By Bambi
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.
My home...
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.