Sissy's Miserable Ballet Lesson

"All nice and dry, sweetheart? No stinkies or tinkles?"

I whimpered and squirmed in my diaper, making Mommy smile. The nasty red and purple bruises on my thighs served as fresh reminders of the consequences of me saying I wasn't willing to wear a diaper to my first ballet class. A painful hour spent locked in my sissy stocks while mommy corrected my behaviour with all her favourite hitty toys had left me in agony and, more importantly, totally compliant with her sissy wishes for her little diaper fairy. I squirmed at the sting of even just the pink tights being wormed up my legs. I whimpered as they 'covered the diaper' but the juvenile fairies design could still be clearly seen, along with the 'I failed Potty Training!' boast. I soon discovered they could be seen through my bright pink leotard too, and the ninety-degree tutu stuck straight out, making it impossible to hide that this little ballerina was a bedwetter in permanent perma-virgin padded underwear.

Mommy tied my hair up in a bun then put on a headband with bright pink mouse ears. I blushed as I realised what she was about to do, but had no choice but to whimper and hold still as she made my face up like a little pink mouse. She painted my nose bright pink and gave me little white whiskers, giggling as she took in my pansy appearance. Layer after layer of sparkly pink blush made my shy anxious blushing a permanent feature of my little sissy mouse appearance for the day. A little pink rosette with 'I'm Mommy's Little Dancer!' was attached to my lapel, and a frilly backpack with its own tutu and 'Mommy's Prancing Fairy' on it was handed to me. The ballet slippers were slid on, their ribbons tied expertly up my shaking legs. Mommy finished with bright red lipstick then dragged me by the ear to the mirror to soak in my ballerina sissy appearance. I whimpered anew, a thirty-year old dressed like a little ballerina mouse who couldn't even manage one lesson without staying dry. I squeaked as I felt my bladder betray me and make the first wet of the day. Mommy tutted and smiled and refused to change me before we headed out the door.

It was a short drive to the ballet studio but Mommy had decided we'd make it a long walk instead. I was to respectfully curtsey and enthusiastically wave with both hands to anyone who acknowledged the little sissy ballerina mouse. Mommy couldn't stop giggling as I repeatedly embarrassed myself for the countless strangers who cooed over me. She'd pinch me painfully whenever I tried to resist posing for a photo or didn't immediately answer a question from a pretty girl asking why I still needed diapers.

After hours of this torture we arrived at the studio. Mommy slid off my ruined shoes and put on a new pair. She explained that tonight I would be scrubbing the pair I'd been made to walk to the studio in and if they didn't look brand new by morning, then I'd be spending my sissy sunday in my stocks facing the wall. I shuddered, knowing that I'd likely be up until dawn scrubbing with my little toothbrush.

Miss Heseltine was in her mid-fifties and in incredible shape from a lifetime spent dancing. She greeted my mommy with a smile and a warm hug, neither of which were offered to me. She sneered and looked me up and down as I shakily curtsied.

"Not nearly good enough! I can see we'll be adding a few hours of nightly curtsey practise to this little sissy's schedule."

"Don't worry sweetheart," said Mommy. "You can just do all your chores afterwards. I'll decide your punishment for breaking curfew later."

I stomped my little slippered foot impotently. That was so unfair!

I squealed as Miss Heseltine's cane struck my already bruised thigh. I whimpered as she demanded I touch my toes and gave me a dozen more. My lesson hadn't even begun and I was already in sissy agony. Miss Heseltine left me there, touching my toes and wobbling, while she discussed the lesson schedule with my mommy. They both agreed that three long lessons a week would be a good start, and two days of scrubbing the studio from top to bottom would be a lovely way to show my appreciation, along with the thousands of pounds I'd be paying for each lesson. I blushed furiously, knowing I was being ripped off and had to do menial chores on top of it, but of course I didn't make a peep of protest.

Eventually I was allowed to stop touching my toes, just in time to see mommy leaving, waving at me with my credit cards that she was going to have fun draining while I pranced around like a little sissy weakling under the thumb of this scary new teacher.

"Why did you wear a diaper to my class, sissy?" she demanded.

"M-my mommy insisted I wear one, Miss Heseltine. Squeak squeak."

I squealed as this earned me another sharp blow to both my thighs. "Wrong answer!"

"B-because I'm a bedwetter who can't stay dry, Miss Heseltine! Squeak squeak!"

"Disgusting," she sneered, though she didn't hit me. Clearly this pathetic confession was the answer she'd been looking for. "By wearing a diaper in my studio you are showing contempt for the art of dance. What do you have to say for yourself, sissy?"

"I'm s-sorry, Miss Heseltine!"

"Hmph. You will be, wimp. You can write out a thousand times 'I'm a diaper-wetting pervert with a pansy bladder that doesn't respect the fine art of ballet. I'd like to sincerely apologise to the medium of dance for being a nappy-needing loser who is disgracing this dancehall with her ridiculous pissy underwear. Oh please please please forgive this little sissy mouse. Squeak squeak squeak!" You have five days to finish those. Understood, sissy?"

My face fell at the prospect of staying up far past beddy-byes writing out these stupid lines. This did not go unnoticed. I endured another dozen of the cane before tearfully thanking Miss Heseltine for my generous and lovely lines and agreeing to it being doubled to 2000.

"Crying already," said Miss Heseltine, shaking her head. "Not good enough, is it sissy?"

"No, Miss Heseltine," I said with another wobbly curtsey. "Squeak squeak."

"We'll start there," said Miss Heseltine, sitting in a chair while I was left to stand on my bruised exhausted legs. "You shall curtsey for me. If you make a mistake, you'll get a tap from Mr Cane and I will tell you what you did wrong. Then you will try again. Understood, sissy?"

Surely it would have been a far faster process to show me a good curtsey first? But even a stupid sissy like myself wasn't dumb enough to voice that point, so instead I said "Yes Miss Heseltine, squeak squeak" and curtsied. I squealed as she stuck me hard across the shin.

"Never break eye contact during a curtsey! Again!"

I dipped another curtsey, making sure to keep eye contact even though her glare was cold and terrifying. I screamed as she managed to whip my inner thigh perfectly atop one of my other marks for extra pain.

"You didn't dip your knees nearly low enough, idiot sissy mouse! Again!"

On and on it went for a miserable, confusing hour of curtsey attempts. Some of the 'mistakes' I was making seemed absurdly unfair ("your curtsey got the sunlight directly in my eyes, sissy!) and the pain was so excruciating that my tears were soon in full flow. Unfortunately that meant my feedback became "no crying during a curtsey!" over and over again, making it impossible to learn. After another hour she finally stopped, shaking her head.

"I can see you're even more useless and stupid than you look, a feat I would have judged impossible," she declared. "I'll tell your mommy it's going to have to be five lessons a week."

I sniffled and smiled and said "thank you Miss Heseltine squeak squeak" with another curtsey. I flinched, waiting for another smack from the cane. I gasped when it didn't hit me, then quickly tried to remember how I'd performed that last curtsey that had finally met her sky high standards. Miss Heseltine just laughed at me as I futilely tried to recall this vital info, which she naturally had no plans on providing.

I squealed at a knock at the door.

"Come in!" said Mistress Heseltine gleefully.

Two ballerinas, a man and a woman, pranced inside. They were also dressed for ballet, except their outfits were dignified and made them look beautiful. She had cute little fox ears in her hair, and he had wolf ones in his, and neither of them had juvenile mouse makeup on faces covered in sissy sweat from curtseying for hours. They burst out laughing at my outfit and appearance. The woman seemed especially giggly at my increasingly-full diaper. I just whimpered and curtsied.

"Sissy, these are two of my best students, Fox and Wolf. I thought they would be perfect candidates for training a pathetic little sissy mouse."

They both stared at me, hungry expressions on their faces. I whimpered and felt myself wetting my diaper yet again.

"On your knees, sissy!"

I quickly did as I was told, trying not to cry out from the pain of my marked thighs. Wolf and Fox pranced around me. They started crawling on all fours and sniffing at me, two predators toying with their prey. If you'd told me they were about to bite me and rip me limb from limb I would have believed you, I was so frightened and such a dumb little mouse in that moment. Instead, Wolf grinned at me and raised his leg. Just as I realised what was about to happen his large cock emerged from his tights and he pissed all over my face. I gasped and spluttered as the stinky disgusting fluid sprayed all over me. I whimpered as I felt Fox making sure I got a good sissy soaking from the back too. By the time they were done marking me as their territory I was completely soaked from head to toe in pansy pee.

"Curtsey!" demanded Miss Heseltine.

I swiftly stood up to curtsey and immediately slipped, falling back on my padded bottom. Wolf and Fox laughed as Miss Heseltine grabbed me by the ear, lifting me up and striking me with the cane, a thousand times stingier now I was wet.

Another hour of curtsey practice was even more excruciating now I had to do it soaked in stinky piss and constantly slipping in my little puddle of shame. It wasn't made any easier by Fox and Wolf laughing at me, filming my pathetic little performance, and occasionally barking at me to make me jump and throw an otherwise decent curtsey off-balance, earning me another strike from the cane. Eventually Miss Heseltine announced it was time for my drink break and let me get on my knees and lick up the pissy puddle, while Fox and Wolf happily provided more. Then it was straight back to another hour of this torture. Where was my mommy? How long could this go on for? I would soon find out that the answers to those questions would lead to a lot more sissy ballerina misery for this little mouse. Squeak squeak!