The First Day

Hell~ooo

Testing..? …Testing..?

Um, this is Kitty, (Mistress Jean affectionately named me when we first met). It doesn’t matter who I was, that’s completely irrelevant. What matters is that I was reborn when I first laid eyes… and hands… and mouth, and tongue, and OH!oHh! On Mistress Ohhhhhhh..!

JEaaa~aaAN…. Mmmmmmm.

~Pant~Pant~

~Pant~ Shoot, Mistress Jean’s really gunna punish me this time!

Shoot! Shoot! SHOOT! …..be right back.

~huf~huf~huf~

I’m back! Sorry about that.

If I think about Mistress Jean for too long… I tend to get… Excited. And well….. I soil my panties, and that ruins my skirt, and I have to redress, and Mistress Jean has to punish me….

So ~PLEASE~ don’t say anything, Kay?

Well, long story short, Master left the Mansion about two weeks ago with instructions that our first two guests would be arriving this morning. Neither me, Mistress Jean, or that twit of a maid have any idea where Master went, or when he’ll be back, so we just continue to prepare for our eventual guests.

Anyways, as Mistress Jean… Mmmmm, err, (Focus Kitty)! Umm, Mistress Jean told me Master wanted the Head Mistress to record the events of today, because he needed the material for a memoir, or something like that? Mistress didn’t feel like doing it either, so as would be expected, Mistress passed the task down to her loyal, obedient, dedicated, submissive, enraptured, smitten, future lover…. Heh~heh, to me!

Mistress said I didn’t need a camera, or a tablet, or paper, or anything really. I just concentrate and remember the events and the information will somehow be documented. Kinda cool, I guess?

So, here’s my best recollection of the day’s events; when we received our first two students.

Earlier Today

RaPP - rAPp - RAPP!

“Mistress Ki~tty!”, “Mistress Kiiiiiii~tttty!” A lilting voice called through the small crack at my bedroom door. The door gradually opened further, revealing Head Maid Ivanka in all her cavity inducing sweetness.

“Like, super big day today Ma’am!” The dutiful living doll enthused as she immediately began collecting my clothing from yesterday, haphazardly strewn about the room in various locations.

“We’ve got to get you, like, bathed and dressed so you can tend to Mistress Jean!” Maid Ivanka deftly collected the wrinkled garments and lovingly folded and placed each on the appropriate hanger.

“Mmmmmm…” I responded with a slow, languid stretch. Raised goose flesh tickling my skin from both the stretching of waking tendons and the thoughts of the violent nature in which my clothes were discarded last night. While thinking of Mistress…

“Like, are you even listening to me? The vapid shell of a woman asked with hands on hips in an embarrassing attempt to look authoritative. “If Head Mistress’ sched.. er, um.” Maid Ivanka stamped her pink heeled foot in frustration. “Head Mistress’ PLANS, like, get messed up because of us, Like, Ivanka’s gunna be Reeee~l sad!” The obnoxious woman whined. Though her quivering protruding lower lip, comically balled fists on hips, and thrust out chest came off much more like an exaggerated sexy pout than a stern warning.

Left arm laden with yesterdays clothing now neatly assembled on hangers, the fetishized maid opened the door to my wardrobe. She promptly reached inside the swirling mist of every color imaginable, her arm seemingly dissolving as she deposited the used clothing, somewhere, I guess?

I’ve seen this far too many times and am well past questioning anything in this crazy place, especially if it doesn’t involve Mistress Jean. Mmmmmmm…

Maid Ivanka quickly closed the door, took a moment to fluff her skirts, arrange her bows, blow me a kiss with a sexy wink, and then reopened the wardrobe. Greeted by the same kaleidoscope of colors, she repeated the process in reverse and withdrew my outfit for today.

Again, I question nothing.

“Like, come dear, let’s get you undressed!” The pink princess gracefully placed my clothing and heels on a hanger beside my vanity, then briefly disappeared from my still sleep-blurry eyes into the adjacent bathroom.

“Such an un-tidy girl…” I could hear the trump tramp giggle as she no doubt happened upon the mess I had made trying to quell my most recent Mistress induced masturbatory session from last night. I could hear her sharp heel clicks and disapproving tuts echo of the hard tile bathroom surfaces. The woman’s incessant humming was then suddenly lost to the rush of water as she began to draw my bath.

A guilty smile and heated blush suddenly spread over my exposed body as I recalled last nights events. Mistress Jean strictly forbids self pleasuring as the foundation of the discipline she is trying to teach, so I’m **** to devise, alternative ways to meet my needs. Coupled with Mistress’s rule that I am unable to remove my own clothing without explicit direction, (usually from herself or The Mansion) well, sometimes a girls gotta improvise!

I inhaled a sharp breath as memories of my pink satin clad crotch frantically grinding onto any solid protruding surface flooded my sex addled brain. I remember squealing in rapturous delight, mauling my, (I mean Mistresses!) heavy tits through their silk blouse confines, and then collapsing to the tiled floor. I was reduced to a twitching mass of raw nerve endings as seemingly endless waves of pleasure wracked my quivering body. Same as the night before, and the night before that, and the….

I loosed a small whimper at the pleasant memory before my lazy eyes suddenly shot open in realization.

“Shoot!” I squeaked, as a full body blush began to spread through my body; my most intimate area as its source. I simultaneously bit my lower lip and clenched my thighs like a vice in a vain attempt to suppress the budding arousal, but I could tell it was already too late. A small tremor spread from my delicate epicenter, slowly painting the dusty pink cloth concealing my womanhood a much darker hue.

Right on cue, Maid Ivanka conveniently emerged from the bathroom just in time to witness my lack of self discipline. I swear, sometimes I think the Mansion has a warped sense of humor.

“Mistress Kitty…..” Ivanka again tutted with disapproval. “We MUST learn to control our, like, urges!” She sing-songed, before again resuming humming her plucky tune. I almost winced when she wagged her perfect pink manicured index fingers at me in admonishment.

With a giggle, Maid Ivanka turned to sashay towards me; her eyes twinkling and soft pink tongue wetting her lips. “Now, like, no more lollyga..” She again stamped her high heeled foot in petulant determination. “Like, no more STALLING!” She quipped before descending on me like a tornado of pink satin and white lace.

I at least take a moment to enjoy the small satisfaction that The Mansion limits her vocabulary at two syllable words.

Now at this point, Maid Ivanka dutifully removed my soiled sleepware, carefully peeling the sodden fabric from my still needy crotch. I again blushed as my pungent arousal permeated the bed chamber and quickly made way to the restroom in a shameful scurry on pink painted toes to begin my bath. Maid Ivanka continued to collect each piece of discarded bed-clothing to deposit within that crazy wardrobe before entering the restroom to conduct my bathing.

Honestly, there’s not too much to report further on the cleaning and dressing process between myself and Maid Ivanka; really just two important things to maybe keep in mind.

First, I’ve found that we are all bound to The Mansion in the sense that we are all ‘tools’ to efficiently preform a task. Mistress Jean, MmmmMmm…. Ahem! Has repeatedly told me that Master does not approve of blanket ‘brain washing’ as she described the process. Rather, Master prefers to retain the free will of his subjects so that they understand the consequences of the decisions they make, that in turn impact their transformations, and eventual rehabilitation. Or something like that?

Whatever, as long as I’m in close proximity to Mistress, I could give a Maids arse about the workings of this bizarre place.

Back on point, if I had continued resisting Dim Whit’s attempts to bathe and dress me, and it looked as if we would arrive behind schedule for waking and preparing Mistress Jean, The Mansion would intervene depending upon the projected delay.

Mistress calls this ‘compulsion’.

So, let’s say everything’s proceeding smoothly and we are on time for meeting a scheduled event, The Mansion would likewise allow us to proceed at our own pace. Now, let’s say I was feeling a little randy and decided to be uncooperative with Miss Trollop’s regiment. Refusing to step out of my blemished panties, not raising my arms to allow removal of my lingerie, that sort of thing, you get the picture. Well, as the minutes ticked down to seconds, I would gradually loose control of my faculties so as to accommodate the given schedule. Depending on the remaining time, I would resign my body to a kind of autopilot; jumping out of bed and standing bolt upright to allow Maid Ivanka to undress me, literally running and diving into the bath, (yes, it’s THAT big!) things like that.

The Second thing to remember, I won’t dwell too much on the dressing process between Head Bitch and myself because theres really not too much to it, cross my heart! It’s really just a utilitarian routine of necessity, devoid of anything sexual or stimulating, so I prefer not to discuss the particulars. I don’t feel an ounce of attraction, (or respect) towards this walking pink twat draped in satin and lace, and it’s not my preference that she dress and bathe me each morning.

Anyways, I tend to ‘zone out’ during the process, occupying my mind with something worthwhile, like Mistress Jean...

Now let me be clear; as much as I despise the mandatory morning ritual With Maid Ivanka, it is completely, utterly, magnificently, spectacularly the ABSOLUTE opposite with Mistress Jean!

While bathing the Head Mistress is a privilege strictly reserved for Maid Ivanka, (lucky little bitch) Mistress Jean’s Personal Assistant, (that’s me!) has the distinguished honor of dressing her beautiful, gorgeous, elegant, sensual, curves…. Mmmmmmm.

“Now Dear, like, don’t you look just lovely” Maid Ivanka’s saccharin timber broke me from my pleasant daydream.

See, zoning out works every time!

The doting Maid was again a whirling dervish of activity; dutifully finishing the final touches on my ensemble before escorting me to Head Mistress Jean’s flat. Her surprisingly deft fingers flatten creases in my form fitting pencil skirt, pluck non existent lint from my crisp blazer lapels, straighten the folded collar of my tailored silk blouse, and finally guide my delicate toes to fit snuggly within their matching pink pumped homes.

“Like, just lovely!” Maid Ivanka gushed, taking a step back to examine her handywork like a proud mother. “Mistress Jean’s, like, prim, proper, perfect, profess…(stamped heel) pussy!” She tittered, probably not even realizing her own unintentional pun.

“Oh! D.D..D…Don’t say….Tha……!” I suddenly stammered at the compliment, folding forward at the waist. “Ungh!” I shrieked, forcibly shoving both hands to cover my hair trigger crotch. “Mistressssssssss…..” I hissed like a ballon releasing the last of its captured air, but it was again too late.

I felt a growing dampness in my nether region, followed by a slight chill as my internal moisture vacated and absorbed into the surrounding satin panties. My knees wobbled and I collapsed backwards, now sprawled awkwardly on the linens Maid Ivanka had just replaced. I whimpered in short, sharp breaths as my arousal continued to permeate my pink panties; my girl-juice now coalescing quite visibly as a rapidly expanding stain on my once pristine suit skirt.

“Oh dear…” Maid Ivanka loosed a heavy sigh of resignation before consulting with the ornate antique clock surveying the room.

“Now, let’s like, get you bathed and dressed so we can Greet Mistress Jean!” the plucky Maid enthused with a clap of gloved hands as if she had been mystically ‘reset’. Turning to shut the bedroom door so as to eliminate any distractions, she obediently began the entire process anew, hopefully with better results.