Tuesday, August 25, 2009
I've been very angry with you Panties--thinking about spanking you for
doubting me and thinking about straying. You should be happy that I
was able to spend a month of relaxation out of the country; you should
not use this as an excuse to bend my rules. Be prepared for a big
spanking next time I see you. It will be thin panties covered bottom
with no pants or skirt, and it will be with a whip. If you do not
have a whip, you should get one before my visit. I am prepared to use
a whip. Miss D
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Panties decided against the orange-white-pink-red striped socks although they would be easier to deal with for a pedicure. The socks are significant, because they are something Miss D emphasized as part of Panties’ functional, sensibly sissy “errand girl” attire. (Her idea was a whole drawerful of girls socks, pantihose and knee highs which would help remind Panties who she was even when she was dressed least appropriately.) It was hot out and Panties wore a garter belt and stockings along with her “favorite” bra and panties. Over these, Panties wore a white top, red and black and white skirt. She put foundation and just a little color on her lips and eyes, screwed on earrings and hurried out into the bright late afternoon. The nail salon was pretty empty, just three stations staffed even in the middle of the week. Panties removed her stockings in the bathroom and was led to one of the elevated chairs. A second girl would do her nails while the first worked on her feet. While her toes were being prepped (cuticles, file, moisturize, massage, jaccuzi!), she got a call from Megan, who said she had gone to the wrong nail salon and was on her way. Ten minutes later, Megan arrived and sat down on the neighboring high chair. She had recently gotten her nails done so she just kept Panties company, accompanying her to the drying station by the window. After twenty minutes, they went to the diner nearby where she had scrambled eggs and toast, and Panties had a Greek salad. Megan was fascinated by a copy of the Sissy Maid Academy, which Panties had loaned her. Panties filled her in on Miss D and the possibility that she might be looking for a co-trainer or assistant. It was still sunny out when they stepped out on the street and posed together for a photograph: One in a skirt, the other in jeans, both with pretty red nails.
Friday, August 14, 2009
“Now you get to touch yourself like a girl,” said Miss B, with a gay lilt to her words. Miss B liked how the crotch panel in the long legged girdles were sewed up with pink thread. The one-piece, full bodied girdle meant much work just to go to the bathroom. Although she can be merciful and even amused about unauthorized squirts, Miss B can be scary. Her wrath after Panties’ willful squirt in 2007 was unexpected and long lasting. This week something happened which Miss D hasn’t heard about, which Panties intends to confess, which will appear in the shadow blog. Miss D seems to disapprove of unnaturally lengthy measures and may lean toward a “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” policy, although Surf Barbie is adamant about maintaining Miss B’s rules. It’s true Panties wouldn’t have dared with Miss B, but what happened is a complicated confluence of factors.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Panties and Miss B met around 9. They were seated in the great hall hung with chandeliers and smoked mirrors. It was like dinner with the girl-next-door, quite different from Miss B’s hypnotic incantations to Panties, kneeling at her feet. She has not told any of her friends she’s leaving because she knows they will give her a hard time. She asked Panties to come visit her as soon as she arrives. We are visited by a glamorous blonde, the manager, who has never lived there, but has been often and she gives us pointers. Miss B handed over a bag for Panties which turned out to contain an apple pie. Miss B listened without the slightest territoriality, to Panties’ account of training with Miss D. She proposed traveling with Panties to Oklahoma to visit her mother someday. Panties asked her about her Big Plan, whether she really believed she could have pulled it off. (“You will work another few years and your salary will be deposited directly into your account. You won’t even know the pin number. You will buy me a house...”) She flashed Panties a quick smile which sort of read “How could you think otherwise?,” and stated lightly how Panties would have followed her all the way, without a doubt. Which gives you some sense of what kind of girl she is, because even though she is sometimes down to her last few dollars (which she would spend to put an inebriated friend in a cab), she is indifferent to a vulnerability she could convert to a house with a back yard. She rubbed her hands together hard, that way she sometimes does, as if to restore circulation to her body and took a picture of the happy birthday written in chocolate script. Panties agreed to drop in and keep her cats company on Monday. The pie turned out to be really good, the crust almost like a dense cake, a separate dessert in itself.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Panties will spend hours in line at the post office as part of her secretarial duties. Today she was an extra diligent sissy. Every stitch of clothing was female. She wore white women’s slacks and a black Hanes Her Way shirt and pink striped socks and white women’s tennis shoes. Under it all she wore her sanitary belt, napkin, panties and a white training bra. She was happy that Miss D will have two packages waiting for her, one wrapped in orange paper, when she returns.
Monday, August 3, 2009
7/23/05: Miss D was upstairs at a girl bar helping a friend hand out promo cards. Downstairs was more bluecollar: beer, pool table, strippers, while the girls upstairs were more lipstick and Mimosa types. Everyone was wondering who the new girl was. Miss D always serves notice in a crowd with her slim, dark, presence. Seeing her for the first time is a little like seeing a Renoir, a bit of a blush, as opposed something by Rembrandt. You might get some idea of her if you imagine, like, Wynona Ryder, but Miss D has better eyes and a cuter chin. Her face is defined and symmetrical and you almost pray for some physical defect to step her down to a level where you can catch your breath. But her ankles are slim and her hair has that body and shine most women would go into debt to get. Then when she speaks and you hear her precise, clear enunciations, you realize that you must be at your best because it’s easy to be the boring one in a conversation with her and she might blow you off the way pretty girls sometimes do because they feel they have no reason to be kind. Except Miss D’s not like that. If there was in the house some shlubby guy in trousers and baseball cap, she would have been as friendly as if he had been one of the cute, well-spoken guys she sometimes hangs out with. (And not only because he would have on, probably, men’s underwear because she can’t help not being attracted to a man in panties.) None of the girls there that night were going to hold hands with her or get close enough to smell her shampoo. All around her the clothing was light and often tight, the buttons on the left, the waistband of the trousers in women’s sizes. Under all the clothing, including Miss D’s: a roomful of bras and panties. She was having fun, but this was not a night she would dream about. Miss D would later say more than once: “I met you where there were only women and that’s how I see you.”