Swiss Miss Sissy, Chapter 35

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.  

by Bambi

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 what?”

“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.