Fantasy Drawing - December 2017

They're Here

One of them arrived late but they are here:

Monday Ramblings

It’s been a very odd stretch for me, seeing as how I have basically come to the discovery that I’m not really a sissy.  That being said, my submissive triggers remain just as strong, I’m just starting to understand more about what they are, where they came from, and what they do to me.  It is rather amusing though, that being called a sissy remains a trigger to me, most likely because I never wanted to be associated with the term.

As my depression sets in for the winter I have found myself blocked from easily accessing submissive mental space.  This makes me ache.  Today while feeling down and searching for an X-mas present for T I ended up stumbling upon some hats on Amazon that I hadn’t found before while searching.  I ended up buying them and now I feel guilty and ashamed as I usually do when making purchases of this nature.

Something that goes back to my time with F is that she didn’t want the fur and material colors to match perfectly.  She liked it better when the fur would stand out more and make it more obvious that I was a pathetic sissy boy in fur.  Old habits die hard and one of the “selling points” of these hats is that the fur pom poms are removable, which should also make them interchangeable… and truer to form (these are some bad photoshops of what they should approximately look like).

I do have fur earmuffs that should match with either color to complete it.

I feel sort of sad and pathetic that this is where my unmet needs and down mood took me (even though this is my first purchase on this front since 2011… still).  The fact that I need something like this to obtain the feelings that I desire fills me with shame and self-loathing.  Thankfully I have a friend that is dear to me that helps me feel better about it, but I still can’t help feel like I’m something less than a man.

On the upside, I did hold out enough restraint to stop at those two and not delve into a color scheme that we never accumulated much of over the years.

And to think… it’s only Monday.

Pieces Part 2: Fur

Sort of surprised I missed this in the other post, but what I have found rather interesting is that fur affects me in different ways.

Fur on a woman caters to my normal submissive self.
Fur on me or its touch triggers my little. 

Just a random note that seemed core enough to my identity to share.

Fantasy Drawing #1 2017

So...

I completed my first fantasy drawing since 2012.  I'm rusty and out of practice (not that I was ever particularly good at drawing before the hiatus), so I skimped a bit on detail and shading in favor of getting it done as I had envisioned it.

This easily could be a scene from fs01... and wanted to sort of roll with that vibe a bit.  It has a lot of the normal stuff I draw in it as well as a return of the framed mantras.  I thought about going with some dialogue but decided to let the picture tell the story.

I hope you enjoy it.

Thoughts on gender, submission, life

My mind has been wandering a lot on various topics.  Domina Jen's most recent post as well as my Random thoughts on arousal post just have the wheels turning in my mind on related subject matter.  Forgive me if I repeat any topics that I have covered somewhere in the past.  I have written about so many things that I end up repeating myself quite often even if it is years apart.

I can remember the time in my life where I first found myself envious of girls and women.  I'm not so blind that I would say that women have things better.  There are plenty of ways in which society, history, religion, and lesser evolved humans attempt to keep women down.  There are plenty of standards by which women are measured that are not fair.  Things are different for women than they are for men.  I believe that most people would agree with that statement.

It was in my mid to late teen years when I found myself experiencing an emotional awakening of sorts after years of repression.  I hadn't been close with a girl since preschool.  My hardened outward self had made me someone that wasn't conducive to that (I was a prick and they wanted nothing to do with me).  When I allowed myself to soften I found myself in quite a few friendships with women.  From 16-24, the vast majority of my friendships were with women.  It wasn't long before I could start to see why it was so easy to connect with them on an emotional and personal level. 

Up until that point I pretty much had two types of experiences with male peers.  1. Jocks.  2. The "gifted" kids.  The jocks were, as you could have guessed, pretty typical of jocks.  In that world, the big, the strong, and the fast excel.  Once the pack leader has been chosen, everyone sort of falls into line and maintains an "acceptable" type of behavior in order to fit in.  Group think, mob mentality, and following the guy that is the most likely to end up as the starting quarterback/point guard/ace pitcher in high school.  Weakness is devoured.

The gifted kids had a similar type of hierarchy.  In most cases, there is a somewhat socially competent kid of above average intelligence with parents that led him to believe he is God's gift to Elvis.  This becomes the pack leader and he sets the tone for the vibes and acceptable preferences of the group.  They are the one that decides that the Highlander is awesome and everyone else must agree.  More group think.  More repressed self.

I remember during my emotionally "dead" time that I just go so fucking tired of people insisting how to act, what to like, what to dislike, and so on.  It also became abundantly clear that I would not be able to share any of my inner-self within those environments.  Too much risk.  No compassion or empathy.  I willingly dropped from the gifted programs around the same time I quit sports.  I was fed up.

It took me a while to be able to express myself.  In the earlier stages, I simply listened to people and empathized with them.  I was able to express and put into words what they were feeling far better than I could sort through my own emotions.  Many of my very early dear friends were girls.  They were the ones who could express themselves.  They were the ones who could voice their doubts, their fears, and their desires.  Their pressures were different.  In the mid-90's they were fighting on two fronts: society's insistence that they be thin and pretty and the rising belief that women should be empowered, confident, and free. 

While this duality would often damaged their self-esteem, a great difference was that they were comfortable having feelings, expressing them, and showing their true selves.  Even after awakening I still maintained a specific face I showed to the world.  I still felt a need to constantly be on the defensive and protect myself.  Knowing how far off I was from the societal ideal male damaged my self-esteem as well, I just wasn't allowed to talk about it. 

I began to notice the girls had a freedom of emotion.  They had a freedom of self.  At this time, at least in my school, the 1980's ideals were crumbling at a rapid pace.  Being independent and different was encouraged.  A nerd girl?  Hot.  A "weird" girl with pink hair?  Hot.  She has that "ordinary girl next door thing going on?"  Hot.  It was like... they could be anything and there would always be people who were accepting of that and wanting to be around.

The corresponding male counterpart seemed to be stuck in a role dictated by appearances.  An attitude.  A way to dress.  Be cool.  Always be cool.  You HAVE to be cool.  It was just another form of restriction that led to false behaviors. 

I remember when I first started to feel envy.  I envied the emotional freedom and expression.  I envied the ease with which they could express themselves in physical contact.  I envied that they could like what they wanted to like without fearing peer judgment. 

This wasn't all hearts and flowers.  There were also the eating disorders, backstabbing, double-standards, and the like.  The same behaviors were running rampant in my guy friends, the key difference being their inability to cope and deal with their own emotions.  As I grew older I began to respect homosexuals a whole lot for the courage and strength it takes to live openly and weather out the storm of a society that is still largely intolerant. 

I kept all of these thoughts to myself.

As I grew older and discovered certain websites (e.g. NTCweb), my fur fetish and Femdom fantasies began to grow exponentially.  If anyone had found out about these things, I have no doubt that I would have killed myself.  That was the depth and shame of the secret parts of myself that I kept hidden.

As my abundant friendships with women continued and I returned to the cold climate after spending a few years on the coast, I certainly began to notice a few things.  As I was on a large campus that routinely involved 15 minute walks from my car to a class or standing outside waiting for a bus for 20 minutes in the freezing cold, I found myself at the store, actually looking at scarves, hats, and the like that I had shunned for so many years.  On that same trip, I found myself inexplicably drawn to the women's section as well, my heart racing and body temperature rising as I looked over the fur-trimmed coats and accessories.  After spending 30 minutes working up some courage, I finally managed to touch a handful of things with the cover story of "looking for a gift for my girlfriend" in case I was approached. 

To my surprise, a scarf in the women's section was half the weight, twice as warm, and about ten times as soft as a scarf in the men's section.  Even if they were both acrylic, they found a way to make the women's version infinitely nicer and there were dozens of variations of color, style, and material to choose from.  Apparently with our 5 o'clock shadows we aren't supposed to be able to tell the difference between luxury softness and two-notches smoother than sandpaper. 

This was a sticking point of another form of envy.  Women had access to things that are much nicer.  The people catering to them understood that comfort matters.  In addition to comfort, they were also more functional (warmth to weight ratio).  A woman could have gone out and purchased a fur scarf and then enjoyed the feel of it while it kept her warm.  I had to spend an hour doing laps in a nervous sweat before working up the courage to touch the fur scarf on the rack before scurrying home and throwing up out of shame and guilt.  She could have purchased a men's scarf and worn it without harm.  Had I done the same I would have faced ridicule, scorn, and the risk of physical violence. 

Men aren't supposed to enjoy themselves in that way.  They aren't supposed to want to be pampered and made to feel physically good.  Has anyone ever wondered why with all the fat dudes out there that they don't make men's jeans with a stretch denim waistband? 

As time moved on, I entered the world of BDSM.  As I delved into communities, both local and online, I quickly began to notice just how much easier it was for women to express their submission, preferences, and the like than men were.  I actually remembered back as early as high school meeting girls that were open about kink and that persisted in college as well.  On the other hand, I was terrified.  For years I had lived in secret shame with my kinks and fetishes.  I had never told anyone about M and the way that she would tie me up.  Even after my experiences with K, I was deathly afraid of admitting what I was into. 

In a lot of ways, male subs are seen as lowly.  There are a huge number of them that go around spamming every Domme around with cock shots and the results are quite damaging because it is difficult to differentiate yourself from the rest.  The more intense your kinks are, the more likely you are to be written off as a fantasy wanker.  On the other side, there seems to be far fewer inhibitions by women to be open about their kinks.  Many can comfortably cite them as part of themselves with a "take it or leave it" attitude. 

I wish I could be brave enough to just openly like what I like.  I wish I could be strong enough to just show my true face more often.  I probably will never be able to do so. 

Fiction: fs01 Visual: fs's uniform

It's been a while since I drew anything.

A couple of days ago I drew a rendition of fs's uniform (version 3).  This isn't concrete as I'm sure people have their various mental images of it.  This is just what I had pictured in my own mind.

The locking harness is a bit different, mostly because it wasn't really going to show up very well from the front view and would need side/rear views to appear full.  My solution was to add a few more straps and make the locks visible in the front.  If things look a little bit huge and outrageous, I actually used models for these and matched the proportions and actually shrunk them a bit vs. how the actual items appeared.  I also chose the color scheme based more upon contrast and they are a little different than the original way that I imagined it.   Doesn't he look happy?

I did a modification just to show the gag and blindfold that attach to the head harness through some mythical locking mechanism that I never fully explain.  In my mind I had pictured something along the lines of the locks that you would find on a portfolio style briefcase that could be attached very easily but would require a key to remove.

Fiction: fs01 - Cassandra's Blog Bonus Chapter: Fur

Author’s Note: This bonus chapter is a mock Question and Answer session done by Cassandra on her blog. It could take place at any time after Arc 1.

---------------

Cassandra’s Blog Bonus Chapter - Q & A: Fur

Dear Ms. C.

I’ve been a long-time lurker and I love reading your blog. I’m just curious but what is it about fur that makes it such an important part of your relationship?

-Curious Observer

This is a very fair question, C.O., and I will try to answer it as best I can.

I love how fur feels. I love how it looks. I love how wearing it makes me feel. I left my previous career because I felt too cramped and stifled. When I emerged as a Domme I decided to focus on what I like and what feels good to me. I wear what I like and what makes me feel the best about myself. I like other things as well, but fur is one of my favorites.

The role of fur in our relationship is mutual. My sub loves the way that I dress. It turns him on and he can barely keep his eyes off of me. This makes both of us feel good and it goes back to the start of our relationship. We met on an adult dating site and my ad was titled, “Venus in Furs seeks a Severin to compliment her Wanda.”

I should add that my sub’s fur-trimmed maid’s uniform was originally the brainchild of my former sub, K. She twisted his fur fetish into something horribly embarrassing and dreadful. I keep it going because it amuses me.

END

At least some things are amusing

Well, the events of today have definitely made this one of the worst weeks I've had in many years.  My stress level is off the charts and will remain that way until some uncertainty with my work situation clears up.

At least I stumbled upon something amusing today.

Because yes, doesn't everyone just want a parka that zips completely over your face and has an attached fur pom pom?  Makes perfect sense. 

30 Days of Kink: Day 13

Explain as best you can what the appeal of kink/BDSM is to you? 

There are a handful of things that appeal to me, some of which are "good" reasons while others are "bad."  

One reason is that my lack of success with dating led to me struggling with my confidence level when it came to interacting with women in a romantic way.  I was uncertain on how to read them and preferred to defer initiating contact.  While I had been told dozens of times over that it is unattractive to ask permission to kiss someone, it seemed better to be unattractive and ask than force my way in when it wasn't welcome.  I am now much better versed at reading signs but old habits die hard.  Once in a relationship I have no trouble instigating contact.  

My psychological damage and abuse from childhood make obedience, expectations, and the like fairly second nature.  It actually feels more peaceful to have restrictions and expectations than to act purely upon my own free will.  In addition to the romantic side, D/s flows easily in this way for me as well.

Bondage, collars, locks, and the like appeal to me on a deeper level.  They make me feel safe and valued.  Protected.  Kept.  If you have a nice bicycle you put a sturdy lock on it.  When she locks me in I feel like she thinks I'm something of value.

This last bit I didn't really come to understand until recently, but I have come to know that a handful of things had become built up in a strange way within me due to shaming.  Like, a woman in a fur coat I saw as being irresistibly attractive but also taboo and almost sacred.  When that reality is forced upon me I can't rationally cope with it and I just melt.

Why are you drawn to what you’re drawn to?

D/s makes logical sense to me.  Do well and you are rewarded with attention and affection.  Do badly and you will be punished and shunned.  I'm pretty damn good at doing well. 

Bondage I'm 99% certain comes from M and I've written about this enough times where I probably don't have to repeat it.

Fur is a stranger one.  In a lot of ways I'm just Lenny who wants to pet the puppies (ideally without a neck-breaking wake of destruction).  I believe this comes from early childhood where our house was very dry in the winter and my parents would put various items in my crib to keep me from rubbing my skin raw.  A fur pelt, a silk blanket, etc.    

The weirdness comes in I believe with the taboo of the shaming.  For years I developed a "look but don't touch, and then feel ashamed for looking," way of it.  Fur was always on women and those women became special.  Untouchable Goddesses.  Seeing as some of my earliest exposure to Femdom happened while looking for photos of women in fur on the NTCweb site, the two became intertwined in a weird way.

Fur Fetish 2017

I've shared some snippets here and there, written about certain aspects of this, incorporated it into my fiction, and written bits and pieces about how fur has come into play over the course of my life, but I've never really tied it all together. While I know that this has become more of a D/s blog, I'm feeling like writing about this.

In the past few months I have had a few people have moral conflicts with my enjoyment of fur.  I have a very large philosophy background and don't mind conversing about it if people do have questions.  I'm also fairly politically informed on some of these subjects and I make a habit of knowing where things come from (fur, meat, produce, etc.).  I know I will probably never see eye to eye with many of these people, but I can assure any of them that I like animals.  I dislike cruelty to animals.  My pets are and have been very dear to me.  I don't really care to spoil the spirit of this post so I will leave it at this, but I figure it is worth mentioning.  I don't ignore it, I just have a system of moral priorities that fall in a specific order.  I don't mind discussing it in a civil manner via email.

I should probably note that in most arenas I downplay this side of myself (the fur, not the morality).  Acknowledging a fetish outside the norm seems scream "wanker" and bring about undue judgement.  Tack on the sissy stigma and I may as well change my username to "they_call_me_pariah".  So, it stays hidden unless someone asks and people don't usually ask.

The origins of this blog date back to a more confused version of me that was still trying to grasp what had been made of me and how it all fit into the crazy-ass psyche that makes up my person.  A lot of my identity, both submissive and sexual, had become intertwined in with the way that my fetish was twisted.  It's probably easier to get to that by starting at the beginning.  My apologies if any of these parts overlap with my 30 days posts, I honestly wrote so far ahead in them and scheduled them for posting that I don't quite remember which day is which.

When I was a baby in winter our house would get very dry.  Like... VERY dry.  Skin cracking, nose bleeding, static inducing dry.  Apparently I had a habit of rubbing my face against the bottom of a wooden crib, doing so until it would get raw and dry.  The chosen solution was to put some soft things in there lining the bottom.  A silky blanket and a fur pelt were among them.  My memories start at around 9 months and many of them include the feel of soft, silky, and comforting things on my face.  Early on I was someone that enjoyed touching things like that.  It was just an innocent enjoyment of tactile pleasure.  I liked how fur feels.  I liked to pet our cats.  I liked the touch of it on my face.

My (non-biological adopted) sister was insecure at a fairly young age.  Our adopted mother was quite good at breeding complexes.  She had two extra years to develop them before she began to mimic the behavior.  By the time I was three I had developed a fine sense of shame.  I went from being an expressive child who would touch and feel things openly to one that wanted to touch them but was ashamed to do so.  I would stand and resist, knowing if I did not I would bring ridicule.  These sowed the seeds of guilt and were likely what primed me for what was to come.

My experiences with racial harassment began at four.  While I will not recount these here, they opened up some deep wounds and insecurities and caused me to close off part of my heart.  Soon after followed the incident I recounted a few months ago where my sister caught me petting her fur coat and shamed me to tears with my mother's support.  The lesson was driven home: fur is for women and girls, not for boys.

After that I buried my desires inside of me.  I kept the inner-workings of my heart private.  I learned to bury my true feelings and keep them secret from the world.  Over these next few years M's bondage games became a part of my life and I found myself continuously drawn to fur.  If there was a picture in a magazine, a woman in a coat, and the like... I would stare from my peripherals, fighting every desire to look and to touch.  If my action figures came out with a new winter character, I would save up my money and buy it.  It just wouldn't let go.

This was especially difficult at school.  There was always that girl with the fur collar or hood ruff, or a pair of fur earmuffs.  I would watch in secret, never letting anyone know.  I spent so much time doing it and keeping it a secret that I'm not even sure when I became attracted to it.  As I matured and women became more desirable, I began to notice more things.  In some ways, wearing fur had become as attractive to me as a nice pair of breasts or some beautiful eyes.  It was a part of the whole, but a great big plus if it was there.  I noticed that the girls and women in fur seemed to also enjoy the tactile pleasure.  From the corner of their eye I would catch them rubbing it or petting it or pressing it against their cheek.  This was completely okay, because fur is for women.

Around the time I was 18 I discovered NTCweb while looking for pictures of women in fur to "appreciate."  My sexual fantasy still heavily revolved around being bound by M, and NTC was the perfect site to merge the bondage and fur obsessions.  It was there that I discovered Femdom and all sorts of terrifying images that scared me.  I kept all of this private to me but the desires continued to grow.

Through many of these years I was in my process of failing at vanilla dating.  This was the process where I became submissive.  This was the process where I evolved to love, serve, and focus upon the needs of another.  It was strange because this side of myself was kept completely separate from the hidden fur/bondage/femdom side.  The two did not interact.  It was my heart and lack of confidence that kept me pursuing the identity of the "perfect lover."

The fur/bondage part of me was kept completely hidden from everyone until K.  When she accepted me both as her lover and submissive I was ecstatic.  It was early on in our relationship where she wanted me to reveal everything about myself and I was finally able to unburden myself with the fur secret.  I'll never forget the happiness I felt when she didn't shame me for it, and instead, she contacted a friend and borrowed a fur hat to get used to the feel and immediately began shopping for fur to wear.  It was the greatest feeling of my entire life... that is until she told me she enjoyed it too.  The relief that I felt that I could look with my eyes focused and not my peripherals and not feel ashamed was amazing.  I loved her so very much.

She loved how fur felt and wanted me to rub it on her skin.  It made her feel sexy because she knew how  much it turned me on when she wore it.  I was the luckiest man on the face of the earth.  Until she took to it so much that she was absolutely determined that I would enjoy it as well.  That led to the fateful day at the fur/leather shop where I disobeyed her and the ensuing punishment that was to follow (the full recount is in Reflections part 2).

It was then that she discovered that I was still too inhibited to wear it on my own, but that if she forced me, I would comply.  The feelings that transpired sent me into a shame spiral with all of the voices from the past blasting me with ridicule.  Fur is for women.  You're a freak.  No one will want to be around a boy that wears girl's clothes.  Being forced to live in this state trapped me in a subspace so deep that it felt like torture.  Not long after this began to amuse her and any desire she had for me to get over my shame was reversed: she tended to it like a fire, adding the wood and stoking it to keep it burning.  That was the birth of "fur sissy."

After her passing this continued with F.  After F moved it continued with T.

I have tried not to look back and regret.  Writing out my reflections helped me finally accept things as they happened and try to embrace the good with the bad.  That being said, if I could go back and change one thing, I would.

When K started incorporating the "fur sissy" part into my orgasms she had no idea that I was being sexually conditioned.  It started out as something that she amused her Domspace but after that I think she just didn't notice that I was having fewer and fewer "natural" orgasms and for the last few months of us, fewer meant zero.  Out of everything that has happened to me in the kink world, aside from losing K, finding out that my sexuality was tied to being humiliated with fur was the next most difficult thing for me to come to terms with.  To be honest, it still embarrasses the hell out of me when I have to explain it.

Thankfully, since being with K I haven't found it difficult at all to introduce a love of fur to the women I have been with.  I'm very grateful that my fetish never went "inanimate," like how it occasionally does with subs and shoes.  I don't get aroused by a fur pelt sitting on a table.  I may want to touch it, but I'm only drawn to it if it is somehow wrapped around a woman... or not.  Here my wishful thinking gets the best of me.  I would love to say I am only drawn to it in that way, but I secretly know I'm also drawn to it if I can picture it being used to humiliate me.  It makes my face turn red and my heart hurts when I admit to it, but it's the truth.

Getting back to the point, the women I have been with enjoy that it feels good.  The like to touch it.  They like how I look at them, aching with desire, when they wear it.  It makes them feel powerful and sexy.  It keeps them warm in the nasty bitter winter cold that we have here.  They like that other women ask to pet them when they wear it.  It makes them feel special because it was a gift from me.

Now that I look back upon it all, I have to wonder if more damage had been done by shaming me than it saved me from had I been left to my own devices.  Would I have ended up down the same path?  Would I feel as much guilt and shame about who I am?  I know none of these questions really matter, they are just what flow through my head as this post comes to a close.

A widdle bit o fur

It seems like it has been a slow blog day overall.  Pinterest helps cure the boredom.

This is hot.

30 Days of Kink: Day 8

Post a kinky image you find erotic. Briefly describe what arouses you most in the image.

 

 

I've loved this image since I first saw it (originally I saw a crop of it that was mostly the heads/faces).  One of the obvious draws to this is that it immediately draws on my attraction to women in fur and gloves.  Going deeper, the look in his eyes shows a delicious mix of fear and adoration.  "I am afraid but I am so happy to see you."  

In general, it is the "story" of the scene that flows through my head that arouses me the most.

The way she looks down at him is almost like she's inspecting him to see if he has endured enough to deserve her contact.  He suffers bound and naked in the cold rain.  She'll keep him there until he's ready.  Not quite ripe, maybe one more day.

To feel owned to such an extent drives my subspace into a frenzy.

A hat tip to Sardax for making such wonderful artwork.

30 Days of Kink: Day 7

What’s your favourite toy or item of equipment?

As much as I had wished there was a collar of significance and meaning that I could put here, having a thick neck limits practical options.  

The next up would have to be the Rabbit lined cuff set from Midnight Blues.

They are incredibly soft and feel amazing.  In addition to that they are high quality and offer a number of good features, such as some velcro that helps hold them in place so that you can easily put them on yourself and of course, locking buckles.  They are sized to fit adults of either gender.  

It's nice to find something new every so often...

Someone shared this pic with me today...

and it's really hot.

Fiction: fs01 - Part 68

Author’s Note: This takes place several days after Chapter 67.

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LXVIII

Brittany hasn’t been around since that night at the bar. She isn’t avoiding Mistress, she has just been busy meeting with subs and looking for a house. Mistress has spent more time at work lately and things have returned to our version of “normal.” Today is another one of Mistress’s classes. I made sure to prepare myself in advance, again hoping to pass her inspection without a penalty.

“Watching you shiver out in the cold the other night got me thinking I should really get you a going out coat. I wouldn’t want you catching a chill and getting sick on me.”

I stifle any sort of reaction both internally and externally. I know better than to get my hopes up for anything normal and if she doesn’t wish to use my shoveling coat then I can only guess that it will be just as awful if not worse. The only hope I cling to is that it is long enough to cover myself. Even the long version of the maid’s dress doesn’t leave much to the imagination and without the privilege of underwear that is the first spot that gets cold.

I retrieve the garment bag to the closet and watch my singular hope crumble before my eyes. It’s pink, puffy, and cropped at the waist. I try it on for her and discover its shortened sleeves and open collar area. This was obviously designed with the maid’s dress in mind; the bondage rings and fur trim sit fully exposed even with the coat on. In any case, I’m glad that it’s not a onesie.

“Thank you for taking my comfort into consideration, Mistress.”

Mistress smiles at me.

“If you’re a good boy, maybe I can have Sasha design some special panties for you as well.”

I feel my chest tighten and I’m uncertain if I should be happy or sad.

“You adapt too quickly, pet. I had sort of hoped to see a glimmer of hope on your face. It’s so amusing to watch it fade into horror.”

Soon after I find my wrists locked behind my back with a short chain and a similar length between my boots. The ride to the club passes much more quickly today. We are the first to arrive and Mistress has me kneel beside her at the table.

Before long a few bodies filter in. Brittany, Katelyn, and Sarah take their usual spots at the table. Mistress starts the meeting soon after.

“I’m sorry to say that this will be the last meeting of the group. I was informed yesterday by the leader of the BDSM group that the majority wish to drop out and so they are canceling it indefinitely until they can find my replacement.”

“What? No way. Did they say why?”

“Apparently they started receiving complaints during the first week and received even more complaints after the second week, with most citing they would not attend future meetings. Most were expecting some lessons in bondage and spanking and other play activities and didn’t care for my methods or how I planned to guide you through the process.”

“That’s really a shame. I’m learning a lot.”

“Well, seeing as I’m already married, these early meetings don’t pertain much to me but I understand the foundation you are going for and a lot of it I could integrate into how to build things at home.”

“Thank you. If you would like we could still meet on our own, it just wouldn’t be sanctioned by the group and it couldn’t happen here at the club. Send me a message if you are interested. We could even keep the same day and time.”

Mistress seems a bit disappointed. She was teaching them D/s. They wanted to learn knot tying. Mistress continues.

“I figure with this meeting we can keep it open-ended. With such a small group I figure we could just talk about what’s on our minds or bring up questions.”

“I have a question, but it might seem a bit personal.”

“Sure, Katelyn. The worst I can say is no.”

“So do you know Brittany? It seems like you guys already had a connection.”

“Brittany and I are friends and we have been acquainted since before the group started. It was an internet friendship but the longer connection is between her and my slave.”

Brittany raises her fist in the air.

“I used to bully the shit out of him back in high school.”

Sarah speaks voluntarily for the first time.

“I have a question actually. My husband has me reading all of these articles and blogs and such and they keep talking about the lifestyle that you brought up the first week, Cassandra. I guess I don’t understand what is going through their minds or how this works out for both sides. Are you able to shed some light on it?”

“Are you talking about a submissive performing the cooking, cleaning, and daily chores while the Domme relaxes?”

“Yes, that, and the sex stuff. Like, having amazing orgasms every day but rarely allowing the sub any sexual pleasure.”

“It might be best if we ask my slave directly.”

Mistress turns to me.

“Why do you clean?”

“Because it is my duty and if I don’t I get punished, Mistress.”

“And?”

“Because my Mistress is my Goddess and I couldn’t bear the thought of her having to do something so unpleasant and mundane.”

“And?”

“And… because it actually turns me on to feel subservient to my Mistress in that way.”

“Anything else?”

“I’m not sure, Mistress.”

“It turns him on? How does that work?”

“That’s his subspace, Sarah. It’s sort of his psychological cycle of arousal and submission. The more submissive I make him feel, the more he gets turned on, and the more he gets turned on, the more submissive he feels.”

“So does he do those things because he wants to do them? Or because he has to do them?”

“It’s a little of each. He wants to do them, but he doesn’t necessarily like doing them. No one ‘loves’ to scrub floors. Knowing that he ‘has’ to scrub floors ‘or else’ makes it a D/s activity and pushes him into subspace. So even if he actually hates scrubbing floors, the act of doing it gives him other feelings that he does actually crave.”

Sarah sits back in her chair, processing. I lean my head against Mistress’s arm. She describes it admirably.

“So if I unfairly deny him an orgasm, while he misses out on the physical pleasure, he still gets some form of psychological pleasure from that?”

“Exactly. It’s especially fun to make a cruel mind game out of it. If you get his hopes up and then crush them, the negative feeling actually gives him a different feeling that he wants and turns him on. That is his subspace.”

“Are all men wired like that?”

“No. Each man will be different in their own way. Some will respond more strongly to specific activities… ones they associate with their submission. Others, like my slave, respond more to ideas and themes.”

“What kinds of ideas?”

“Sort of like… my slave loves it when my pleasure is all that matters and his pleasure gets completely ignored.”

Mistress pats the fur pom pom on the top of my hat as she speaks. I blush, feeling a bit more exposed than I’m comfortable with.

“Interesting. I think my husband is that way. He keeps wanting to call me his Queen and have me treat him like a lowly servant.”

Mistress lets out a small laugh.

“You’re very lucky, Sarah. It sounds like he has the potential to make you a very happy woman if you are able to keep him in line and on the right track. There are a lot of subs that just want to be spanked or kept in chastity without truly wanting to serve.”

“Amen!” Brittany’s voice booms as she smacks the table with her hand. I take it her luck over the past few days with potential subs has remained the same.

It isn’t long before Katelyn speaks up again.

“When I was very young and my parents thought I was asleep I decided to sneak around the house one night. My parent’s room had two doors to enter and when I peeked in, my mother was getting all dressed up in one of her fanciest dresses while my father stood in the corner wearing a bra and panties. She kissed him on the lips when she left and I followed her through the house. A big fancy car was parked in the driveway and she got in the car and left. When I checked on my father he was on his knees still in the bra and panties and was shining her shoes and boots. Was this that cuck, cuck-holding thing or something?”

“I believe so, Katelyn, and it’s pronounced, cuckold, named after the cuckoo bird that would sneak its eggs into a different bird’s nest to be fed and raised. It sounds like your mother was a hotwife and your father was a cuckold. Were you very young when this happened? I hope it didn’t have any negative effects on you.”

“Actually, it was weird. The next morning my dad said that my mom was out running errands. He took me to an amusement park and we rode some rides and later we got ice cream. He was looking super happy and in a great mood. When we got home my mom was also in a super good mood and they were very affectionate. I actually learned to get excited when I heard a car arrive and leave late at night. The next day was always super fun and I got a lot of presents. I didn’t really put a lot of thought into it until I started doing some research on all of this.”

“Does the idea of cuckolding appeal to you?”

“Not really… but I love the idea of a man loving me so much that he would let me do anything I wanted in order to be happy.”

“That’s one of the reasons that I love my slave.” Mistress pets my head. I smile.

“I don’t want to be too forward about this, Cassandra. But do you think it would ever be okay for me to just sort of… like… see how you guys live? I could basically be like a fly on the wall and watch. I know I’m probably asking too much and I really didn’t give this a lot of thought...”

“Sure.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You already have seen us. We have made our lifestyle open to you. I like you and that wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Just don’t let her hit on you. Cass can be like a dirty old man at times. Whoo. Sick burn.”

Brittany pumps her fist.

I look up at Mistress and watch as she can’t contain her smile. Her face turns bright red and she covers one side of it with her palm.

“I did it. I finally made her blush. High-five.” Brittany holds up her hand to Sarah, who leaves her hanging. Undeterred she points directly at me.

“I’m dedicating this moment to you, Francis!”

I blush. I hate that name.

Mistress regains her composure.

“Don’t worry, Katelyn. I won’t try to hit on you. I reserve that for lil Miss Peaches over there.”

Brittany’s face flushes red as she clenches her hands into fists and makes an angry smile.

“Could I visit as well, Cassandra? Would you ever be open to meeting my husband? We’re both so new and sort of lost in all of this.”

“That would be fine, Sarah. As long as he is aware of the level of discretion that we require.”

“I will make sure.”

My mind spins a bit as I wonder what it would be like to have another man present while I serve Mistress. I’m used to Sammy and Gordon by now and the one time I met Lisa’s husband he was basically a wallflower. My thoughts are interrupted by the owner’s 5-minute warning.

Mistress rises and hugs them each individually, thanking them again for sticking with the group. My thoughts now turn to the immediate future and whether or not Brittany will be joining us for the evening.

In the pet carrier in the back, I’m not surprised when she enters the vehicle with Mistress. They small-talk on the way home. Inside the house Brittany stands in front of you.

“That’s a cute new jacket, fur sissy. I was going to say that it makes you look like a sissy slut that takes it up the ass, but I guess I could just say that it’s very ‘you.’”

I lower my eyes and blush. Brittany seems like her old self as usual.

“I was wondering, Cass. Does he actually spend more time with his hands behind his back than in front?”

Mistress laughs.

“I’d say it’s probably about 50/50 if you count when he sleeps. For some reason I’ve had this recent fascination about making him feel completely helpless, ya know?”

“I do love that all of his outfits have a ring on the belt that let you secure the chain to. When I was flogging James last night he kept trying to cover his ass with his hands.”

“You know that if you just beat his hands for long enough that eventually he’ll try to get them out of the way.”

“Fuh. Why didn’t I think of that? Is there a good gym around here, Cass? I don’t know how you do it but ‘these guns’ get tired after a while.”

Brittany rubs her arms as she makes the guns reference.

“There is. I can give you a card for them. If you focus on your technique, you can hit harder and for longer with less effort.”

“Okay, coach, put me in, I’m ready.”

“Smart-ass.”

“Hells-yeah. Peaches has bark AND bite.”

“That reminds me, did you hear from Randi?”

“Yeah, we hung out the other day. That chick has the most amazing collection of 90’s Riot Grrrl music and is super fun to chill with. She nearly lost her shit when I showed her my Reverb. It’s kind of weird, I always thought that lesbians were like… going to be like super different from other people.”

“Earth to sheltered suburban white girl. Gay people are people too.”

“You are the grand master… or grand Mistress of making me feel dumb sometimes, ya know?”

“But you love me for it.”

The grunts and half-words leave Brittany’s mouth as she fails at an appropriate comeback.

“Hey, fur sissy. How about my coat?”

I pull my hands against the chains, making them audibly rattle and I wince as the spikes dig into my skin.

“No one likes excuses, sissy. I give you a ‘Z’ for effort.”

Mistress lets out a small laugh.

“Cass, can your psyche degrees tell me why low-hanging fruit always tastes the best?”

Mistress laughs again as she unlocks the chains from my wrists and ankles. I tend to their coats and boots and help them into robes and slippers before meeting them in the living room. I’m a bit surprised when Mistress cuts right to the chase.

“Have you given any more thought about being my roommate?”

“I have obsessed about it since then, you have no idea. I have gone over it a thousand times in my mind. It wasn’t until I talked to Randi about it that I figured out what was going on. The truth is, I want to say yes but I have to say no. I wanted to make sure my thoughts were sorted out on it before giving you an answer.”

“It’s not because I tease you so much or that I flirt with you, is it?”

“It’s definitely not that. To be honest, Cass, being around you is the most fun I’ve had since I was in high school. You accept me for who I am. I’m a foul-mouthed spazz that has no brain to mouth filter and a sadistic streak. No one our age usually likes me but you seem to encourage it and play off of it. With you it feels like… home. And if I did go lesbian, I could totally see myself falling for someone like you. It’s just something else. Is it okay if I have some wine?”

I look to Mistress and she directs me with a small motion of her head. I hurry my way to the kitchen and retrieve a bottle of wine and a pair of glasses on the silver tray. I’m back and ready to pour in under a minute. Brittany takes a large gulp.

“I’m going to be honest, Cass. Every time I’m here I have the time of my life but when I get home it hurts. I ache and want to cry… and sometimes I do. After a while I realized the reason. I’m envious of you. I’m envious of what you have. I think that’s why I keep ripping through subs like cheap toilet paper. You were right. I want my Francis 2.0.”

Brittany pauses for another large gulp of wine.

“When you offered to have him serve the both of us if I lived here my heart jumped for a minute. I thought that would be perfect but something didn’t feel right. Randi pointed it out when I talked to her about it. What you are to fs… I can never be. And if I was… then you wouldn’t be that to him anymore. Does that make any sense?”

“It does. Even if he serves you, you would never feel like he loved you like he loves me. And if he did love you that way, then it would mean he no longer loved me like that.”

“Exactly. How could I ever feel good about that? I mean, I enjoy fucking with him and teasing him… like I REALLY enjoy it, but… he’s not mine. I need one of my own if I’m going to be as happy as you are.”

Brittany starts to sniffle a little bit.

“I’m a terrible person.”

“You’re not terrible. You are being honest… being true to yourself and true to your heart. It was insensitive of me not to realize what this means to you.”

“I don’t know if I’m being selfish or not. I know that I would have a lot of fun living here, but I think I would probably just be content without being fulfilled. I think that I need to feel like I’m pursuing what I want… and what I want is my own version of what you have. God, why do I feel like we’re a couple of fat kids bawling our eyes out on an after school special right now? Am I really this melodramatic?”

“I think it just shows how important this is to you. It wouldn’t be difficult if it wasn’t and it wouldn’t seem so huge unless you really cared about the outcome.”

“It is okay if we keep hanging out right? I wanted to make it clear that it’s not like I don’t want that.”

“Of course. Besides, I’m sure my pet would be sad if you weren’t here to help torture him.”

Brittany laughs. I zone out a little bit as they talk about the subs Brittany has lined up to evaluate. She also mentions a house hitting the market a couple of streets away. I have a feeling that we will end up as neighbors.

“So, now that we have that out of the way, is there anything you’d like to do?”

“What ever happened with Lynn?”

Mistress grins.

“We have been chatting a bit. Nothing serious, just feeling each other out a little bit. She wants me to bring my pet in to her shop for the total package. Branding, bar-coding, chastity piercing, and nipple piercings.”

I shudder and immediately feel every nerve in my body fire. This is news to me.

“Jesus, Cass. That sounds terrifying. Can I watch?”

“IF I go through with it, I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“Sweet. As for doing stuff… I know that normally we would go and ravage fur sissy in the basement but I wasn’t joking when I said that my arms were tired. Any chance we could just veg out with some pizza and watch some movies?”

“What do you think, pet? Would you be feeling neglected if we just relaxed this evening?”

I breathe a heavy sigh of relief.

“Relaxing would be great, Mistress.”

“Do you like your pizza crust, Brit?”

“No, why? I usually throw them away.”

“My pet needs to eat, too. I think we are all out of saltines.”

“That’s so mean. I love it.”

Mistress picks up her phone and begins to scroll through it. I close my eyes, feeling so very lucky to be surrounded by these women.

END ACT / END ARC

Fiction: fs01 - Part 67

Author’s Note: This takes place a few days after Chapter 66.

-----------------------------

LXVII

I kneel next to Mistress in the living room. Brittany sits on the sofa as they engage in wine-driven conversation.

“So how did Richard pan out?”

“He was so fucking useless. I kicked his ass to the curb after about 45 minutes.”

“That good, huh?”

“It makes me so angry. All these subs, the shit storm of mail… ‘I want to serve you. I will obey you. I will worship you like a Goddess,’ all a bunch of fucking lies. Within the first 10 minutes it’s obvious the just want me to spank them and then fuck.”

“He should feel lucky you let him off that easy then.”

“Hah, no. I kicked him in the balls so hard he’ll probably be pissing blood.”

“You know, Brit, there’s a lot of men that will pay good money from that.”

Brittany’s face shifts to a bright shade of red.

“God. You know I hate it when you do that.”

“But it’s soooooo much fun. You’re cute when you blush.”

Brittany covers her face with her hands.

“Remind me why I come over here and hang out with you again?”

“Because I’m charming and deep down you love me.”

A pair of laughs soon fill the room. I grit my teeth and remain silent. Playing with fire is dangerous.

“So what number was Richard?”

“Umm… number 9 I think. Or was he 10? I don’t remember.”

“You must be burned out by now. All of that in three weeks? I can’t even imagine it.”

“Well, I’m sick of being alone and I’m anxious to have a boy around the house that I can kick around.”

“I’ll rent you my pet for five dollars a day if that’s all you want.”

My ears perk up and my eyes widen.

“You’re shitting me, right?”

“Of course.” Brittany sighs.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“So who is next on the list?”

“I’ll have to check again, I’m not sure.”

“Just out of curiosity, how are you choosing the ones you meet up with?”

“Well… first off they have to be able to write in complete, grammatically correct sentences.”

“What is reason number two?”

“I’m supposed to have a reason number two?”

Mistress places her hand on her face. Brittany bursts out laughing.

“I finally fucking got you, Cass. Eat it. Secondly, I look for ones that seem like they would be devoted.”

“Interesting. How do you determine that?”

Mistress’s ability to play-through Brittany’s jab without any response impresses me.

“I read what they write to me. I look at what claims they make and whether or not they seem realistic.”

“And I’m guessing these first few presented themselves in quite a confident way when it came to their devotion and abilities?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you think my pet wrote when he contacted me?”

“Hrm… well, knowing fs, I’d have to say it was probably some weak-ass whiny little blurb where he called you amazing and probably said he would be ‘grateful for the opportunity’ to try and serve you, all the while portraying himself as a loser with no confidence.”

I cringe a bit as the words sting in my heart.

“That’s actually pretty close, so I’m a bit confused.”

“Confused about what?”

“Because you’re looking for a copy of my pet aren’t you?”

Brittany points her face to the ceiling and shuts her eyes tight. Her face flushes red for a third time before my eyes. I feel my cheeks get a little bit hot as well. I read her lips as she mouths something silently. “What the fuck?” A moment later she regains enough composure to resume the conversation.

“Cass, if I paid you a dollar do you think you could try harder to embarrass me? I don’t think you’re quite doing everything you can just yet.”

“Am I wrong? You are searching for Francis 2.0. Oh, and keep the dollar, this one is on the house.”

My lips curl into a small smile as I fight to maintain a poker face.

“Okay. Let’s say for a moment that I am searching for Francis 2.0. What should I be looking for?”

“You already answered your own question. A timid little loser with no confidence that seems like the type who would have absolutely no chance with you in the vanilla world. Someone who would feel lucky just to be in the same room as you. Did anyone approach you in that way?”

Mistress’s words twist a bit within me but I silence them with conviction as I remind myself that she chose me and I am as she wants me to be.

“I’ll have to double check. Shit. I hope I didn’t delete them.”

I watch as she scrolls through her phone.

“Hrm. ‘I am a lzer shit on my face.’ I don’t think this is quite what you were talking about.”

Mistress bursts out laughing.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Brit. You just have to read into things in the right way and now you have a better idea of what to look for. Are you still receiving a lot of messages?”

“Is 1,500 a day a lot?”

“It’s definitely ‘enough’ to find what you are looking for. I could always order my pet to write one to you that you could use as a reference.”

A strange uneasy feeling creeps in.

“Nah, that’s okay. I’ve got this.”

“Have you shown my pet the picture you used on your profile?”

Brittany places one hand against her face.

“Don’t you dare, Cass. I will so totally fucking kill you...”

I watch as Mistress giggles and begins scrolling through her phone.

“Oh my God, Cass. Seriously. Stop it.”

Mistress holds her phone in my direction. On the screen is a picture of Brittany wearing her siren outfit she received at the party and a fur coat over the top. Her hair and makeup are done up and she stands with her arms on her hips and a flogger in hand. It is quite a sight and I feel a bit guilty finding her attractive. Mistress quickly retracts her phone before a sexual response occurs.

Brittany covers her face and makes some whining noises while rapidly kicking her heels against the sofa.

“I hate you so much.”

“Aww, but I love you. Now pet, tell Brittany what you think of the picture.”

I bite my lip and pause, hoping this isn’t a trap.

“You look very beautiful in that picture, Miss Brittany.”

She sits back and stops pouting before quickly rubbing her fingers against her hair, that nervous tick that has stayed with her since childhood. She finally looks over at me and makes eye contact before closing her eyes and shaking her head with a half-grin upon her face.

“I think you need to have some fun tonight. It’s fetish night at a club that we go to and we’re going to get dressed up and go get drunk.”

“I don’t really think that…”

“I don’t remember saying it was optional.”

“Are you trying to dominate me now?”

“If I was, would you submit?”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fine. I’ll go, but I won’t promise to have fun.”

“With that attitude, I’m sure there will be a line of subs just dying to go home with you.”

The next few hours are spent preparing. Mistress and Brittany plan out their outfits, line up transportation, and invite the others. I perform my daily chores, taking breaks every so often to wait on them or to prepare them food.

After a while the doorbell rings. I’m surprised when Mistress answers it. I peek at the door from around the corner and watch as she receives several garment bags from her shop’s courier.

They eat an early dinner, their hair and make-up nearly done. While Mistress is always beautiful, I always find her particularly attractive when she puts in extra time preparing herself. I find myself struggling not to stare as they eat. Mistress denies me any food at dinner and I make do with a glass of water.

A bit later she summons me to her bedroom. Mistress and Brittany model their outfits for me, their matching fur-trimmed corsets with knee high boots, Mistress in black and Brittany in purple. Each wears a long leather coat with a long fur tuxedo-style trim that extends from the collar down the front to the hem. Fur headbands adorns their heads. The scent of her perfume immediately triggers a response as my sex strains against the cage.

“Isn’t he going to say anything?”

“He’s said enough. That look on his face tells me that he just attempted an erection.”

“What a little sissy pervert.”

I lower my eyes as the shame sets in.

“Come here pet, it’s time to get you ready to go.”

My adrenaline jolts as the shock and horror grasp me.

“Don’t be scared, pet. We’re not taking you out in your maid’s dress. You’re okay with wearing shorts aren’t you?”

I nod slowly and with great hesitation. I approach her slowly as she unlocks the buckles and removes me from the hellish prison of my uniform. The head harness and hat follows as Mistress discards them to the floor. I peek over her shoulder and watch as Brittany opens up one of the garment bags.

I start to kneel to present my feet to Mistress.

“No need, pet. The boots and stockings are staying.”

My breathing suddenly becomes uneven. Yes, shorts. The glimmer of hope I had for a safe evening is crushed as Brittany walks over carrying an outfit.

“You see, pet, Brittany was trying to back out of going but she promised she would go if we brought you along and she got to pick out what you would wear. This is what she chose from the shop’s sissy catalog and I had them bring one over right away.”

I cringe at the sight of it. A shiny pink one-piece hot pants style romper, cut low in the front just below the nipples and trimmed with fur all along its edges and a fluffy bunny tail on the butt. The anticipation of the humiliation that is to come boils over.

“Please, Mistress...” Her face goes stern.

“Another word and you’ll be sucking on a penis gag all night. Am I clear?”

I nod slowly as I attempt to resign myself to my fate. My hands shake as I slide myself into the suit. The internal anal plug opposite the tail provides an unwelcome surprise. I have to pause for Mistress to lube it up. She zips me up in back, adjusts a strap, and clicks the lock in place. A thick leather belt follows around my waist. She cinches it tighter until I suck my stomach in with all my might as she buckles it and locks it around my waist.

A matching furry collar makes its way around my neck. The touch of the spikes tells me this is the same design that Mistress had me wear the night my mother visited. It buckles and locks behind my neck. The final touch is a pair of leather bondage mittens. As she slides them onto my hand I feel my fingers enter individual sleeves that bunch up and restrict my finger movement. My thumbs are held tight to my palm inside as the mittens have false “dummy” thumbs on the outside. She turns back the cuffs and locks them in place.

I let out a small whimper as I look down at my hands, realizing they are useless.

“Have a seat over there. Brittany is going to do your make-up.”

I glance up at Mistress, bewildered. She’s never had me wear make-up before. A firm slap to my backside sends me scurrying.

“Your next lesson will be one in humility, pet. Give you an ounce of special treatment and you turn selfish and forget your place.”

A frown covers my face. I know that she is right and the guilt seeps in. I don’t want this.

In front of the mirror I sit motionless as I allow myself to spiral into nothingness. I am just a doll. I watch my complexion change as Brittany puts down a foundation that makes me look pasty white and pale. Her methods aren’t kind. She covers my cheeks liberally with rosy pink blush. If her goal is to make me appear permanently embarrassed she succeeds admirably.

Her skilled hands apply lip liner before coating my lips in an atrocious sparkly neon pink lipstick. She follows that up with a large amount of sparkly pink eye shadow. I struggle to keep my eyes open while she applies the eye liner and mascara. Brittany finishes with some large fur pom pom clip on earrings and a pair of large fur earmuffs that match the ensemble.

“I’m finished.”

“Let me have a look at you, pet.”

I rise and approach Mistress. Her laughter is enough of a response to make my face burn.

“Oh, pet. You look truly awful. I can’t tell if you look more like a cheap slut or a clown.”

“We could always smack him around a bit and get those tears flowing. That might tip it in one direction or the other.”

I furrow my brow. A wave of fear rushes in. I’ve learned to never underestimate the creativity of a sadist… let alone a pair of them.

“Hrm… let’s leave him as is for now. The night is young.”

“It’s a shame the others can’t make it. I’m sure little fur sissy is just dying to know what they would think of him right now.”

“Let’s take a picture. I’ll post it on my blog for them.”

“Hah. Good idea. Just one more thing.”

I stand by in horror as Brittany retrieves the final item from the garment bag. She approaches me with a long fur boa and taking my hand, she secures one end to my wrist with the attached handcuff. She runs it over my shoulders, pausing to clip it to the back of my collar and then secures the other end to my other wrist. The boa follows me as I move my arms, its tips extending about a foot past my hands. Brittany takes my shoulders and turns me to face Mistress.

“Frown for the picture, pet.”

The flash blinks, blinding me for a moment. As my vision returns I see her thumbs rapidly pressing her phone screen.

“And… it’s live.”

“I still can’t believe you post pictures of him without blacking out his face.”

I feel my chest knot tightly with anxiety. I have never seen Mistress’s blog so this is news to me.

“I doubt my pet cares. It’s not like he’s going to have to worry about a background check for a job or anything. I have him under contract for the rest of his life. Right, pet?”

I hesitate to answer immediately but I know that she is right. The only opinion that matters is hers, the rest of the world may as well not exist to me. That last voice screaming inside of me is my ego clinging to itself. I do not wish to disappoint Mistress.

I close my eyes and attempt to make peace with the situation. The touch of the fur on my bare shoulders and arms does feel rather nice. Mistress’s phone beeps.

“The car is here. Come on, pet, we’re leaving.”

“Does he have a coat or anything?”
“No coat.”

“Won’t he be cold?”

“Of course. Isn’t that a delicious bit to add to his suffering?”

I open the front door for them using both hands to turn the knob and immediately a gust of cold wind rushes directly through the thin material of the romper, chilling me to the bone. I shiver as the piercing cold stings against every bit of exposed flesh.

“Stop dawdling, pet, and get the car door for us.”

I hustle through the winter air and open the back door of the long, black car. I extend my arm and Mistress and Brittany use it for support a they climb in. Mistress stops me from closing the door.

“You’re sitting back her with us. This isn’t our usual driver and putting you in the trunk might upset him.”

I nod and climb in after them, anticipating the warmth. To my disappointment it’s only mildly warmer inside than outside. I rub my mittens up and down my arms.

“Are you cold, pet?”

I nod. She lets out a small laugh.

“I specifically requested they not to run the heater in back.”

“Umm… I’m kind of cold too, Cass.”

“My dear Brittany you are such a spoil sport.”

“It’s the middle of winter and I’m not wearing pants. Sue me.”

I watch Mistress press a button opening up the intercom.

“Driver, could you please turn the heat on back here. A low or medium setting is fine.”

“Yes, ma’am.” is his reply.

It’s a relatively short drive to the club and I continue to shake for its duration. My nerves are on fire and I feel my heart pounding. Breathing becomes a chore. I hate this.

The car slows as it pulls up to the curb. I move to open the door. The mittens make the handle a struggle and it takes several tries to finally pry it open. The cold air bites me again as we exit the vehicle. I follow them to the entrance where a thick butch stands as bouncer.

“Welcome again, Ms. C.”

Her eyes glance over at me.

“You remember the rules, right?”

“While he’s here he is my responsibility.”

Mistress removes a leash from her purse and lets it dangle by the handle.

“I need to frisk you.”

She glares at me. I feel unwelcome. I raise my arms and she handles me roughly, pushing me up against the side of the building and patting me down. I don’t know how I could hide anything in this outfit, so this is either for pleasure or show.

When the bouncer finishes, Mistress connects the leash to the front ring on my collar and leads me inside. As we walk through the door the cues stick out in a rather obvious way. Brittany grabs Mistress’s arm.

“Just what kind of bar is this, Cass?”

“A lesbian bar.”

“Yes, I can see that. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Because you would have said no.”

“Oooh. I oughtta. Damn it.”

Brittany wraps herself tightly around Mistress’s arm.

“Ooh, sexy, now we look like a couple.”

She quickly releases Mistress’s arm. I can hear her making a series of noises that almost resemble speech. We find a table and Mistress and Brittany order drinks. Mistress opens the front of her coat, exposing her outfit.

“Just how did you think this would be fun for me?”

“The night is young. Give it time. Besides, everyone here knows that you’re straight.”

I watch Mistress relax as she sits upon the high chair at the raised table. Brittany looks like a deer in headlights. I allow my eyes to scan the room. It’s actually a fairly tame atmosphere from what I was expecting. The sign announcing it’s the monthly fetish night hands above the bar and a number of patrons are dressed in clothes ranging from costume-like outfits to some more standard fetish-wear. Some music plays and as the half-empty dance floor moves about. There are no signs of whips and chains or bondage furniture. It feels a bit more like a costume party.

Brittany instructs the waitress to keep the drinks coming as she rapidly downs her first few glasses. Mistress slowly nurses hers. I watch as she relaxes and surveys the room. Her public demeanor out at clubs and bars always surprises me, almost like she’s just owning the room… observing… I can never truly understand all of her complexities and nuances.

It takes maybe an hour before the first person approaches. I slowly trace her steps as she paces over from the bar. She’s dressed in black, her black hair pulled back. Her make-up is done up in dark colors, mostly blacks and purples. As she gets closer she reveals a plethora of tattoos covering the exposed parts of her upper body, neck, and arms. Her face and ears are filled with various piercings. If I had to guess her age, I would predict that she is in her early 30’s.

“Cute slave. Do you mind if I?” Her voice is deep and husky.

“Go right ahead.” Mistress holds up her hand.

I lower my eyes and try to relax as best I can. She hovers around me, keeping her face uncomfortably close to my body. I hear every shift in her breath… ever smirk… ever click of the tongue against her teeth. I feel her fingers poke and prod as her hands glide over me. I feel her pet my fur. She pats the tail, sending vibrations through the plug that fills me in. I shudder a little. Her finger tip teases my nipple. I feel my sex strain against the belt.

“That’s generous of you. Allowing this little one to wear such pretty clothes.”

I blush but I’m sure it isn’t visible through the heaped on layers of make-up. She turns her attention away from me and focuses upon Mistress.

“My name is Lynn. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“I’m Cassandra.”

Mistress holds out her hand. Lynn raises it without breaking eye contact and plants a kiss on her glove.

“Why don’t you join us, Lynn? My friend here is Brittany.”

Brittany waves with her hand.

“Ah, so the straight chick’s name is Brittany. I’ve been watching the two of you since you entered. I don’t really have any interest in your slave, I just used it as an excuse because I didn’t want to appear too forward. I absolutely love your coat.”

Mistress smiles.

“Please tell me about yourself, Lynn.”

“Well, I’m 32. I work as a piercer at a tattoo parlor. I live for pleasure. How about you? I haven’t been able to read you yet… I can’t tell if you’re here just for show or if you’re looking for something more.”

“I’m mostly here to show my friend here a good time.” Mistress pats Brittany on the shoulder.

“But I can’t really say if I’m really looking right now. I recently had a relationship end and I’m not really sure if I’m ready for another one just yet.”

“Was it because of that?” Lynn tilts her head and motions towards me.

“Yes. It was. How did you know?”

“I had a slave of my own for five years or so. He was my last boyfriend before I came out. We dabbled and it grew from there. His existence really complicated things when I started trying to date.”

“Past tense? I take it you no longer have him, did something happen?”

“I broke him to the point of boredom. It was almost like he died inside… I didn’t even feel him struggle internally anymore.”

“I sense a little bit of regret in those words. Is there something you would do differently?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t miss him but I think the tipping point was when I kept him from communicating for an entire year. No speech, no writing, no gestures, and so on. He just did what I ordered and I hit him if he screwed up. After a while I just stopped even thinking about his feelings at all. I half-expected him to resist but instead it was like he adapted… just accepted it. Eventually he was no fun at all to play with and none of the women I dated took me seriously as long as he was with me, so I got rid of him.”

Mistress displays a sly smile. Brittany is focused upon Lynn, absorbing the story.

“I’ll bet he resisted then. Did you have to take drastic measures?”

“I did. He bawled for a week after I told him it was over. He refused to leave and refused to look for a job, he just locked himself in his room and cried all day.”

“How did you lure him out?”

“I’m not sure if lure is the right word. I sold him to a gay maledom who showed up with a group of guys. They took the door off the hinges and carried him out in chains. Apparently there’s a market for broken slaves like that. Doms who want to get very rough and not feel any guilt about it.”

“Interesting. Do you hear that pet? When I get bored of you I know exactly what I will do.”

I cringe and bite my lip as my brain spirals out of control in a fear cycle. Brittany laughs her ass off before interjecting.

“Did they pay well?”

“Let’s just say it was enough to buy a car. A used car, but a car.”

“Didn’t you feel guilty? I’m assuming you loved him.”

“Loved. Past tense. I stopped loving him when there was nothing left to love. I moved on and wanted him gone. He refused.”

They continue with small-talk after this. Pleasantries. Flirtations. Mistress and Lynn exchange business cards. I sense Mistress is feeling her out. I feel a bit unsettled. A few lines catch my attention.

“Feel free to call me, anytime. Just for the record, I have no problem with you having a slave. I’m also okay with the occasional booty-call if you aren’t ready for a relationship.”

Lynn sticks out her tongue a bit and clicks its piercing against her teeth.

“Also, I think your slave could use some nipple piercings. They’re deliciously tender and with a large enough gauge you can actually fit a padlock through them.”

Mistress smirks. I wince. A little later a petite woman with short brown hair approaches the table and makes a bee line for Brittany. She is short and trim with small breasts and a leather collar around her neck. I probably wouldn’t have noticed her breasts that quickly if not for her revealing top.

“Please come dance with me.” Brittany blushes.

“I’m really flattered but I’m not...”

“Not gay. I know that but it seems like you aren’t having any fun. I’ve been watching you since you came in and it took me this long to work up the courage to come over here. One dance, just for fun. Come on.”

“Yeah, Brittany, go have some fun. Everyone else here is having fun. If you don’t go dance with this cutie I just might have to.”

Brittany shuts her eyes in response to Mistress’s prods. Her eyes slowly open as she clenches her fists.

“Fine. One dance.”

The short woman’s mouth opens into a wide smile and she takes Brittany by the hand, excitedly leading her towards the dance floor.

“I think your friend is a little bit uptight, Cassandra.”

“She’s a little high strung but a good person. She’s just trained herself to only see some things in a certain way. Once she loosens up she’s a blast.”

“Are you trying to turn her?”

“Well, I’d be lying if I said the thought didn’t cross my mind, but I’m not forcing the issue. I mostly just took her out tonight to have fun.”

“I’d ravage her.” Lynn smiles and flicks her tongue piercing against her lip.

“So would I.”

They laugh together.

“It’s brave of you to bring a boy here dressed like that. There’s a handful of regulars that tend to take offense to that sort of thing. I’m sure they are letting things go seeing as he’s stayed glued to your side, but I wouldn’t let him wander off by himself.”

“Really? I’m surprised that gender prejudice still exists in today’s day and age. This isn’t my first time here, but it’s my first time with him.”

“You usually come with that big group in the limo, right?”

“Yes. You must have seen us before then?”

“A couple of times. It sometimes makes you seem unapproachable though.”

“I can understand that. Our clique does get a bit rowdy at times.”

“I think your friend is going for a little more than one dance.”

I look up to the dance floor. Brittany’s coat hangs upon a nearby chair and she has her arms raised, grinding in rhythm with the short-haired woman. The smile on her face indicates that she’s definitely having fun.

Before long they return to the table arm in arm, the short woman wearing Brittany’s coat. Brittany fans herself with her off hand.

“I don’t think I’ve danced that much in years.”

“Did you have fun?”

“I did, thank you, Randi.”

“Yay.”

The way that she cheers is sort of disgustingly cute.

“My ride is leaving soon. Promise me that you’ll call me.”

“I promise.”

“Just as friends. I want to get to know you better.”

“I promise.”

“Can I give you a kiss?” Brittany’s face flushes red.

“Umm, about that whole just friends thing.”

“Friends can kiss.”

“Yeah, Brittany, didn’t you tell me that you used to kiss Chloe and Courtney all the time just to tease Francis?”

Brittany’s death stare at Mistress is priceless. I can’t help but smile. Brittany pouts for a minute but then closes her eyes. Randi leans in and plants a passionate and juicy kiss on Brittany’s lips.

“You taste like peaches.” Randi’s phone beeps.

“Shit, I have to go. Seriously, promise me you’ll call me, we’ll go get coffee.”

“I promise.”

Brittany acts annoyed but as soon as Randi is out of view a wide smile forms over her face.

“I’m a little bit jealous, Brit. Can I taste the peaches?”

“I know we just met, but let’s be friends so I can try it too.”

Brittany speaks through clenched teeth.

“I’m going to fucking kill the both of you.”

“Seriously though, that girl seemed really sweet. Make sure to set boundaries so that you don’t break her heart.”

“Fuck. How did this night get so complicated all of a sudden?”

The drinks continue to flow, although the pace is a bit slower than earlier. Mistress seems to be hitting it off quite well with Lynn. Brittany continues to look a bit uncomfortable. I really wish that someone else would come and talk to her. It doesn’t take long for my wish to come true as a group of four women make their way over from the dance floor and soon surround her chair.

“Come dance with us.”

“I’m not really up for it.”

“We’re not taking ‘no’ for an answer. When you were dancing earlier you looked like you were having such a good time. Now you just look like all mopey.”

The two women on either side close their hands around her forearms.

“One song. If you aren’t having fun you can come back and mope.”

“One song. Just one. And just so you know, I’m not a lesbian.”

“Uh, duh. We know that, it’s obvious.”

They drag their semi-willing victim away. Mistress waves. One song turns into seven. Mistress continues to chat and flirt a bit with Lynn. Mostly small-talk but I can sense some mutual interest. Mistress seems more guarded than usual. Losing Barb may have hurt her more than any of us know.

Brittany returns to the table a bit later. A smile a mile wide shows on her face.

“I think I like this bar. I’ve never been around strangers that would go out of their way like that.”

Mistress just nods and smiles before looking at her phone.

“We should probably get going soon. I only have the car reserved until midnight.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. I doubt Mistress would have brought me along if not for Brittany’s insistence. Ever since the ski trip, being outed in public in an uncontrolled environment makes me feel sick with anxiety unless I shut down completely.

Mistress and Lynn part with a peck on the cheek and the promise of being in contact in the future. Brittany looks wiped out. I’m sure this evening was exhausting for her as well on an emotional level. We make our way through the freezing cold to the waiting car. Mistress instructs the driver to drive to Brittany’s home but tells him to take his time.

“I have a question for you, Brittany.”

“Ask me anything except about peaches.”

“Would you be interested in moving in with me? Becoming my roommate.”

“What now?”

“You haven’t found a house yet and haven’t been having good luck with finding a sub. I was wondering if you wanted to live with me instead.”

“Could I have my own sub?”

“If you can find one. I figure my pet could serve the both of us.”

Brittany closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. My heart jumps as I’m filled with a set of confused emotions.

“Are you trying to turn me gay?”

“Of course not, although I can’t say it would be unwelcome.” Mistress laughs before continuing.

“I just worry that you will find a sub and when that happens we won’t be able to spend as much time together. I don’t usually let people in that close to me. It feels like you’re the friend I’ve always wanted but never had. A partner in crime.”

Brittany’s demeanor suddenly shifts to serious.

“I’m going to have to think about this. Will your feelings be hurt if I say ‘no’? Of course they will. I love you, Cass, but this isn’t a great spot you put me in.”

“Don’t worry about it. It was just something I thought up this evening. I’m not super invested in it.”

“Would I have to pay rent?”

Mistress laughs again.

“Only if you wanted to. Or you could just buy a new coat every month at the shop and call it even. It will be at a discount, of course.”

“Oh, you dirty bird. That’s so not fair and you know it.”

“Just another weapon in my arsenal, my dear.”

“Let me think about it, seriously.”

“Take your time.”

The car slows to a halt in front of Brittany’s apartment building.

“I can’t believe I’m going in dressed like this. I should have brought a change of clothes.”

Mistress laughs. Brittany waves and departs. Mistress rolls down the window and calls out.

“Sleep tight, peaches!”

I hear a distant “Fuck!” drift in as the car drives away. At home Mistress leads me to the bedroom and sits me down in front of the mirror.

“Oh my pet. You look just terrible. Do you want to hear what my blog readers have said about you?”

I shake my head no. She reads them anyways.

“domn8or wrote ‘Those pretty pink lips would look good wrapped around my cock.’”

“QueenOfMean76 wrote, ‘I’m lubing up my strap-on. That ass looks good enough to fuck.’”

“sissyslutteresa89 wrote, ‘Where can I get that outfit? My clitty is hard.’”

“MsDominique666 wrote, ‘I’ll expect him to be dressed like that the next time I come over.’”

I shudder a bit as Mistress laughs. She puts down her phone and begins her lesson in make-up removal.

END ACT