Fantasy Drawing - December 2017

Socks... for Vanessa Chaland

I included a little blurb about socks in my last post and had a picture requested.  They were sort of like these...

The pants I wear has an inseam that is slightly too long so they realistically covered everything with the exception of a very brief moment when I set my foot down while walking. Of course that was enough for someone to notice. 

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

Normally I would pick a title that is cliche, something like “picking up the pieces” or “putting the pieces together,” but that doesn’t fit.  I’m just sort of noticing the pieces that weren’t there before.  I had either blocked them out, denied their existence, or just was too blind to notice them.  Sorry if this sounds like a repeat of an earlier post.  I am trying to figure this out.

I’m trying to wrap my head around the idea of being little.  I really hadn’t been exposed to littles until a year or two ago.  It wasn’t very common in my local scene and when I was only reading/writing on Blogger there wasn’t a lot of crossover between F/m and M/f.  Most of my references to them before that point came from Dommes blasting men who wanted to be littles and saying they had no desire to “raise another child.”  About the only cases where I found male littles being accepted were from pro dominatrixes that were mostly accepting of littles… for only $250 or more per hour.  In F/m they were also painted mostly as adult babies or people with lactation or diaper fetishes.

This caused a great deal of mental resistance to the idea.  I already perceived myself as a sissy, which had enough hate raining down on it that I didn’t really care to be associated with yet another undesirable label.  When I started interacting in more mixed groups I inherently came into contact with quite a few female littles.  I was able to talk to them and get a much more accurate impression about what it is about.  A while later I was also able to finally meet a couple of male littles that had partners that would allow them to let that side of them surface, albeit on a limited basis.  They were switches and would get maybe 4-8 hours a month of space time.

After some conversations with both them and some caregivers I was pretty firmly convinced that I was not one.  Littles are happy.  Littles are mostly non-sexual.  Littles are “submissive” in a childlike way, looking up to an authority figure.  None of these sounded anything like me.  “That sounds like PTSD,” I was told and I couldn’t argue with it.

What I currently perceive as my little space was something I had always mistaken for slavespace.  The behavior, the inability to resist or say no, and the frantic desire to please and be useful were linked to this.  I can count the number of people I have met that can truly enter slavespace on one hand.  You don’t find that many of them on the internet.  The ones I had met in real life through BDSM scenes were not allowed to use a computer, the internet, a phone, etc., so I had always felt it was like looking for an Amish dating website.  I did manage to interact with one who was currently not owned and another who was asked to read something I wrote and give their take on it.  Both were very emotionally aware and articulate and I came to learn that what I thought was my slavespace is very different than theirs.  When I really thought about it, it made a lot of sense.  While my external behavior and sexual response may have been similar, the internals didn’t match up.

While I have experienced what they had described when pushed VERY hard, the space that I was accustomed to thinking was it had to be something else.

So just what did that mean?  I pretty much ignored this question for over a year.
This year had a series of traumatic memories return to me.  I wrote them out and was able to somewhat heal from them.  Well, heal isn’t the right word.  I learned to accept the trauma that was responsible for a particular part of my current being.

Reaching my little space is entirely dependent upon triggers.  These triggers are nearly all linked to traumatic and pivotal experiences from my youth.  These include but are not limited to:

• Having my genitals made fun of.
• Having to wear any kind of winter hat, but most noticeably girls or womens.
• Having to wear earmuffs.
• Being put into isolation or time-out.
• Being deceived, tricked, or manipulated by false kindness.
• Phrases like, “this is for your own good,” “this is to keep you safe,” and the like.
• Being denied speaking privileges and other forms of communication.
• Being given an impossible task.
• Being called a sissy, girl, gayboy, fag, bitch, etc.

There is a mountain of abuse to draw from. There is a mountain of shame to draw from.
My little believes itself to be unwanted and lacking desirable qualities.  It feels twisted and ugly.  It tries to make up for it by desperately wanting to please.  If an authority figure gives it attention, it adores them and will do anything to please them.  My little will push itself neurotically to please them.  Failure triggers its fear of abandonment, so it will accept any form of rule or punishment as long as it won’t be left alone.

My little does not expect to be treated well.  Kindness creates cognitive dissonance and feels dishonest.  Fairness feels kind.  Cruelty feels normal and consistent with its view of itself.  Punishments feel justified.  “Reminders of its place” feel like favors, because it wants to stay pleasing always.

Because M managed to trigger this space in me when I was young (she would put a hat on me as a blindfold/mask), and I began my sexuality fantasizing around her, a lot of this got linked.  I realize now that my early masturbation fantasies were always about feeling helpless… they were all from my little’s point of view.  The end result is that my little is always aroused, and will constantly attempt arousal if locked in chastity.

This doesn’t sound like any little I have ever met before.  It differs greatly from my adult submissive space in the way that it thinks.   My adult submissive is a bit playful, very affectionate, and thinks rational thoughts.  My little, thinks only in desperation.   Everything feels desperate.

I feel pretty safe that I can abandon the idea of being a sissy.  I have no femininity in me.  I have no desire to be woman-like.  I never really responded to being forced to wear a bra, panties, stockings, or lingerie.  While I found them humiliating, they were dwarfed by the items that trigger my little space. The funniest thing is that I think being called a sissy was a trigger because of its level of cognitive dissonance at not wanting to be one. This changes things, but it doesn’t really feel any different.
I am still who I am.  I don’t even know if little is something I should advertise.  I also don’t want anyone to feel guilty for “bullying” my little.  I am just me… something I had pretty much come to terms with yesterday.

Trying to summarize things for my own peace of mind: I am not a sissy.  I am not a slave.  I am a submissive.  I am a little.  My little is a submissive.  These are the pieces.

I have to mull this over a bit.

Continuing the Journey to self-understanding

I’ve been interacting with so many new people lately, I feel like I’m losing my mind trying to keep everything straight.  That being said, I love meeting new people.  New views.  New questions.  New answers.  New perspectives.  I love to learn.  I love to share.

I’ve been getting asked a lot of questions lately about my role in D/s.  I’ve been answering them in the same way but the feedback I’m getting is new to me.  I’m learning more about myself.
I don’t think what I thought was my slavespace is actual slavespace.  I have way too much “self” in it, even if the external behavior is similar.  I do not think I am a slave.

I don’t think I am a sissy.  I don’t think I ever really was.  I think that my triggers got so twisted up that I couldn’t figure out what was going on.  I took on the name and wrote about it because I was hoping to come to terms with it and stop hating myself.  I was actually asked to define what a sissy was.  I described it as best I could, giving it a generic description and letting them know how there were different types.  I went on to describe how it differed from a transvestite and a cross-dresser.  The thought became clear to me: this isn’t me.  I don’t enjoy it for what it is, nor did I ever want it.  I am not a sissy.

I am really starting to believe that I am a little.  I am not a happy little.  My little doesn’t give me a break from the world.  Having unearthed the memories this past year about the hat and earmuffs humiliations, those experiences were trauma.  Those are my triggers to my little space.  I become that humiliated and bullied little boy, broken to shyness, desperate for love and acceptance.  These experiences were galvanized and sexualized by my experiences with M and my masturbatory habits that followed.  My little resembles a slave in the way that he is broken and will obey authority without resistance… and actually an eagerness to show how good he is and fearing the terror of being left behind.

My little is a submissive.  It is not just that my little has a submissive personality, but my little is a submissive.  This explains a lot.  The arousal.  The humiliation.  The mental space that has been so confusing to me over the years.  My little may even be a slave, or is at least broken to accept only the bare minimum of attention.  It believes all of the negativity it has been fed.  It cannot see itself in any other way.  It accepts its station in life.

I have a submissive persona that retains my adult self.  It is a bit more mild in its submission.  It responds to bondage.  It responds to body worship.  It responds to sex. This is a separate person to my little.  They think differently.  They behave differently.  They respond differently.

My mind is feeling rather stretched while trying to get to the bottom of this.  It shatters my understanding of myself.  I will have to sort through all of this and redefine.  What I know to be me, is no longer.

Thoughts on Forced Feminization

There are a large variety of reasons that people engage in forced feminization and sissification.  I do not plan to write about them all in this post.  These are how it has pertained to me in the course of my D/s relationships and life.

A specific form of forced feminization has been the strongest control dynamic imaginable in my relationships.  It is not meant to be pleasurable.  I am not supposed to appear more feminine or pretty.  I am not supposed to behave in a feminine manner.

Forced feminization has been a means of control.  It is meant to make me ultimately pliable, obedient, and docile.  It is meant to fill me with shame and humiliation.  It is there to fill me with dread at the thought of being seen by anyone else but her.  It is the boogieman waiting in the shadows, ready bring me to tears at a moment's notice. 

Forced feminization breaks me.  It breaks my spirit.  It breaks my will.  It squashes any form of resistance left in me.  I feel awful.  I feel grotesque.  It keeps me in a state without dignity or confidence.

When I am feminized I am terrified.  I hate how I feel.  I hate how I look.  I want to run and hide but I don't dare disobey, because it can always get worse.  When she teases me it turns me on and I become absolutely certain that no one else in the world would ever want me... except for her.  She becomes my beacon... my lifeline... and the only one that I feel safe with.

"I like you this way."

Those words fill me with anguish because it will not stop.  The feelings and panic swirl around and confuse my conflicted mind.

"I like you this way and I'll keep you this way forever."

This calms the storm in my heart and fills it with love.  She will keep me forever.  Knowing that, I don't care what she does to me.  She will keep me forever.

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.

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

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

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: Feminization

Dear Ms. C.

Why do you feminize your sub in such a way when he obviously dislikes it? Shouldn’t that kind of thing be consensual? Isn’t humiliating him like that a bit abusive? It seems cruel and unfair.

-subguy89

It seems I get asked questions like these about once a month. If you read my earlier Question & Answer posts you will see that I have answered these questions in some capacity several times over.

Our lifestyle is one that was built up slowly over deep levels of love and trust. We entered into this relationship with both eyes open. It was 100% consensual and I made no secret that I expected his total obedience. He promised he would do whatever it took to make me happy. I don’t understand how it can appear unfair for us to simply do what we agreed to do. He made his choice just as I made mine.

Cruel? Certainly. I first feminized him as part of one of his old fantasies and to display his new role in our household as my maid. I continue to feminize him because he dislikes it. It is a symbol of my control and power over him. It’s easy to make a sub do what he wants to do. I like watching a sub squirm as I order them to do what they do not want to do. Partly why I keep changing up his uniform is that I never want him to get used to it and have it feel normal.

I love watching him blush and the expression his face makes when he feels shame. I love seeing him squirm and writhe in his own skin when I show him off to my friends. This brings me hours of amusement every single day. I am absolutely certain if you asked him that he would rather suffer for my amusement than feel normal and deny me that pleasure. This is part of how we show our love for each other.

Humiliating? Absolutely. Abusive? Hardly.

If you wish to judge me for how the dynamics of our relationship differ from your ideas that is your loss. We have had eight happy years together to evolve us to this state and it is unlikely we will resemble some one-off BDSM scene between two parties who barely know each other.

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. 

Fiction: fs01 - Part 70

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

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

LXX

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.

“Mistress,

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.

-pet."

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

"pet,

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.

-Mistress."

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.

“Mistress,

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.”

“Yes.”

“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.

-Mistress.”

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.

“Hello,

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.

“pet,

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

-Mistress.”

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.

-pet.”

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.

“Mistress,

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

-pet”

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

END ACT

Fiction: fs01 - Part 68

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

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

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