Swiss Miss Sissy, Chapter 29

 by Bambi

Chapter 29: The fiend. Cheryl becomes acquainted with her monitor

 

IMPORTANT: This chapter is dark, violent and shows abuse that could be considered unsettling, and intentionally so because every story needs a dreadful villain that is an actual and terrible threat to the safety of the heroine...

It was like an icy wind now blew through the auditorium. The previously rambunctious crowd suddenly rather subdued, with Mistresses talking no louder than a whisper. Sissies stood uneasily in their assigned poses, disturbed by this change of atmosphere. My House-sisters' expression showed this was unprecedented. Even staff members looked like they'd rather be somewhere else.

 Though we were at the end of the ceremony, the baroness was supposed to say a few more words and best wishes, but she just rummaged through her notes, dropped some, then seemingly gave up. 

I... er... I would like..." she managed to utter. This must be the first time ever I saw the baroness lose her noble and ironclad composure. "...like to invite you all to a reception in the dining area... to celebrate this special occasion..." I barely heard the final words as she muttered them under her breath.

 But it told the audience now was a good time to leave, and most Mistresses made their way to the exit. Those that did not win at the auction were still whispering among themselves about this unsettling turn of events. Those that did quickly escorted their new charges towards the exit, barely acknowledging the occasional half-hearted attempt at congratulations. Tiffany was almost dragged by her leash out of the room by her monitor, while Mistress Gretchen hurried Danielle along as fast as civilized decorum allowed. Frau Ochsenhorn put on her stoic expression but her powerful frame looked deflated as she corralled the other sissies towards the exit. Even Mistress Desiree, who before my performance had been talking to my new monitor looked aghast, clearly shocked she had lost the bidding to this young woman, she shot her an angry and betrayed look as she got up from her seat and left with the rest of the crowd.

 Conversely, my new monitor, this Miranda (Mistress Miranda now as far as Cheryl Pink Panties was concerned) was completely unconcerned about the disquiet she had caused. She just gradually increased tension on my leash to pull me closer against her, forcing me to lay my head on her shoulder. I wanted to say something, ask what was going on, but before a word had even passed my lips she simply said 'hush', then put her arm around me possessively.

 The room was almost empty when she deigned to get moving herself. A tug on my leash and increasing pressure of her grip on my wrist told me to get up. I tried to stand in a proper Position 2, but her grip did not relent. I glanced at the Headmistress, trying to find some support in someone who was at the very least a known factor. But the baroness just looked at me with shame and regret, and that confused me more than it concerned me. Then Mistress Miranda's grip turned me towards the exit. 

 "Come along, kitty-cat. Let's bail this dull affair."

 Eventually we made our way to the reception area, even though Mistress Miranda did not show much interest in socializing. Most of the audience had gathered here, though quite a few apparently had lost their appetite in the auditorium and were nowhere to be seen, Mistress Desiree among them.

 Some of the chill had nevertheless evaporated, perhaps because of the cheerful music playing from some hidden speakers, certainly due to the lavish food and drinks available; with one table having a wide variety of beverages, including alcoholic ones, and another covered with luxurious finger food. A gaggle of sissies that was not present in the auditorium waited on the guests, overseen by several Mistresses. 

Danielle and the other participants of the pageant were already there, with Mistresses congratulating the new monitors and their wards, and sissies patiently awaiting their turn.

Though the temperature dropped by a few degrees when people saw Mistress Miranda, most were able to summon the courtesy to congratulate my new monitor and me.

...Or tried to at least. Mistress ignored several offered hands, and did not even acknowledge the bobs (or even the existence) of some sissies. When a brave Bibi Pink Panties approached Mistress Miranda and made a respectful curtsy, with a side glance towards me to show that what she really wanted was to simply congratulate her fellow pinky (a Mistress must always be addressed and given proper respect first, of course), Mistress Miranda gave her such a cold hard stare that Bibi was transfixed in place, then hurried away in shock.

And she kept me on a tight leash. Literally. Whereas the other monitors held their charges' leashes slack to give them some room to socialize, or even unhooked them entirely, Mistress held mine very tight and often her other hand held my wrist, arm, back of my neck or somewhere else she could grab a firm hold. 

And she didn't allow me to interact with anyone else either. Not even Mistresses. 

"Congratulations Miranda, you really hit the jackpot," Mistress Anna said to her, trying to sound like her usual cheerful self but the disappointment at not winning me, and her obvious discomfort with Mistress Miranda's cold and bored stare that barely seemed to register Anna's presence, was audible in her voice.

"Yes. Thanks." Mistress Miranda said flatly. She took her outreached hand but there clearly was no appreciation in the handshake; merely a mechanical action that was superfluous but which she abided by for the sake of some social norm she clearly detested.

Now Anna turned to me, genuinely smiling and a shy but warm smile appeared on my own face. Unconsciously, I posed myself as prettily as I could.

"And congratulations to you, Cheryl," she said. "Now you get to put into practice all that you have learned and impress your new Monitor. It may seem challenging..," she gently took my hand in a friendly way, "but you'll notice that things start to come naturally."

Despite the tension on my leash, I dropped a few inches in a bob. For sure I was blushing. "Thank You, Mistress Ann-uuurk!.."

 Mistress Miranda harshly yanked my leash, pulled me against her. My hand slipped out of Mistress Anna's. I felt like my collar had dug into my skin.

"Hush," my monitor said icily in my ear. She turned towards Mistress Anna, a hostile smile on her face "Thank You, Anna. Will that be all?" 

"I was just telling Cheryl..." Mistress Anna tried, clearly troubled by the rude interruption.

"I am sure she appreciates it," Mistress Miranda interjected, "but this kitty is none of your concern. If you want anything of her, you talk to me. Only to me." Those last few words she spoke casually, but I felt more than I heard the chill in her voice.

She shot me a glance, its glare staring deep into my soul. I felt myself getting really small. 

If Mistress Miranda had radiated indifference or annoyance when interacting with others, absolute focus was aimed at me like a searchlight. Something poured from her eyes, and I realized that it was malicious.

This young woman she was unlike every other dominant I had met. This young woman, who was holding my leash and now had power over me, was... 

 

...evil...

 

Others had turned towards us, alarmed by by monitor's raised voice. Some of them gave questioning or concerned looks, but did not say anything. Though it was unusual during a social event like this, all monitors had the authority to silence their wards. With a gag if necessary. And no Mistress would ever contradict a monitor when her charge was present.  

Mistress Miranda turned towards her peers, and suddenly her malice evaporated, a smile appearing on her face. Cold as ice.

"Cheryl still has much to learn. We would not want to spoil such a precious little thing with idle chatter, now would we?" she said sweetly.

Some of the Mistresses nodded in agreement, content in the belief that nothing was out of the ordinary and there was no need to intervene.

 I gazed in disbelief as the universe began to rearrange itself right before my eyes. It was like Mistress Miranda had conjured up some sort of glamour, in which she appeared smiling and friendly. She began having superficial chit-chat with others, giving courteous greetings to people she moments before had been ignoring or even snubbing, and those that had been staying clear of her hostile presence now began to flock towards her, offering congratulations on her catch, and some even tried to ingratiate themselves to her. Even the Headmistress, who moments before seemed positively ill at the turn of events, now was her usual unflappable self.

 

With everyone around almost slavishly honoring my ban on speaking, I could only stand there silently and watch it all unfold. What was happening here? And why?

The latter I can answer: my new monitor later told me she came to the auction at Mistress Desiree's insistence, with whom she has some sort of 'understanding'. She did not want to be there, and made no effort to hide it initially, but if she wanted to keep me, she would have to play nice, behave by whatever nonsensical social rules were the norm, take on her 'fair appearance', as she called it. She told me that came natural to her; she had been practicing all her life. 

But I would never learn the how. Afterwards people would tell me they hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary that day. When I press the issue, they would concede that Miranda had acted a bit overly dramatic, was more than a bit arrogant, made bold statements which ruffled Headmistress' feathers, and was generally a diva... but really nothing that crossed the line. And she mellowed out eventually, remember? Danielle, the baroness, my House sisters all said similar things.

 

Sometimes I doubt myself; can i trust my memories of the event? Rationally speaking it seems unlikely that of all those present I alone remember it correctly. Have later experiences tainted my recollection of Miranda?  

 

No, I must stand firm. I know what happened that day; a fiend walked among us and only I saw through the spell she had cast!  

 

...Perhaps that is why she became so obsessed with me; she had found the one person who saw through her charade, to whom she would never have to pretend otherwise. 

 

And who was powerless against her...

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Mistress Miranda took me through unfamiliar corridors of the complex; it imprinted on me just how big the school really was. The restricted sissy wing, imposing though it may be, was rather small compared to the more conventional lecture area.

 

Normally a sissy was prohibited to venture outside of her designated area, but when assigned to and escorted by a monitor she was allowed to go to the monitor's dorm room. Like Mistress Miranda, not all monitors were actually Mistresses-in-training.   

 

Von Wytenbach's Etikette-Schule für junge Damen aller Geschlechter prided itself in offering high-quality (and expensive!) courses in the mastery in the feminine arts. 

 

But it was also very vague in what was considered 'feminine', intentionally so. The Headmistress had explained it thusly: femininity is a spectrum, and a very broad one at that. And on that spectrum was... a lot. There was strong and weak, domination and submission, blue and pink, jeans and skirts, practical and frilly, and in every possible combination.

What was femininity? Well, the short answer was whatever you wanted it to be.  

That meant that many of the students here followed courses typical of a conventional finishing school; etiquette, deportment, upper-class norms, and eating your salad with the correct tiny fork. But the school offered so much more...

There were courses in fields often associated with women: fashion design, arts. nursing, dance, knitting, etcetera.

But also courses that on the surface were completely unrelated, but when applied correctly could actually be used to sharpen one's skills at femininity. Like history, sociology, psychology, business acumen and diplomacy.

It was with the latter in mind that Mistress Miranda attended the school. Her mother had sent her here to acquire the necessary skills to thrive in the dog-eat-dog world of corporate affairs, where manipulation, intrigue, power and seduction were intricately linked. Mistress called herself a 'real-life Bene Gesserit'. That's from a book or movie or something...   

As we moved across the corridors, we represented two extremes of the feminine spectrum, worlds apart and yet linked by that vague word.

 

...And also linked by my leash that she kept taut. Her heels were only an inch high and she kept a brisk pace. I did my best to keep a proper posture as she forced me forward at that ungodly pace, my heels sounding like a sewing machine on the concrete floor.

 

I barely registered the occasional other student that we passed by. Though my outfit, my regular uniform with all my bonds reattached, looked rather out of place here and did elicit some rather curious looks and sniggers, no-one made much of a fuss about it. These were not Mistress-in-Training that needed to hone their dominant skills or break sissies; they were here for their own education and generally left other students in peace. Some disdain and mockery aside, they abided by the rule that they would not interfere with someone else's interpretation of what it meant to be feminine.

 

...though I am sure at least one bent over to get a good look if the rumor that sissies had their clitties exposed was true.

 

After the reception my sisters and I had been escorted back to our dormitory, where the frills of my stage uniform were removed and I was allowed to rest. It would take a day or so for the school to handle some behind-the-scenes formalities before I was put into Mistress Miranda's care. Then there was a meeting with some of the staff where my monitor and I could make more sedate acquaintances with one another, be instructed in the monitor-ward relationship, and some other technicalities.

Mistress Miranda was pleasant and cordial the entire time. At least, as far as everyone else was concerned; behind her smile I saw the combination of boredom in the official proceedings and impatience to get it over with. And the frightful interest she had in me. Perhaps I should speak out, tell the staff members that this woman was bad news. But a sissy objecting to a dominant, especially her assigned monitor, was unheard of. And what should I say, exactly? Not like I had any proof aside from the chills going down my spine.

 

So, I kept quiet, smiled happily, nodded in agreement, handed Mistress Miranda the handle of my leash, gave her the quick peck on the cheek that signified the start of my ward-phase of my training, and off we went.

 

The moment the office door closed I felt the tug on my leash. 

 

"Mein Gott, that was agonizing! How many forms do those dullards need!" she spoke as she picked up the pace and pulled hard.

And after being forced to keep up hallway after hallway, I was about to reach my limit. My heels were not made for this, and my ankle chain actually forbade it. I felt lightheaded in my constricting corset. But even the risk of fainting did not force me to speak up; it was the very real possibility that my posture and gait were getting sloppy. My training here clearly had set my priorities straight. 

"Mistress," I gasped, "please slow down, Cheryl Pink Panties cannot keep up." 

She stopped, then glanced at me. First giving me a puzzled look, as if she heard a cow talk. Then she smiled in her superficial way.

"Of course, kitty-cat. My apologies, I guess I was a bit too eager to have some private time with you."

That was an unexpected response; I was dreading something more... hostile.

"If fact, let's get these silly bonds off you. Hold still..." And with that she began untying my arms, then my ankles. I was more surprised than elated that I was given this freedom, so accustomed I had become to my chains. 

"And we won't be needing this..." she spoke as she unbuckled my gag, "or this as she unclipped my leash, stuffing everything into her purse. Now I was almost starting to feel naked.

"Better?" she said with a smile. It was a pretty smile, on a beautiful face (even if her dark make-up was not to my taste). 

Like a mask hiding her dark light. But I saw it radiating through.

I bobbed a prim and proper curtsy. "Thank You very much, Mistress Miranda," I said with my sweetest, best practiced voice. "I promise I will behave as should be expected of a student of Wyttenbach's Schuele vor..."

She raised her finger, slightly wagging it. "Stop right there, girl. I have no patience for tiresome pleasantries and the straitjacket of proper social norms. I live life to the fullest. For as long as it lasts. And that is what I will teach you, understood?"

I was not sure I did. "Yes, Mistress."

She tilted her head a little bit, as if observing me from a different angle. Her eyes never left mine though. "You have the wrong idea of me. I don't mean like all those other fools who think I am like them just because I have a pretty face and can pretend to care. You can see past that, I can tell. But I am also not malicious for the sake of it. I just live life... unfettered."

Now I was even more confused. I decided to say something supportive yet noncommittal: "I see, Mistress."

She tilted her head the other way. "Well, no matter if you don't understand. I will teach."

She held out her hand and I took it with practiced grace. And like the she escorted me further down the corridor.

"Are these dormitories?" I asked.

"Yes. Mine is just around the corner."

"It is so empty."

Mistress Miranda snorted. "Indeed. Wyttenbach may have poured her heart and soul into this school, but she is still servicing a tiny niche of a niche market. There are not that many potential students. Fewer still that can afford her rates. Enrollment is way below capacity. Without financial backing she'll be bankrupt within a few years."

I gasped. This school had become so ingrained in my psyche that the concept of it not being eternal shocked me to the core. 

"But it gave me the opportunity to pick a room that was quiet, out of the way and far removed from everyone who would bother me. Ah, here we are!" She swiped a keycard and opened the door.

"Step into my parlor," Mistress Miranda said as she escorted me inside.

The room was nice. Tidy, with the comforts upper-class young ladies would expect from an establishment of decent repute. Nothing out of the ordinary: a bit like a decently sized hotel room, albeit with a larger than average vanity desk and closet and a small two-person bed that was typical throughout Europe. 

"Have a seat, Cheryl. No, not there; the chair in the middle." She opened the small refrigerator and took out a bottle of water. "...want a sip, girl? You must be parched."

Without awaiting my answer, she poured part of the bottle into a glass. At this school it is highly frowned upon, and for sissies outright forbidden, to drink straight from the bottle; etiquette demands ladies drink from a proper glass. The rebel she was, Miranda gulped down the remainder straight out of the bottle then handed me the glass. Despite my monitor's life philosophy on rules, I took dainty little sips as had been drilled into me.

Miranda pulled out a large duffel bag from the closet and began to rummage through the contents. "So, tell me about yourself, Cheryl." She did not even look up as she asked it.

"Oh, er... what would You like to know, Mistress?" 

"Surprise me." she began unloading the contents of the bag.

"Well, my real name is Charles. I come from the United States. I was born in..."

Her annoyed glare shut me up.

"Skip the boring part. Tell me about when You came into Christina's service."

"Oh, of course, Mistress. That was some time ago. Or was it? What is the date? Come to think of it, what day is it? Anyway, Charles was sitting in a cafe when... is that a knife?"

She balanced the blade with its sharp point on the tip of her finger, then flipped it around and caught the handle before putting at aside. "Dagger, actually."

I nodded in fake understanding. "Well, Charles was traveling through Europe and had just spent the last of his cash as this cafe... a gun?!"

She casually placed the firearm on the small table where she was arranging her items. "Uh-huh," she grunted. It was small, smaller than any revolver I'd ever seen. Mistress' hand was larger than the handle, cylinder and barrel combined. How would she hold it?

"With bullets?" I asked. She looked up from her work and glanced at me like I was an idiot. 

"No, with peas, what do you think!?" She glanced sideways, thoughtfully. "..Though admittedly a peashooter may have more power. Still, at short range these are lethal."

"Why do you need..."

"Ah, finally!" She took out a large bundle of wide satin ribbons. "You were talking about a cafe?"

"Er, yes Mistress. So, I was at that cafe when..."

"Give me your hand. Your other hand. No, do continue. I am listening."

And as I told about my first encounter with Mistress Christina's daughters, she tightly wrapped the white ribbon around my wrist.

"Not too tight? I do not want to impede the blood flow. But it does need to be firm."

And as I spoke about that fateful encounter that turned my life upside-down, she gestured for my other hand. When I offered it I was right in the middle of the tale how the three daughters bathed, perfumed and prepared me before my trip to Mistress Christina.

I was blushing as I retold how they got me in that dress and gave me some lessons in walking in heels before plugging me. Behind me, Mistress Miranda uttered a surprised giggle at that turn of event. "Really? That is something."

"Mistress, what are you..." I tried to ask.

"Do continue, I am done back here. Put your feet together." 

When I came to the part of my lollipop, the magic wand Mistress Christina used to turn me into a girl, she was actually laughing. A honest, heartfelt laugh. A pleasant sound that was so unlike the malevolent air she initially carried around her.  I told her how her daughters sang 'Zum Geburtstag' as I sucked on my lollipop, just to make her laugh more even if it was at my own expense.

She took yet another ribbon, and began tying a knot in the middle, and another one around it, and another, until a firm ball began to form. And suddenly my apprehension began to reassert itself.

"Mistress? What are you doing? Has Cheryl Pink Panties misbehaved? She apologizes if she offended you."

"No. You're doing fine," she said as she finished the satin ball and took position behind me. 

"Then why are you..." 

She took a firm grip of the two satin straps that stuck out of the ball. "Yes, yes, I know. I could have used your pacifier, or your other bonds for that matter" she answered, misinterpreting my actual question. "But sometimes it is worth it to go the extra mile. The pie you bake yourself tastes the best, and all that."

And with that she leaned in, forced the satin ball in my mouth, then wrapped the straps around my head and mouth several times, the wide fabric covering my mouth between nose to chin, before tying them together at the back.

I was now wearing something that looked like a classical over-the-mouth gag that damsels-in-distress would often wear in old cartoons. But with the satin ball lodged deep in my mouth this one actually worked perfectly in silencing me.

With my wrists tied behind my back and ankles together, she had expertly immobilized me.

She wrapped her hands around me, sniffed my hair gently licked my ear. I could only grunt frightfully.

"Now we got the boring part done. Though it was more interesting than I dared imagine," she said with a chilling voice. I felt her dark energy radiating from her.

With me tied up in this chair, and her leaning against me from behind, she whispered in my ear.

"These bonds are just to keep you... manageable... while we tear down the real bonds that... fetter... your potential."

She picked up the dagger from the table and turned it around in front of me. I moaned in fright.

"Are you scared, Cheryl? Be honest..."

I felt tears well up in my eyes. Yes, I was scared. Ever since I had been trapped in this sissy-life, I have been scared so many times. Scared of Mistress Christina's machination. Scared of her daughters' manipulations. Of Madame Directrice's crop. Definitely scared of the wicked Mistress Margot...

But this was the first time I was actually scared for my life. I nodded vigorously.

She took a deep breath, as if she inhaled my fear. The skin of her cheek against mine felt warm, like brimstone. "Only in the face of death are we truly alive. Here all those silly norms and restrictions just fade to nothingness."

She held her blade underneath my chin, the edge gently touching my skin. It felt very sharp. "Get up," she said softly in my ear, gently increasing the upward pressure of the steel. 

I rose with the movement of the blade, careful not to trip and cut myself.

 

When I was erect and on my heels her dagger moved down gently, slightly touching my chin, my throat, chest, belly, thigh...

...and the world turned around me. I thought I fell, but I felt a pair of arms lifting me up.

Still tied and gagged, I rested in the arms of this fiend that has so much power over me. She was much stronger than her delicate frame suggested. She looked down on me, and I swear I could see fangs as she smiled.

 

She lifted me over to the bed and all I could do was cry, wiggle and beg into my gag for her to let me go.

She turned me upright and set me onto the edge of the bed, sitting down right next to me. Her dagger followed her gaze as she inspected every detail of my appearance. She used the tip to raise the hem of my dress.

A loud knocking pounded through the room, startling me and distracting Mistress Miranda. Her gaze turned to the door. Her eyes shot fire.

Another set of pounding. "Miranda, du Hattenberg-Schlampe! öffne die Tür! Wir sollen sprechen; ich habe dir etwas zu sagen!" was yelled through the wood. I immediately recognized the voice, even if it was much less composed and chilling than I had come to know. It was mistress Desiree Black Leather. 

 

Mistress Miranda, gave a deep sigh. Her anger turned cold. "She always picks the worst possible moments..."

She glanced at me. "Don't go anywhere, kitty-cat. I'll deal with this." She got off the bed, threw her dagger in the air, caught it at the tip mid-flight, then hurled it towards the door. With a loud tack its tip buried itself into the wood. The banging stopped.

"J'arrive, j'arrive," she said cheerfully. "Espèce de connard stupide..." the last part she muttered under her voice with a demonic growl before she opened the door.

Mistress Desiree burst into the room, speaking loudly and angrily. A torrent of words crashed over Mistress Miranda. I couldn't hear what she was saying, or even which language she spoke, but clearly a substantial portion of her tirade involved insulting my monitor's parentage and bloodline.

Then she saw me, and her rant stopped.

"You brought her here?! Without telling me?!" she cried out appalled, switching to English. "It is not enough that you steal her right from under me, but aren't even going to share?"

With Mistress Desiree's back towards her, Miranda used the opportunity to pull out the dagger and hide it behind her back. "Look Desi, I know that you had plans to acquire her, but..."

"Of course you knew; I told you! I told you all about it! Even my idea to let you help me tame her! Share her with you! I invited you to the auction to get you interested! Then suddenly you take her all for yourself!?"

"It is not something I planned, Desi. It was in the spur of the moment; I saw an opportunity and I..." Mistress Miranda said soothingly. She was still holding the blade, but kept her hand turned so that it was mostly hidden from Desiree's view. 

Not that Mistress Desiree would notice; she was blind with fury. "You always do this! You are never going to change! You always take and take and take..!"

Miranda uttered some diplomatic platitudes, but behind her calm demeanor I saw the fell spirit that was furious at Mistress Desiree and her audacity to interrupt. One who was rapidly losing the patience to keep up a fair appearance.

And all the while during this exchange I could only sit there, tied, gagged, feminized, sissified, plugged, subjugated, objectified and now utterly frightened. The object of desire of two women I feared and despised, who thought of me like some sort of pet they could just own. A toy to fight over.

If my fear of Mistress Miranda hadn't made me cry, then this utter humiliation certainly would. I began to sob loudly into my gag.

"Shut up, Pinky," Mistress Desiree snapped at me, then gave me a cuff around the ears, then another before I managed to be silent. She pointed her gloved finger right at me. "Your betters are talking. I'll deal with you later. We'll get this mess sorted out and when you are mine, you and I are going to have a long and very extensive lesson about loyalty."

My eyes grew wide in horror. I had no choice in the matter, had been a powerless chew toy as others fought for the right to bite me. Why was she angry with me?

I muttered a weak protest, earning me a slap on the cheek. And with the uppity sissy brought to heel, Mistress Desiree turned back to Miranda to vent her fury.

And through my teared-up eyes, I saw something terrifying happen. As Mistress Desiree raged against the calm and diplomatic mask of Miranda's face, behind that mask I saw her rising fury over being interrupted and the annoying tantrum Desiree was having.

How could Desiree not see? They were face to face and somehow she missed that Miranda's hot fury was freezing over into something dreadful. Into cold annoyance at the insects she had to share the world and play nice with. Her glamour now spent under the strain, and her true self surfaced.

I tried to call out, warn her. "Humpfh! Muff Dufsrf! Noff! Fopf!"

Mistress Desiree heard me, turned around and furiously pulled out her crop to chastise the annoying sissy that dared to make a fuss. Behind her, Miranda casually put down the knife and grabbed the gun.

"Noof!" I cried in fear, both for the crop that was coming down on me and for Miranda raising the small revolver to the back of Mistress Desiree's head.

...It was lethal at short range, Mistress Miranda had said. I closed my eyes.

There was a snap, then a heavy thud of a body falling. I screamed in dismay, my gag smothering me. I cried out for Mistress Christina to come save me. Only mumbling passed the satin. 

 

"Be silent. Chin up, back straight. Mind your posture, Cheryl," Mistress Miranda said almost serenely. "And stop crying, you are ruining your make-up."

And with that the Cheryl Pink Panties showed how well-trained she was by immediately executing internalized commands to perfection. Cannot allow my make-up to be a mess. Where is my make-up set? How do I fix my lipstick if my mouth is covered? 

Gradually I became aware of my surroundings again. And I saw how Mistress Miranda, still holding the gun, was squatting next to the prone form of Mistress Desiree.

Sound returned too. I heard a voice speak. It was not my monitor's.

"You.. you hit me..." Mistress Desiree said in shock and disbelief. One hand she pressed against the back of her head. Drops of blood fell from her fingers.

She... she was all right! ...Well, 'all right' was overstating it, but at least she was alive! Conscious even.

 

Mistress Miranda still held the revolver, a streak of blood on the cylinder. She had pistol-whipped Mistress Desiree. The gun was small, but it was still a solid piece of steel. 

"You hit me!" Desiree said again, anger returning in her voice as she tried to lift herself from the floor. "You... bitch... you..."

Mistress Miranda answered her glare with a smile, but her eyes were as empty as the void.

"You need to be careful on those stairs, Desi. They can be slippery."

"Stairs?!" Mistress Desiree uttered in disbelief and anger. "You hit me! Oh, Hattenberg or not, when the headmistress hears this, she'll kick you out as quickly as..."

A loud click resonated around the room as Miranda cocked the gun.

"You are going to tell the staff that you slipped and fell," Miranda said matter-of-factly. "And you need some time to recover. Six months, at least."

"Or else what? You'll shoot me?" Desiree asked defiantly.

"You think I wouldn't?" Miranda answered flatly. "What makes you think the sanctity of your pathetic little life actually matters to me?" 

She grabbed the plastic water bottle, and in one sip drank the last few drops accumulated at the bottom. "You were useful. Quite fun too. But here we part ways. Up to you to decide if you leave vertically or horizontally."

"You wouldn't dare!" Mistress Desiree spat angrily, but I could hear the doubt in her voice. "Three seconds after you shoot that gun, security will be here, and then not even your mother will be able to save you..."

A sharp bang went through the room, and a flash lit up the walls and ceiling. Something hit the wall less than a few feet away from me. I cried out in dismay.

Then silence. 

 

Mistress Desiree stared at Miranda in utter horror. The bullet must have passed her head by inches before hitting the wall to my left.  

Mistress Miranda was still looking over the bottle she had pulled over the barrel of the gun. The bullet had traveled along its length and come out at its bottom side, containing the worst of the bang, flash and powder discharge. 

The bang had been loud, for sure, but sounded more like a book falling from a shelf flat on a hard wooden floor. It wouldn't have alarmed the neighbors, if there even was anyone else in this deserted wing of the building.

"Let's check that," Miranda said, still pointing the gun and her improvised suppressor at Desiree, who was now looking pale as a corpse. Holding up her free hand as a closed first, raising one, two, then three fingers. She looked at the door, then back to Mistress Desiree, and shrugged.

"Looks like the cavalry is not coming. Just the three of us, then."

She reached into the duffel bag and took out a pair of handcuffs.

"Cuff yourself on that pipe," she told Desiree, who now seemed to have lost all her defiance. She looked like a mere shadow of the Mistress I knew and feared, and without a word snapped one cuff around her wrist and another around a radiator pipe.

Conversely, Mistress Miranda seemed to be getting more and more formidable despite her outwardly delicate frame. As if she fed on Desiree's fear (and mine!), she seemed increasingly invigorated. A nasty smile on her lips as she rose to her feet, like a demon rising from the abyss. 

She sat down right next to me, wrapped her free hand around me and pulled me close, forcing me against her. 

She leaned her head against mine, her chin on my shoulder. She took a deep breath through her nostrils and breathed out her warm breath against my neck and ear. Her gun-hand she placed on my lap, forcing a few fingers between my legs. I couldn't tell if the pistol felt hot or ice-cold.  

I was in mortal peril, and yet I felt a butterfly flutter in my tummy under her soft touch.

"Now what should we do with her..?" she spoke in a tone of nonchalance trying but failing to hide a malicious passion.

She raised the gun up so that I could see straight across the barrel. "She interrupted our... training session."   An ice-cold shiver went through me as I realized It was pointed straight at Mistress Desiree's face. I do not know who was more afraid, Mistress Desiree looking down the barrel of the gun or me looking over it.

 

"Miranda... " Mistress Desiree said pleadingly. "Don't do this. I'll go. I won't tell anyone. If you kill me, your life will be over too. You'll go to jail for the rest of your life."

It was like I felt a flash of energy burst out of my monitor, though physically she only tilted her head a bit. She chuckled.

"Is that so? Let me tell you a story." I could feel her grin on my neck. But her voice was curiously soft, like she was not speaking to Mistress Desiree, but to my ear.

"I knew a guy once. Typical nice guy. Dumb as a cow and just as dull. But the simp had his uses, so I kept him around; most of the time just keeping him hungry, eager and very compliant. Every now and then I'd throw him a bone. Let him have his fun."

As she reminisced, Mistress Miranda relaxed her grip on the pistol which she now rested on my lap. That did not make me feel better.

"But Mein Gott, he was sooo boring!  My dead grandmother would have been more invigorating." 

My heart froze when she lifted the hem of my dress with the gun, revealing my panties.

"So, one day I had enough, and decided to take matters in my own hands." Her other hand now moved down and slipped into my panties. I yelped and squirmed, but she ignored my protests.

"It started innocently enough; getting on top of him and all that." She pulled me up and onto her lap, my plug on her knee, forcing itself deeper in.

"Humpfh... unmh..." I uttered

Her hand found its way to my clitty, and began teasing it. "...And things escalated from there."

She began hoping her knee, slowly and gently at first, then increased frequency and amplitude. The plug, which I never got used to (especially the ribs...) began to work its magic and soon simultaneously my hole felt tight with electricity and my legs turned to jelly. My clitty was now being jerked by several fingers; not too fast as they moved up and down, they applied a pressure that was impossible to block out.

"He bitched and moaned a bit, but did not want me to stop." My heels scraped over the floor, sitting just too high on her lap to get firm traction. I squirmed in my bondage, moaned in my gag. "Kind of like with my pretty little ward here." 

She turned up the pace, and now I was getting seriously piledriven. 

Tears ran from my eyes. This was terrible; I was in the hand this violent woman, who was fucking me silly, made me fuck myself silly, and there was nothing I could do about it! And worse of all, I was getting close to a climax. 

But I would be damned if I would give her that satisfaction!

"Open your eyes, Cheryl. Watch Desi over there," she whispered seductively in my ear. What else was there for me to do but obey?

I opened my eyes to a surreal scene. The gun was still aimed at the Mistress, whose eyes revealed horror at the danger and lust for the sissy getting fucked right in front of her but just out of reach.

"Cheryl," my monitor spoke aloud, "if you come, I will shoot Desiree, understood? You have her life now in your hands. Well, between your legs really."

"Hurfh!?" I shouted out, dragged back down to earth. No, not that, don't make me do this!

She let go of my clitty and grabbed my collar instead, pulling and twisting in so it wrapped itself tighter around my neck. I felt the constriction increase and freaked out.

I struggled in her grip, but she just kept hobbling me on her knee. 

"Miranda, please do not do this," Mistress Desiree now said pleadingly, deathly afraid. "I am sorry, I'll never bother you again. Just let me go and I'll be out of your life and..."

"The funny thing was," my monitor continued, ignoring Desiree's groveling, "the more I ravaged him, the more lively he got."

I feared I was going to suffocate, so tight she had pulled my collar. And she just kept pounding, pounding, pounding me.

"It confirmed what I always had known; people are not really alive, they just wander around though life like zombies; fettered by their owns norms and values while worries and concerns leech away at them until they die for real. Only on the very edge, a hair width away from losing everything, or doing something irreversible, do we truly live."

Mistress Miranda's attention was now fully on Desiree. Her voice changed; no longer smooth and seductive, it now was direct and factual.

"But then I went a bit too far and I killed him." She cocked the gun.

I could only moan softly in dismay into my gag. She released her grip on my collar and moved her hand around my clitty again. She didn't even move her fingers, hobbling me on her knee was providing more than enough up-and-down stimulation.

"...What?" I heard Mistress Desiree speak under her breath, horrified.

"You heard me. He popped, and then he died. And if Cheryl pops, so will you."

And as if on cue, I came. I did not want to. I tried to stop it. But my senses were overloaded. My cream filled my diaper and panties and my body almost collapsed. Mistress Miranda gripped me firmly and kept me upright.

I could almost feel Mistress Miranda smirk. "Ah, there we go... Well, tough luck Desi." She wiped her soiled fingers off on the satin of my gag, right under my nose.

Tired, so tired, I looked at Desiree. I wanted to tell her I was sorry, but I could only moan. Her horror was palatable.

Mistress Miranda pulled me sideways and I fell prone with my tummy on her lap, now lying in a classic spanking position. I did not have the strength to squirm.

"Of course I will have to get rid of a corpse and cover my tracks. Not exactly easy, but I managed just fine the first time. Didn't even have to involve my mother." She slapped my behind as if to emphasize her point.

Her voice turned positively demonic. "So I got away with it before, Didn't even miss dinner. And now I have access to my mother's considerable resources. So really, why wouldn't I just shoot you right now, just for the heck of it? Do some artistry and body-paint sweet little Cheryl here with your brains?"

"Miranda!" Desiree cried out pleading.

Her finger curved around the trigger. "...Choose your next words very carefully, Desi."

"...Please, I'll do whatever you say," Mistress Desiree said, utterly defeated.

Miranda relaxed her grip, and rested her pistol on my back, me feeling the cold steel of the gun causing shivers down my spine. She seemed to be thinking. The silence was deafening. Her free hand was absentmindedly fondling my behind.

"Yes, I think you will." Mistress Miranda said thoughtfully. "So here is what is going to happen: you will get out and stop pestering me and dear little Cheryl here, and immediately take a long leave of absence to heal that nasty concussion you got when you fell down the stairs. Understood?"

Mistress Desiree nodded agreeably. 

Miranda threw her the key to the handcuffs, the pistol aimed steadily at Desiree's forehead. "Now get out before I change my mind." 

Desiree hurriedly fumbled with the cuffs until it opened, then scrambled onto her legs and, still groggy from the knock on her head, wobbled towards the door. Her hand was on the door handle.

In a fast blur Mistress Miranda reached for the nearby dagger and flicked it towards Desiree. The blade cut into the door near the door handle and nicked the skin of Desiree's index finger. A droplet of blood began to form. 

Mistress Desiree turned even more pale.

"And Desi?" Mistress Miranda said coolly, picking up the gun again. "If you even think about uttering a word about this, please do remember I have my mark on you. You may think you are safe. You may have forgotten all about me, but I'll be close by, just out of sight. I'll always be close by. And if I so choose I will reach out for you and drag you into my shadows. Do not give me a reason."

Mistress Desiree muttered some affirmations and hurried out of the door.

 

Mistress Miranda did not even deign to watch her leave. "She will not be a problem," she said as footsteps died down behind the door, her fingers slowly moving underneath my skirt and following the stitching of my panties. "She is a coward. Now that she knows who is boss she'll do exactly as told."

Suddenly she gave me a slap on my behind. Soft enough to be considered playful, hard enough to be demeaning. "It is you of whom I am not so sure..."

She pulled me up and sat me down on her lap. With the barrel of the pistol, she turned my cheek until I was looking right into her eyes.

"Do I still need this?" She asked, referring to her gun.

I furiously shook my head in denial. I'll behave! I spoke using fearful glances from my eyes.

"Good girl," she said, rather satisfied. She uncocked the hammer of the pistol, then casually flung it onto the nearby table. The thud made me flinch, but it did not go off.

She gave me a long stare, wiped a loose lock of hair out of my face, then sighed mournfully. "You know, I had cooked up an elaborate show to impress you. But then Desi had to come in and ruin it."

I felt the urge to convey something noncommittal, yet supportive. So I softly grunted.

"Still, you got the message, I think," she said frighteningly sedate. "I am mad, bad, dangerous to know, and deadly to cross."

I vigorously nodded in complete agreement.

She smiled contently. "And you are my little bitch, understand?"

I nodded again, a bit less enthusiastic. 

Her gaze turned to an icy glare. "Ah, there it is. I see it. Doubt. Reluctance. You may become a problem sooner or later." She sighed. "Well, I'd better deal with you right now..."

I mumbled frightened denials into my gag, squirmed on her lap against my bonds. I won't be a problem! I won't tell! I am your little bitch! I'll behave! I am a good girl!

She couldn't possibly understand a word I was saying, but her eyes softened and her lips curled in a subtle smile. "Very well. I'll give you a chance. Just one, understand?"

I nodded vehemently. 

She smiled at me. It wasn't a kind smile, but not particular cruel either. "I am going to take your gag out. Don't shout or do anything you will regret."

She reached over my shoulders and untied the knot between my pigtails, unwrapping the satin until the now thoroughly soaked knotted ball came out.

With a finger she wiped away a droplet of saliva, then gently stroked my lower lips. As I unthinkingly opened my mouth slightly, she moved her thumb across my upper lips.

The butterfly in my tummy returned and had brought friends.

She looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to say something, but I just mouthed a few random words; my brain seemingly disconnected.

This was ridiculous! This woman was evil; why was I suddenly infatuated with her?!

She raised an eyebrow as if she just heard my thought, then her smile widened. "You are feeling it now, don't you? Danger. Dancing on the volcano. The unfettered life. Intoxicating, isn't it?"

I nodded, not sure if I understood. Not even sure if her words even registered with me. I was lost in her eyes, enveloped by her aura, its darkness brighter than the sun.

She suddenly leaned in and kissed me hungrily. I accepted her tongue in me. Eagerly.

As we kissed, she laid me down onto the bed. It was uncomfortable, my hands still tied behind me as she straddled me, but somehow it felt right that I was completely at her mercy.

She was all over me. She didn't bother with undoing my uniform; her hands just probed every inch for an opening to my bare skin. She was in my panties, my bra, my corset, my collar. And with every touch I moved, or moaned, and soon she created a symphony of lustful movements with carefully arranged strokes, touches and caresses.

"What are you?" she whispered in my ear, the words like a soft breeze in a forest.

I gasped softly, feeling her fingers around my clitty again. With most of my brainpower preoccupied, it took the remained forever just to form an answer.

"...huh..?" I managed to utter.

She tightened her grip around my clitty. Not quite painful yet, but I would have noticed discomfort if she hadn't increased the pace.

"What are you?" she asked again. More insistently.

I was now as hard as a sissy could be, and it seemed not enough blood went into my brain to think properly.

"I am a sissy..." I said with moan.

I noticed that her lips were over mine again, her tongue deep in my mouth. Her hand had grabbed my hair possessively.

"I know, you little bitch. But tell me, what are you to me? Give me a reason to spare you..."  

Horny as I was, writing under her touch, it took a while before her words sank in. My heart seemed to miss a beat and a chill went through my spine. But my horniness was barely affected.

She has withdrawn her mouth and looked at me expectantly; eyes waiting for an answer. Not impatiently, but also dead serious. 

She continued touching my clitty. More insistently, it seemed. As if to tell me that I should choose this; neither of us wants the alternative.

I grunted as she stroked me, keeping me at the edge but not let me go further. 

The answer crossed my lips without me even realizing it "...your bitch," I moaned

She gave me a long look, subtle smile on her lips. It was not a warm smile, or a happy one. One of contentment. Or victory. 

She let go of my clitty. "No, not quite. Not yet." 

She leaned in and bit my lower lip. It hurt. I tasted blood. "But at least now I have my mark on you." 

She licked her lips and sat up, pulling me upright with her. She positioned me on the side of the bed, heels on the floor. My clitty was still hard form her touch, but I felt she had left me hanging.

"Let's get these off you," she said as she stepped off the bed, gesturing at my bonds.

She walked over to the door and pried the knife out of the woodwork. She twirled it around in her fingers, then came over and kneeled down in front of me. 

"Don't move. I don't want to cut you." And with a flick of her wrist she drove the sharp edge of the blade right between my tied ankles, cutting through the fabric like it was a puff of smoke.

Seeing her holding the dagger again make my skin crawl, but at least my legs were free again.

"Get up," she told me, holding my upper arm firmly. "Stand over here, face the window." 

She walked past the table, where she picked up her gun. From the corner of my eyes I saw her opening the cylinder, and take out the bullets save one. She spun the cylinder around rapidly, then with a flip locked the cylinder back in place. She tucked the pistol in the small of her back, just behind the top of her tight leather pants so only the handle was visible. Then she picked up her duffel bag, and with one sweep of her arm put all items and toys back into it.

She stood behind me, and I gave a soft yelp as something cold forced its way between my wrists, and then the fabric that had bound me so well fell to the ground harmlessly, a clean cut splitting it in two. I could not resist the urge to rub my wrists, feeling tingles as the blood flow suddenly was unimpeded again.

She took my hand, firmly, and guided me several steps towards the window, until my nose was just over a feet away from the curtains. The cheap light-grey fabric barely blocked the afternoon sun, but would hide me from outside spectators.

She did not let go. "Don't move your feet." She kept pulling, forcing me to bend forward, until I could place my upper arms flat onto the windowsill. My nose poked into the hanging curtains.

"Good. Spread your legs a bit," Mistress Miranda said as she nudged my ankle. "Yes, that's it."

My base urges still kept my clitty hard, but what remained of rational thought recognized this position all too well. "Mistress..." I said pleadingly.

"Shush now. Put your wrists together." 

I did. Of course I did. Miranda connected to chains of my uniform's cuffs, then took Desiree's handcuffs that still dangled from the pipe and locked one side around the cuff of my right wrists, and another end she snapped shut around an aluminum beam that was part of the window frame.

My legs were still technically free (though I obediently had kept them right where she directed them to) so Mistress Miranda worked on them next. She moved the bed just enough for the ankle chain, when disconnected from my left ankle, could be wrapped around its leg. She them moved one of the chairs right next to my left boot so that she could tie them together with a piece of cut satin.

Mistress Margot would have not approved of such improvised bondage; it allowed some room for my hands and feet to move, but believe me when I say that for the purpose of keeping me subdued it more than sufficed.  

So now here I was, standing with my legs apart, leaning onto the windowsill, and with a clitty that was erect as a volcano and just as eager to pop.

Mistress Miranda was standing right behind me, inspecting her handiwork, and got a good look at my predicament.

"That will not do," she muttered. I gave a cute grunt as she inspected the state of my clitty with her hand. I'm surprised that did not push me over the edge then and there. "Need to fix that."

I heard her rummage through the bag, my uniform's collar making it difficult from turning my head to see and then step up right behind me.

I yelped; two hands pulled aside my dress, petticoats, panties and diaper. Then a cry, as a sharp sting shot through my clitty. 

I had no idea what she did, but it certainly caused my clitty to lose excitement.

She wasted no time: again, her hands were on my member, but now something looped around my clitty and sissy-bells and was tightened. Something firm covered the head of my clitty, like a hood.

"Mistress? What did you do?" I cried out, dismayed.

She left the panties and diaper down my thighs. "Put a chastity device on you. You will not cum unless I allow it, understand?"

"Yes, Mistress," I said with a pathetically obedient and pleasing tone.

"And you will not be needing this..." She slowly but inexorably pulled the plug out of my behind. I don't know if I moaned or cried.

She pulled out another item. She took position next to me, and I saw it was a large dildo. Not thicker than was the norm, but longer. Mistress Miranda moved one of the closed curtains to the side and then rammed the base of the dildo onto the glass. Now a nice hard cock peeked at me from between the curtains.

But she wasn't done just yet. She took her phone and connected it to a mount with a clamp, which she attached close to the base of the dildo. She turned on the built-in camera, adjusted the mount a bit, and digitally selected the viewing angle. When she was satisfied, I saw the video image as seen from the perspective from just above the large cock. I saw my own appearance featuring prominently on the screen.  

Mesmerized as I was by my own image, I barely noticed her putting on a harness with a respectably sized dildo. She poured an overkill of lubricant over its tip and shaft.

She took up position behind me, the tip of her penetrator prodding my legs. She leaned in, her mouth close to my ear.

"You are not my bitch yet," she told me. She grabbed the hair at the back of my head and forced my head forward, onto the penetrator. As a properly trained sissy, my lips parted without conscious thought. 

Then she began to push from her pelvis, and with one hand aimed her strap-on straight at its target. The lubricant made it slide easily across my skin, between my cheeks and onto my sissy-hole. My sphincter answered the pressure with resistance, but soon the slick projectile split open my defenses and entered me.

I moaned like a slut as I felt the long penetrator push into me, slowly and deeply. As it started to push on my prostate I felt a surge of sensation sweep over me. My clitty strained in its new prison. 

I started sucking without Mistress Miranda needing to urge me on, using the proper technique that had been drilled into me. 

I felt Miranda's eyes on the back of my head, observing me. Studying me. "Good girl," she said eventually. "Now listen closely, here is what is going to happen: you are going to suck, and smile. Suck and smile. I can see the screen, and I only want to see my sultry little bimbo having the time of her life with her toy, understood?"

I nodded absentmindedly; the deep penetration of the strapon had already launched me into subspace. I slipped my lips up and over the tip of the dildo and back down along its shaft.

"In the meantime, I will tickle you so hard and so long that you would beg me to be allowed to come."

My rear and groin were already awash with pink electricity radiating, turning my legs and innards soft and weak.

"But you will not come. Not until I tell you to, got that? You just suck and smile and keep your clitty in check. 'Cause if you don't..."

The dildo was wet and slick now, as was the strapon. They slid in-and-out so easily, hitting the sissy-sweet-spot so that with every repeat an explosion of warm colors radiated in my lower regions.

Mistress Miranda pulled the gun from her pants, cocked the gun and placed the barrel against my head. "...I will pull the trigger."

I almost choked on the dildo. What she said hit me like a bucket of cold water. What i felt pressing against the back of my skull was like an icepick. I tried to ask a startled 'wat' but my filled mouth made it unintelligible.

With her other hand she locked a leash on the back of my collar and gave it a hard yank. "Careful girl. No stopping. No crying. No complaining. Not even a frown on your face. Just suck and smile. If I see just a glimpse of anything but horny delight, I will pull the trigger."

I turned my head, cock still in my mouth but trying to make eye contact with Miranda. I wanted to talk to her, reason with her, beg for mercy even. Anything.

The tip of the dildo fell out of my mouth. "Mistress.." I began to plead.

A hard click echoed through the room. I felt the metal vibrate through my skull. 

I was instantly petrified. Even my heart seemed to have stopped.

Miranda cocked the gun. "Lucky girl. That chamber was empty. Want to try your luck again?"

She didn't wait for a response. With the tip of the barrel, she turned the tip of my chin forward, back towards the dildo.

With her pistol hand she grabbed some of my hair to move my head onto the dildo, and then forward and back a few times, until somehow, I managed to regain control of my body and take over the motion.

"That's it. Now smile, Cheryl. Suck and smile." She began moving her pelvis again, pushing in deeper. "Open your eyes, let the camera see how much you are enjoying this."

I saw myself on the screen. The hot blonde in the fetish outfit, her red lips enveloping and moving up and down a large cock. Her eyes seemed dazed. Not in a frightened or shocked way, but in a classical 'fuck-struck' expression. Her lover was behind her, mostly hidden by the close-up on the blonde's face, but you could see the rhythmic motions of her body against the blonde's back. What you could not see was the pistol, which her head completely obscured. 

"Good girl. Now let's turn things up a bit."

Still holding my leash, she reached for a inconspicuous rope dangling at the side of the window. She pulled it hard, and the curtains opened immediately.

Bright sunlight almost blinded me, but quickly my vision returned, and saw a small street before me. Perhaps a back alley behind the school complex. It was tranquil, but not empty. People were walking there, and they only had to look up one story to see the blonde with the dildo in her mouth getting pummeled against the window.

"Perhaps we'll get an audience," Mistress Miranda said gleefully. "Let's give them something to talk about." She rocked faster, pushed deeper, and a laughed wickedly in my ears.

Never once did she put the gun away, but soon I barely acknowledged its existence anymore; with Mistress pushing my sissy-buttons with her strapon, and my lips putting their training to good use on the dildo, my mind had submitted to the moment so well that Mistress occasionally had to intervene just to get me to focus. Despite what she had said, she gave me plenty warnings: every time I slowed down, or when my expression veered away from 'sultry' or 'fuck-struck' to 'cross-eyed', or when I came dangerously close to an orgasm, she would yank my chain hard enough to get the message across.

The chastity device made the experience that much weirder. Its tightness ensured my clitty could not get much bigger and added much discomfort. Nor did I feel the soft stroking of my panties' satin against the tip. Though I could feel the build-up of uncontained sexual energy in my clitty, it provided me with no sensations necessary to push me over the edge.

And yet, build-up of energy continued; physical phenomena like the prodding of my prostate or the sensation of my lips on a hard cock were but one source. Mental stimuli like the blonde's performance on the screen or the rush of a passersby looking up my window and seeing my submission and humiliation. All multiplied a hundredfold by the threat of certain death pressing against the back of my head.

Mistress had to pull my leash more often and harder, but somehow I managed keep my wits long enough to squeeze my bladder and do what else I could think of not to explode, all the while Mistress fucked me from behind and laughed gleefully.

 

"Hummm, hummmm, ooommh, hummpfh..." I moaned as I served the cock in my mouth. My legs had turned to jelly, only the tightness of my boots and the penetrator in my behind giving me enough support not to collapse on my heels.  

 

An audience may have been gathering below my window, but I could no longer see beyond the hot blonde on the screen. She was so hot, and I was feeling very hot. I was desperately craving release, but what little remained of my conscious thoughts was fully focused on not letting myself pop.  I heard the chain and handcuffs jingle as I moved with increasingly erratic jitters.

Mistress Miranda was now pulling continuously on the leash, like a rodeo cowgirl trying to subdue a wild mare. But still she fucked me with a pace I never thought a petite frame like hers could ever sustain.

It went on and on. I felt tears on my face, but they must have been tears of joy. I heard heavy moaning in the room and knew they were mine. I sucked hungrily on the dildo as if trying to get sustenance from it.

 

Then, suddenly, Mistress Miranda uncocked the gun and put it away. She let go of the leash as well.

"Come, Cheryl. Come now." She said with a sigh as her free hands now gripped my waist that the corset was shaping into a quite feminine figure.

With the extra grip she probed me deeper than ever. But it was unnecessary; no longer forbidden to, I let the pent-up energy simply flow out of me.

"Hum. Oooompfh. Humrh..." I moaned with the dildo still in my mouth as I came into my diaper.

 

As a storm of sparkly embers raced through my nether regions, down my legs and up my spine, I was dimly aware of the wetness at my groin and the strapon being withdrawn from my sissy hole.

Mistress hugged me tight, then took hold of my chin and turned my head sideways. She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek, then on my lips. I felt the pain as she bit me again.

 

"Now you are my bitch..." She said, delighted.

 

+++++++++++++++++++++

 

It did not end there, of course. The rest of the day and all through the night I was her bitch. She didn't need the gun anymore, or even the knife. The hierarchy had been established, and I was firmly locked in her bondage, regardless of whether I actually wore satin bonds or handcuffs or anything else from her duffel bag. So, as time progressed, I ended up with fewer and fewer clothes on. As did she.

Eventually, the sun did rise, and even she knew I had to return to class or else there would be hell to pay. She got me back in uniform, ensuring everything was in order but leaving the chastity device on (our 'dirty little secret'). Then she had me help her dress up. I had just finished lacing up her black matte leather boots with thick heels and a modest platform (they actually had a zipper, but she liked the feeling of me lacing her in), when she put the leash back on my collar and led me into the corridor. 

Following my conqueror like a slave girl, she took every opportunity to show me off to anyone who cared (and to several who did not), before returning me to the wing of the Pink Panties. Obediently I observed the correct etiquette to say goodbye to my new monitor and bobbed her a pretty curtsy.

"Thank You for your instruction, Mistress Miranda."

 She chuckled. "Instruction? Well, yes it was instruction, wasn't it? Instruction in the essence of power."

"...I do not understand, Mistress," I replied.

She gave me a very serious look. "A conqueror takes what he wants, then solidified his hold by fucking it. Djengis Khan did. Julius Caesar did. I did. But I went a step further; while they were content to squirt their load and call it a day, I made my property come at your command."

Confused, I said, "...I see, Mistress" 

"No, you don't. But that is not necessary. Leave the thinking to me. I will take care of you. You are mine now, forever and ever." She beamed with pride.

"Mistress, that is not possible," I said. "I am being groomed for Mistress Margot."  

I was in no way looking forward to being her concubine, but still that seemed better than being Miranda's bitch.

"Is that so? Well, that is irrelevant. You carry my mark now. And I am very possessive about my things," she said ominously. 

And with that, she turned around and walked away, leaving me behind, relieved, confused, and more than a little scared.