame Directrice said, but didn't even bother looking at the screen. Her eyes were fixed on me. “Now comes the best part.”

I saw the taller girl move her hand next to the other girl's face. The younger sissy recoiled and brought her hand to her face. Even on the grain of the film I saw a black spot form on her forehead. Some more words were exchanged, and then the smaller girl ran towards the front gate, while the taller girl quickly went inside. “Very resourceful, I'd say” Madame Directrice mentioned with mild amusement.

The last thing I saw of Daniëlle was her back as she ran while I closed the door. On the film I saw her throw away her heels and wiggle though the bars of the front gate, then disappear into the shadows.

Madame Directrice closed the screen of her laptop. She took out another cigarette from a drawer in her desk and lit it.

“Naturally, when Daniel vanished that night, it was up to me to figure out what had happened. I immediately assumed that he finally had decided make a run for it. It was only a few days before his birthday, so he only had to elude Miss Margot for a short while for him to come of age. Then her guardianship would have ended and she would have no legal grounds to deny Daniel his so-called fortune or force him into that 'marriage' with Christina.”

She took a deep huff from her cigarette. “However, Miss Margot and Mistress Christina both vehemently opposed this idea. No way that little sissy would have the courage for something so bold, they said. Especially when he hadn't looked like a boy for weeks. No one was going to help a sissy like him. So I wasted the next few day following leads to determine who Daniel would know as a sissy, but would still harbour him.”

She looked at me. “Oh sit down, Cheryl. I'm not going to pick you up if you faint. Knees and ankles together, stupid girl! Fainting may be quite ladylike, but slouching is not. Don't forget that again.”

She sighed as she spoke. “As I feared, I found nothing. However, I had expected Daniel to contact the law firm from which he thought he could claim his fortune. I was hoping that he might be stupid enough to go there directly, so I posted a few agents there who would pick him up if he showed his face.”

She noticed I was looking at her in shocked surprise. She shrugged. “Consultancy takes many forms. Some are a bit more... direct. Anyway, he was still subject to Margot's guardianship. They would merely make sure a lonely runaway would be brought home safely.”

Ash broke of the cigarette as she tapped the holder. “Again, no luck. So I started contacting the emergency services, homeless shelters and the police. None had seen a girl or boy in girl clothes. The police however, did mention a young man with a head wound who had been robbed of everything he had. That is how I heard the story I just told you. After exchanging some descriptions, I could confirm it was Daniel.” A smirk showed her amusement with the situation.

“But it didn't add up. Daniel constantly showed quite a lot of repugnance against his feminization, but his resistance has always been very ineffectual. Yet here he was, following some sort of plan, despite apparently his best efforts to screw it up. I suspected he had some help from the inside. Perhaps even one of Miss Christina's daughters. They love each other very much, but they all have their own agenda. They love ragging on one another, and do not... how do you say? ...Pull their punches? And little sissies easily get caught in the crossfire. I'm sure I do not have to remind you of your little rendez-vous you had with Miss Brigitt?”

I shuddered at the shame and helplessness I felt when Miss Brigitt made me 'Brigitt's girl', against my desperate pleas and sobs.

“Be glad I interrupted her before she got creative. She has a weird sense of humour. You may have ended up in Christina's bed. Bound and gagged, while she...” She paused, then chuckled. “Actually, you still may. Brigitt's not done with you yet. Not by a longshot. But I digress.”

She blew a wisp of smoke at the ceiling, before continuing.

“I needed a bit more evidence before confronting anyone. Fortunately, I happened to know of a camera that was pointed at the mansion. The estate on the other side of the valley has many. The owner claims it is to keep burglars out, but I think he is just paranoid. Or perhaps a pervert. This camera is supposed to guard his estate's northern fence, but isn't it curious how good the resolution is, even after I zoomed in to the part that covered our front door?”

She looked me right in the eyes, with a smile that was both amused as well as predatory. “Can you imagine how flabbergasted I was to discover that Daniëlle's escape was facilitated by another sissy that was even weaker and more subservient than her? Daniëlle may have been a bit rebellious, but surely Cheryl was under complete control? I certainly thought so. The girl barely knows how to deal with a broken fingernail!”

I winced at the description. But to my shame I had to admit it was an apt one. Madame Directrice continued.

“And yet here I see her give Daniëlle a cut that might just impress the cops long enough for them to give her some assistance instead of kicking her out laughing. What could possibly cause her to do something like this?” She folded her hands in front of her, index fingers on her lower lip. “What indeed?” She fell silent and just stared at me, accusingly.

My nerves finally caved in. Tears filled my face as I started to sob; I wanted to say something, anything. But I heard just a whimper come out of my mouth.

“Well?” Madame Directrice said. Her voice was as ice. No longer amused. Not even angry. Just... Cold.

Stammering, I heard words form in my mouth. “She... She came to my room. Said she was scared... About how she was about to come of age and Mistresses Margot and Christina must have planned something. I... I told her not to worry, that they wanted to have a party and Mistress would marry her and...”

“You told her about the marriage?!” Madame Directrice blurted out. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh, dear Lord. Stupid, stupid girl.”

“She had tears in her eyes. I... tried to comfort her. Said Mistress would marry her and take care of her and buy her pretty things... But she started crying and said that she didn't want to be Christina's bride and then I got angry and said that it was a great honour to be Mistress' bride.”

I started babbling, my voice shifting between fear, sadness and anger. “She was about to be made Mistress' Frau! I told her if that wasn't good enough for her then perhaps she should just leave and go someplace else...”

Madame Directrice's head shot up, her eyes bored into mine. “You said what? Why?”

This caught me by surprise. “Er... I... I said... I mean... She... I wanted...” I tried to say something, anything, but the words were as messed up in my head as on my tongue.

It didn't matter Madame Directrice’s eyes suddenly widened. Then her face formed an all-knowing smirk.

“You were jealous,” she said. It wasn't a question, just stating a fact.

It felt like forever as I let this statement sink in, unable to respond. But it was true, even though my conscious thoughts tried to deny it, I knew in my heart that I desperately wanted to trade places with Daniëlle. I just nodded.

“You love Christina. And you want her to love you. You wanted to be her bride,” Madame Directrice added.

“I am her bride!” I blurted out. “I came to her room, dressed in white, and she called me her bride and her Frau and she made me her girl and...” I fell silent. Then I just started to sob, then weep.

I do not know how long I was crying, but next I knew, I felt a hand gently pat my head. Madame Directrice was leaning against the desk in front of me, her right hand stroking my hair. I calmed down a bit.

“Now I also understand why you didn't leave with her. So, then what happened?” she asked.

I told Madame Directrice how Daniëlle said there was no escape and that no-one would help a sissy-boy. Then about saying she was still a boy underneath her clothes and should just lose them and say he got robbed. I told about how I mentioned Michaela, who had helped me at the boutique, after Daniëlle said he had nowhere to go. That she was nice and had given me her phone number.

“Hmm, that would explain Miss Heiland's suddenly taking leave for a short holiday. Continue Cheryl.”

I related to her the rest of our plan. How I had given Daniëlle Michaela's number, and how we sneaked to the front door, where we said goodbye and Daniëlle finally left. The plan didn't seem all that great when we came up with it, but in retrospect it seemed downright ridiculous.

“And the cut on the head? That was a nice touch.”

I just shrugged. “...Look worse than they are...”

“Yes, they do.” She looked at nothing in particular, thinking. Perhaps she was reorganizing all the data in her head. At one moment she seemed intent to ask me something, but apparently decided against it. She got up and walked around the room.

She sighed. “Unfortunately, this little stunt of yours came at a very inopportune moment. You have no idea the trouble you have caused. And I don't just mean hurting Christina's feelings.”

That stung. I wanted so much for her to appreciate me. And I had betrayed her. I looked at the tips of my boots. My eyes started to tear up again. This time from remorse.

“You know that Mistress Christina and Margot Rosenberg are good friends, yes? But in truth it is a lot more complex. They are more like... how do you Americans say... 'frenemies'? They are also rivals. Both in their private life as well as business. And neither is reluctant to play it rough.”

I heard her walk over to the table at the side of the room and poor herself a class of water.

“But they need each other as well. Christina is involved in trade and industry, while the Miss Rosenberg deals with banking and finances. Their empires are deeply intertwined.”

She took a sip. “And they do not separate business and pleasure. Some of the best deals have been brokered thanks to their common love for sissies. Remember that evening you were a coquette? Your performance resolved more business issues than a dozen lawyers managed in six months.”

I winced. I knew that I was being used as currency that night. But I didn't realize it was for actual currency, like a common whore.

“On the other hand, deals have been delayed, rejected and even outright cancelled thanks to sissies. Poor performance of one could cause enough insult to reject good business out of spite.” She chuckled. “The Swiss stock exchange goes up or down depending how good you look mincing around in heels. But all that is nothing compared to the trouble caused when one Mistress desires a sissy owned by the other.”

My mouth had started to open and didn't close. I didn't know what confused me more, that idea that was some submissive skirts and heels wearing keystone of the economy, that no-one ever mentioned that before, or that Madame Directrice was entrusting me with that information now. But it was clear that Daniëlle had an important role to play here.

Madame Directrice gulped down her water, and was starting to pour another when she reconsidered. She opened the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet and pulled out a bottle of brandy and two glasses, before walking back to her seat behind the desk.

“Despite everything, the two business empires have been growing closer and closer for years. Decades even. It should not surprise you that there has been talk of a merger, one that would form a massive economic conglomerate.” She told me as she poured brandy in one glass, picked it up and held it before me.

Confused, reluctant, scared, I took hold of the drink. Me getting anything alcoholic was reserved only for very special occasions. And the one time I had brandy Mistress had served me part of it using a horrible dildo.

Madame Directrice poured herself a glass and leaned back in the chair, putting her feet on the desk. I was careful not to look directly without permission, but I caught a glimpse of her legs, sticking out from a formal, good quality business skirt. The black patent leather of her boots came up all the way to her knees, her heels a rather comfortable yet sexy two-and-a-half inches. The red soles indicated they were very expensive. Pale skin was visible between her boots and skirt, but I realized my attention was taken by those lovely boots. Confused and ashamed that my interest was drawn by female attire instead of an actual female, I looked at my undisturbed drink.

Madame Directrice took a sip from her own. “The only way to make that work was for the two families to combine as well. Both come from very old lines and the idea of a formal arranged marriage as a business arrangement is still very much 'in their blood', so to speak.”

She glanced at me. “You can see the problem, here. Christina has daughters, but they lack their Mutter's sense of... tradition. None would ever agree to an arranged marriage. Sabotage it even. And they were by then too old to be groomed for that role anyway. Margot has no children at all. You can drink that, by the way.” I slowly took a tiny sip, felt the liquid burn in my mouth.

“Margot did have a nephew though, and one malleable enough to fulfil the requirements. But he is from a different branch of the family. He may be first in line, but will inherit only her name, and part of her wealth. Nothing more. Her majority in her business empire would be defaulted. A poor candidate for a marriage proposal according to the old customs. Margot knew Christina would never let her daughters marry him even if they wanted to, it just would not be proper. But those old customs have absolutely no objections with marrying of a young and good looking scion of one family to the older head of another. A young stud or toy-boy wouldn't interest Christina, but Margot knew exactly what would.”

I listened in disbelief. Daniel was not just some plaything, he was the center of some ...Conspiracy... That he didn't even know existed! I took a trembling sip of my drink, but hardly tasted anything. “Mistress wants Daniel only as a sissy...” I finally said, more to myself than to Madame Directrice, but she nodded.

“She has been grooming him for almost three years now.” She sighed. “And now everything has come undone.” She stared absently in the distance.

“I thought... Daniëlle said...” I paused as Madame Directrice glared at me, but she didn't admonish me for speaking out of turn, so I continued. “Daniëlle said Mistress Margot was after his money...”

Madame Directrice chuckled. “You've seen Margot's estate. Impressive, for sure. However, the mansion is ancient, its interior old, and so is most of the furniture. It has the feeling of old, and now lost, glories and grandeur, don't you think.”

“Yes, Madame Directrice.” I actually did not agree with her. To me is was simply impressive.

“Let me tell you, it is a sham,” she said. “She lives there because it is traditional. It has been her family's home for generations and what was good enough for them is good enough for her. It is also the perfect place to invite young and sleazy hedge-fund hotshots and make them think she is some crazy lady that lives off Old Money that they can easily rip-off.”

She let the brandy roll around in her glass.

“She could flatten the entire Monte Rosa and build a new mansion of equal size and still have money to spare from her liquid assets alone. And then do not even count her investments. She doesn't need anything Daniel has.”

“But why does Daniëlle...” I started, but she cut me off.

“Because Daniel does not know how shrewd she is,” she snapped at me.  “Neither do you, obviously. I heard about those 'games' she played with you when you were at her place. You could never have won, but she delights in letting you come within an inch of the finish line before she'd make you fail. Be glad you screwed up long before that, otherwise you'd have received the full force of her waiting trap.”

I felt my head spin. What she did was only a part of what was in store for me?

She sighed. “There is no fortune waiting for Daniel, though to be fair Daniel will receive more than he can even imagine from Margot herself after she passes away. If he thought Margot did this to claim money that was supposed to be his, it is because that's what she wants him to think. As long as Daniel believes being turned into a sissy is a means to deny him a fortune, he would never suspect that being turned into a sissy-consort for Christina is the goal itself!”

Silently, I tried to make sense of it all as I let the words sink in. “So... What happens now to Daniëlle... or Daniel,” I finally asked

She shrugged. “Who knows? He finds a job, buys a house, marries this Heiland girl, gets two-point-one children, lives happily ever after and occasionally dresses up in skirts and heels just for old times’ sake. Margot will secretly make sure he'll be taken care of. She really loves the boy, you know? All she has left of her sister. It is just that being part of that family means having certain obligations at birth. And Margot considered it her duty to make sure Daniel fulfilled his.”

She gulped down the remainder of the brandy.

“But otherwise he is no longer of any use. Even if he came back begging to be turned into a sissy, it would not matter. Him leaving undid years of his conditioning, which was tentative at best anyhow. Moreover, Christina adored Daniëlle and was absolutely positive that her feelings were reciprocal, albeit in a cutely reluctant fashion. She would not mind her running away for a short while, spirited young lady as she is, giving her time to realize that she actually does want to be Christina's lover. But it is a few weeks now, he clearly doesn't want to come back. He has really hurt Christina, and proud as she is she would never accept him ever again as her sissy-consort.”

I wanted to say something. Anything. I wanted to shout I could take it all back, that I would have dragged Daniëlle back to her bed if I could. If only I wasn't so selfish! I would do anything to undo Mistress' broken heart. I tried to swallow the remained of the brandy down in one go, but choked halfway. I coughed. Droplets of brandy ran down my chin.

“I... I am *cough* so sorry.” It came from the heart, but it sounded rather pathetic.

She looked at me, as if trying to decide I was referring to breaking Mistress' heart, or spilling expensive brandy. She settled for an indecisive “What's done is done.”  

She picked up the bottle again and poured herself another drink. Then she poured some more in my glass even though it was still half-full. We sat there for some time, just thinking I suppose. Madame Directrice was in deep thought, probably examining her options in the fallout of this débâcle. Every now and then her eyes aimed in my direction

I was struggling with my emotions. Anger at Daniëlle for leaving. Anger with myself for helping her leave. Feeling remorseful for breaking Mistress’ heart. Feeling angry with myself for caring. She had turned me in a sissy without my consent, after all. She would make me cry without a second thought if it pleased her, and relish it. I should have hated the woman, gloat on her misfortune.

I also felt fear. Fear of what she would do to me when Madame Directrice informed her. Fear of being shipped off to cruel Mistress Margot, who would undoubtedly be very angry with me as well. But above all fear of being forced to leave. Despite everything she had made me go through, I did love her.

My eyes became tear-stained yet again. “When...” I cleared my throat, which was hoarse with sadness. “When will you tell Mistress, Madame Directrice?”

She didn't answer immediately. She just looked at me for a moment. She leaned forward, elbows on the desk, hand folded and index fingers on her lower lip. Her eyes betrayed little. This afternoon I'd seen more emotion from this woman than the rest of my time here since I arrived. But now her composure was again very professional. Time for regret was over, now it was time for action. I felt like I was being illuminated with a spotlight.

“I won't. Not everything at least. Not now.” She said without a hint of emotion.

I just stared at her in utter confusion. “I... I don't understand...”

She was silent for a moment, seemingly weighing her words carefully. “Listen Cheryl, I like to think I'm a good friend to Christina. And as a friend, I sometimes need to tell her things she prefers not to hear. But it also means that, every now and then, I need to keep silent about something she is better of not knowing. Also, she may be my employer, but she does not tell me what to do or how to do it. Instead, she tells me what she wants and I will get it done. My way. And I know what she wants.”

She took a sip from her drink, but kept her eyes on me. “Right now my friend's heart has been broken. Also, my employer's business interests are in danger. There are always sharks circling, and they have smelled blood. Maybe, just maybe, I can fix both. But it involves you, and it will not work if Christina would hear you betrayed her as well.”

“Me?” I gasped. “But... How? ...I mean …What could I possibly do?”

Madame ignored my questions. She stood up from her seat and wandered around the room, still holding her glass, but not taking a sip. Though every step was graceful, her heels hit the floor with a strong, forceful thud. Completely different from my own heels' 'click-click-click' sound that I still hadn't grown accustomed to, and probably never will.

“I was never comfortable with the idea of Margot offering Daniëlle as a sissy to Christina. From a public relations perspective it was a horrible idea. Even if the marriage and merger went perfectly smoothly, there would be a lot of interest in Christina and details of her personal life would undoubtedly come to light.” She was looking out the window as she spoke.

“Here in Switzerland we are pretty tolerant. If a young man decides to put on dresses and act all girly around some older lady, well, that is a bit strange. But if that is what he wants and he doesn't cause any trouble? Sure, why not. It's a free country. Anyone should be able to live the life he desires.” She shook her head. “But if that young man clearly has lived like that for several years, and then marries his aunt's business partner the moment he comes of age? That will set off a lot of alarm bells. Cause a storm of problems. I tried to tell Christina of the risk she was taking, but she ignored me.”

She took a sip for her drink, silently, reminiscing over some old memory.

“And on a personal note, I didn't like it either. In my line of work I have met a lot of unsavoury characters, but the worst were those that took away other people's right to choose their lives. And here it was happening right under my nose. Daniel never chose this life. I have made my choices and my allegiance is to Christina, but I did pity the boy.”

Her eyes crossed mine. She glared at me, silencing me before I could say anything.

“Don't you dare look at me like that. You chose this life, remember? I offered you the opportunity to walk away, but you wanted to be Christina's maid, signed the contract. More importantly, you keep choosing this life. Brigitt, Ingrid and Martina had you in a dress in a few hours. You were sucking Christina's dildo a day later, were Margot's belle of the ball shortly after and begging Christina to make you her girl only a single day after that. You could even have left with Daniëlle when she ran away, but you didn't. You may not like everything that has happened to you, at least that is what you try to tell yourself, but we both know this is the life you really want!”
    
She kept looking at me as I started to sob. Part of me wanted to shout out. Scream that they did this to me. Mistress Christina, Brigitt, Madame Directrice and all the others, they forced me into this. Into dresses, heels, this ridiculous hair. They made me suck all those dildos, force them up my rear, make me walk and talk like some dumb bimbo. But another part simply asked one question: why didn't I resist?

Madame Directrice looked over the rim of her glass. “It is what you are good at.”

That was a strange thing to say. “Madame Directrice?” I asked surprised, still sobbing.  

She sighed as she leaned against the desk. “Cheryl, I've seen many sissies pass through these doors. All have left at some point. Most just couldn't keep up with Christina. She even broke some in the process. She cared for each and every one of them, in her own way, but in the end they were just maids to her, toys, because none of them could give her what she really wanted.”

There were still tears in my eyes, but I hardly felt it as I became enthralled by Madame Directrice's story. I just had to ask: “What does she want?”

She smiled gently. “What we all want in the end, silly. Love. She wants to be loved. And wants someone to love. A partner to spend her life with.”

Her face grew stern again. “But it would have to be on her terms. No compromises. She is who she is, and she is a Mistress. She needs someone to complete her, and the only one who can is a sissy. She was certain it would be Daniëlle, but I think it could be someone else.”

My eyes opened wide. “Me?” I whispered.

“Possibly. You clearly love her, and she has grown quite fond of you since you arrived. You have become more to her than just another maid.” She shrugged.

My heart started to lighten. I may have given a cheer then and there, but Madame Directrice’s glare silenced me. She was not finished.

“You must understand something, and you better understand it well. Her love would be vicious. She would not love you as a man, as you obviously are not one. She would not love you as a woman, because no sane woman would indulge herself in such ridiculous femininity as you do. Do not even kid yourself that she could ever love you like an equal. She would love you for what you are, a sissy. Submissive, feminine, humiliated and controlled.”

She let the words sink in for a moment before continuing

“Make no mistake, those are your best qualities. If she'd love you she'd bring out those qualities in you again and again and again. Just like you would nurture her most dominant and stern qualities in return, all out of love. Your peril is her delight and her delight your peril, in a never-ending cycle. She would drag you crying and weeping to the limits of what you think you can endure and then throw you off the edge, laughing.”

She pointed the index finger of the hand holding the glass straight at me.

“Think she'll marry you? She will never put her ring on your hand. Give you companionship? She will domineer your every waking moment. Peace? Nothing but a brief moment of respite from her cruel attentions. Stability? The moment you get used to them, she will change the rules. Sex? She will fuck you in ways you cannot even imagine and perhaps let you touch her if you are particularly satisfying, but you will never have any control over your own little clitty again, ever. She would circle you like a shark smelling blood, ready to pounce on you the second you make the slightest error. Or are particularly cute. Or vulnerable. Or whenever she damn-well pleases. It will take a lot of effort on her part, but she would do it because she'd love you.”

She finished her brandy. “Drink up,” she told me. I gulped it down. The liquid burned in my throat, but left a smooth flavour on my tongue. She took my glass and placed it on her desk, then crossed her arms.

“You love Christina? Want her to love you? Then ask yourself if you can endure her. If you cannot, then I will make you leave. Today. No goodbyes, no second thoughts. Better that way. If you can, then say so. Right now. Wheels have to be put in motion. A price has to be paid.”

“A price?” I asked in confusion.

“We all paid a price for this débâcle. Christina got her heart broken. Margot lost her heir. Two corporations are now at each other's throats. And I have lost three years of stress and nicotine-free life trying to clear this mess up. Only fair you will pay a price too.”

I nodded, but I had to ask. “What is the price, Madame Directrice?”

“I'm not sure yet. But it will be something you'll miss. Oh, don't looked so shocked, silly girl. I'm not going to cut of that little clitty of yours. It's the part that amuses Christina the most,” she admonished, though sounding somewhat amused.

She leaned over and grabbed my chin, her nose was only an inch from mine. Her eyes pierced into mine. I wanted to look away, but couldn't.

“The life of a sissy and a price. All for the possibility, one chance, for the love of Mistress Christina. That is the offer. Yes or no. I need to know right now.” she said softly, icily.

I did love Mistress Christina. But this had gone way too far. I had a life before all this. Not much, but it was a normal life. No-one treated me like servant, or a doll. Nobody forced me to wear women's clothing. Or forced me to act like a stupid bimbo. Or humiliated me before the rest of the world. I was free.

I thought of Mistress Christina. Yes, I loved her. But she didn't love me. I was just like the others. A maid. A toy. A prized pet perhaps, but she would not love me. Her mocking laugh, I could hear it in my mind. That is not the laugh of love. I thought of her mocking smile, which oozed contempt.

My eyes widened, though I saw nothing but Mistress' mocking face before me. I realized something else. Her eyes radiated something. A glimmer, nothing more, but I was sure it was there. It had to be there.

Pride. Affection. Love?

“Yes.” I said. Wavering. Whimpering. But I meant it.

She let go of my chin and leaned backwards. She looked down on me for a moment, then just nodded.

She walked around her desk and picked up her phone. She dialled a number and waited for a moment before speaking. She spoke Swiss-German, so I didn't understand a single word, but she seemed to be giving short commands over the phone.

She listened to the reply on the other end of the line. She looked at me for a moment, then said a single word. Vorgehen. Then hung up the phone before picking up another cigarette and lighting it.

“So it begins,” she said enigmatically. “With some luck, we can mend the rift between Christina and Margot. Save thousands of jobs.”

I gasped. I was so focused on Mistress Christina that I forgot about all the other interests involved. “Can I help?” I asked shyly.

She stared at me, then laughed. “Well, I still need some spies in a few conference rooms. Perhaps you should be the hostess? I bet you'd look adorable in a pink maid's outfit. Tottering around in your heels, trying to eavesdrop on some nasty little secrets while serving biscuits. That would really lighten the day of those uptight old suits. Some of those stiffs really could use a good blow-job. Perhaps you can supply that too. Interested?”

I pouted as she laughed at her own joke. I was just trying to help.

She blew a whiff of smoke. “No, I think you'd better stay right here. Just do what you do best, be a good little sissy. Keep Christina end Margot happy. That should give me enough leverage to get them and their companies back together.”

“Mistress Margot too?” I gasped.

“Sure,” she said as she studied the tip of her cigarette. “Daniëlle was not the only one who was part of the arrangements between Christina and Margot. You were too. Margot has a claim on you.”

“A claim?” I said in disbelief.

“Oh, yes. For over a year now Margot and Christina have been in a tug-of-war over Daniëlle. She may have been intended from the start to be Christina's consort, but until that day she kept her 'niece' out of Christina's reach, forcing her to give concessions to get even a glimpse of Daniëlle.”

“Then out of the blue you came along. Christina immediately saw your potential, but her eye was still on Daniëlle. She wanted to offer your services to Margot in exchange for access to Daniëlle. After your splendid performance as a coquette, that was a done deal.”

“When you had given yourself to Christina, she understood what a priceless gem she had just traded away, but by then the deal was set. Christina still owned you, mostly, but Margot had rights on you too.”

This made my head spin. Rights? Where were my rights in all this?

“Remember that I said bad things happen when Margot and Christina fancy the same sissy? After Christina made you her girl, she tried to renege on her deal with Margot. She immediately responded by unleashing the attack-dogs of her lawyer team against one of Christina's subsidiaries on some phony charges. Brigitt is a member of Christina's top legal team, and she was furious when I informed her. Perhaps you remember. You were there.”

I remembered all right. I fought an urge to scratch my bottom.

“We managed to work out a compromise. Neither would get access to either of you for a few weeks, long enough for things to settle down, while Brigitt and Ingrid would supervise your training. After a week or two we managed to make a schedule that both parties agreed on. You would spend a week with Margot and Daniëlle with Christina. Then both would return home and you would be fair game for Christina again. Until the next exchange with Daniëlle, that is.”

I shook my head in utter disbelief. This was all going on at that time? I thought Mistress had almost forgotten about me. I could barely imagine something short of all-out war was being fought over me. I felt a morbid sense of pride for a moment. Then it was gone when I realized that my opinion on the matter was not relevant, let alone considered. 

“But now Daniëlle is gone. And both women still want you. Preferably all to themselves. Christina is very generous with loaning out her sissies to her friends, but actually sharing them?” She shook her head. “They would tear the rift between them open to an unbridgeable divide unless we can get them to share. That is where you come in. I can engineer an appropriate schedule for the two of them, but you must make them both happy. I can tell you that you will be a very busy girl soon.”

“I can't do that!” I blurted out. “I cannot make Mistress Margot happy. I do not love her. I hate her!”

Madame Directrice simply shrugged. “Doesn't matter. Margot doesn't want your love. She thinks you are very entertaining. And you fear her. That is all she needs from you. Just be yourself, and it will work out just fine.”

I drew a sad face. I knew that I would endure hardship if I chose to remain with Mistress Christina, but I had hoped against hope that at least I would be just her sissy. That illusion didn't last long.

“So what happens now, Madame Directrice?” I finally asked.

“Now? Now you go freshen up on your make-up. The tears made a mess out of it. Then you get back to your duties.” She looked on her watch as she extinguished her cigarette “It seems to me that you should be ironing your panties by now, but I'm pretty sure neither the laundry or dishes have been done yet, you lazy girl.”

“Yes. Madame Directrice, thank you.” I got up and walked to my regular spot before the desk and performed a curtsy.

“May I be excused, Madame Directrice?”

“Wait, one more thing Cheryl. This is important.” She said as she leaned against her desk, arms crossed in front of her.

“Yes, Madame Directrice?”

“We will need to be discreet about this. Christina is still quite upset with what happened, and if she hears what we talked about, she might do something that she'll later regret. I'll tell her what she needs to know. Now, I do not want you to lie to her, good heavens no. But if she asks anything, just answer the question, truthfully, but do not elaborate, speculate, or start babbling. Same with Miss Rosenberg or anyone else. Understood?”

“Yes Madame Directrice. I understand.” It did make me feel uncomfortable, though. Again I was hiding something from Mistress Christina. And what if she asked a direct question about what happened to Daniëlle? Me keeping secrets caused this mess in the first place. How could more secrets possibly solve it?

“A lot depends on this, so are you very sure? Promise? Good. Let's shake on it.” She held out her right hand.

That was awkward. Since I came here I never shaken anyone's hand. Ever. I just bobbed curtsies. But Madame Directrice seemed insistent, and I could not refuse.

I held out my hand, ladylike, the tips of my fingers softly in the palm of Madame Directrice's outstretched hand. I smiled daintily. Madame Directrice smiled back, but her smile didn't reach her eyes.

I barely realized what happened next. Madame Directrice grabbed my hand in a vice-like grip. Then in one quick pull, she drew me forward, off balance. I yelped in surprise and dismay.

As I was flung forward, Madame Directrice simply stepped out of my way, never letting go of my hand. I tried to regain my balance, but one casually outstretched foot tripped me. My torso slammed on top of the desk, causing me to shriek. She moved my hand on my back, putting it in a painful arm lock. She pushed her knee against my thigh, locking it against the side of the desk so I wouldn't be able to kick her even if I dared to. With her free hand she took hold of the crop still on the desk.

“Unfortunately, your promise is just not good enough. You promised Christina you'd obey, and still you betrayed her.” She ran the tip of the crop along the side of my face. “So much depends on what I'll be able to achieve the next few weeks, and that depends on you. But right now you are a liability. Untrustworthy. I do not have the time or the inclination to train you in the subtle art of keeping your big mouth shut. So I'll have to settle for the next best thing: giving you a taste of what will happen if you should screw this up.”

She struck the air with her crop. It made a frightful 'whoosh' sound.

I begged and pleaded. “I promise, Madame Directrice!” I was crying again. “I can keep a secret! No-one will know!”

She took hold of my arm with her left hand, gave it a painful tug for good measure, and transferred the crop to her right hand as she casually leaned against the desk to my left.

“That is another thing. Keeping secrets is my around job here. I make sure everyone will hear what they need to hear when they need to hear it.”

She leaned over me, her mouth close to my ear. “You however, do not get to keep any secrets! Not from me!” She snarled. “If you ever have a thought more significant than whether your dress matches your heels, you tell me! Understand, Kleine?”

She struck the air again. It made a 'whoosh' sound.

“Yes, Madame Directrice!” I wailed. Begged. “I understand. I swear! Please, don't hit me! I'll do whatever you say!”

“Yes. You will.” She split the air with her crop, using the full force of her whole arm and wrist at once. I heard a terrible 'swish' sound buzz in the air.


“Better,” she muttered to herself as she tightened her grip on the crop. Then fixed her cold eyes on me, meticulously determining where to begin.

6 comments:

Karen Jensen said...

Am I missing something. The last chapter I saw was 25. What happened to chapters 26-30?

rocketdave said...

Karen, I thought I explained this already. Did you not bother to read my intro or my previous blog entry? I tried to ask readers for their opinions as to what I should do about this situation, but didn't get much feedback. Perhaps, like you, they didn't bother to read my last post.

Bambi never finished writing the school arc. I haven't heard from him in eight months and he can't or won't respond to the many emails I've sent him. With the author M.I.A., the future of this story looks very uncertain, and because readers have been waiting so long, I finally made an executive decision to just post the rest of the chapters that Bambi did write.

I'm sorry for the confusion, but the only other option was for me to continue to keep the rest of the completed chapters to myself while hanging onto the increasingly slim hope that Bambi would suddenly come through with an update. Well, got sick of waiting. I know Game of Thrones fans have had to wait years in between books, but they also know that George R.R. Martin is alive and I can't even say that much about Bambi at this point.

Karen Jensen said...

My apologies. I guess I didn't quite understand what was happening. Thank you for the work you are putting into in keeping Bea's blog alive.

rocketdave said...

I'm sorry if I wasn't clear enough in my explanation. I've edited the intro to this journal to put things as plainly as possible just in case I confused anyone else.

Carrie P said...

Hi Dave
Absolutely brilliant piece of art.

Haven’t read the text yet, still going back to the illustration.

An ideal portrayal of the humiliation of forced feminisation- at least for me. The posture of the hero bent over at just the right angle, his derriere jutting out to meet the domme’s groin. The look on his face seems to be somewhere between the now accepted discomfort of regular corset wearing and resignation at what is to come as he holds the whip between his teeth. Then there are the clothes, not the usual maid’s uniform but an extremely tight pencil skirt and a white see through blouse allowing everyone to see his corset beneath. The sleeves billowing out slightly is a great touch as is the black choker, yet another symbol of his servitude (as if his outfit did not proclaim this clearly enough.)

The attitude of the woman seems so matter of fact, not taking any undue pleasure just ensuring her maid is laced correctly.

It’s perfect Dave, one of your best pieces.

Thanks so much for sharing. Now I suppose I’d better read the chapter.

Carrie
Ps For what it’s worth, the original intro seemed pretty clear to me.

rocketdave said...

Wow, thanks for the thoughtful comment, Carrie. Ironically, I opted not to charge my patrons on Patreon for this drawing because I was afraid it wasn't good enough. Not that I was disappointed with it... I just felt it was a little too rushed/simplistic. Even though I didn't produce a lot of new fetish art last year, I thought I'd set the bar a bit higher with what little work I did manage to do. A couple of my best pieces were drawn after a great deal of planning onto 11" x 14" paper. How could then turn around and charge for something I'd scribbled without too much thought onto half a page from my sketchbook? Perhaps I was being too hard on myself. Within the first couple days or so of uploading it to deviantART, it's gotten over two thousand views and a couple people left comments about how my art has improved. So what do I know?

I know this story has not been your cup of tea, Carrie, but maybe these last few chapters will provide a greater appreciation for why I've been championing Bambi's writing so hard. It's really at this point that I feel the story takes a somewhat more sentimental turn, though it still might not be enough to change someone's mind about it if they're put off by the kinky mistreatment Cheryl endures. Considering how intense the story can be, I like that Bambi inserts these occasional breaks in the action where characters just sit and talk and reflect. I don't think Bea's writing was ever so introspective.