Day and (Second) Date

"Okay, sissy," Mel says, gently teasing Mandy's pale, perky ass, "you do need to thank me and Q after the first swat, but then you can go ahead and use the pillow. I'd say, 'bite the pillow,' but, well, you know."

Mandy squirms. I can tell she's blushing without even seeing it. Knowing that I told Melinda our code phrase is enough to give her a delicious jolt of humiliation.

Melinda takes her time. She's clearly an experienced spanker. She fakes Mandy out, taps her anal plug, and even tickles her underneath her ribs. Her other hand is perfectly positioned on the small of my sissy's back to keep the bucking and writhing down to a minimum.

The first swat has real power behind it. Mandy releases a pained noise, and just barely manages to keep her voice feminine through it.

"Thank you for disciplining me, Miss Mel!" she shouts out. "Thank you for giving me swats when I'm a stupid sissy bitch, Master!"

"You're welcome," we both say together. Mel turns her head to look at me. We're both smiling. She turns back around and focuses on her work.

She can't keep up with hard swats for the next seventeen. At ten, she's flagging. By the end, she's sweating and breathing heavily. I credit the effort. Spanking is hard work, and it mostly demands upper body strength. Male owners have a natural advantage.

Mandy's crying. I'm not worried. I call out to her.

"Thank Miss Mel for using her hand, sissy."

"T-thank you for only using your h-hand, Miss Mel," Mandy blubbers out.

"Well, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to feel your sissy ass getting red underneath it," Mel says. "Next time, it's either the paddle or the flogger."

Mel lets Mandy up -- which, of course, means 'down' after but a moment. My sissy gets back on her knees, though she's careful not to press her reddened butt down onto her legs. She's still crying, but it'll pass. Her two oral sessions already did a number on her makeup, so the streaks from her tears don't make it much worse.

Mel crawls back over to me. If I didn't know better, I'd say she wanted to cuddle.

"Mandy gets treats sometimes," I tell her. "Edibles. More often than not, actually. I like the mood they put her in. Withholding them makes for a great punishment, though."

"Huh," Mel says. There's no judgment. She's just taking it in.

"I told Mandy it was up to you whether she gets one tonight," I explain. "What do you think?"

"No," she says. "If she were mine, I wouldn't."

"'No,' it is," I say. "Sissy! Comfort crate. Get yourself some water, at least, and some celery and carrots if you want them. You can wash up a little too. Your makeup is ruined."

"Y-yes, M-master," Mandy blubbers. She sniffles and swallows, which helps her speak more clearly. "T-thank you, M-master." She gets on all fours and crawls towards the kitchen again. Her sniffles trail off.

"'Comfort crate?'" Mel asks.

"As opposed to the punishment crate," I reply. "She has one of each. The comfort crate lets me have some privacy if I want or need it. She's very happy in there. She sleeps in my bed most nights because I like to wake up to her mouth, and then make her bite the pillow, first thing."

"Ah," Mel replies. I can tell she gets it. Mandy needs a stark reminder that it's my bed, not hers, even though she gets to sleep in it regularly. The comfort crate provides that reminder, even when Mandy hasn't earned any punishments.

I kiss Mel's shoulder a few more times, and gently caress her in a few safe spots. I give no indication that I'm in the mood for a second round, and neither does she. She seems to appreciate the post-fuck -- and post-spanking -- intimacy, though. Occasionally, she brushes her fingers over the top of my wandering hand.

When we hear Mandy's crate door squeak, Mel pats my hand. She doesn't look at me.

"I'm not exactly what you're looking for," she says. She seems a little wistful, but honestly, not too broken up about it.

"You're very good with Mandy," I say. I'm tacitly agreeing with her, and trying to soften the blow.

"You want a mistress for her, but a bitch for yourself," she says. Again, I don't detect much judgment.

I think about it. She might be right.

"Anal," she says. It's neither an offer nor a request. It's an illustrative example. I get the idea.

"Yeah," I say.

"Oral -- back and front," she says.

"Yeah," I agree again.

"Smooth," she says.

I sigh. "Think we can skip a bit?" I ask.

She chuckles. "Strap-on," she says. "Not just Mandy's hole. Your ass."

"Well okay," I reply, putting some energy into my voice. "Skipping to the end. Well played."

I enjoy a prostate massage. I'm not interested in being butt-fucked by anyone or anything.

Melinda smiles, and chuckles again. She's taking this really well.

"You know," she says, "modern medicine being what it is, you could have another solid ten years with her before you can't stop yourself from sniffing around for another college-aged victim. She could train up her replacement, and stay on as second sissy bitch. She'd have the chores down. Maybe you should just marry her?"

I take a beat. Melinda's a smart woman.

"Maybe I should," I concede. "I always assumed I'd let her go -- with all her website money, properly invested, of course -- but I don't know. You may be onto something."

Mel kisses me on the cheek. She gets up and heads towards the bathroom, but lingers at the threshold. She turns back to me. I see her in a new light. She's not exactly what I'm looking for, but she's a good woman. I like her. I should tell her that, at least.

"I won't be long, Q," she says. "You can go be with your sissy if you want."

"Hey," I say gently. "Thank you for tonight. You're not wrong about any of it, but I like you. I hope you find everything you're looking for too."

She takes one last, long look at my cock. She bites her lip. "If you suffer exactly the right kind of head injury in the next few years, definitely call me," she says, "because..."

I accept the compliment with a nod and a grin. Mel walks into the bathroom and closes the door.

I get up and head to the spare room. Mandy's nestled into her spacious comfort crate, crunching on some celery and carrots. The large, attached water bottle -- complete with a cock-shaped nozzle at the end of its flexible straw -- is mostly full. She left her water bowl outside, eliminating the risk of spills. She's playing on her tablet -- probably messing around on her own website. I suppose I should be jealous of how much time and attention she invests in it, but I'm not.

Beneath all the bullshit, I like that Amanda -- formerly Marcus -- has real passion, and some real skills. She's a dumb sissy slave by choice. Marcus never would have pleased anybody with his pathetic little penis, but in this modern world of ours he could have been a real man -- a gay bottom. If he'd sorted his shit out a few years back, he probably could've made it through community college, at least. He'd could gotten a real job, and maybe even had a professional career. Regular husband, adopted kids? Maybe. You never know.

I have a thought; it feels like it might be a wise one. Having a sex partner who's your personal property is pretty great, but isn't one of mankind's other grand dreams to have property that can sub in for a person -- no pun intended? Maybe sissies aren't paradox bait -- at least, no more so than any other sexual submissive. Maybe they're the closest thing we have to that elegant loop -- a Mobius strip, maybe; an infinity sign. Person, property, person, property: the best of both, ebbing and flowing in response to the master-and-lover's whims.

As soon as I flick the room's main light switch, Mandy's at attention. She puts down her tablet, stops snacking, and waits patiently in her crate.

I get up on the queen-sized bed and pat it. "Hey, Mandy," I say gently. "Come on out and cuddle with me."

Mandy pushes her crate door open. She crawls over to the bed, then onto it, and takes a familiar position by my side. I kiss her forehead and start fondling her sissy titties. She cleaned her face up, like I ordered. I can barely tell she was crying.

"Oh, that feels good, Master," she coos. "Thank you so much. I love you."

"I love you too, Mandy," I say. "You did a good job tonight. Melinda was very impressed with you. You didn't earn a single swat all through dinner and dessert."

"Is Miss Mel gone?" she asks.

I hear hints of all the emotions she thinks she's hiding. I don't call her out just yet.

"She's showering and getting dressed," I reply. "She'll be gone in less than twenty minutes, I'd guess."

Mandy nuzzles her head into my shoulder, making sure I still have access to her titties. Her hand drifts towards my cock.

"Is she going to be my new lower mistress?" she asks.

"Mistress," I correct her.

She tenses, even holding her breath. I let her silently panic for a few moments.

"...is what she would have been, if we'd worked that all out. But no, sissy-baby, she's not."

Mandy exhales, and resumes gently stroking my flaccid member.

"Okay, Master," she says. "I'm sorry if I did anything wrong, Master."

I kiss her forehead again. "No, Mandy, you were fine. She and I just didn't connect. It happens."

"You deserve someone perfect for you, Master," Mandy says. "You'll find them. I know you will."

I give Mandy's sissy titties a warning squeeze. She yelps, but she doesn't look surprised. She knows she can't get away with much bullshit.

"Melinda deserves someone perfect for her, too, sissy," I say sternly. "She's a real woman. She has a real job. Whatever she decides to do with her body, and whatever kind of relationships she's looking for, those are her prerogatives, and her business."

"Yes, Master," Mandy says.

Then she pushes just a little bit further.

"You get to do whatever you want, too, Master," she murmurs in between soft, submissive kisses to my shoulder.

"That's very true, sissy," I reply, "true enough that you haven't earned any swats yet. Do you want to be a smart sissy, and quit while you're ahead? Or are you going to be a dumb, uppity sissy instead? By all means, tell me exactly what you think of Melinda. My arms are fresh -- actually, you know what? I haven't flogged your clitty in ages."

Mandy gets very quiet. She lets me feel my power over her.

"Would you like me to worship your asshole, Master?" she asks, finally breaking the silence.

"Smart sissy," I say, "and yes, I would. After that, we'll discuss whether you need a milking, or whether you can wait for me to wreck your sissy hole with my cock."

"I'm so swollen, Master," Mandy whines. "I need to be milked so badly."

I shrug her off, roll over, and spread my legs. Mandy repositions herself on the bed. A few moments later, I feel her hot breath on my ass cheeks.

"But I can wait," she whispers, purposefully exhaling more air than she needs to. "The only thing I love more than your cock is you."

"Mmmm," I moan, enjoying the sensation, "but you love my hairy asshole, too, don't you, sissy?"

Her next words come out a little garbled, because she's already working hard to convince me that she does.

My dominance and laziness have a calm, measured debate inside my head while Mandy gives me an expert ass massage, plus that uniquely-relaxing service to my rear hole. I'm thinking of just how much of a hassle a master-and-sissy wedding would be to set up -- and just how happily humiliated Mandy would be to have one.

I imagine the day I bring home a fresh, feminine, tiny-dicked loser for her to help train -- how utterly dejected, heartbroken, and humiliated she'd be to know that she's actively working towards her own demotion. On top of that, I'd technically be cucking her, since we'd have long since been legally married.

Mandy would be in hell -- also known as 'sissy heaven.' The more important question, of course, is how good it would be for me. I'm going to have to give it some serious thought.

What a strange second date this turned out to be.