Submissive Sissymaid’s Discipline
See more F/m sissy drawings by HunnyB.
I awake with a start. As I regain consciousness I become aware of my surroundings. I am in Mistress Megan’s bedroom, the evening sky darkening the room as the light fades. I am seated in a straight back chair, tightly bound to it with clothes line wrapped below my bust and around my waist. My hands are locked behind me in steel cuffs. My legs are tied together at the ankle and below the knee with lengths of nylon cut from Megan’s discarded stockings. More rope binds my shins to the bracing between the chair legs.
My legs feel sleek in my own nylon stockings, my torso hugged by the comfortable Lycra grip of a long-line bra. The bra cups are filled out by breast forms that stretched the material tight and pressed against my nipples, tender and sore from Megan’s clamps. My cheeks are sore also, throbbing dully under the girdle I wore beneath my lacy white slip.
I lick my lips and tasted the gloss upon them. I recall that I had applied lipstick and gloss as part of the makeup ritual Megan has taught me. My nostrils detect the light smoky scent of perfume, the one that Megan had purchased for me at Macy’s.
I glance up and see my blue and white waitress uniform on its hanger, the apron draped across the shoulder. I had worn this dress several hours today, from the time I came home from my job at the bank until about an hour or so ago when I was bound to the chair. I had worn my lingerie and nylon stockings all day at work. My suit pants covered my girdle and hose, its jacket concealing the bra which would be so visible through a white shirt. I wore socks over my stockings, but sometimes, if I wore dark stockings, I left the socks off and hoped the other girls at the bank didn’t notice my leg wear, visible between the hem of the pant leg and the top of the shoe was a little bit too shear for men’s socks!
Megan has me wear the waitress dress and apron as I perform my daily chores about the house, vacuuming the floors, scrubbing the tile and porcelain, washing windows, doing her laundry, ironing her blouses and skirts along with a hundred other chores to serve Her. Although some chores such as the dishes, laundry and cooking are done daily, each day of the week my chores are focused on a particular part of the house. Mondays were the bedrooms and hall; Tuesdays were the bathroom and laundry room. As today was Wednesday, I was assigned to clean the kitchen. Once I had washed all the dishes and counter surfaces, Megan had me on my knees, scrubbing the marble tiled floor until it shone.
To ensure a submissive disposition as I worked, Megan locks steel shackles with a short length of chain on my ankles and wrists. Although this shortens my stride and can make carrying things awkward, I never forget my place as I work. Megan also carry’s a riding crop with her to encourage my efforts should my energy slacken. When my chores for the day are complete, Megan has me bind myself to the chair in her bedroom. She used to tie the ropes and nylons around me herself, but later found it more convenient for me to tie myself up. Over the last year, I have become quiet skillful in self bondage. Once I have bound myself, She tests the tightness of the ropes, and woe unto me if there is slack in them! When she is satisfied with the rope-work, She will snap the cuffs on me and then leaves the room. She typically leaves me here for a couple of hours, ‘parked’ as She calls it, as She runs errands, talks to Her girlfriends on the phone, reads her mail or watches TV. She likes her time alone, with me safely tied up out of the way and not underfoot.
Sometimes she will leave the TV on for me to pass the time watching soap operas or a “chic flick” like Steel Magnolias. Megan calls this feminine education. She wants me to watch the girls in the film for insights into the correct mannerisms and comportment for a woman. She may also put on a Mozart CD for me to ‘enjoy’ while I wait her, but more on that later. When Megan’s mood is foul, Megan may tie a blind fold on me and/or duct tape my mouth shut.
The chair faces a full length mirror. As I pass my time in confinement, I have the opportunity to see myself in my current predicament. In my lingerie, makeup and styled hair, I see a young girl, bound and helpless. I must admit, the image I see does turn me on! Despite the helplessness of my current predicament and a feeling a bid of dread as I wait for the ordeal to come, I feel certain contentment as I awaited my Mistress. I feel a stirring between my legs that reminds me that I actually enjoy my position of servititude.
After a while though, my bondage becomes uncomfortable as the rope dig into my chest and waist. My arms become stiff from being pinned behind me and the tight heels on my feet pinch my feet as well. Yet I was in no real hurry for Megan to return. My pinched nipples and sore cheeks reminded me of the treatment I will experience upon Her return. Megan makes careful notes while I work, thoroughly noting the time it takes to complete each task and the degree of cleanliness of each surface and item to which I had attended. For every task that had taken longer than it’s budgeted time and for every chore not completed to Her level of satisfaction, I would have to answer for, submitting to Her whip, crop or paddle.
Glancing about the room, I see the various stations where I will be bound for the upcoming discipline session. Megan will vary the whipping ritual, as She likes to keep Her discipline sessions from becoming routine. Most often She will place my wrists in leather cuffs locked to chains hung from the gables of the dormer in her bedroom. Stripped down to my bra and panties, my back and buns are exposed to he crop, whip or cane. To keep me from moving around to much while being whipped, she’ll tie my legs together at the knee and ankle, linking the ankle bond to a hook in the floor.
Megan’s next favorite torture position is the footstool. On these occasions, she will have me kneel over her footstool, stripped again to the panties and bra with legs bound, and hands cuffed behind the back. She will place a leather collar around my neck and clip it to a hook on the stool to keep me in place while being lashed. When Megan is in a hurry, either pressed for time, or just too eager to administer pain, she’ll simply strip me and cuff my hands to the clothes bar in the closet. Sometimes she’ll also lock me in the closet for ‘parking’, and I can spend my time alone with her pretty dresses, and the scent of Her that they carry.
Today, Megan has ordained a heavy sentence of twenty lashes; three for taking an extra twelve minutes to complete scrubbing the kitchen floor, four for missing dust in the corner of a cabinet, three for neglecting to bow and curtsy as She passed, and most serious, ten for having a runner in my stockings, a serious misstep. Megan was so angry when she saw the tear! She scolded me for being so careless with my appearance and my clothing, which was, after all, a gift from her. She was also furious that I took over ten minutes to change into a new pair. I was tempted to reply that some of the ten minutes was taken up in undoing my ankle shackles to remove the pantyhose, but I have learned it is not wise to talk back to Her when I am being corrected! As it was, She assessed ten stokes with the riding crop summarily and another ten added to evening’s discipline session yet to come.
No matter how many strokes are assigned in the sentence however, Megan invariably adds many more. She takes great pleasure in administering discipline. The act of striking a man with a whip or cane causes an arousal in Her, and as Her slave, it is my role to cheerfully absorb this punishment for her pleasure.
I hear the clack of stiletto heels on the floor! My heart races as they near the bedroom. The door opens. There she stands before me in all her terrible beauty. “Hello, Cissy.” She greets me with a pat on the head, “Are you happy to see me Cissy?” She asks playfully.
“Yes, Mistress Megan.” I answer. “I am very happy to see you.”
“Well,” She’ll laugh as she fingers the whips and paddles on the rack on the wall, “We’ll see how happy you are in a few minutes!”
Megan has a ritual for which She uses to prepare herself to administer a whipping. First, she kicks off her shoes and shed her clothes, leaving them in the hamper for me to wash tomorrow. Then she dresses for the occasion.
Sometimes, Megan will have girlfriends over for a party, and the festivities may include a long drawn out discipline session with me or another slave as the sacrificial victim. Then, Megan and her friends may dress in leather miniskirts, bustiers, boots and other traditional dominatrice attire. However, for routine daily domestic discipline such as this evening, Megan prefers Victoria’s Secret type bedroom wear. She’ll put on some comfortable lingerie, like a teddy or silk night gown. Whatever She wears, she’ll top it off with a matching gauzy jacket, tied it at her waist. She has a few pairs of high heels she uses for these sessions, usually open back mules with a fuzzy tuft of cotton.
Seeing her so attired, I admire her beauty. The elegant features of her face, her flawless skin, golden hair, generous bosom, sleek waist and long legs make her the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. No man, I realize, could resist her demands, even if it means placing himself at her cruel mercies.
Megan completes her preparation with a spray of perfume, the special tangy one she uses only for these sessions. As the scent of it fills my nostrils, I am only too well reminded of the injury and pain I will shortly feel and am filled with a combination of horror and excitement as I realize once again what this charming, beautiful and evil woman has in store for me!
Megan un-cuffs me and has me untie the ropes fixing me to the chair. She has me shed my slip and bra, leaving me back exposed to feel her whip. She also instructs me to untie the nylons on my legs and to lose the pantyhose and girdle. Thus, my cheeks will also be a target for her paddle or cane.
Suspension is to be the order of the evening. Megan has me stand me upon a small wooden step and reach my arms up. She’ll places my wrists into leather cuffs and fix them to the chains hanging from the bolts in the ceiling. The step is then removed, and I hang by the wrists, able only to support myself by standing on my toes, but tonight Megan feels generous and she allows me to wear my heels.
She then binds my legs above the knee and at the ankle with Her nylons, and the ankle bond is tied to a hook in the floor. Megan doesn’t like to strike her whip at a ‘moving target’, and by fixing me legs in place She prevents me from moving around too much while I receive her beating. She finishes preparing me by fastening nipple clamps on me so I have something to think about while I await her. Sometimes if she’s angry (or not) she’ll put the blind fold and gag on me as well.
Megan then lights about a dozen candles around the room to set up a soft light. She places a CD in the player for background music. Her favorite is Mozart. I have received hundreds of lashes over the last two years all the while listening to the light and joyful tones of that wonderful composer!
With her slave ready to be beat and the mood set in the room, Megan sits for a moment to reflect before beginning the whipping. She is quite regal, seated in a large whicker chair, in her elegant gown, contentedly sipping her red wine. Then it begins:
“Tell me Cissy,” She asks. “Do you know why you are here?”
“I am here to please you and to serve you, Mistress Megan.” I meekly respond.
“And are you pleasing and serving me?” She’ll continue.
“Yes Mistress.” I answer. I am serving you to the best of my ability.”
“We’ll then.” She said, “We had better improve your abilities, because you are falling quite short in pleasing me!” She rises from her chair and approaches me. The terror in me rises with every step she takes.
She takes a leather glove from the rack and pulls it over her hand. She massages my buns for a few moments. The massage feels great and dulls the ache a little from last nights beating. Then she quickly changes tempo and deliver stinging slaps to each cheek. She then moves up my back to rub my shoulders and upper back for a few moments, tenderizing that area as well for the strikes they are to receive. Playfully, She fondles me though my panties until I am erect, which usually doesn’t take much work. For all her cruelty, Megan does want me to enjoy her whipping!
Tonight Megan will use two instruments, the paddle on me cheeks for the minor infractions and the whip across my back for the more serious matter of the runner in my pantyhose. She first takes the paddle, and standing behind me, swings it upward to the bottom of my buns. I am to count off each stroke, thanking her and asking for the next:
“Number One!” I count out, “Thank you Mistress Megan, May I have another?”
“Number Two! Thank you Mistress Megan, May I have another?”
The leather paddle stings my flesh at each blow. As the count gets higher, the pain becomes greater, and it is harder for me not to scream or moan in pain. But I have learned the hard way not to cry out while being whipped. Should I do so, Mistress Megan will simply gag me and double or triple the number of remaining lashes. She says she actually gets turned on listening to slaves moan through a gag while she whips them.
I hold up and receive only the prescribed number of ten blows from the paddle. Mistress Megan stops and rests for a moment. She is pleased with how well I held up during the beating and compliments me; “Good Girl, Cissy. You did well.” She rubs my panties to restore my erection and then sits for a moment to refill and sip her wine, resting before administering the final ordeal.
For my part, I stand in my heels, with my arms raised and chained to the ceiling, my nipples clamped in excruciating pain, my cheeks stinging and sore and hoping my strength will hold out for what is to come.
“I am very disappointed in you Cissy.” She says: “You know that nylon stockings require delicate handling when you put them on and while you are wearing them. You know it makes you look slutty to appear in them with runs!”
We have had this discussion many times before and I know that runs in my stockings are a major infraction to her. “You are supposed to be living as a woman now. You’re no longer just a little boy trying on his neighbors clothes!”
With that, She goes to the rack to select a heavier instrument of torture. She has a braided whip she occasionally uses when She is very displeased (like now). But as it cuts the flesh and leaves welts and scars, she will only use it on special occasions, like when she’s showing off for her friends. Tonight, Megan selects the leather strap. Although nearly as painful as the whip, the strap doesn’t cut the flesh. Thus, Mistress Megan has the feeling of power she gets from wielding a whip but without worrying too much about damaging me, her property.
Mistress Megan will strike the first blows lightly as she gets a feel for the distance and range of strap to the target. Then, when she has the feel of it, she will swing the strap with all her might, venting her anger over the torn stockings.
For my part, I’ll be counting off each stroke and vainly trying to hold off screaming my pain at the impact of each lash. From past experience, I doubt I’ll be able to hold up to ten lashes after standing on my toes for nearly an hour with my nipples clamped and taking ten or more swats of the paddle. If I’m lucky, I’ll stand up to the first five or six lashes before I scream and then receive the final eight or ten gagged as not to discomfort my Mistress with my screams.
Now the second part of the session begins!. I hang in the chains, legs secured together and nipples clamped. Mistress Megan comes up behind me with the strap. I’ll watch her every move through the full length mirror before me. I’ll see her raise her arm and bring the strap down upon me.
Swish! I hear the strap as it sails through the air and watch in the mirror as she strikes the blow.
Crack! I hear as it lands on my defenseless flesh and feel the sharp pain and sting of the leather on my flesh.
“One!” I count, “Thank You Mistress Megan. May I have the next?”
“Two! Thank You Mistress Megan. May I have the next?”
“Three! Thank You Mistress Megan. May I have the next?”
“Four! Thank You Mistress Megan. May I have the next?” Each stoke of the strap is harder than the last and my pain grows more and more.
“Five! Thank You Mistress Megan. May I have the next?” I start to weaken, but will use every ounce of strength not to scream out.
“Six! Thank You Mistress Megan. May I have the next?” By now, the pain is excruciating. I don’t know if I can take any more.
“Aahh, aagh!” I scream as the terrible strap bites my flesh one too many times for me to bear. “I mean Seven! Thank You Mistress Megan. May I have the next?” I plead, hoping she will take mercy on me.
“Did you just scream?” She asks indignantly.
“Yes, Mistress Megan,” I answer sheepishly.
“You will learn to take your punishment, you sissy!” She says sternly. With that she places a leather bit in my mouth and tie it around the back of my neck. Then she completes the sentence.
“Eight!” She continues the count as I moan into my gag.
“Ten!” The lashes come faster and harder as Megan becomes more aroused.
Just one more to go! I can almost feel the end of the ordeal.
‘Is it over?’ I wonder.
“Fourteen!” and then;
“Sixteen!” Mistress is now too aroused to stop herself. She keeps swing the strap, harder and faster. All I can do is to cry out softly through the gag. There is no stopping her now!
“Seventeen.” My strength breaks. My knees give out as I hang limply in the chains.
“Damn it,” She yells, “Don’t you move while I’m whipping you!”
I buck up and stand, knees locked.
“Nineteen!” The last two are softer. Mistress must be tiring. There is hope for me at last!
“Twenty!” This was the hardest yet! It must be her grand finale!
Crack! “Twenty-One!” This one was light. My Mistress’s energy is spent. Perhaps now she’ll have pity on me and release me from my chains.
Mistress Megan replaces the strap and paddle on the rack and retreats to her wicker throne. I know now the whipping is over. She softly catches her breath and sips her wine while I still dangle in my chains. I catch my breath, my nostril flaring as I am still gagged. I promise myself that I will never appear again before my Mistress in torn pantyhose. The consequences are just too painful!
Megan stands and approaches the rack. She picks up the rattan cane and I realize to my horror that there is more to come! She removes the leather bit that I may speak.
“Do you love me Cissy?” She asks.
“Yes, Mistress Megan,” I answer. When a woman has me naked and chained and is ready to beat me, I have learned to do or say anything that might keep me on her good side! “I love you with all my heart.” I added for affect.
“Do you live to serve me?” She asks.
“Yes, Mistress, I will serve you always in any way you desire.”
Megan flicks the cane, “It pleases me to beat you, Cissy.” She says. I am only too aware of this, but I say nothing. “Will you cheerfully submit to be beaten? May I strike you with the cane?”
“Yes, Mistress,” I answer, “Please strike me with the cane.” Again, I am in no real position to negotiate here.
“Thank You, Cissy.” She replies. “How many strokes would you like?”
Now here’s a trick question. None would be my first choice, two or three I might be able to handle, four or more would be too much as I am still debilitated from the first two beatings I have received this evening. However, if I only ask for a one or two, Megan will be disappointed and may become angry. I sure don’t want Mistress Megan to become disappointed or angry right now.
“Please strike me three times with the cane, Mistress Megan.” I request. I don’t know if I can handle more than three cuts, so I decide not to gamble.
“Three?” She asks coyly, “Is that all, Cissy?”
“Oh, Mistress Megan…” I stammer, “Please strike me four times.” Three or four, what’s the difference, I wonder.
“Very Well, slave. Four lashes it will be.” Megan happily agrees.
I grit my teeth as I watch in the mirror as she approaches with the cane.
“Ooow!” I scream. The sudden shot of pain as the rattan bites into the soft flesh of the underside of my butt completely takes my breath away and buckles my knees.
“One!” Megan says proudly.
“Ooow!” I scream again, tears running down my face.
“Two!” Mistress Megan calls out. “If you’re going to scream dear, don’t be so loud or you’ll wake the neighbors!” she says playfully. I don’t even bother to try to stand straight, but just dangle in my chains sobbing.
“Oooh..” I moan weakly.
“Four!” Mistress says proudly.
“Please, Mistress,” I sob softly, “No more, please!”
“No more, Cissy.” Megan says. She un-cuffs my wrists and I settle on the floor. “At least, no more for tonight!”
I sit on the floor and untie my legs. My shoulders and butt are throbbing in pain from the sting of the thirty five blows they have received from Megan’s crop, paddle, strap and cane. I am a wreck, sobbing in pain, sweat and humiliation.
Megan takes a tube of ointment and rubs some into the welts on my shoulder. She gently massages the gel onto my beaten flesh and the pain slowly ebbs. “You’re a good girl, Cissy.” She coos, “You have served your Mistress well tonight. I am proud of you.”
Her assurance that my sacrifice has been appreciated helps to ease my pain. After about ten minutes my sobs and tears have stopped, and the sharp pain has ebbed into dull aches. I feel a little normal again after two hours of bondage and beatings.
“Go take a shower and clean yourself up.” Megan instructs, “And fix your makeup.”
I nod and head to the bathroom. I take a quick shower, wash my face and hair and quickly towel off. Mistress wants me back in her bedroom quickly, so I only reapply my lipstick. There is no time for foundation, blush, eye shadow or blush. Besides, Megan is really only interested in my lips at this point.
I return to the bedroom wearing only panties, a slip and lipstick. The welts on my back and thighs rule out a bra or pantyhose. Mistress has me sit on the edge of the bed and retie the nylons around my knees and ankles. She then binds my hands behind my back, but with soft nylons now and not cold steel cuffs.
With me safely and comfortably secured, she rubs the front of my panties until I am once again erect. She places her hand inside my panties and rubs my erection until it is as hard as it can get. She then rolls a condom over it and pulls the panty back over it. The condom is the resoivior style and will catch my fluid and not leave any stains behind on Mistress Megan’s bed.
Lastly, she ties a silk scarf over my eyes. Mistress Megan will soon be unsnapping the bottom of her teddy, and that is a sight she does not permit her slaves to see.
“Come to me!” Megan orders.
I roll onto the bed and wriggle around until I am between her legs, my lips next to her Womanhood. Megan pushes my head down between her legs and I go to work. My tongue licks follows the lines of her slit until I find her clitoris. Then I really go to work and soon it is Megan’s turn to moan! I work my tongue on her until she climaxes with a shriek.
Now I can work on my own needs. I continue to flick my tongue in and out of my Mistresses moist slit while gently lifting and lowering my hips against the mattress. I sense the softness of the slip and panties against my tender skin, the ache of the beaten muscles in my back and butt, and the helplessness of the nylon bindings on my legs and wrists. All these sensations stimulate me and I continue to service my Mistress. Despite all the sensations I have experienced this evening and how stimulated they made me, it is the taste of my Mistresses’ pussy and it scent that sends me over the edge. I control my release until Megan is ready to come again and we climax together.
“Oh, Cissy!”, Mistress says as she rolls me away from her. We lay there quietly for a moment and then I hear her snap her teddy. “That was perfect! Good Girl.” She gives me a pat on the head and unties my hands. I remove the blindfold and nylons from my legs.
As I stand to leave, Megan gives me a quick peck on the cheek. “That will be all for this evening.” She says, “You are dismissed.”
“Good Night, Mistress.” I say with a slight curtsy of my slip. I gather up my clothes and tip-toe to the door. I softly close the door behind me as leave my Mistress. I am tired, sore, happy and fulfilled. I can’t wait for tomorrow!