Saturday, February 4, 2017

Fiction: fs01 - Part 72

Author’s Note:


Day 12, continued.
The door opens to the back seat of the vehicle and I climb in.

“Thank you, Miss Dominique.”
“I look forward to breaking you, little one.”

The remainder of the ride is silent. I don’t know how to respond to that. We arrive at Dominique’s a little bit before 10pm. Inside the house Sammy and Dominique escort me to my room. I receive instructions at the door.

“Take off your clothes, little one. I’ll see that they are washed.”

I nod and remove my wallet and phone from my pocket. I place them on a try that Sammy holds in his hands and start to undress. I fold up the clothes and set them in the center of the tray. Sammy opens the door. Based upon his efforts it must weigh quite a bit. It’s dark inside. I enter slowly and run my hand along the wall looking for a switch. The bit of light disappears as the door shuts heavily behind me. I hear the click of the bolt turn. A bare bulb lights up in the center of the ceiling.

The room is tiny. After a short entryway, the room itself is maybe 4’ x 6’ with no windows. It is empty except for a metal bucket sitting in the corner. I turn back and test the door. It is securely locked with no form of handle or anything on the inside. All I can find is thin seam about halfway up. It feels like the type of door in solitary confinement of a prison and this is the slat that a tray can be passed through.

The walls are barren. They are painted an almost white color and the texture makes me believe they are bare cinder blocks. There is no light switch. On the ceiling I find a vent and a dome, most likely housing a security camera. The floor is smooth and cold. I hear a clunk and the vent hums. My suspicions confirmed, I can feel cold air cycling through the previously still air of the room. What is up with dominant women and making me freeze?

I return to the door and pound my palm on it.
“Miss Dominique? Sammy? Gordon? Hello.”

I receive no response. I place my back against the wall and slide to the floor. If this is a psychological mind game of some sort… it’s working. My mind begins to race around in every direction imaginable. Regret. Oh God, what have I done? I know what Dominique is capable of, why did I choose this? Denial. Can I still get out of this? If I beg and plead or try to run, can I get away? Self-pity. I can’t believe I’m so pathetic that I would choose this over being alone. I can’t believe Mistress expected that I would need this. Fear. I wonder what she’s going to do to me. I wonder if I can handle it. Acceptance. This is the path I chose and I just have to deal with it. I was out of control and out of options.

I lose all track of time. I have no reference. The hum of the electric air continues to chill me from above. I curl up into a ball on the floor and rub my skin for warmth. I’m cold. I’m hungry. I’m tired. I’m lonely. For fuck’s sake, was I always this selfish?

I twist and turn, unable to get comfortable. I pace around… I am a caged animal. I pound against the wall and cry out. I’m so tired. I finally collapse in a heap on the ground, finally content to accept that I have no control. I feel my eyes close slowly as the rays of light from the bulb above start to sting. I feel my consciousness drift and my head becomes heavy.

Day 13.
No sooner does my head reach the floor that a heavy bang at the door startles me. I push myself into the corner. The bolt turns and the heavy door creaks upon its hinges. I look up in fear as the shadowy figure steps out of the shadows and into the light. The smell of the perfume reaches me just as she reveals her form. The long leather coat trimmed in fur. The Russian military styled fur hat. The heavy boots. The mask, oh God, the guard’s mask from the prison. My body reacts on its own as I whimper and press myself deeper into the corner. Her voice laughs.

“We really did a number on you back then, didn’t we, little one? Your terror is truly delicious. Up against the wall. Spread your legs.”

I rise, still trembling and place my hands against the wall and do as she says. She roughly takes my wrists within her grip and pulls my arms behind my back, handcuffing them tightly together. I feel the cold touch of metal as a ring is closed around my neck and locked. My breathing heaves and I focus on calming myself to no avail.

“I’ve been looking forward to this for years, little one. I finally have permission to break you.”

She jabs me in the back with something firm and turns me by the shoulder.

“Let’s get moving.”

I begin walking slowly. She nudges me when she wants me to pick up the pace, all the while calling out directions when she wants me to turn. I had forgotten how large her house is. A couple of minutes later we descend the stairs to the dungeon.

“Lay on the ground.”

I drop to my knees and flop onto the ground.

“Be a good boy and raise your feet.”

I lift my feet and strain as she locks them within a pair of shackles dangling from the ceiling.

“Before we get started, little one, I have a few things I wanted to tell you. You drive me crazy.”

She paces back and forth in front of me, her long coat swaying too and fro. The mask hides her expressions from me. I can’t remember the last time I felt this much fear.

“I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but do you realize that when I’m around you I find myself drawn to acts of kindness… or possibly even pity. That infuriates me. I don’t know if you have any idea just how much I have agonized over finding the reason for this. It took me months to figure it out and finally it dawned on me. The first time I had you here I absolutely brutalized you on a level that you had never experienced before. Not once did you beg me for mercy. Not once did you plead for me to stop.”

She paces over to the wall and retrieves a device from a hook. Her body blocks my view. Dominique continues talking.

“I have toyed with a lot of men in my lifetime. A LOT of men. They are so quick to throw themselves at me, promising this, promising that, blah blah blah. Once I show them my true self they crumble and whimper and whine and beg like little bitches.”

Her voice switches to a mocking tone.

“’Please stop hitting me, I’ll do anything you say, anything.’ It’s absolutely disgusting. They want no part of this. It’s all a game to them until I hit them once or twice. They have no spirit worth breaking. But you, little one… you drove me so mad. I expected you to fold up and start making empty promises and shouting out hollow words as I systematically broke your body.”

While I am flattered that she is sharing with me, I have never seen this side of Dominique and I find it even more terrifying than her usual self.

I obsessed about this for weeks after but could never figure it out. It’s only recently that my thoughts have come together about you. I finally understand why I hate you as much as I do. Why I go out of my way to comfort you in your times of need. Why I am drawn to you. Within all of the pain and agony, you never once betrayed your Mistress. You had absolute faith that you were simply following her wishes and that kept you from even considering trying to talk your way out of it all. You knew that it would end… and you persevered. What upsets me so much is that I respect you. God, I can’t believe I am telling you this. I actually respect you. Me, respecting a lowly slave. It’s so silly… but it’s true.”

She leans down and looks at me, my terror-stricken face reflecting back at me in the mirrored goggles.

I hate you so badly that I wish to destroy you.”

She lets out a laugh. While I writhe in my bonds. I’m trembling and I cannot get away.

I realized a long time ago that Cass loves you so much that she would never let you go. It was then that I realized that I could never possess you and that as long as she is alive, your heart will be hers. A lesser woman might still desire you and resort to underhanded means to pry you away from your Mistress. I would never dream of stooping to such a level. You should know, though, that envy doesn’t suit me.”

She moves quickly. Whir, smack. My body convulses and I let out a blood-curdling scream as the cane strikes the bottom of my foot. Whir, smack. The other foot. I scream again as tears stream down my face and I begin to weep. I can feel my heart beating in the throbbing pain. I sob meekly.

I don’t know if it’s because I never graduated high school, but I’m just not clever like Cassandra. This is the best solution I could come up with.”

Whir, smack. Whir, smack. I choke on my saliva as I wail in agony. I feel my feet twitching and I can’t do anything to soften the blows.

Cass is my friend and I love her dearly. She’s a woman that I consider my equal, if not even my superior. It makes me feel awful thinking that I covet what is hers. It took months for this opportunity to arise but I finally have my solution: to make you something that I do not want.”

Whir, smack. Whir, smack. I shriek and struggle, flopping around against the cold stone floor.

By the time I’m done, little one, you will be broken. I will no longer respect you, and I can return to who I am without being haunted by you.”

The next few moments blur as she bombards the bottoms of my feet with the cane. I lose count as my brain spins out of control, overwhelmed with pain. It doesn’t take long for her to finish. I feel her unlock the shackles from around my ankles. My feet fall to the floor. It’s freezing in the dungeon but my body drips with sweat. My feet throb badly, they pulse and swell shooting pain up my legs.

I watch from the floor a she tilts her head from side to side stretching her neck. She removes the mask and tosses it to the floor.

I suppose by now you’re so terrified that I don’t need any gimmicks, little one. Up up.”

I roll onto my stomach and attempt to get my legs under me. I touch my foot against the ground and collapse. She paces her way across the dungeon. I shuffle on my knees after her as best I can. She stops next to the pillory. Oh the memories. This awful device. Dominique kneels down and unlocks the handcuffs from my wrists, tossing them on the ground. I lower my head and force myself up, grabbing onto the beams for support. As I put weight on my foot pain shoots through my brain and I begin to stumble. I’m surprised when she catches me and helps hold me upright.

I take tiny, ginger steps, the cold stone of the floor pressing painfully against my flesh as I go. She secures my ankles in the leg stocks before guiding my hands and neck into the upper, closing and locking it after me.

I was debating how I would do this, little one. I found a method on one of my favorite blogs that I think will work perfectly. It involves four devices: a paddle, a cane, a strap, and a flogger. I plan to hit you with each of them, rotating through them until you submit. If you make it through two cycles I will add the bull whip. You can make me stop at any time with the words, ‘I submit to you, Mistress.’ Consider these words carefully, little one. I’m sure you know the weight that they carry.”

I sniffle and sob inside my restraints. I understand her plan. She intends to make me betray Mistress. That is the most painful thing I can think of.

Dominique begins with the paddle. She hits hard. The blow of the wood against my buttocks nearly knocks the wind out of me with every swing. I grunt and cry out with each hit. The pain is intensified by the ache of my throbbing feet.

She continues talking to me throughout the process. It surprises me a bit. She pauses between hits just enough to allow my brain to process her words before continuing.

I don’t know if Cass ever told you about me, little one. She’s the only one in the circle that knows about my past so I doubt that she shared it with you. I grew up In Europe in a small town. We were poor. My mother ran out on us when I was three. My father was an alcoholic. Cass has told me about you, so I figure you know what a raging asshole with a bit of booze in him can do.”

My tears stream down my face and my body continues to drip with sweat in the cold of the room. The pain is severe. Dominique is sharing with me some of her private self. I am actually a bit honored. A funny thought to have between pain convulsions and shrieks. She switches over to the cane and continues her work on my rear and thighs.

When I was twelve I finally had enough and ran away. I hitchhiked to the city where I lived homeless. I begged, borrowed, and stole to survive. When I was fifteen the owner of a small bar took pity on me and gave me a job and allowed me to rent a room in his house for a very modest amount. This was my first experience with self-respect. He was a kind man. One of the few men I ever grew to trust. He never pried, never pressed me or expected anything out of me but an honest day’s work to earn my pay.”

She works me over with the cane while continuing with her story. Each time it bites into me I cry out. I can tell that she’s pacing herself. She knows that breaking me will not be easy and if she’s not careful, it may actually kill me.

When I was seventeen a man approached me in the bar. I had grown up by then and he ‘liked my look.’ He offered me the chance to make some real money… some serious money… money that someone like me would never have been able to make. I thought the bar owner would stop me and try to talk me out of it but he didn’t. I think he knew that for someone who never completed school that opportunities would be few and far between. The position was as a pro dominatrix.”

She pauses and my ass throbs and burns. I can’t stop crying. The pain is almost unbearable. My legs tremble and shake, barely able to support my weight. I’ve been on this ride before, soon the pillory will be the only thing holding me up. The strap is next.

I was brought to a seedy club during the day and introduced to some ‘colorful’ characters. The veteran women trained me in the art of domination and corporal punishment. I learned how to act, how to walk, how to stand, and most importantly, how to hurt someone.”

The strap gives a different kind of pain. It compounds the pain of the thin lines left by the cane and the swelling from the paddling. I endure as I always do. This will continue until I fold. If she had started with the whip and not given me any pauses I probably would already be done. I realize now that she is trusting me with a part of her. It is a strange feeling, but not altogether bad.

I had no idea what to expect but it turns out I was born for it. Most of the others treated it like a job. It was an act… a switch they would turn on and off as a show for the client. I used it to shape the new me. I had always been dependent upon others… now I was my own woman. I was beautiful, powerful, and a bit out of control. Within six months I had my own place and was charging $300 an hour, half of that went to the club. By the end of the year I was making $500 an hour.”

By now my voice is hoarse and my legs are teetering, ready to give at any moment. The tears have dried up due to dehydration. She forces a water bottle into my mouth and squeezes. It feels amazing as the fluid quenches my parched throat.

Every week I sent the man that took me in the equivalent of about $200. He would write me back about once a month telling me how much he appreciated it and asking how I was doing. This continued until he died. At the funeral his best friend had a long talk with me and told me all about the man that I had really barely known. He had lost the rest of his family in an auto accident and barely scraped by after that. The medical bills had piled up for his wife and daughter and neither of them survived. When he took me in he was up to his eyes in debt and contemplating suicide. He paid me a living wage and fed me even though the bar didn’t make nearly enough money to cover that.”

The impact of the flogger makes me scream my first word. “No.”

Now we’re getting somewhere, aren’t we, little one?”

The second strike has me reeling as she continues her story.

It turns out that the money I was sending him was the only thing keeping him afloat. He was never comfortable telling me how truly grateful he was. This was all news to me. I cried when I heard that. I hadn’t cried in years… this man that I owed so much to but never truly knew. I realized then what respect was. He took responsibility for his choices and saw them through without complaint. That was the last time I cried. I also vowed to live in a way that made me feel alive. I simply couldn’t bear the thought of living a sad life after that. It seemed so… unfair in a way.”

On the sixth strike I shriek again. “No more!” My body collapses. My legs buckle. I feel blood trickling down my legs. She continues. Somehow I remain conscious enough to listen. Actually, I think the listening is why I am still conscious.

By the time I was nineteen I was famous within the scene. People traveled from other countries for sessions. While I was always going by the name Dominique, I had earned the nickname, ‘Dee-mon-eek,’ probably because I was never able to tell if they were calling my name or calling me demonic. I like to think it was a little of both.”

She lets out a small laugh as I convulse under another blow. My throat hurts so much I simply moan from deep within. I feel the hot blood flowing freely along my cold skin. The sweat stings my wounds. On the upside, I barely notice the pain in my feet anymore.

It was during that year that I had the experiences that changed my life. A few of my clients were rather wealthy… one was a fashion mogul, another was descended from nobility, and the third was what could be called a ‘titan of industry.’ All three of them wanted exclusive access to me and were willing to pay for it. Rather than choose any one of them I leveraged each other against one another and raised the bidding to a point where they were willing to share rather than continue to inflate the price. We finally agreed upon each of them having exclusive access to me for four months a year and I received $250,000 a month in exchange for removing myself from the scene.”

I can feel my neck and wrists bruising under the strain of the wood. I gasp for breath. I feel myself fading. She gives me more water before resuming the blows.

I guess I’ll have to speed this up, little one. Most of them would plan their extended business trips and take me with them. By day I was their companion. By night we lived a life with myself as Mistress and them as slaves. We kept up that arrangement until one of them died. It turned out he left me quite a sum of money and I retired. Not long after I moved to the states and that pretty much brings us to where we are today. I met your Mistress at her shop and it really didn’t take long for us to become friends.”

The last few blows of the flogger land. I feel like my entire backside is torn to shreds. Everything hurts, stings, throbs, and bleeds. I can barely keep my eyes open. I blurt out some words without thinking.

Why are you telling me all this?”

Dominique laughs with her demonic cackle.

Oh, little one, you never cease to amuse me. To be honest, it’s because you are the only person I have ever met that ever called me kind. I figure you deserve to know that before I beat you to a pulp. I like being the villain. You are the only one that takes me out of being myself.”

I hear the flogger clatter on the floor.

I know that I promised two cycles before going to the whip but I’m pretty certain you won’t survive that so we’ll just move on to it now.”

I hear her boots click across the room slowly and then back. I whimper and squirm. The anxiety and fear build as her steps get closer. I have seen what she can do. This may be the end of me.

The whip cracks and the heavy impact cuts into my back. I let out a garbled screech as my breath leaves my body. The world fades to black. This is all a dream, right? I’m not really here, right?

My head jolts as the smelling salts pop under my nose. The pain quickly returns with the harsh burn of the whip and the heat of the blood trickling down my back hits me plainly as day. I sob, completely at her mercy.

You can end this, little one. Just say the words.”

She unleashes three strikes in a row. The pain is so intense that my body’s tensing to the initial strike doesn’t have time to relax before being hit again. My brain loses thought, all I know is the searing pain. Crack, crack, crack. Another three in quick succession. My neck and wrists buck against the stocks, the pain of the bruises is dwarfed by the pain left by the whip. Crack, crack. My words barely sound human between the cries and sobs.

Please stop...”

Crack, crack. Crack, crack. Crack, crack. I mumble out a slurred phrase between the tears and the drool.

I submit to you, Mistress.”

I hear the whip hit the floor. A moment later she removes the locks from the stocks. I collapse to the floor in a sobbing bloody mess.

You disgust me. Kiss my feet.”

I press my trembling lips against the toes of her boot and kiss. First the right foot, then the left. She kicks my face away, turns and leaves, her boots clicking against the stone floor. I lay my head down and weep.


A Cheap Plug - New Blog in Progress

It's still a work in progress but a reader friend of mine has started a new Femdom blog as she transitions into that role.  It has just gotten going but I figure it would be great if people were able to read and give support.

It can be found here:

Fiction: fs01 - Part 71


Day 10.
I wake up feeling wrecked. My eyes hurt and my head throbs. I'm dehydrated and starving. The light hurts. I feel almost hung over but that makes some sense, yesterday's events had me feeling almost drunk and spiraling out of control. I have to wonder if my my body is actually building up an addiction to certain brain chemicals.

I pick up the phone and check my email. Mistress wrote me.


If you start going out of control I want you to call Dominique and do whatever she tells you.


The message hurts a bit. Why do we read into text when we have no reason to do so? Maybe it's that insecurity makes us look for what isn't there as much as what is. I type a reply.


I will do that if it starts to happen again. I love you always.


I stumble down the stairs to get water. I seek out sugar and salt to get my body going. I find a gatorade in the fridge. I will have to remember to thank Mistress for this. A funny movie moment pops into my head: It's got what plants crave. It's got electrolytes. I find some fruit and cook an egg on the stove. I wolf it down.

As I eat I replay yesterday's events in my head. What the hell was I thinking? Oh yeah, I wasn't... just driven by emotional cravings and desperately chasing feelings that weren't readily available. Even from thousands of miles away Mistress understands what is going on inside of me. I take her words to heart. I know it is only a matter of time before I will be forced to lean on Dominique. I prepare myself for the inevitability. It is a better outcome than another public venture.

Today I focus on chores. I dust, vacuum, do laundry, and scrub down every surface I can think of. I usually break it up and do a little bit each day. This takes me most of the day. By the end I'm exhausted. I cook myself a small steak with stir fried broccoli in a teriyaki sauce that I make from scratch. Just knowing that Mistress understands has put my heart at ease for today. After dinner I practice her song. I will have the vocals down by the time she returns.

Tonight I fall asleep easily. No hat, no harness,no robe. I climb into bed and a sound sleep finds me within a few minutes.

Day 11.
I wake up feeling okay but not quite okay. Do you ever feel like you did a whole lot but hardly anything? That was yesterday. I look back at Mistress's emails. She wanted me to do something fun. A realization strikes me in the chest with the subtlety of a 2x4. Was my life before Mistress actually fun? Does anything I do without her now really constitute fun? I easily shed all of these hobbies to be with her. They were just killing time. I may have enjoyed them but I have to believe that true fun is something that reaches your soul.

I enjoy that feeling every day I am with her with nearly everything I do. Every rite and ritual we have is part of my fun... it stirs something deep within me that makes me feel fulfilled and my heart beat in a lively way. My wonderful Mistress. I will do my best but I know that you are all that ever really matters to me.

I turn on the TV and finish off some more episodes. I also check out the first episode of Billions. I remember Mistress talking about it with someone after reading about it on a blog. It intrigues me. I make the best of my day. I order a pizza for dinner. I practice her song, I almost have it nailed. Another day or two should do it.

That night the ache sets in again. I want to tear my hair out. I can only last two days? How did I become so weak? I write to Mistress.

"Dear Mistress,

Thank you so much for the words of comfort. They help to keep me going. I don't know how much time I have before I will start to slip again. I will call Miss Dominique before it gets too bad. I love you. I hope you are smiling today.

Love, pet."

I retrieve the hat and harness and put them on. I know that I will need them to sleep. I doze off.

Day 12.
I can’t tell exactly what this is. Mild neurosis? Uncontrolled cravings? I hold the phone in my hands like wishing will bring a new message. It feels so wrong. I want her to have a productive and fun vacation without worrying about me but I long to hear from her.

After breakfast I practice her song. Over and over again I repeat it… for hours. It’s a four-minute long song. I must be averaging at least 13 or 14 plays per hour. I finally stop after snapping a string. I’m glad I bought extras… but this sucks the wind out of my sails and I just can’t bring myself to restring it.

I turn everything off and fall onto my back on the sofa. I lay motionless, staring at the ceiling as I watch the shadows slowly creep across the floor as the light from the windows begins to wane. I make a bowl of soup for dinner and slowly nurse it, dipping a piece of bread in to make things more interesting.

I can’t remember the last time I had a really good friend… or if I’ve ever really had one. Acquaintances… lots of acquaintances… very few friends. There is no one important enough to me to track down, nor do I believe that I impacted their life enough for that to be welcome. I want my mind to go away.
Minutes later I find myself loading youtube on the computer. I kill time by finding posted clips of concerts from 15 years ago. A couple of them I remember being at. One of them in particular was a magical night… that was ruined when the woman I invited told me she wasn’t interested in being anything more than acquaintances. She didn’t even say friends… she just said it was fine for me to keep calling and if she had nothing else to do she would consider hanging out. I remember wishing that night that I still knew Brittany. Sometimes it’s better to be stepped on than left all alone.

The plan to numb my mind backfires spectacularly. I open a search box. “Femdom experiences.” The results are mostly forums and blogs. Blogs… Mistress has a blog. I find the search box again. “Mistress Cassandra blog.” Nothing relevant. “Mistress Cassandra femdom blog.” Nothing relevant. Would she use an alias? Probably. I remember the bouncer outside the club addressing her as Ms. C. I type again. “Ms. C femdom blog fur slave.” A string of forum posts come up from fur fetish, femdom, forced feminization, and chastity blogs. I click the link to the forum and give it a read.

“Ms. C just posted her slave’s new outfit, check it out.” I watch the image load and my maid’s dress on a mannequin appears before my eyes. I click the link. My jaw drops as the page loads.

“Ms. C’s Fur Dungeon.” The subscript reads “Musings of a bisexual dominant Fur Queen.” The top banner is a picture of her in her siren outfit and a large coat. She has a strap-on harness on and wears a mask that covers the upper part of her face. It’s definitely Mistress.

I halt before I read any farther. Is this okay? Is this invading her privacy? Am I supposed to read this or not? Either way I will tell her about it. This piques my curiosity to the max and I can’t resist reading at least this one post. It’s titled “Sissy Maid Dress 2.0.”

“I was very excited to see this prototype of the evolved sissy maid dress. This one looks even more awful than the original and is designed to be even more uncomfortable. I can’t wait to lock him inside of it. I have to admit that I’m a bit dishonest with people when they ask why I dress my slave like this. I frequently explain to them that it amuses me, it’s fitting of his status, it’s so cute, and that sort of thing. In reality I really just love the look of anguish on his face when I’m securing him inside of it. It really gets my juices flowing. I love putting him on display to others, especially people he doesn’t know. The spectators are always so shocked and surprised that they blurt out a genuine reaction, often without a filter. When this happens I just watch (what is left of) my slave’s ego get completely crushed and his suffering is exquisitely delicious. It takes all of my self-control just to avoid consuming what is left of him and ravaging him on the spot. I honestly don’t think I’ll permit him to wear boy clothes for the rest of his life.

Ms. C”

I take a deep breath as my entire body shudders. This is Mistress. The thoughts behind her dominance. This feels wrong to be reading but then again, she’s so strict normally that I doubt I would even have time to worry about what’s going on in her head when it takes all of my effort simply to continue pleasing her. Also, there are a few things I’d rather not know. I don’t want to know how infatuated she was with Tristan. I don’t want to know how serious she was about the other women she has been with either. I can’t see myself being any happier learning more than I should know. I can’t see her being happier with me knowing all of this either.

I battle with myself for several minutes before I grudgingly click the show newest post link. I will read the title. If it doesn’t seem relevant I will leave. The title loads before the body. “Time Away.” Its post date is two days before she left for Europe.

I take a deep breath and scroll down, scanning the text with my eyes.

“To my readers,

I will be going out of the country for three and a half weeks starting later this week so I won’t be able to respond to comments or be making any new posts until after I return. I hope you all stay well during that time.

I am a bit worried about my pet. All of my friends that usually serve as his chaperone will be accompanying me on the trip. The only one left is another Domina friend that has refused to look after him unless I agree to her conditions, which of course, I rejected. We did negotiate but the best I could get from her was to agree to no permanent damage and that it could start at any time while I am gone.

I have reluctantly decided to let him face this separation on his own… as a man. I am giving him access to money, a phone, the internet, and (public) transportation for the first time in five years. I am afraid that he will struggle with this abrupt change. I am responsible for this… I have denied him so much. I think he may have forgotten how to want things that don’t relate to me. I also worry that he has become dependent upon the brain chemicals that go along with his subspace that I keep him constantly immersed in. My greatest fear is that this abrupt change will cause him to sub drop and spiral into confusion and despair or worse.

I do truly hope that he is able to manage this on his own. I hope he knows that it’s okay for him to need what he will probably miss. I hope he knows that I love him and want him to be safe.

I have instructed him to call my friend if he finds himself so lost that it’s painful for him to function. I trust her to the extent that she will honor our agreement. I know it will be unpleasant for him but I am uncertain about which will be worse: his suffering at being alone or his suffering at her hands.

In any case I hope that he will be okay. I’m sure I will worry about it over the duration of the trip. I don’t want him to feel like he has to be a certain way or I’ll be disappointed in him. The situation I left him in is unfair.

A few of my other friends asked me if I am worried that he will enjoy being free again more than our lifestyle. The truth is, no. I honestly believe with what has happened to him in the past that our daily life makes him thrive and be what he feels is the best version of himself.

Ms. C”

I sit back and allow myself to process. I find a sense of peace with all of this but in a strange way. It is okay for me to have a meltdown and to need more than what I am capable of creating on my own. I feel a huge amount of burden lift itself from my shoulders. I should never underestimate Mistress. She understands me deeply… a system of lifestyle and moving parts... cycles of cause and effect… where my psyche fits in all of this… and how she controls it all.

I don’t need to be strong for her or maintain a facade. I just need to be myself and try the best that I can. I shut down the computer and return to the living room. I set the guitar on the coffee table and carefully restring it, set the intonation, and plug it back in. I play through her song one more time… and nail it perfectly. This is me. When I do something for her I can be perfect. I set the guitar down, place my head in my hands, and weep.

When the tears run dry I retreat to the bedroom and lay down. I snuggle up against her robe and immerse myself in her smell. I love you, Mistress. I don’t sleep, I merely exist. I have no concept of time. I am just here, feeling as close as I can to her in her absence.

I glance over at the clock. 8:30pm. I pick up the phone and type Mistress a message.


I love you. I am going to call Miss Dominique now. I will be okay. Please have fun on your trip.


I fiddle through the numbers and press call. Dominique’s voice is direct and non-nonsense.
“Are you ready to submit to me?”
“Yes, Miss Dominique. I am ready.”
“I will be there in 40 minutes. Be ready. You know how I hate to be made to wait.”
“Yes, Miss Dominique.”

I put together an overnight bag with some clothes and some toiletries. I put on my shoes and coat and wait by the front door. It isn’t long before the headlights of her large SUV shine through the windows. I exit the house, lock the door, and make my way through the night air to what I hope is the one who will save me from myself.


Thursday, February 2, 2017

Fiction: fs01 - Part 70

Author’s note: This skips forward a few days from Part 69.


Day 6.
I haven’t left the house in a couple of days. I fill each day with activity but end up feeling empty. It reminds me of my life pre-Mistress. Plenty to do but living for myself has never felt fulfilling. I don’t feel like I’m slipping into depression, but I don’t feel good either. It gets harder and harder to find things to do. I don’t remember things ever seeming this… bleak. Maybe it’s because I didn’t know any better so I just kept on going. Knowing what I know now… I don’t like this.

I continue working on the song I’m learning for Mistress. I have the guitar pretty much nailed so I begin working on the vocals. The melody is easy. Memorizing the lyrics is hard… well, hard for me. I should have it mastered by the time she gets home. I hope she lets me play it for her before she takes the guitar away.

I have watched all my movies and read all of the books I bought. I have passed the last few days by having marathon sessions of Game of Thrones. I’m on season 5 now. The story is starting to feel weaker and that makes me feel sad. I don’t even try to sleep without the hat and earmuffs on anymore. There’s no point. It feels so different putting them on voluntarily… it seems sickening in a way. I haven’t written to Mistress as often. When I miss her I bury my face in her robe.

Today I try something new and hop on the computer. I stare at the desktop for several minutes before firing up a browser. My fingers hover above the keys as my chest tightens. I feel like I’m being disloyal by even considering this. I take a deep breath and my fingers begin to type into the search box: “fur femdom.” I hit enter and watch the results load. I click on the images tab.

Box after box fills with images of women in furs. My heart sinks a bit. Most of the photos are professional poses. A handful are grainy and poorly lit done by amateurs. At some point this used to “do it” for me. Now it just makes me miss the feelings even more. I miss my Mistress. I try to narrow my search, this time I enter “fur femdom sissy humiliation.” The top three hits are sponsored links for furniture stores. The content is sparse, mainly generic links to porn sites that are probably loaded with viruses. I click the images tab. A few boxes load with some of the same models in fur coats but now with grotesque looking male french maids. I wonder if I look that awful to other people. I probably do. Mistress’s view that feminization doesn’t look like women rings true even in porn.

I change the search to “fur sissy”. It returns Sissy Spacek in fur. My eyes find the line “increase your results by” and look as it crosses out either sissy or fur. I’m such a loser… I can’t even porn right. This is more depressing than arousing. The search engine recommends searching for sissy humiliation captions. I click the link. I skim through them, writing off the majority. I have no desire to suck cock. I have no desire to be cuckolded by another man. A handful of them reference chastity or being locked in a uniform. They break the surface and wake up the most basic submissive feelings within me. I miss my Mistress.

After a dozen or so captions they start to all feel the same. At least some of them have pretty women in them. The themes repeat over and over and I realize what is missing… there’s no love. I know this is the fantasy for many but it’s night and day for me. It’s enough to cause a rift between “feeling submissive” and “being in subspace.” I never doubt Mistress’s heart.

I had hoped the internet would make me feel better. Instead I just feel more alone. Without the chastity belt on I probably could have pleasured myself for a couple of minutes to some of these images. Locked up securely in steel… I don’t know what I was hoping for… feelings… that just aren’t possible. It’s very hard to pretend when you are accustomed to reality. I will try again tomorrow.

I sulk in a long shower before bed. I put on my hat and earmuffs and instantly feel my heart twitch. I pick up the phone.


I miss you so badly. I love you so much.

Your pet.”

I just have to last a couple more weeks. I need to be strong. Sleep finds me easily tonight.

Day 7.
I turn off the TV after watching a particularly weak episode. As much as I wish to know what happens I’m not sure it will improve from here. I have the melody of Mistress’s song memorized along with verse one and the chorus. I will work on it twice as hard from here on out.

I try the internet again today. Just sitting down at the computer makes me feel desperate and pathetic. I try a different search engine today. It spits out the same images but in a different order. I try something new. “fur fetish sissy.” To my pleasant surprise I find some new images but mostly transvestites. I add humiliation and hit enter. A wall of pictures appears before me, seemingly ignoring the “fur” part of the search box. I’m about to close the tab when a small image catches my eye. The picture is of a man covering his face while wearing a fur-trimmed women’s jacket, a hat with a huge fur pom, and a pair of big fluffy earmuffs. I pursue the link and load the page.

I read the introductory text and scan through the images. He’s a single heterosexual submissive male. I can tell by his posture that it embarrasses him terribly to do this. It also seems like the shame is multiplied by the fact that he knows that he needs this. For the first time I feel a similar vibe to what I know. I close the browser and escape to my mind. My fingers gently tease my nipples as I imagine Mistress pulling something like that out of the garment bag and announcing she’s taking me out for the day. I feel my sex strain against the belt with an immediate chaser of guilt at desiring the submissive feelings I associate with it.

I cringe quietly. This does me no good. I close my eyes again and the salesgirl’s voice haunts me again. I feel my face burn and I just want to hide. The feeling lingers but I can’t hide from myself. I try to change my train of thought. I open the browser again and search for movie stores… DVD stores… and there aren’t many left. The majority of them would be at least two hours worth of bus ride and transfers or are unreachable out in the burbs. Only the bookstore is close. I close the browser and go lie down. I’m so tired.

I barely eat today.  The energy isn't there.  The desire isn't there.  I stare at the wall while my thoughts drift in and out. I pick up the phone and begin to type.

"Dear Mistress,

I miss you so badly.  I hope work is going well and that you are having fun with everyone.  I am trying my best.  I love you with all my heart.


I drop the phone on the bed and close my eyes.  I'm startled when the phone beeps at me.


Keep hanging in there.  I will be home as soon as work permits it.  Do whatever you have to do to get by.  Make sure you do something fun tomorrow.  Call Dominique if you get too lonely.  I love you, always.


I feel my heart warm up and my mind wakes from its slumber.  I read the message again and again, basking in the happiness it brings me.  I quickly type a reply while the feelings are still fresh.

"Thank you, Mistress.

Hearing from you makes my heart tingle.  You are what I love most in this world.

-Forever yours, pet."

I press send and immediately feel a strange sense of loss.  I should have waited to respond.  Now I am the one that waits.  I shake the thoughts from my head and re-read the message.  I will go out tomorrow. I have to be strong.

As I get ready for bed I put on the hat and harness.  I place Mistress's robe on one side of the bed, its collar leaned up on the pillow. I lie on my side and shuffle my pillow closer until the remnants of her perfume fill my nose.  I place my hand on the sleeve and close my eyes.  I doze off quickly and sleep soundly.

Day 8.
I wake up feeling refreshed.  I hop out of bed and head straight for the bathroom and then the shower.  Mistress's words have me in better spirits today, it was so good to hear from her.  I wash myself thoroughly and shave as she likes me to.  Today is a new day.  I will do something fun today.  My appetite returns and I eat a decent breakfast.  With my toast I have a banana and some chocolate milk.  I don't really have much of a sweet tooth but go long enough without something and it always seems to hit the spot. I pull out the phone.

"Thank you, Mistress, for the chocolate milk. Drinking it makes me feel giddy and like a (happy) kid again.

Love, pet."

I make my way to the computer.  No porn today.  I search for the closest movie theater.  The nearest one is about a mile from the colonel.  A movie and chicken, that's fun right?  I don't really know anything about the movies that are playing but I figure something light-hearted would be better for my mood as of late.  I track down what appears to be a stupid raunchy comedy and reserve a ticket for the matinee showing.  I check the forecast before I leave. Thank God, it's a lot warmer today than it has been the past few days with a light chance of snow. I will wear the gloves today but leave the others at home.  I will remember to stop by a store and buy some that are less feminine. 

I make the walk to the bus stop.  It's a bit windier than they had projected and I have some second thoughts about turning back.  The bus is on time.  I get off at the now familiar stop and walk up a few blocks to get some chicken.  Today I get it with coleslaw and mac & cheese.  I'm probably going to gain weight before Mistress gets back but it's a small price to pay to enjoy food again in this limited window of opportunity.

As I leave I notice a that light but sticky snow begins to fall.  On the sidewalk I stare at the bookstore across the street.  I feel my chest twitch and I force my thoughts elsewhere.  I'm going to a movie.  I'm going to have fun.  I decide to walk toward the theater rather than waiting for the next bus.  My foot starts to ache a bit. I really need to get more exercise and these shoes are rubbing my foot in a strange way.  I tough it out.

The movie is predictably stupid but there are a handful of moments that have me laughing.  I don't usually see these types of movies.  I feel good about branching out today.  A bad comedy is often a better watch than a bad drama and I'm so out of the entertainment loop that this was a safer bet anyways.  Across the street I spot a small shop that appears to deal in men's and women's accessories.  I cross at the crosswalk and make my way inside.  While the signage advertised men's and women's accessories it's mostly women's and has a boutique-like feel to it.  The men's section is limited to a small case and one rack in the back corner. A handful of neckties and fashion hats, some wallets and a very small selection of leather gloves, winter hats, and scarves.  I inspect a pair of the gloves.  The leather is soft and smooth. The tag says they are cashmere lined.  They are $99.  Mistress would kill me.  The hats and scarves are also cashmere and nearly as expensive.  I let out a sigh and turn to leave.  Something catches my eye and I realize that I really picked the wrong shop.

Across from a selection of handbags is a case and display of fur accessories.  I keep them in my peripherals as I pretend to walk past them calmly.  I fight the urge to look directly at them and continue moving as I pass by a middle-aged woman trying some of them on in the mirror.  I quickly debate finding something as a gift for Mistress but I doubt she would like that very much.  I'm sure she would appreciate the sentiment but scold me for wasting the money on something she could have made for much cheaper at her shop.  I decide instead that I will get her a flower the day before she gets back.  I will find the most beautiful flower in the entire shop.  I leave the store with a smile and begin walking back towards the bus stop.

My mind wanders as I walk.  The falling snow forms a layer on the sidewalk and parked cars.  I will have to look up the closest flower shop when I get home and plan a day around that.  The bookstore's awning draws my attention as it comes into view.  I keep walking past it.  Not today.  I reach the alley and pause.  A rush of anxiety crashes against my heart.  I feel the urge build.  I turn and walk back towards the bookstore.  I fight off the craving as I near the door and keep on walking.  I stop at the crosswalk.  What's the matter with me?  Why am I so fucked up?

I don't want to go.  I need to go.  I don't want to go.  I need to go.  Dejected, I turn and hurry to the entrance before I can change my mind.  I brush the snow off of my shoulders and rack my brain to come up with a reason for being here.  I find the familiar woman standing behind the counter, a smirk on her face as our eyes meet.  I look away and my face rushes hot with shame.

"Hello, Mister sissy.  No hat today?"
"How did you..."
"It wasn't tough to figure out.  I didn't think you'd come back."

Two exchanges in five seconds and I already feel rattled to my core.
"Umm... I saw the sign saying that you buy used books and DVD's... how does that work?"
"You bring them here and we pay you money for them."

The candid response to my question makes me feel stupid.  I am stupid for subjecting myself to this yet again.

"You have to be the owner of them and you need a photo ID."
"Okay.  Thank you, ma'am."

The thought of selling back the books and movies I bought vanishes with the mention of an ID. I turn to leave.  Her voice stops me.

"By the way, I found another book you might like."

I freeze like a deer in headlights.
"I was going to show it to you if you came back but you disappointed me today.  I'm sure you remember."
I blurt out the answer automatically. As the words leave my mouth I realize that she baited me.
"You said your day feels empty if you don't see me in that hat."
"Naughty boy. If you heard me then you should have acknowledged that I was speaking to you. And what are you missing today?"

I close my eyes as my face burns hot.  Why is she doing this?  Why can't I get it out of my mind?

"Come back tomorrow if you want me to show it to you.  I'm here from noon until eight.  I expect you to be dressed properly."
"Wearing the hat?"
"Since you dressed inappropriately today, I think you can do better.  Surprise me.  If you surpass my expectations, I just might help you.  If you let me down or don't show up, then I never want to see you here ever again."

I simply nod and head for the door as quickly as I can move without running.  My chest pounds.  I feel awful.  I want to scream and cry.  How am I this fucked up?

Outside the shop I rush for the alley. My face burns, melting the snow on contact. My stomach churns and boils. If Mistress was here she would hug me and everything would feel okay. What am I doing? Why is this so hard? It has only been a week. Only a couple of weeks left. When I have calmed myself enough to function I hurry for the bus stop.

I keep my head down on the ride home. I feel ill. The ride seems longer than usual. The snow slows the traffic. I don’t understand why, it snows all the time yet a fraction of an inch and everyone forgets how to drive. I depart the bus and rush home. I want to get away… get away from the world back to our safe little haven: the world that Mistress built just for us.

Inside the door I knurl my fists into my hair and cry out. I can feel my eyes going misty on me as I head for the coat closet. The hat sits on top of a box taunting me. I dig through the box… the bin full of items that Mistress never wears. I spread them out on the floor and group them by color. A lump forms in my throat and my face contorts in agony. Why am I doing this? I quickly return everything to the box, remove my coat. In the living room I dive onto the sofa and bury my face in a pillow.

I reread Mistress’s email. Is this lonely enough to call Dominique? I page through the numbers stored in the phone. Apparently Mistress arranged it just for the duration of this trip. It has her phone which wouldn’t be in service, Dominique, pizza, and taxi. I hesitate for a moment before I finally place the cursor over Dominique’s number and press the call button.

It rings a few times before it answers.
“What?” Her voice speaks sternly and directly. My hands start to shake.
“You have two seconds before I hang up.”
“Umm... Miss Dominique? It’s fs.”
“Hello, little one, I’ve been expecting your call. Are you ready to submit to me?”
“Miss Dominique… I was just feeling lonely and was wondering if you would talk.”
“It’s none of my concern.”

She hangs up. The phone slides from my shaking fingers into the couch. I cover my face with my hands and scream through my nose. I am truly isolated. A sudden tick in my heart points out that I am being selfish. This turns into self-disgust… self-loathing… and awareness of how ashamed I would be if Mistress saw me not making the best of things. I don’t want her to worry about me.

I turn on the stereo and grab my guitar. I play her song over and over again, singing until my voice is raw and hoarse. My hand aches. My throat aches. I make some toast for dinner. Chewing toast seems so loud in a quiet and empty house.

After dinner I start a shower. I climb in and drop to my knees, eventually ending up in the fetal position under the spray of the steamy water. Nothing seems to help with the twist of conflicting emotions. Nothing helps when my greatest desire is just to be by her side.

After the shower I dry off and get ready for bed. I feel listless. I look over at the cage sitting against the wall. I take Mistress’s robe and drape it over the bars. On my knees I crawl inside. I press my face to the edge, touching the tip of my nose to the robe and inhaling deeply. The familiar scent makes me smile; it soon shifts to a frown. I’m a poor excuse for a human.

I type an email to Mistress.

“Dear Mistress,

You are the light of my life. You are the center of my heart and my world. I love you more than anything. Be safe.

-Love, pet.”

I put down the phone and head straight for the hat and harness. I crawl into the cage and curl up with a small pillow. This is who I am. Sleep finds me quickly.

Day 9.
I wake up disoriented and with a rush of adrenaline. My eyes instinctively find the bed. My heart sinks. She’s not here. I leave on the hat and harness and I pick up the phone. I reread Mistress’s last message.

I read a sentence out loud.
“Do whatever you have to do to get by.”

I don’t understand. Did she anticipate this? I imagine myself asking for her permission. Mistress, can I look for porn? Do whatever you have to do to get by. Mistress, can I buy a guitar? Do whatever you have to do to get by. I can’t help but feeling like shit… like I’m betraying her. I worry that I’m reading into this to find the answers I want. I’m not a good person.

I tear the harness of my head and throw it against the wall. Fuck this defeatist attitude. Why is this so hard for me? Why do days seem so hopeless when I have nothing to look forward to except knowing the next day will be the same? I cringe as my heart reminds me.

Mistress, should I go to the bookstore today? Do whatever you have to do to get by. This is the only variable in my life. This is the only thing I can’t control. This is the only thing where the outcome is unpredictable. This is the only thing right now that makes me feel small like how Mistress does. Do whatever you have to do to get by.

I manage to summon enough courage to consider it. What does “I think you can do better” mean? Asking myself that question is simply a lie… hoping to convince myself that my interpretation is wrong. She expects me to humiliate myself. I continue to battle with myself as I dump out the box of clothes that Mistress left for me. There’s another couple pairs of pants and some shirts. At the bottom of the box something falls out that doesn’t seem to belong with the rest of them. The shirts are all men’s large. This final piece is a sweater and it’s not for a man. I pick it up and inspect the tag. It’s a women’s XL. Definitely not for Mistress. It’s a chunky turtleneck in neon pink, a color that she never wears. I unfold it before me and a few items topple to the floor. Closer inspection reveals a pair of panties and matching socks.

My hands begin to shake. Did she already anticipate that something like this might happen? That my “needs” would overwhelm me? I pick up the phone and type a message.


I love you and hope your trip is fun. Say hello to everyone for me. I found some ‘out of place’ items at the bottom of my clothes box. Were those meant for me?

-Love, pet.”

I raise the sweater close to my face. It has been doused with Mistress’s perfume. I bury my face in it and inhale. A strange rush of emotions washes through me. I read into it. This is Mistress’s way of telling me that I should accept my needs if they become a problem. I let out a small sigh. I missed my calling as a politician or a used car salesman. It’s easy to believe what we you want to believe. I speak out loud in the empty room.

“Yes, pet, this is for when you’re so distressed you can’t function and want to go out and humiliate yourself to feel okay.”

I feel like such a douche when I put it that way. I picture Mistress’s smile, the one that shows up when she exposes me to others and then watches my face for my reactions. I am okay when I suffer for her, now I crave to suffer for me? Don’t fight it, just accept it. I put on the panties, socks, and sweater along with a pair of khaki pants. The sweater is definitely cheaper material than the ones Mistress wears, it rubs roughly against my nipples and the tags itch badly. A quick glance in the mirror shows me nipping out rather gloriously. The panties are an interesting feel. It has been years since I’ve been permitted to wear underwear. They are much softer than any underwear I’ve ever owned and they squeeze my buns in an oddly humiliating way.

In the coat closet I choose the shorter of the two jackets. It fits around the chest but it is a little bit short in the waist and arms and has no collar. I zip it up and glance in the mirror. My face burns red. The sweater extends an inch below the jacket and peek out from the ends of the sleeves. The collar of the turtleneck is in plain sight. I picture Mistress giggling at me and my sex strains against the belt.

I picture her reaction as I dig through the box of accessories. I pick up the black hat that I wore last week.
“Oh, pet, you know that black isn’t your color. You know how I feel about ‘wishful thinking,’ try again.”

I put that in the “no” pile and keep sifting. My hands instinctively choose another hat. It’s identical the black one in style, brand, and material… but it’s neon pink. It matches the sweater perfectly. I feel my blood pressure rise as my hands shake a little. I picture her words again.
“Yes, pet. You might have thought that was one of mine, but I bought that one with you in mind. It should go well with your new sweater. Don’t forget to accessorize. I got you the full set.”

When I sorted the box before I remember a matching set. I frown a little bit as I dig it out piece by piece. A pair of mittens with fur at the cuffs. A pair of earmuffs that seemed oddly out of place in Mistress’s wardrobe. A long scarf with fur pom poms on it. It’s so long I have to wrap it around my neck three times. I put them on and look in the mirror. I cringe. I look awful. I picture Mistress again, giggling at the realization of what she is putting me through.

I picture the woman from the bookstore and I feel dizzy as my face burns. I’m going to the bookstore. I’m not going to wear these on the bus. I find a small crush-able tote, something I can cram into my pocket and place the items inside as I take them off. It isn’t quite noon. I’ll stop for lunch along the way. I feel like I’ve been abusing the colonel but I remember passing by a small Japanese restaurant along the way. It looked fairly inexpensive.

I walk slowly to the bus stop. Today is much colder than yesterday. I curse myself for again forgetting to buy a hat and gloves. Mistress’s voice pops into my head.
“Why would you waste my hard-earned money on gloves and a hat when I already got you some very nice ones?”

My stomach churns. Maybe I shouldn’t eat. Thankfully the bus is relatively empty. A few young adults in headphones that look half asleep sprawled in their seats. I exit the bus at the closest stop to the restaurant and walk there. It’s a quaint little dive, the kind of place I used to eat at in college. The menu is small but the photos make my mouth water. I order a hot & spicy chicken with steamed cabbage and gyoza. It always amazes me how fast they can prepare the food. The flavors meld in my mouth. When was the last time I had rice? Lunch leaves me with a tiny food baby. So much more satisfying than my diet of a few saltines and whatever scraps Mistress throws my way. I linger in the entryway out of the cold until the next bus is scheduled to arrive.

As the bus pulls up I feel myself shaking. Nerves. Anticipation. It’s often worse than the experience. I feel a tug at my heart. For some reason I don’t think it will be that way today. I exit the bus and cross the street on the near side of the bookstore. I pause at the alley and check the time. 12:07. My chest heaves with every breath. The turtleneck feels like it’s strangling me. I want to run. Why do I do this to myself. Her voice rings through me like the angel and devil on opposing shoulders in an old cartoon.
“I chose you because you weren’t a coward, pet.”

I remove the items from the bag and put them on. It’s an instant improvement against the cold air. I feel like I’m going to vomit. I crush up the tote bag and shove it in my pocket. I attempt to walk calmly as I enter the store. I feel like I could start on fire. The life fades from my eyes as I approach the register.

“Welcome back, sissy. You’re earlier than I expected.”
I stand silently, quivering, my eyes looking at the floor.
“I’m sure you must have a coat that goes better with your outfit. Tsk tsk.”

I unzip my jacket, exposing the neon pink turtleneck.
“Is it quite enough. Hmm. It’s obvious you put in some effort, but is it enough? If no, I’ll have to take your photo and add you to our ‘wall of shame’ over there.”

She points to a large poster above the counter with the words ‘BANNED FROM PREMISES” stenciled on it. A series of photos fill up the poster. I would guess they were probably caught shoplifting. She speaks again and snaps me back to Earth.

“If you were me, would you accept this? I mean it’s obvious you put in a little effort, but really now, I’m sure you must have a cute skirt or dress that better suits you… and those shoes.”

I picture my maid’s dress and immediately frown.
“So tell me, sissy. Is this the best you could do?” I shake my head.
“No, ma’am. I’m sorry. It’s just that I have to ride the bus and...”
“Did I ask for you to make excuses?”
“No, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

She stands there in silence, eyeing me up and down. I tremble and fidget.

“Place your hands on the counter.”
I step closer and comply with her orders. She responds by placing a pair of cable ties on the counter.
“The choice is yours, sissy. Either I take your picture and ban you from the store or the cable ties.”

My mouth feels dry and I can barely speak.
“The cable ties, please, Ma’am.”

She smirks and turns back the cuffs on the mittens. Moments later she zips them snugly around my wrists before hiding them under the fur as she flips them forward again.
“You must really need this.”

I close my eyes.

“Kirsten. Can you watch register for a few? I have a customer that needs my expertise.”

Another woman appears from the back.
“That’s funny Dawn, you have an expertise? What could you possibly… oh.”
She covers her mouth with her hand and chokes back a laugh with a fake cough.

Dawn takes my by the hand and leads me down the rows of books. We stop under a sign that says “Erotic.”

“I asked around and did a little research and I found a book that would be perfect for you. It’s about a naughty boy with a nasty little masturbation problem who gets corrected by his tutor that has been hired to school him. It’s called ‘The English Governess.’”

The way that she implies this story was personalized for me crushes my spirit and I fall down a shame spiral. I simply nod and keep my head down.
“Am I right that the sissy has problems with self control?”
I nod again and close my eyes. My knees tremble with feelings of defeat. I have to fight myself to keep from crying.

She leads me back to the counter by the hand. Kirsten rings me up. She remains silent but I can tell that she is amused. Thankfully she stays out of it.

“I’m going to take my 15. Is that okay?”
“Already? You’ve only been here for like 20 minutes.”
“Fine, but don’t blame me in a couple of hours when you start getting cranky.”

Dawn takes my hand again and leads me into the back to the break room. We are the only ones there. I stand, silently. She takes a step back and eyes me up and down. My phone beeps in my pocket.
“Is that your phone?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Check it.”

I extract the phone from my pocket.
“It’s a message.”
“From who?”
“From my Mis… my wife.”
“From your Mistress? Read it out loud.”

“Dear pet,
I know you are probably struggling. Do whatever you need to do to feel okay until I get back. I love you and trust you.


She bursts into laughter.
“You really do have a Mistress. Oh shit. I thought you were lying about it. Give me the phone.”

I hesitate. She extends her hand forcefully. I hand it to her. She presses a button and begins to type, reading it out loud as she goes.


I am an employee at a local bookstore. Your slave has betrayed your trust and dishonored your name by repeatedly coming into our store and harassing me in a way that makes me uncomfortable. I really think that he needs to be taught some manners and should be punished harshly. I would like to meet you when you return so that we can discuss recompense for the emotional distress that he has subjected me to. It feels so dirty the way he has used me to act out his sissy humiliation fantasy and he has made me an unwelcome participant in his perverted little game.

-Miss Dawn.”

My heart races with terror. She hands the phone back to me. My hands shake so badly I nearly drop it. I begin to sob.

“Aww, poor sissy. Why are you so sad? What’s she going to do, whip you and lock you in a cage?”

I nod as the tears run down my cheeks.
“Shit, really?”

I continue nodding. She claps her hands together.
“That’s great. I never actually met someone who actually did that stuff for real. You keep coming in midday, what do you do as a job?”

I hesitate a moment.
“I’m a maid.” She claps her hands again.
“A maid? Like at a hotel?”
“Live in.”
“Does she make you wear a pretty little dress?”
I nod again. She howls with laughter.

“I think I would pay to see that.” I her her phone beep.
“It’s been 15 minutes already? My break is over, you’re going to have to leave.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Did I really get you in trouble with that email?”
I nod.

“You said you took the bus, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Did you wear that outfit all the way here?”
“No, ma’am. I kept most of it in a bag and put it on near here.”
“I’ll tell your Mistress that I was just playing a joke on one condition. You have to wear that outfit until you get home.”

I cringe and whimper.
“Does the sissy have a bad attitude? I may just have to tell your Mistress that you were twice as bad as I said you were.”

I cover my face with my hands.
“You’ll wear it.”
I nod.
“I’m going to ask her when I see her. I know you wouldn’t lie to her so I expect you to follow my instructions, got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, and keep your coat unzipped the whole way too.”
I nod.

She escorts me from the employee area out to the storefront. I exit the store as quickly as I can. I see Dawn and Kirsten gossiping and laughing through the window. My anxiety quickly doubles as I get stuck in my own head. Is it more conspicuous to walk quickly or to walk casually? What should I do if someone approaches me?

I hurry to the bus stop and hide myself as best I can behind a large pole for a street lamp. The bus takes forever to arrive. My hope to go unnoticed vanishes as I fiddle with my wallet attempting to get out my bus pass. The mittens make this no easy task. I block out the whispers and find a seat in the back and hunch forward, hiding myself as best I can. I feel like I’m going to die. My phone beeps again. I take it from my pocket and read it.


Expect to have a long talk about this when I return.


I let out a quiet whimper, hoping no one hears it over the roar of the engine. I exit at my stop and run back to the house. Inside I toss the book aside and crumple on the floor and cry. I don’t know how long I lie there. Eventually I settle down. I retrieve the phone and type an email.

“Dear Mistress,

I don’t know what’s going on. I’m not okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to worry about me. I’m not okay.

I love you. I miss you.


I hobble to my feet and discard my clothes as I walk through the entryway. Eventually I’m wearing nothing except for the panties and my chastity belt. I pick up the book and hump my way up the stairs and into the bedroom. I collapse on the bearskin rug and begin to read. I want to feel anything except acknowledging my own existence.

I immediately immerse myself within the fiction. Even though the protagonist is wantonly abused I can’t help but feel a bit envious that he had someone that cared about him at that stage in his life. I read the entire book in a single sitting. I finish it with a warmer feeling inside. I don’t know if I liked it or not, I can merely say that it spoke to me on some level. I wonder if Mistress would want to read it.

My stomach growls loudly and I twist my body in discomfort. I haven’t really moved for hours. I stretch before getting up to put on some clothes. I don’t feel like cooking so I make due with an apple, a granola bar, and some carrots. The food tastes like nothing. I don’t even feel like eating, it just seems like I should. After dinner I find the phone and type a message.


I’m a mess inside. I don’t know what to do. I love you.


I’m tired. So very tired. Tonight I sleep on the floor. Maybe it will be better in the morning.