Thursday, February 23, 2017
Good news. I got an apologetic email from Bambi a few days ago. It seems that nothing has been wrong with him. He’s just been too preoccupied with work and family, etc. to focus on the story and didn’t even have the wherewithal to discuss the story or even to write me a short note just to let me know that everything was fine. I think we can agree that important real life responsibilities should take priority over frivolous hobbies and the like; that’s a 100% valid excuse. At the risk of sounding churlish, I cannot help adding, however, that I’m a little less understanding when it comes to not responding to concerned messages from a friendly acquaintance for months on end, allowing them to assume the worst.
Having been incapacitated by the flu recently, Bambi informed me that he’d used that time to tackle Chapter 26 of this story. However, I quickly concluded that this news doesn’t alter the current situation. This apparently being the first opportunity Bambi has had to work on Swiss Miss Sissy in about a year, I cannot claim to be feeling that much more confident about the chances of the school arc (let alone the entire story) ever being finished than I did a week ago when I thought the author was probably dead or something nearly as bad. Therefore, I might as well keep posting the rest of the completed chapters that I have, as planned. Fuck it. There are only a couple more left after this one, so it's a little late to be putting on the brakes now. I don't feel like leaving the readers hanging.
Chapter 35: What's in a name? Cheryl learns there is power in names. Or weakness in the case of sissies.
Doing my chores did take my mind of things. Though it could very well be that I simply couldn't hear myself think with those darn bells ringing all the time.
They were doing their job though. Mistress came by while I was dusting the window panes at the back rooms. She didn't say a word, just smiled as she gestured me to continue with my work. She stood in the doorway for some time as I cleaned the dust off. I tried to entertain her by looking and moving as girly as possible. Bending forward needlessly, puckering my lips, keeping my arms to my sides and wrists as limp as possible without dropping the duster. I hardly got any actual work done, but I think Mistress didn't mind one bit.
As for me, after the bombshell Madame Directrice had dropped on me, having Mistress admire me was a very welcome boost to my morale. Perhaps the bells weren't all that bad.
Ingrid and Brigitt passed by too, unfortunately. They made some sarcastic and suggestive remarks. Brigitt eyed me with a hungry look, so I moved about as casually as I could without actually getting reprimanded for unfeminine behaviour. Both mostly left me alone, however.
I went back to Madame Directrice's office just before five, and she called me inside before I had even reached her door. I took my place and curtsied.
Madame Directrice was leafing through her little black book. “Seems you've accumulated quite a number of black marks, Cheryl. I think you set a new record during yesterday's lunch.”
I looked down remorsefully. “Yes, Madam Directrice. I am sorry.”
“I blame myself, really. I should have dealt with this yesterday, but I was just too busy. And you did give me a hearty laugh.” She smiled at me.
“Now we have to correct for yesterday's mark as well as today's” She sighed. “Ah well, let's get this over with. On your hand and knees, sissy.”
I gulped. “Yes, Madam Directrice.” I crawled down on all fours.
“Good.” She got up from her seat. Looked into her booklet again as she walked over to me. “Twenty-five will do, I think.”
She crouched beside me and lifted the back of my dress with one hand, exposing my panties. I felt my heart throb in my throat.
“Count the strokes, girl.” Then she paused for a moment, thinking. “And state your name each time. You know your name, don't you girl?”
“Of course Madame Directrice. My name is Cheryl.”
“Cheryl R... Er... Ru.. Ro... Er...” Oh oh... I forgot!
Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “It's Rosatunte,” she said. “Cheryl Rosatunte.”
“I'm sorry Madame Directrice. It was on the tip of my tongue! I will not forget again. I swear!” I pleaded.
“Shut up, girl!” She snarled and grabbed me by the hair, causing me to wail. She pulled my head back and shouted in my ear. “This is completely unacceptable! You have a new name now. It is who you are and you cannot just forget it.”
She let go and got up. I was mumbling apologies and promises but if she even heard, she ignored them.
I saw her walking over to the door connecting her office to her private rooms. “Don't you move,” she warned me.
When she came back, she was carrying a wall mirror. Over a meter in length and almost as wide. She placed it against her desk in front of me. I got a good look at myself. I saw my elaborate make-up. The baby blue maid's outfit from which my boobs peeped through the bodice. The elaborate hair with the maid's cap pinned in place.
“Who do you see in the mirror?” She asked as she opened one of her desk drawers.
“I see myself, Madam Directrice.” I said rather pitifully.
“Who do you see in the mirror?” She asked again as she pulled out a crop and slammed the drawer shut.
I hesitated for a moment, unsure what she wanted to hear. “I see Cheryl Rosatunte, Madam Directrice.”
“Why does she look like that? Why is she wearing that ridiculous outfit? Does she like looking so preposterously feminine?” She walked back over to my side.
“She is a sissy maid, Madame Directrice. She loves looking like that.”
“Is her real name 'Charles'? Was she a man just two months ago?” She asked with a dangerous tone in her voice.
I tried to swallow, but my mouth felt dry. “No Madam Directrice. Her real name is Cheryl Rosatunte.” I hesitated for a moment, then continued. “It has always been Cheryl Rosatunte. She has always been a sissy.”
“Are you Cheryl Rosatunte?” Madame Directrice asked me.
“Yes Madame Directrice. I am Cheryl Rosatunte. I have always been Cheryl Rosatunte.
“Are you a sissy? Do you love looking like some candy-coated, sugar-covered female? Wearing frilly dresses and make-up and high heels?”
“Yes, Madame Directrice. I am a sissy. I love dressing as a girl.”
“Look yourself in the eyes and say who you are,” She barked at me.
I saw my reflection in the mirror, and the terrified girl staring back at me. But then she forced a smile on her face. “I am Cheryl Rosatunte. I am a sissy. I have always been a sissy. I love wearing dresses, high heels and make-up.”
I heard a whoosh, then a slap. I felt a sharp burning sting where Madame Directrice's crop had landed.
“Gah!” I yelped.
“Again,” Madame Directrice commanded.
I tried to smile at the girl in the mirror. “I am Cheryl Rosatunte. I am a sissy. I have always been a sissy. I love wearing dresses high heels and make-up.”
Thwack! The crop struck again. I wailed.
“Again,” I heard her say.
“I am Cheryl Rosatunte. I am a sissy. I have always been a sissy... “ I repeated the words, again and again.
Twenty five times, she had me repeat it. Each time she would hit me. Then my black marks were resolved and my name was firmly entrenched in my mind. I am Cheryl Rosatunte, a sissy. I have always been Cheryl Rosatunte.
After my chastisement Madame Directrice dismissed me from her office without any further ado, only mentioning my tears had messed up my make-up yet again and a few locks of hair had come undone.
I minced back towards my room to fix it, trying my best to walk as sissy-like as possible despite the stinging I felt on my behind. It wasn't nearly as bad as the punishment I had received a few days ago, but it still hurt. Damned bells rang with every step.
I groaned as I sat down behind my vanity mirror. I wiped away what was left of my tears and checked the smudges around my eyes and cheeks. I had spent so much effort on my blush this morning, and I had managed to ruin it twice in one day.
I took a breath and got to work redoing it, layer after layer. Eyes, cheeks, lips, hair, the works. I felt a sense of determination, as I made it even more elaborate than before. If my fate was to be a sissy, then I would be a pretty sissy, dammit!
Finally, a doll-like face looked back at me, smiling proudly as I studied my handiwork. I didn't know many sissies, but surely Cheryl Rosatunte was the prettiest of all. And no-one else was as feminine and submissive as her. Who else but her could suck a dildo and look slutty and humiliated at the same time?
I interrupted my runaway thoughts. I had just learned my new name, and already my mind seemed to easily conform to the idea of spending the rest of my life as a picture of ultra-femininity and submission. This was deeply unsettling. I saw myself blush as shame came over me as my old-self's male pride reasserted itself.
I felt so confused. I was to be Cheryl Rosatunte, no way out. And I would have to fill that role perfectly, or else there would be major consequences. But how could I ever do that if I kept feeling so much aversion?
I had an epiphany then and there. That was the trick, wasn't it? To be the perfect sissy wasn't just to look and act like one, not even secretly wanting to be one, but to be forever reluctant about it. To secretly long to wear dresses and heels, and feeling utterly humiliated when you do. To be the perfect picture of submissive femininity your Mistress desires, yet giving her ample opportunities to torment you about it.
I got up from my seat and stood in front of my long mirror. I struck my pose and inspected my appearance. I had put one hand on my hip, the other behind my head. I bent one knee and lifted one foot slightly, putting my weight on my other foot as puffed up my buxom chest towards the mirror. I looked at my face, smooth like a porcelain doll under an elaborate hairdo. My dress excessively cute and frilly, barely covering my panties. My stockings and heels were very sexy. Just the way Mistress likes it.
In short, I looked utterly ridiculous. I felt that I was blushing, though it was hard to see though several layers of make-up.
I spoke with my female voice that by now came completely natural to me. “I am Cheryl Rosatunte. I am a sissy. I want to be the perfect sissy for my Mistress. I think I maybe love looking and acting like a girl, but it certainly terrifies and humiliates me.”
I imagined how my sissy desires and my male pride had entrenched themselves in my heart, neither side giving ground. This contrast would forever be part of me. And Mistress Christina would be delighted about it.
“So perhaps I am the perfect sissy...” I said with equal measures of pride and dread.
I sighed as I relaxed my posture. Madame Directrice was right, I thought. I am Cheryl Rosatunte. I have always been Cheryl Rosatunte... And I would forever be in denial about it.
I minced towards the door, the bells around my ankles ringing. I consciously swayed my bottom seductively, while feeling very bashful about it. Just as a good sissy should.
As I opened the door I felt remarkably relaxed. Content even. What can I say? There is a certain comfort in knowing exactly who you are. Even if it its implications are mortifying.
With a tiny, dainty step, Cheryl Rosatunte, sissy par exellence, stepped out of her room and into her life.
Friday, February 17, 2017
Chapter 34: A change of past. Cheryl discovers no corset is as constricting as a few simple forms.
Mistress and her daughters left late afternoon, leaving only Madame Directrice and me at the mansion, and she didn't even leave her office at dinner time. My chores were done, so I had the evening off. I didn't bother slipping into my evening wear, so I remained in my maids outfit. I had thought about taking my heels off, but decided against it. About the only times I wasn't obliged to wear heels was under the shower or in bed. Getting caught without them was a big infraction and Madam Directrice was still here somewhere. I did relax the corset a bit further, however.
After I heated myself a light dinner, I wandered over to one of the sitting rooms, the one with the huge TV. I fidgeted a bit with the remote (darn nails!) when I turned on the screen. I zapped past the different stations. These were in German, French or some other language I couldn't understand. Those stations that did speak English were all about fashion, glamour and gossip. English speaking news networks and the like were all blocked. Mistress was very thorough in isolating me from the rest of the world.
I came past a Swiss news channel. I couldn't understand a single word of that weird language they apparently spoke in the south-east of the country, but I was captivated by the images. I was seeing footage of my home town.
I sighed. They only showed the city centre, and I lived on the other side of the river, but I felt I could almost see my old apartment. I felt a sharp sting of homesickness.
Oh, how I hated it at the time. It was draughty and the roof became moist when it rained. I wondered what had happened to it. I had paid my landlord in advance, enough to cover the time I planned to spend in Europe. That amount must have been spent by now. Was he still waiting for me to return, or had my stuff already been thrown in a dumpster and my room rented to someone else? Could I even afford it now? I knew that I received some wages for my work here, but had no idea how much. Heck, I hadn't actually seen a single dime.
Not that my old job was that great, though. Low wages, tiresome labour, jerk of a boss... Oh, I felt so alive when I told him where he could stuff his job. That same day I gathered every penny I had and started planning for a long trip. If I had stayed, I would have wasted away slaving in that bleak city. I wanted to see new things, meet new people, experience new things, turn my life around...
I looked down at my satin maid's outfit. Well, I got exactly that, didn't I?
I went to bed early. Undoubtedly, I would be expected I start my shift at seven in the morning, as usual. A lot of things had changed, but a maid's duties never would.
And I was right. The next morning everything was like it used to be. After washing myself and putting on fresh undies, Brigitt walked into my room. She was holding a corset, merrily informing me that it was time for my training. I don't know when Mistress and the others came home last night, but I could see she hadn't had much sleep, and probably a couple of drinks too many as well.
But she obviously couldn't forgo the pleasure of tying me into one of her corsets. Which she did with relish, pulling hard on the lacing. I gasped as the corset tightened around me.
“Huh, I'm away for a few days and immediately you get lax. I'm going to have a word with Martina and Ingrid about this. They spoiled you.” She said with a stern voice.
She approached me from behind, put her chin upon my shoulder. “And we would not want a fresh little sissy like you to spoil, now would we?” she whispered seductively into my ear.
My heart must have skipped a beat. She had a predatory glint in her eyes, like she was ready to strike. I feared she might force myself upon me then and there.
But she just smiled and backed away. “Well, don't just stand there, sissy! Get your uniform on. No, not that one. The baby blue one. Yes, with white stockings. Put on those white ankle boots, with the platform soles. No buts, girl. It's about time you learned to walk in platforms. Good. You can take it from here, but come see me when you are dressed. I'm going to put two locks on your boots. Why? So you will not be tempted to take them off, you stupid sissy!”
She left while I gathered the various pieces of today's uniform. My collection of clothes has increased significantly since I arrived here. My closet was stuffed with items, and Mistress had appointed an unused guest room to serve as a temporary walk-in closet for the rest, at least until a more a permanent solution would be found.
It was ridiculous, really. Even when I changed outfits three times a day, it would take weeks for me to actually wear them all. And then I didn't even include all the accessories. But Mistress and her daughters just kept adding items. Some of those were thinly concealed threats. 'Behave, of I'll put you in this'. Mostly though it was to make sure I would have the perfect outfit for the perfect occasion. The perfect humiliation, more likely.
And the outfits themselves had changed too. When I had just started here, my morning uniforms were at least somewhat practical. Sure, the dresses would barely cover my panties, but the frills were kept to a minimum, and the apron actually managed to prevent stains on my dress. Moreover, they were durable, so I didn't have to worry about seams coming undone or lace ripping.
The maid uniforms I wore these days were made for one thing, and it wasn't maid's work. They looked excessively feminine, with frills everywhere. The apron was little more than an accessory, a patch of white to contrast with the colour of the rest of the uniform. It always had to be tied at the back with a very elaborate bow, and if I was particular unlucky, it had words printed on it, like 'Sissy Servant Cheryl' or the hilarious 'I am Maid to Serve!'.
I had uniforms in every colour of the rainbow, but pink was particularly popular. They were also more restrictive or revealing. Or both. There hardly was any difference now between morning and afternoon wear, especially now I was no longer allowed to wear heels lower than four inches.
Highly annoying was that the satin was so flimsy, uniforms could rip during the simplest of tasks. I had to report every flaw or damage to my outfit, which would be noted down in Madame Directrice's little black book. I assumed the damage was deducted from my supposed pay, but I feared that sooner or later I would be disciplined proportionally to the number of entries...
Most worrisome however, was the evening wear. Some was elegant, most was very slutty, but that was normal. The addition of leather and latex outfits was new. Some even had those horrible integrated bonds in the fabric. I wondered if Miss Margot had been giving Mistress ideas.
After dressing myself I double-checked and then triple-checked my outfit. Seams straight, bows correct, skirt immaculate. I minced over to my vanity mirror, feeling the increased height and instability caused by the platform sole, adding another inch to my four inch heels. I sat down and checked my face and hair.
I didn't have to do much with my hair. Ingrid's handiwork still held firm just fine and I only needed to correct a few stray locks of hair and add some lacquer. Most time I spent on my make-up. Most was bright, obvious and slutty, which was easy to apply, but I spent a lot of time on my cheeks. I added several layers of blush, gradually increasing the brightness of the tone, highlighting my cheekbones. When I was done, I had achieved a very lifelike result. A warm blush of a shy and reluctant sissy, humiliated by her predicament. Just as Ingrid had demanded yesterday. I doubted I actually required make-up to show that, tough.
Now came the difficult part. I had done it before, many times. If fact, I preferred to do it myself, instead of having Mistress' daughters do it for me while they laughed and mocked me. Thank God Brigitt didn't insist on staying!
I can do this, no problem, I thought. Yesterday was easy, right? I took a breath and picked up today's butt-plug, putting some lubricant on it.
I stood up from my dressing table and turned to my floor mirror, looking at the belle in baby blue holding the black penetrator. With my other hand I pulled down the back of my panties down until I felt my sissy hole being exposed.
I could just close my eyes and get this over with, quickly. But I didn't do that. That is what a man would do. I was a sissy. And a well-trained sissy savoured every moment of her femininity and humiliation even if her Mistress was not around to check up on her. Especially if she doesn't really want to. You're only pretending, but always smile as a pretty little sissy should. Fake it till you make it.
I stood in front of my mirror, inspecting my appearance again. Very feminine indeed, my blush was perfect. I turned sideways, so my entire profile was visible. Perky breasts and firm bottom. Taut legs and shiny hair. I kept my knees straight as I bent forward, ass pointed backwards.
I kept watching my reflection as I slowly moved my hand behind me, and worked the plug under my skirt and petticoat until its tip touched my sissy-hole. I felt the cool wetness of the lubricant on my behind.
I made a pretty smile at my refection. My blush perfectly matching the shy and demure look in my eyes. I placed my other hand over my ample cleavage, seductively licked my lips, and slowly applied pressure on the plug.
I felt my sphincter widen as I put the intruder inside of me. It slid in easily, but I uttered a gentle 'ooh' as it passed its widest point. Then it was in, and I shuddered as my sphincter closed behind it. And with that constant reminder of my submission locked in place, my outfit was complete. After another check of my appearance, I was good to go.
I made tiny steps as I left my room, getting used to the extra height of my boots. Despite all my time here, most of it in high heels, this was my first time in platforms. It felt... weird. I couldn't feel the floor through the thick sole. It gave me the feeling I had somehow lost touch with the earth. I really needed to watch my step, while still maintaining an excessively feminine gait. The hallway resounded with the familiar clicking of my five-and-a-half inch heels.
I slowly minced my way towards the room Brigitt had confiscated as her temporary office. I passed Frau Seiler on the corridor, looking puffy as she hurried by. She treated me a bit more kindly these days, accepting the fact I would be part of this household for some time. But she never hid her feelings on young men who dressed and acted as girly maids. As she passed she slowed down just enough to get a good look at me, roll her eyes, give a contemptuous snort and then hurried along before I could even properly greet her.
I arrived at Brigitt's door, but she called out before I could tap on her door.
“Enter, Cheryl. I could hear your heels a mile away.”
I entered, walked over to her desk at the left side of the room, and gave a respectful curtsy. Whereas Madam Directrice would hardly acknowledged my presence when I entered her room, Miss Brigitt had her eyes on me from the moment I passed the threshold, an evil glint in her eyes. She was still holding the dossier she had been reading, but seemed to have lost all interest in its contents.
She put the file down as her eyes scanned me from head to toe.
“My, my, Cheryl. You do not look half bad. Not bad at all...” I smiled at her compliment, but her tone made me fearful. She put down the dossier as she got up and walked over to me.
“Make-up is nice. You look so pretty when you blush, Cheryl”
“Thank You, Miss Brigitt. Miss Ingrid thinks so too. This was her idea.”
She took hold of my chin, moved my head from side to side. “Well done, my dear. I know women who have used make-up for most of their lives and aren't able to make it look as good as you. Who would have thought you were hardly able to hold a razor properly just a few weeks ago. You really are a natural.” I think I blushed for real.
She stepped back. “Nevertheless, as a sissy you should never settle for anything less than perfection. Every flaw, every fault is an insult to your Mistress and will be punished accordingly. There is a streak of eyeshadow there. That is a black mark.”
She walked around me as I kept my eyes on the floor. “Bow is not symmetric. That is another one. Your suspender is twisted too.”
She stepped in front of me again. She lifted my skirt and revealed my sissy-clitty. “At least that looks nice and girly,” she said chuckling.
Her eyes locked on me. “Three black marks. Report them to Esther when you see her. I'm sure she'll have an appropriate punishment for you.”
She smiled wickedly. “Unless, of course, you'd prefer if I would discipline you. I promise I will not spank you hard. In fact, I will not use the crop at all...”
I gasped. What she wasn't saying scared the heck out of me. “Er... Thank you, Miss Brigitt. But Madam Directrice is in charge of disciplining me. I think it would not be proper if...” She interrupted me with a gesture.
“As you wish,” she said somewhat amused, but disappointed. “I do not really have time for you anyway. Don't worry though, I'll schedule in some hours just for you.” I involuntarily gulped.
“Anyway, do you like your new platforms, Cheryl?” she said as she walked over to the bookshelf and took down a box.
“Yes Miss Brigitt,” I said with practised enthusiasm. “They are very pretty. Very feminine. But it is difficult to walk in them. They are very high.”
“Of course they are,” she said as she opened the box. “A sissy wears heels not for her own pleasure. That right is reserved for women only. A sissy wears heels for her Mistress' pleasure. And there is truly nothing more pleasing than seeing a sissy mince about in heels.” She took out two cuffs of white leather.
“Put these around your ankles,” She said sternly. “This strap goes beneath your boot between sole and heel. Then snap it in place and lock the cuff with the padlock.”
I tried to reason with her. “Miss Brigitt, I'm sure this will not be necessary. I promise I will not take my boots off.”
“Do you now?” she snorted. “Too bad the word of a mere sissy does not mean much here. They need constant supervision or else they grow far too lax. And I simply do not have the time to keep a watch on you.”
“But Miss Brigitt, I've never taken my heels off without permission...
“Cheryl!” She yelled, stunning me. “Be quiet, girl! Now quit your whining and put them on.”
She held out the cuffs and I took them. They tingled and I noticed the little bells on them. The confusion must have shown on my face as Brigitt chuckled and elaborated.
“Mutter was complaining the other day about how she sometimes can't seem to find you in this big mansion. One moment you are doing the laundry, the next you dusting the rooms, very hard to keep track of you. And you cannot expect a lady of her status to yell when she's looking for you, now do you?” She looked at me and I mumbled a 'no, Miss Brigitt'.
“Indeed. So we needed to think of another way to be able to locate you.” She smiled at me maliciously. “The bells were my idea.”
She gestured for me to put the cuffs on and stepped around me. I submissively complied, bending forward. As usual, I kept my knees straight so Brigitt got a good look at my panties as my skirt flared up.
Brigitt whistled at the view. “Lock it tight, Cheryl.”
I closed the cuff around the ankle of my right boot, pulling it hard, then wrapped the strap underneath and clicked it in place on the other side. Finally I secured everything with the tiny padlock. I repeated the process with my other foot.
As I stood upright again, I assumed my waiting posture while Brigitt squatted behind me to check the bonds, fidgeting with the straps to make sure there was not too much room to spare. There was tingling as she tapped the bells around my ankles.
Satisfied, she got up. She gave a playful push of my panties where the outline of my plug was visible, causing me to softly yelp in surprise.
“I'll keep the key with me. Come see at the end of your shift, then I will release you.”
She walked back towards her desk and once again looked at me from head to toe, a wicked smirk on her face.
“We're done here, Cheryl.” She said. “For now. Don't forget to report your black marks to Esther. That will be all, girl.”
“Yes Miss Brigitt. Thank you.” I respectfully curtsied, causing the bells to jingle annoyingly.
Brigitt chuckled as she watched me leave, bells drowning out the tap of my heels.
Outside I looked down around my ankles, gently shaking my right foot. The sound of tiny bells filled the corridor. I sighed, and turned towards the direction of today's first chore. This was going to be a long day, I thought.
I made sure I was at Madam Directrice's office at two. This morning's chores were easy enough, but those bells were really getting on my nerves.
“Come in, Cheryl,” Madam Directrice called through her office door.
I walked in and took my place in front of her desk, curtsying. Madam Directrice's desk was again filled with papers, but laid in an ordered row, facing me.
Madam Directrice was standing next to her desk. She looked down to my ankles where the bells tingles at the slightest movement.
“Brigitt?” She simply asked.
“It was Miss Brigitt's idea to put these cuffs and bells on me, Madam Directrice.”
“Mein Gott...” She sighed. “I'll have a talk with Christina about this. Until then, please do not pass through this hallway unless you are coming to see me. Do you have any idea how bloody annoying those bells are?”
I was about to blurt an answer, but at the last moment thought better of it. Instead I told her about my black marks.
“Madam Directrice, this morning Miss Brigitt found flaws in my appearance, earning me three black marks. A smear of eyeshadow at the corner of my eye. The bow of my apron was not perfectly tied. And one of my garters got a twist in them. I would like to report them in order to receive a suitable punishment in order to improve myself.”
She nodded. “Very well. But that can wait. We have important work to do. Come here, girl.” She beckoned me forward.
I stepped over to her desk and got a good look at the documents there. Most were in German or some other language I couldn't understand. Some were in English, but one would need to be a lawyer to understand what was written.
“Remember that I said you would need to pay a price?” Madam Directrice looked at me gravely. “That time has come. I want you to sign these documents.”
I looked at the many papers. “What are they?”
“You said you were willing to pay your due.” Her eyes bored into mine. “Are you backing out?”
“...No.” It sounded like a whisper.
“Then sign them.”
She handed me a pen, and pointed towards the first document. A little 'x' marked the spot where I had to set my signature. I scribbled my stylised CH.
After I had signed the first document, I had to sign another of the same stack. And another. Then she closed the first folder and pointed me to the next one, repeating the process.
I was busy for half an hour. By that time Madam Directrice had closed and filed away a dozen folders. Mostly I had to write my signature, but I even had to put ink on my fingertips to register my prints on one sheet. She also swabbed some saliva from inside my mouth and then carefully placed the swab inside a plastic container.
For some reason, after those ominous words, I had expected something to happen when we were done. But the earth didn't shake, nor did the sun black out. Madam Directrice just took out cigarette and lighted it up. It felt a bit anticlimactic, really.
When she had finished half her cigarette, she put it on her ashtray and took out another file. After gesturing me to take a seat, and I slowly sat down, not putting too much pressure on my plug. She opened the file on the first page and showed it to me. It was my original contract I had signed on my second day here, in this very office.
“This is now void,” she simply said.
I didn't understand what she was saying, but my eyes widened as she took her lighter and put a flame at the corner of the document until a flame caught hold. She dropped the burning document into a metal trash bin where the flames consumed the rest.
“Charles doesn't work here. Charles has never worked here,” she said to me.
“But Madam Directrice...” I gasped. “I have to leave? You said I would stay here. Be with Mistress Christina!”
She smiled as she shook her head. “Oh, believe me, you are not going anywhere.”
I looked at her confused as she took out another document.
“This is you.” She handed me the papers. “Your new identity.”
I looked at the document. It had a picture of a girl on the front page. I didn't understand until I realized it was the same girl who had been looking back at me every day in the mirror.
The document was in German, but I found the line where the girl's name was written down.
“Cheryl Rosatunte?” I said hesitatingly.
“It's pronounced ROsa-tOOnte. That is your name, yes.” She looked at me as if the name should ring a bell, but continued when no reply was forthcoming. “That has always been your name.”
She took back the document and leafed through it casually as she said: “Charles never set foot in this building. As far as anyone is concerned he left this country weeks ago. Who knows to where? And it is Cheryl who has been working here as a maid all these weeks. A somewhat confused Swiss young man.”
I tried to say speak, but no words came out of my mouth. I only managed a gasping 'why?'.
“Cheryl, I told you how important your role in all this is. Things have been already been put in motion and cannot be undone, and I can no longer allow you to back out or have second thoughts.”
She picked up her cigarette. “You know who Cortez was? No? He was a Spanish conqueror, who defeated the Aztec empire and conquered much of present day Mexico.”
She took a huff and blew the smoke. “When he landed on the New World, he burned down his ships. He believed it would motivate his soldiers. They would now give their all for victory, for without a way back home any other outcome would mean certain death.”
She looked at me. “I've done the same with you. You have to go forward, since there is no turning back anymore.”
I was dumbfounded.
She drew on her cigarette, made on 'o' with her mouth and blew a ring of smoke. We both looked at it as is drifted by until it dissipated. She then continued. “This débâcle with Daniëlle was possible because Margot and Christina believed, what I believed, that Daniëlle and you were under our control. Boy, were we wrong.”
She looked at me. “I now know why. Margot had created a reality for Daniëlle where her fate as a sissy was inevitable. Inside that reality Margot's control was almost complete. But outside Margot's grasp Daniëlle didn't need long to break our hold on her.”
She pointed her cigarette at me. “Given the stakes, I cannot allow that to happen to you too. So I had to extend our reach. I came up with an idea that if you ever managed to give us the slip, there'd be no place for you to go. We'd have you back home with us very quickly. Back in your cute skirts and heels.”
“I won't run away,” I said meekly.
“I know you wholeheartedly believe that,” she sounded emphatically. “But two week ago you probably never even imagined betraying Christina. Yet shortly after, you helped Daniëlle escape.” She sighed. “I simply cannot risk you doing something very stupid on a whim. So I'm putting you on a very short leash, metaphorically speaking. Well, mostly metaphoric anyway.”
She frowned. “You look a bit pale, dear. Are you all right? Let me get you some water.” She walked over to the table with the water bottle.
“With this new identity, your identity, you can barely run, and you certainly can't hide,” she said as she opened the bottle and poured me a glass. “You cannot go to the US. Cheryl is not an American, she has no property or belongings there, she cannot even apply for a visa without her guardian giving explicit permission.”
She walked over to me hand handed me the glass. But she didn't let go. Her eyes caught mine. “That would be me, by the way. I have complete and total power-of-attorney over all of your affairs. You cannot buy a pack of chewing gum without my explicit permission. Or those that I have appointed to watch over you, like Christina.”
She let go of the glass and sat down on the other seat in front of the desk. “And no-one will find that strange. As a matter of fact, they will be glad you have someone to control you. Because Cheryl has a very colourful history. A whole list of psychological problems, many of them gender related.”
I nervously took a sip of the cool liquid and felt it glide down my throat.
She turned a page. “She also has a criminal record.”
I gasped. My mouth felt dry.
“A long criminal record, I might add.” Madam Directrice added casually as she turned another page.
She squinted as she looked at a particular entry. “They made that illegal? I didn't think that was actually possible...”
She tapped the ash of her cigarette and he turned back towards me. “Anyway, you have been quite a nuisance for the Swiss authorities and social services. They have no idea what to do with you. Fortunately, I seem to be able to keep you mostly out of trouble. With the gracious help of Christina and her daughters who took you in their home to give you some stability, while you get some education and employment in the service industry.”
She leaned in towards me. Her eyes were stern. “You are in the system now. This means if you run away, the police will help me find you. When they do, they will pay no heed to ramblings on you being forced into dresses or to take it up the ass. Those are just the words of a very confused boy. One who had his gender registered not as 'male' or 'female', but as 'undecided.'“
She tapped on the document. I could make out the word 'unentschieden' on the paper. She smirked. “We have that option in this country. We pride ourselves on our progressiveness.“
She drew another huff of smoke and blew it out. The rest of the cigarette she extinguished on the ashtray. “At any rate, they will cuff you for your own protection, and then take you back here. Where we will thank them for their assistance in bringing this wayward young sissy home. And when they are gone, me, Christina, her daughters and everyone else I can authorize will take turns in making sure you'll never get it in your thick skull ever again to run away.” Her voice was monotone. This was not a threat. She was just stating a fact. I took a big gulp of water.
“Still, if Christina ever gets tired of these antics, she might just wash her hands of you just as she did with Daniëlle. In that case, I will report to the authorities that your placement at Christina's household has proven a failure and that you've blown your last chance. They will then pick you up so you can serve the remainder of your jail time.”
“Jail!?” I cried and almost dropped the glass.
“Yes. The details are not important, but suffice to say you still have six months to serve. Only my and Christina's patronage keeps you out of it.” She leaned back into her chair. “Now, a Swiss jail cell is not that bad, really. So I think six months is long enough to let it sink in, while too short for you to get too accustomed to the regime. More importantly, once you are out, you will be homeless, penniless, unable to speak the language or to find a job due to your criminal record and psychological profile. You will have to become someone's bitch just to survive.”
My head was spinning as I tried to make sense of it all. I took a sip of cool water to clear my mind. “...But if I go to the...” I started to say.
“To the US consulate?” she interrupted. “Well, you might be able to convince them that you are actually poor Charles. You would find they are very happy to see you.” She chuckled. “As a matter of fact, they would be downright elated.”
“Huh?” was all I could say.
“You see, in the right circles fake identities are valuable, but even the best forgeries can be disproven. Real identities however... Oh, they are worth their weight in gold.” She smiled conspiratorially. “I took the liberty of selling Charles' identity to a character who is using it for some very shady deals. By now, the name of 'Charles' is quickly rising through the FBI's and Homeland Security's wanted lists. Yes, I do believe they would be very happy to receive you, just before putting you in a very dark hole for a very long time.”
I was unable to utter a sound. Captivated I was as I listened to her explain how she had destroyed my life.
She chuckled. “Assuming of course you can convince they you are the notorious 'Charles'. More likely they will have a good laugh at your cute pink dress and lovely high heels and ask the Swiss police to bring you back to us.” I think I blushed.
“Though I doubt Charles would ever want to go back to the US. There are only debts waiting for him there.” She shrugged.
I regained my voice. “Charles has no... I mean, I have no debts!” I protested. I may not have had much back home, but I prided myself that I paid my bills and didn't spend a cent more than I earned.
“Well, he does now.” She got out another document from the folder. “Setting up your new identity has been a costly affair, and selling your old one only covered part of it. So I tried to sell some of your belongings, since you wouldn't need them anymore. Unfortunately, it only consisted of some mouldy furniture locked up in a garage of a decaying apartment building, so you didn't really have anything worth selling.”
She gave me a wide grin. “But you got to love the American banking system. As long as your credit rating is good, you can borrow all the money you'll never need. Once I discovered that despite your meagre possessions yours was excellent, I used some creative bookkeeping to get the maximum loan from five different banks. You are now over three grand in debt.” She pointed at a six digit number on the document.
My mouth fell wide open.
She took the glass from my hand before I could drop it. “By now someone must have discovered that naughty Charles had suddenly drained his accounts and is no longer in the country. Vanished without a trace. I wonder what a bank would do to someone who swindles them like that?”
“But don't worry,” she said mockingly. “The money cannot be traced back to you. Over half of it I used on your new identity. One grand I stashed away in case I need to make some money transfers that must not appear on the books. Sixty thousand I've given to Christina as expenses for taking care of dear sweet Cheryl Rosatunte.”
“You will never see this money yourself, of course. She doesn't want to spoil you.” She put my glass and the document back on the table. “But she is more than happy to blow this amount on you in other ways. No expense is going to be spared for her lovely little sissy Cheryl.”
She got up and walked around her desk, sitting down in her office chair. “I fear that with what she is doing the account is empty before the year is out. But I think we can afford to be generous. Why I do believe a certain little someone will get a lovely new pair of heels tomorrow.” She shot me an amused wink.
She leaned back into her chair, her hand folded in front of her. She looked at me over the edge of her hands. “Just remember that from now on every time you wear a cute new dress, mince around on some new heels, or have an unfamiliar dildo up you little hole, you probably paid for it yourself.”
We sat there in silence for a moment. I was looking at my boots while thoughts swam through my mind. I looked at the white patent leather that encased my feet from toe to ankle. They were very pretty, but looked so inescapable. I studied the cuffs that locked them tight, the little bells that broadcasted my submission to anyone within ear's reach. I looked at the hem of my dress, flaring upwards even while sitting down thanks to the elaborate petticoat underneath. Light coming from the windows behind Madam Directrice reflected the light blue fabric. My satin prison.
“So what happens now,” I finally asked.
“Now? You go back to your chores. Those panties do not wash themselves, you know.”
“So I am still a maid?”
“Technically... No. I destroyed Charles' contract, so your employment as a maid no longer exists. It has never existed. And none of the documents you signed was a new one.”
“So what am I then?”
She rubbed her chin as she looked past me, thinking. Weighing the words she was about to say. Then her eyes focused on mine. “The legal term for people like you is slave,” she said bluntly.
This shocked me. I've been called a lot of things since arriving here. Maid, sissy, girl, slut, pet, hussy. And I've always been on the bottom of the ladder here. Yet no-one ever said I was a slave. And what on earth did she mean with 'legal term'?
“Madame Directrice?” I asked confused.
“Of course, slavery is highly illegal in Switzerland. As is any practice where people are exploited against their will.” She waved her hand around. “But not even here does the law cover every eventuality. And the agencies that are created to protect people are a bureaucratic mess. People fall between the cracks all the time.” She shrugged.
I heard the bells on my ankles tinkle, but otherwise I remained completely silent as I listened to her explanation.
She leaned forward and put her elbows on her desk. “Your identity is a work of art. I have exploited a dozen loopholes and ambiguities, manipulated the authorities and social services, played several agencies against one another and have all the documents in place to make it legal and official.” There was a content glint in her eyes. She was clearly proud of her work.
“You know, I didn't need you signing these papers here at all. Everything was already in place. But I'm a perfectionist, so I prefer to dot the i's and cross the t's. Having your own signature on some papers gives it a bit more validation.” She smiled.
“I'm not a slave!” I cried. “I have rights, I have...” She shot me a stern look that shut me up immediately.
Her eyes bored into mine. “All your rights and privileges have been scattered and diffused into a bureaucratic nightmare at the end of which one person controls your entire existence. Me. And thus by extension Christina. Her daughters and Margot also have a certain amount of authority over you. Others may follow. But you? You. Have. Nothing,” she snarled.
I winced, and felt tears in my eyes.
She relaxed and her voice grew more mellow. “No rights and no free will, except for what we allow you to have. And if you ever escape, the people who are supposed to protect you are the ones who will track you down and deliver you to our doorstep, requesting us to punish you in whatever way we see fit. That is the essence of slavery. You are a slave.”
I put my hands over my face as I started to sob. Madame Directrice handed me a tissue before tears would completely ruin my make-up.
A slave. I came to Europe to experience freedom, and now my old life was destroyed and a new life forced upon me. Life of... a slave? A sissy slave! My God, what had I done?
She leaned back into her chair. “Just remember: you chose this. I warned you and offered a way out.”
She did. “Yes Madame Directrice,” I nodded.
She let me sob and sulk there for a while, pouring me another glass of water.
Finally she interrupted her silence. “Cheer up, Cheryl. You are a very remarkable sissy. You were made for this life. Your old identity? That was the fake one. Cheryl Rosatunte is who you really are. You will be fine, you'll see.”
Remarkably, I found that somewhat comforting. “Thank You Madame Directrice.” I muttered.
By the time I had finished my second glass of water I had somewhat regained my composure.
“I will have to perform maid duties?” I asked.
“Of course. This house does not clean itself, now does it?” Madame Directrice replied. “We will try to keep your daily routine as much as it was before. You will still have your Wednesday afternoon off. However, we can change that in any which way we like, obviously. And you will be required to satisfy Christina's and Margot's urges whenever and wherever they desire. You will be in complete obedience to every woman, and cannot deny them anything. Understood?”
I nodded. “Yes, Madame Directrice.”
“Wait, scratch that. You can. You are first and foremost beholden to Christina, and are not allowed to do anything that comes into conflict with her desires or interest. Not even if you are forced to. It will be regarded as your fault if you do.”
“That's not fair!” I cried.
She smirked. “Well, of course not. I never said your life is fair.”
She continued: “You can even try to say no to Christina. Up to a point at least. She likes her sissies to have some fight left in them, show some resistance before she breaks it down. Just do not go too far.”
“How do I know what's too far?” I asked confused.
“That is simple. If she enjoyed your resistance, she'll simply punish you. Creatively. I you antagonise her however... Well, you'll know. You'll learn soon enough. Impossible to say in advance, though.” She shrugged.
I opened my mouth to say something, but no words formed in my mind. I simply remained silent to process these implications.
“Do you have any other questions?” Madame Directrice finally said.
“...Does Mistress know about my new name?” I asked.
“She does,” Madame Directrice answered. “And the reason why. Well, most of it anyway. I told her that as a token of your appreciation for her and to prove you would never want to leave her, you denounced your old identity and I grafted a new one for you.” She shrugged. “So I told the truth, really. Anything else?”
I shook my head. “No Madame Directrice.”
“Then we are done here. Fix yourself and then get back to your chores. It will help you clear that pretty little head of yours. But I want you to return at five o'clock. There is still that little matter of your black marks.”
I got up and curtsied. “Yes, Madame Directrice. May I be excused?”
“Please do. And I do not want to hear those annoying bells before five, is that understood?”
“Thank you, Madame Directrice. I understand.” I turned on my heels and left her office.