No-obey

Your dance partner leads you to a dressing room, where a serious older woman is sitting.

"The usual, Jen."

The woman nods.

"Sit down, my dear. Nothing to worry about." she says to you. Her voice sounds pitying.

There is no mirror, so you can only guess what is happening to you by the makeup you see her holding and the feeling as she touches it to different parts of you face. You've been growing your hair a bit--it's not a luxurious length or anything, but she spends some time on it with brushes and some hairspray. All the while she prattles about this and that, apparently trying to help you calm down.

Finally she spins you to the mirror.

You almost jump in shock--the face looking back at you is unfamiliar. Crimson lips, pale blue eye shadow, seductively wavy hair. You look like a girl.

"Such a lovely little face," she says. "You'll need to clothes over there." She points to a nearby table, her voice a trifle hoarse.

The outfit is a padded bra and red heels.

You slip it on, calming the pounding feeling in your chest by admiring your newly feminine form in the mirror. If you didn't know...well, except for that bulge in your panties.

One of the shirtless men opens the door.

"It's time, Ms. Jennie!"

You wouldn't have been eager to argue with him dressed in your street clothes. Now, looking like a parody of an underwear ad, you just blush, look down, and follow.

The crowd seems much bigger. You try not to look out at them.

"Ladies and gentlemen, say hello to our newest performer: Jennie!" the man in the silver blazer announces.

Startled, you look to the side. Mistress Karen is standing there, her toe tapping and a look of distain in her eyes.

"Jennie is a very bad girl--but I expect she will learn rather quickly to behave under Mistress Karen's tutoring!"

The two men walk you over to the frame you saw earlier. As they cuff your hands and ankles, they turn you so that your bottom is exposed to the audience, which also means that you cannot see Mistress Karen's approach--just the click of her heels on the stage.

SMACK!

You cry involuntarily as the first stroke lands on your bottom.

"****, I expect you to count. Every one you miss adds two to your total."

"One." Your voice seems to echo in your head from a great distance.

SMACK

"mm mmm mmm TWO!"