Fiction: fs01 - Part 70

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

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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

Random fun

I know I've mentioned in a handful of posts that I was an athlete growing up.  I'm a huge sports fan and basketball is my favorite sport to both play and watch.  I've always been a fan of slam dunks and have followed the slam dunk contest each year since I was in elementary school.  In junior high they finally made hoops that were easy to raise and lower and my friends and I would spend hours every day practicing dunks on a lowered hoop and with a smaller ball. 

The NBA dunk contest has had its up and downs over the year, mostly because they always tend to screw with the format.  The 2016 contest was in my opinion the best one of all time (the first NBA dunk contest was in 1984) and probably had 3-4 of the top 5 individual dunks as well (Vince Carter in 2000 has the only single contest dunk I felt was able to match a few of these). 

Unfortunately the 2016 winner (who also won in 2015) is not competing this year and that bums me out since there is no chance at a rematch.

For those out there who didn't see any of it but have 5 minutes to spare and enjoy watching humans do amazing things, I highly recommend checking this out.  If anyone isn't familiar with the dimension s they are working in, a hoop is 10' tall, the free throw line is 15' away, and an official ball has a circumference of 29.5".  

Mic check one two. Is this thing on?

I apologize for the display of insecurity here but I'm trying to figure out the drastic drop-off in blog views over the past 3+ weeks (e.g. down from 600-1000 per day to 150-300 per day since I switched to secure browser redirects). 

If you're out there and reading this please let me know.  I'm not sure if the internet is just going through a quiet phase or if people as a whole aren't interested in what I have been writing lately.

Fiction: fs01 - Part 69

Author’s Note: This takes place several weeks after Part 68.

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

LXIX

Day 1.

I sit on the sofa in the living room. I don’t know what to do. Mistress left for Europe yesterday. Her shop is working with some new European suppliers and they are taking a multi-week tour. Theresa is with her to help with the contracts and B went along for the vacation. Lisa is there as well, continuing her role as Mistress’s assistant. Brittany is doing part-time work for the shop as a photographer so I assume she is taking pictures… but she probably just wanted to go on a trip with the others.

Usually Mistress would have found someone to house sit. Dominique was in Europe a couple of weeks ago and refused Mistress’s request, giving her own conditions. Mistress left this choice up to me. If I choose to stay with Dominique, I will obey her with her only limit being “no permanent damage.”

Mistress left me with a few hundred dollars in cash, a credit card, a bus pass, and an old blackberry phone capable of sending text messages and email. She released me from my uniform and purchased me some second-hand clothing to wear. I’m allowed to spend money as long as the amount is reasonable and she intends to seize any possessions I accumulate when she returns. While I will remain chaste for the duration, this is more freedom than I have had in years. How long has it been?

It has only been 15 hours since she left but I already miss Mistress. I take out the phone and type her a mail.

“Dear Mistress.

I love you. I hope your travels are safe and I look forward to your return.

Your pet, fs.”

I quickly hit send. She already told me that she doesn’t intend to write me back but that I am welcome to email her whenever I feel lonely.

Who was I before all of this? What have I missed the most? I go into her office and turn on the computer. Mistress’s instructions were to be me. Have fun. Make choices. Remember. I quickly look up some addresses of some shops and match them against the bus schedule Mistress left for me. Apparently video stores don’t exist anymore. Neither do record stores except a couple over in the bad part of town that is over an hour away by bus. I feel old and out of touch. Inspiration strikes.

I grab my coat and head for the door, checking carefully that I have everything. Keys. Wallet. Bus schedule. Map. Note pad. I open the door and cringe as the brisk air touches my skin. I quickly close the door and turn around, heading back to the coat closet. I dig quickly through the box that Mistress brought for me. Two coats and a couple of pairs of shoes. No boots, no gloves, no hat. Do I dare?

I don’t believe that she wanted me to just sit indoors all day and rot. I steel my resolve and head over to her side of the closet. I look for the most masculine items she owns. Least feminine is probably a better word for the search. I find a pair of black knitted gloves with fur at the cuffs, a black knitted scarf with small fur poms on the end, and a black beanie with a large fur pom pom on top. She never wears these. I don’t think she will punish me too badly if I wear them for warmth but I don’t dare remove the fur and deface them. Fuck it. I will enjoy this freedom.

I quickly dress myself in the mirror and head out the door. The bus stop is six blocks away. I pull the scarf up over my face and give it a few more wraps. The coat is old and worn, leaving gaps where the lining has worn through. I quickly become aware of all of them. My experiences with outings keep my self-consciousness to a minimum. This town is cold in the winter, it’s never really odd to see people bundled up and wearing “questionable” clothing.

I have to wait 10 minutes or so for the bus. I board it and take an empty seat near the back. It takes about 20 minutes to reach the block of my destination. I exit quickly and scan the street. Bingo. I walk swiftly, the red and white sign grows as I move closer to it. The colonel. How I have missed you.

My eyes widen as I scan the menu above the counter. Options. How long has it been since I had options? I order the three-piece meal with potatoes and corn. I savor every bite. I debate getting a large bucket to go. Maybe next time… I can come again tomorrow. I wash up after the glorious meal, my belly distends itself against the coat. I linger in the entryway out of the cold. Where to next?

I scan up and down the street and see a small bookstore. I leave the restaurant and cross the street at the next intersection. The store carries both new and used books as well as a selection of movies and music. I’m excited. Inside the store I feel like I’m on Mars. Authors and novels I’ve never heard of. Movies I haven’t seen or heard of. I’ve been cut off from the world for five years. How strange that feels. I browse the movies and find a DVD from a director that I like. It’s used and inexpensive. I locate a CD from one of my favorite bands from my youth. I haven’t heard them in years. Everything used is so cheap? Does no one buy media anymore?

My body throbs with excitement. As I pass through the shop I see a display with a cover that I have seen before. The 101 Shades of Beige novels are on display and on sale. I’m sure Mistress wouldn’t mind. 24 days is a long time. I scoop up the three books and make my way to the checkout counter. I place them neatly on the counter. The salesgirl looks to be in her early 20’s. She cracks a warm smile at me.

“These books are really good, are you just getting into them?” I appreciate her small-talk and respond.

“Yes. I’ve heard a lot about them from others.”

“That’s a cute hat. Did your boyfriend get it for you or did you pick it out yourself?”

My face burns red.

“W-what?”

“Oh crap. You’re not gay?”

“No. I’m married. Wife.”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Please don’t be mad at me. It’s just that the only men that buy this book here tend to be gay, and I looked at your hat and I figured… I’m so sorry.”

I lower my eyes.

“It’s okay. I’m not mad. I couldn’t find another hat today and it was so cold out.”

I pay for the items and leave quickly. I feel a little bit screwed up… but that’s probably closer to normal than the rest of it. I walk briskly down the sidewalk and turn into an alley to catch my breath. Processing my emotions takes me a few seconds. Why do I feel more normal feeling humiliated than free? I find myself wondering if Mistress neglected a hat and gloves on purpose. I regain my composure and head back to the bus stop. I wish it wasn’t so cold. The bus arrives soon after and we are on our way across town. It takes 30 minutes until I reach my next destination. World of Guitars. It has been a long time. I make sure to deposit my hat and scarf in the bag with my books before entering. I don’t want a repeat of the bookstore.

I walk in and within three minutes a sales rep is on me.

“Looking for anything in particular?”

“Just browsing for now.”

“Been playing a long time?”

“I haven’t played in years but looking to get back into it.”

“Why did you quit?”

“Wife didn’t want me playing.”

“Ah. Divorced then?”

“No. Just… off the leash for a month.”

I thought this would be less awkward. Fuck it.

“I can’t spend a lot. Do you have any inexpensive starter packs?”

“A few. What’s your price range?”

“As little as possible. Show me the three cheapest ones.”

His expression loses its excitement. They must be low-margin items. I soon find myself with instruments in my hands that I never would have considered playing years ago. Two of them are awful. The third is pretty decent for the money. I do the math in my head. $8 a day is reasonable right? I purchase the kit and an extra set of strings. We un-box it in the shop and get it ready for me to carry out. The guitar has a bag. The accessories fit in my other shopping bag. I have to carry the amp by itself. I really should have called a cab.

All of my items occupy the seat next to me. Thankfully it’s not very busy out. An attractive young woman boards the bus a few stops up wearing a coat with a large fur collar. I find myself “staring from my peripherals” at her. I don’t want to seem creepy but I still manage to enjoy the view. I sort of disgust myself a little. It takes 45 minutes to reach the stop near home. I hustle home, excited like a child with a new toy.

I bust through the front door and toss my coat near the closet. I pop the CD in the player and plug the amp into the wall. After getting the strap adjusted and the guitar tuned I press play and find myself happily jamming along with the songs on the album. After about 45 minutes I scan through Mistress’s CD's. I locate one of her favorites and swap it into the player. She loves this song. I decide to learn it. I take a piece of paper and a pen and begin to learn the song by ear. I will practice it every day until she returns. I will work on the vocals once I have the guitar down. I want to make her happy.

I play until my fingertips throb. Today is a good day. I pull out the phone and type up another email.

“Mistress,

I will have a surprise for you when you return. I love you, my Goddess.

Love, your pet.”

What to do now? I’ve killed half the day. I want to kick myself for not stopping somewhere to get a cheap hat and gloves. There’s always tomorrow. Mistress made sure the kitchen was stocked with groceries before she left. I decide to go and cook dinner. I decide to allow myself one bad for me meal per day. The rest will be cooked and healthy. I sear a chicken breast in garlic and black pepper along with some asparagus. As it cooks I type up another email.

“Mistress,

Thank you so very much for the bountiful, nutritious, and delicious food. I miss you already.

Love, pet.”

I slow my typing near the end as a small ache enters my heart. Cooking makes me feel lonesome. I’m usually cooking for her. I eat by myself at the kitchen table. I clean up and do the dishes out of habit. Mistress has informed me that I can relax on my daily chores as long as everything is in order upon her return.

After dinner I pop in the movie and relax on the sofa watching it. The film is good but not great. I don’t know why, but it seems like indie directors that go mainstream Hollywood seem to lose their quirkiness as they go. I grab a glass of water and prepare myself for bed. It feels good to sprawl out and relax. I take my copy of the first 101 Shades novel and begin to read.

The story isn't bad.  I can understand the popularity with women readers and how it spawned so much interest in Femdom recently.  It is told from the Domme's point of view.  As I read it I can't help but wonder if Mistress thinks this way or if it is purely a work of fiction.  Based upon my experiences, there are bits and pieces that resemble her but the character in the story doesn't quite have the same... flair for cruelty that Mistress wields so competently.  She was right about the enemas.  The male orgasms don't make me jealous so much as they highlight the differences between our lifestyles.

In the story the sub is constantly trying to get attention for his penis and the Domme uses that back and forth as a means of control.  Corporal punishment is more of the 'funishment' variety. It makes me think a little but I have trouble picturing myself similar to the sub in the story.  Beatings for fun and so much play focused around his penis.  A striking contrast to Mistress's sexual pleasure and using beatings for corrective purposes.  I try not to nitpick and just enjoy the ride.  I find myself occasionally tugging at my chastity belt, as the writing is definitely hot enough to have me attempting erections.

I get about a hundred pages in when I decide I should probably get some sleep.  I unwind with a hot shower and replay the days events in my head.  The bookstore salesgirl's facial expressions continue to haunt me.  I feel my face burn each time her voice echoes in my head.  The twisting sensation in my chest lingers.

I type up a final email to Mistress.

"Dear Mistress,

I had a very exciting and eventful day.  I wish you could have been a part of it.  I hope you are having fun.

Love, your pet."

I turn out the light and lie back upon the bed.  I look at the clock.  12:02.  I close my eyes only to toss and turn.  This agitated feeling doesn't want to leave on its own.  Another glance.  1:47.  I want to sleep so badly but I can't seem to find any peace.  A wave of shame sets over me as an impulse creeps into my heart.  I'm so fucked up.  I rise and get another drink of water before hovering in front of the dresser.  I don't know why but I feel like I'm being judged... and in a way, I am. The harshest judge of all... my self.

I pick up the hat from my uniform and pull it onto my head.  I tremble a bit as the head harness follows.  I slowly buckle it in place.  I hate myself right now and I don't know why.  The heat rushes to my face as the familiar sensation in my chest overtakes me. I pick up the phone and type.

"Dear Mistress,

I am struggling to sleep without you watching over me.  I love you so much.

-pet."

I quickly hit send and fall onto the bed.  I close my eyes and immerse myself in the shame.  This is my subspace.  My fingers tease my nipples through the comforter while the voice from today echoes again in my head.  “That’s a cute hat. Did your boyfriend get it for you or did you pick it out yourself?” My heart twists and my sex strains against the belt.  In this moment I hate myself for being alive.  It loops again and again, pressing me deeper and deeper into the shame spiral.  I envision myself buying items while in my maid's dress.  It hurts so much I feel like I could cry.  I don't remember exactly but I manage to doze off.

Day 2.

I sleep in a bit later than I am accustomed to.  I don't feel all that rested.  I quickly free myself from the hat and harness and type Mistress an email.

"Mistress,

I hope you have a wonderful day.

Love, pet."

I start the day with a hot shower and a shave before making breakfast.  Toast, some fruit, and juice.  I used to love breakfast. Now the thought of anything heavy makes my stomach turn. Amazing how we become acclimated to certain things.

I futz around on the guitar, playing the song I am learning for Mistress through a couple of times before I find myself in the bedroom finishing the second half of the novel.  The first book ends decently well.  I look forward to the next one.  What do I do now?  I lay on the bed, brainstorming ideas of what I have wanted to do but haven't been able to.  I wish Mistress was here so that I could worship her body.  When did I become so simple?

In the living room I fire up the player.  Game of Thrones season 2 it is.  I break for lunch after the first episode. A sandwich with a pickle, some yogurt, and a small bit of chips tides me over.  I wonder if I should go out and do something or if I should just stay in.  I remember the bookstore.  My face heats up and I decide to continue watching the show.  I take a break after another couple of episodes.  I like where the story is going.  Another few passes through the new song. I pick up the phone.

"Mistress,

Every time I try to think of something to do I can only think of you.  I'm doing my best to make you proud.

Love, pet."

I watch one more episode, eat dinner, and then begin reading the second novel.  This book continues where the first one left off. The Domme hasn't seemed to change much over the course of the series so far... she's still shaping him to her vision of the perfect sub.  I put the book down after a while.  I feel a little bit empty. I pick up the phone again.

"Mistress,

You give my life meaning.  Every day I spend with you makes me feel happy and fulfilled.  I miss you.

Love, pet."

I try to sleep for 30 minutes before I fetch the hat and harness.  I feel my temperature rise and my entire mind shifts to a calmer place.  This is me.  I am what Mistress wants me to be. My face frowns as the familiar line passes through my head.  I picked it out myself.  I doze off soon after.

Day 3.

I wake in the morning and grab the phone.

"Mistress,

I need you.  I love you so much.  Please have lots of fun.

-pet."

I discard the harness and hat feeling like a broken record.  I have thoughts and feelings about everything I have done and read, but the voice in my heart keeps calling out to her.  My Mistress. My Queen, my Goddess,the love of my life.  No use wondering about it.  I decide that I will get chicken again today.  This time I will remember to shop for a hat and gloves.

Today is even colder than the first day.  It's snowing outside and it's overcast.  Gloomy.  Why am I going for chicken?  I ask myself this question once and fear the answer.  The bus ride seems to take forever.  I exit and head up towards the colonel's smiling face.  I pause and look across the street at the bookstore.  I can see the counter through the window.  She's working again today.  My face blushes as I head in for chicken.  My thoughts are scattered and frantic during lunch.  I feel an ache in my chest.

Outside of the restaurant I stand in the cold, staring at the bookstore.  I shake my head, trying to clear the cobwebs and head back to the bus stop.  I make it halfway before jaywalking across the street, my legs working on their own, following the call of this inner craving.  I move briskly through the shop and find another movie to watch.  My knees shake and I have trouble breathing as I approach the register.

"Well hello, mister 'I don't have a boyfriend I have a wife,' yes, I do remember you."

I cringe at a pain that isn't physical as the blood rushes to my face.  My reply is nearly a whisper.

"Hello.  I liked the first Beige novel. Do you have any recommendations for similar books?"

"I think I can smell a fetish here.  Have you read 'Venus in Furs'?"

"Yes, I have."

"Did you like it?"  I blush harder as she asks this.  My mouth feels dry.  I nod in response.

"'Exit to Eden?'"

I nod again.

"You're going to have better luck trying online with e-books and downloadable content.  Most male perverts won't buy those books in stores so only the handful of mainstream ones ever make it to most shops."

Her words feel like a kick in the gut.  

"Thank you, ma'am." 

I pay for the DVD and head for the door.  She shouts at me from the register as I approach the door.

"Do come back again, my day feels empty without seeing you in that hat!"

I hurry down the sidewalk as fast as I can without running.  My knees are rubber.  My face is on fire.  I want to cry.  On the bus ride home I write to Mistress.

"Mistress,

I'm finding ways to fill the day but nothing is better than kneeling at your feet.  I love you.

-pet."

As I close the front door behind me I finally allow myself to cry out.  I sob gently and slide down to the floor.  Why did I go back there? Why did I ask for more?  I forgot to buy another hat and gloves.  I am a mess.

I skip dinner that night, my stomach continues to twist and turn.  I spend the evening finishing the second novel and starting the third.  The Domme in the story has finally stepped things up changing from light bondage to heavy chains and locks.  She adds a cage and starts using chastity to train him. I find this third book hitting closer to the life that I know but I’m a bit puzzled that he’s so slow to learn and adapt to her rules.

I read all the way until the end. My eyes ache. The clock says 2:04. The buzzing in my head tells me sleeping will be a chore. Another email.

“Mistress,

I miss everything about you. I miss your guiding hand. I miss your smell. I hope you are well.

Love, pet.”

My heart continues to ache. How said I really am, unable to go a few days on my own. I lie on the bed in the dark, my open but tired eyes scan the ceiling looking for nothing. The nagging sensation continues in my heart. I swallow my pride and rise. The hat and earmuffs find my head as I ache with shame. I retrieve Mistress’s robe from the closet and hold it close to me. I press my nose against it and inhale her scent. Another email.

“Dear Mistress,

You make everything feel okay. You make everything normal. You are my world.

Love, pet.”

I quickly hit send and rest my head on the pillow. Today’s events quickly replay themselves in my head. The salesgirl’s words stab into me like a dagger. My soul bleeds in a familiar way, causing my ego to silence itself. I close my eyes and press my lips against Mistress’s robe giving it a gentle kiss. It makes me feel drunk and less screwed up. Sleep finds my eyes.

END ACT

And Arc 8 comes to a close

As this arc is now completed I realize that it's kind of a mess that goes all over the place and I know it is my fault for letting it be that way.  It pulled in at over 51k words, nearly 15k words longer than Arc 1. 

A lot of the flow of Arc 8 stems from Arc 7.  Before my writing break I had originally intended this arc to just be the ski trip.  The party was going to go on for a few more chapters with a couple of flashback chapters similar to the Christmas Past bonus chapter.  The party was supposed to include two suggestions from readers, the first being an anal hook and the second being a sleigh ride pulled by fs.

Unfortunately I had a mania set in during the later part of August that led to a pretty hard depression crash late September and carried on with no end in sight.  When I returned and finished it I just didn't have the heart to write all the way through it.

Introducing Brittany into the present was originally my way of bypassing any potential conflicts with character age.  I had a reader tell me I would be arrested and he would refuse to ever read my blog again if I wrote a chapter from the 16-year old fs's point of view.  I catered to their desires and limited the flashback to 18+, and the adult character recounting earlier experiences.  I didn't originally anticipate her becoming a central figure to the story but as I wrote Barb out at the end of Arc 7, something that I had planned to do from the start, there was an opening.

With every other Arc I had a plan. 
Arc 1 was fantasy-based, putting fs through some highly dramatic situations en route to a deeper loving bond with Cassandra. 
Arc 2 was Cass's accident and fs trying to manage in her absence. 
Arc 3 was messy but covered trust and sub vulnerability. 
Arc 4 dealt with neglect. 
Arc 5 was the slave weekend.
Arc 6 was the prison experiment.
Arc 7 was the ski trip/birthday party.

I started Arc 8 because I wanted to write.  And yeah... "More backstory."  "Develop Cassandra and Brittany."  My apologies to those who felt it lacked focus and story progression. 

Every time Lady Grey mentioned she wondered where things were going between Cassandra and Brittany, I too asked myself that same question in hope of an answer :)
Thankfully, over the past few days I was able to try to delve more deeply into her character in my head and I think I found an outcome that made sense and seemed reasonable given the circumstances.

Just to give a heads up... I do have my theme/idea for Arc 9 and I plan on starting it soon.  I also plan on it being the final Arc.  Nothing is ever set in stone and it may not be, but I'm feeling dry on inspiration and unless something strikes me, I do not wish to drag things on longer than they should go.

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

Music: And now for something much prettier

In a recent post I shared some of the uglier music that I listened to in the years of my youth.

I actually listen to quite a lot of music and that genre makes up about 1% of my music collection. 

I figured I would share something a bit prettier today:

Fried

The past week or so with work stress and things on the home front and I'm feeling completely spent emotionally... and worn down.

If you are out there, I would love to hear from you. 

Comments really help to recharge my writing batteries and hopefully get on some topics that people find more interesting.

Living Vicariously: film

This is a bit of a companion post to my last post in that I had another outlet besides music with which I chose to connect with the feelings I kept hidden deep within me... and that was film.

I can't remember at what point it really took hold of me, but it had to be sometime after my parent's divorce and I had consistent access to cable TV for the first time, which would probably start this at around age 14.  For the majority of my life I have functioned on very little sleep.  It was completely normal for me from ages 11 to 30 to function on 2-4 hours of sleep a night.  What cable finally allowed... was something other than paid programming to watch in the wee hours of the night, and watch I did.

I have seen literally thousands of movies.  I also delved into genres, eras, directors, actors, and actresses that I enjoyed and actively sought them out, renting everything that I could get my hands on.  The overall outcome is that I find most movies to range somewhere between slightly above average to terrible with a handful of gems that manage to reach greater heights and would qualify as "life enriching."  A film reaches this point if I feel that my life is better having seen it than if I had not. 

With that being the measure, I tend to penalize films that take on difficult subject matter, especially when it is not something I can directly empathize with.  I often viewed these as "safe" Oscar fodder and felt that if a film takes on important subject matter, it has to be that much better to truly be good.  That being said, if a film takes on slavery, the Holocaust, genocide, severe child/spousal abuse, racism, homophobia, war, and so on... it SHOULD affect us deeply.  If it fails to touch us, it was awful.  Realistically speaking, when faced with these types of subject matter, we SHOULD be appalled, we should be angry, we should be disgusted with the depths with which humanity can sink in its darkest hour.  It can be done well... I just hold it to a higher standard than films that don't take on such lofty subject matter.  The Deer Hunter's forced Russian roulette scene to this day is one of the most upsetting scenes I have ever experienced in film... but it is also something I cannot empathize with in the slightest.

While I watched many films with serious subject matter, I tended to gravitate towards films that give give an equally strong emotional response but to more normal situations.

When I wanted to feel good, I generally would lean on Capra films.  Feeling good rarely felt real and there were a limited number of these movies in existence, but the true hallmark of a Capra film is that it ends at the absolute emotional peak... as in, you reach the spot where you cannot feel any better than you possibly do and it's over.  It's an emotional high that carries over beyond the end of the film.  I tend to gag whenever something claims to be "Capra-esque" yet manages to have a cooling down period at the end... often in the form of some godawful montage of future photos sitting atop a mantle... bringing you back to an emotionally neutral state.

On the other side of things... there are two movies that stand head and shoulders above the rest in regards to making the heart hurt.  Oddly enough, they were both written and directed by the same person: Lars von Trier.  While he's sort of crazy and after watching Anti-Christ I finally accept people's views that he's a misogynist, he has made two films that are deeply touching and have the power to stomp on your heart until you want to vomit.

#2 on this list in a distant second (but a ways ahead of #3) is the 2000 film, Dancer in the Dark.  I somehow managed to see this in the theater three times.  It's about a European immigrant and single mother living in rural Washington state in the 1960's.  She has a genetic eye condition that is making her slowly go blind.  She has a son that needs to have an operation before his next birthday or he will go blind as an adult.  She has a lot of pride and considers it her responsibility to make sure that he will avoid the same fate.  This movie hurts to watch.




#1 by a wide margin is the 1996 film, Breaking the Waves.  In a small Scottish village, the main character is a slightly unstable woman that has the ability to talk to God (the religion of the village follows more of an old-testament God... vengeful and unforgiving).  She falls in love with a man working on a nearby oil rig and they get married.  Unable to bear the long stretches apart due to his job, she asks God to return him to her early...




If you have seen this movie, you know exactly how upsetting it is to watch.  If you haven't seen it, it's difficult to describe the depth of suffering that getting through it entails.  I first saw this film the first week it was released on video and it actually made me feel more alive than anything ever had in my entire life. 

Living Vicariously: music

I spent a good chunk of my life either emotionally paralyzed or attempting to be numb.  If I let the feelings out they would rage out of control, often in a bad way. I got through many of those years, strictly monitoring them and often burying the parts that brought anxiety or fear of a bleak future.

My earliest means of coping was through music.  I refused to truly face the wall of emotions that were built up inside of me.  I settled for connecting with them 3-5 minutes at a time... when music brought me there.  I knew that when the song ended, I could return to my state of non-feeling or distract myself with something else.  During those 3-5 minutes I would allow my heart and soul to be ravaged by the storm raging within.  It was all I could do to be a being that could still feel without being overwhelmed.

To put it bluntly, I was horribly sad.  I knew there was one path to salvation.  Without that, I didn't care if I lived or died.

The music that resonated most strongly within my heart was a genre known as emo-core, which was short for "emotional hardcore."  This genre went through several iterations, originally being coined as a genre in 1986 and remained relatively under the radar until the late 1990's.  ~1995-1997 were the first forms of it that were suitable for "mass consumption."  1998 was probably the first year it stood a chance of being popular.  By the time it became a household term in the early 2000's (now known as "emo") the genre was all but dead to me.  The power and heart of the earlier works became diluted to the point where I could barely recognize them.  By the end it had become a dirty word... and its followers were basically the kids who would have listened to the Cure in the 80's.

I do find it quite amusing that the genre eventually became somewhat synonymous with guys wearing bits and pieces of women's clothing, but as with any form of music, once it becomes a Hot Topic fashion, its soul has been dead for years.  Kind of ironic that on a sissy blog I look back upon this with such disdain.

What is most odd is that the songs that became most dear to me... the ones that touched my heart the deepest were all from a specific sub-genre and were mostly released from 1996-1998.  This sub-genre basically sounded like pre-1995 emo-core and was later termed "screamo" = emo + screamed lyrics.  Screamo also managed to dilute itself into crap so the hindsight term used for the bands of this genre became known as Skramz, in order to differentiate it from what happened post-2000.

When all of this happened I was in the later parts of high school (post-driver's license) or in college.  I was in the thick of it all.

When I go back and re-read the lyrics from that era I feel almost... silly... as they are honestly heartbreaking and don't convey a lot of hope.  This was all pre-K, so love's existence hadn't truly been proven to me yet.  All I had was the relationship that only half felt real and fell painfully apart... it was all I knew.  I didn't have a lot of hope.

Before I discovered the lyrics to bands from this genre I never would have listened to them due to the harsh and abrasive vocals.  I learned to tolerate it and eventually appreciate it.  This was the voice of the heart... the sound these feelings would make when expressed openly.  I know many will never adapt themselves to this style, but I wanted to share one anyways as it was at one point a major part of my life.

As a side note, there were only about 20 full-length Skramz albums ever recorded and most of them had a print run of under 1,000 copies.  There were a slew of 7" singles and the like and many have been reissued on compilations... but back when it was happening the following was very small and very intimate.

Feel free to hate these songs.   They will always have a place in my heart.  I'm forever grateful that they no longer apply to me.

Portrait - Missing the Shore

Stall to shatter me.
Fill the best of hope with the grains of a slave.
Why can't you slow down?
Shoot through the dark with no faces.
Call me to settle down.
Roam through your pockets for something you thought was mine.
You say things again for the last time.
Say things again and again.
Call, keep me.
Something that was not mine to save.

She said I told you to throw your life away.
Now is the time you'd say anything.
For the last time I will ask what you want of me.
And he said it wasn't built upon anything.
And he said it wasn't worth it if I made you feel this way.
And he said it wasn't worth it if I made you feel like you're everything.

I don't want to help this knowing how far we've gone.
If it wasn't worth it I'm ready to feel for the last time.
Then no one could touch me.
Then no one could save me.
Love is not for me.
No one could save me from this anyway it's my everything.
For the last time I'll ask you why.



Saetia - One Dying Wish

Because it cuts so deep to see myself wishing upon melting stars
I cut the cords.
I finally give in.
Beyond visions of wretched smiles and the dread that they've befriended.
I have seen an end to you and I (when did we begin?) .
And a warped sense of being that I embrace must exist.
And we with whole hearts, yet broken words, we dream of wisdom.

But i long only for you.
You who would destroy me with words that you have never spoken.
I've drawn a picture of us twisted within yet below this world.
I absorb life from portraits.

As long as we remain abreast of one another, we never meet each other.
As long as we whisper to one another we will never fully hear each other.
As long as my eyelids are weighed down by desire and one dying wish,
I will never know when you appear.