A sissy called Jezebel Part XVI
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A Sissy Called Jezebel Part LIX free porn video
A Sissy called Jezebel Part LIX - We learn that the Matriarchy rates
Jezebel as 'triple A ++' breeding stock, we also learn of Abigail's
college plans that might include possibly Jezebel as well, and finally,
that Jezzie is an expert at woodcraft, specifically finding the best and
most painful switch.
The whole breeding thing has me a little conflicted. I mean, I'm super
flattered that Valerie wants to procreate with me. Sisters, donate eggs
to infertile siblings and such. Vice versa for sperm/sissy cream as
well, and female family members will even carry another family members'
embryo to term as surrogates. So it's just something that happens. I
guess it's the fact that I have so little control over my destiny.
Every sissy dreams of being graded at least suitable for breeding, grade
B or higher. I come from a family where both sides have been
selectively breeding sissies centuries before the Seneca Falls
convention of 1848 when the Matriarchy was established. The McCarthur
family started to selectively breed it's dominated males, since the late
Carolean era and the Maxwells probably during the Hanoverian era.
That's centuries of breeding that goes into my genetics. Mother was
fairly certain I was going to be stamped, literally, 'Triple A'
Breeding stock, unless I had a genetic disorder that might be passed
down to my descendants. I didn't, so the coveted Triple A++ was tattooed
across my pubic area in red ink at age sixteen. (So it's hard to miss).
The triple A means my breeding is actively encouraged by the matriarchy
based on my genetics, my features, and my health. The 'plus' is more
subjective, it's based on my deportment, personality, and my sexual
attraction, 'plus plus' hey what I say that's probably for being slutty,
who knows?. Let's face it, the pluses, it's based on being fuckable.
Welcome to the top of the sissy breeding pyramid, less than three
percent of us get triple A, and the 'plus, plus', that's just a neat
cherry on this gurl's chocolate fudge sundae. Gurls like me are almost
guaranteed to get married and to have offspring. It's what we are
literally bred for. The Matriarchy wants more sissies like me out
there, so my sissy cream is going to get traded around, potentially a
lot. I have more in common with livestock than, well, let's face it, a
human being. Is it weird that I want all of my potential descendants to
be happy, to have good lives? It won't happen, life's just too fickle.
I'll never know their fate. It bugs me. Well tough tittie gurly gurl,
it's happening as of tonight. You are being bred by the Beauregards,
period end of sentence, so move on.
I hear mother's 'patented' long whistle from up ahead. That means come
here so I need to catch up. I take my darling Icelandic horse to
another special gait, the flying pace, just under a full gallop, but so
smooth. Honestly Icelandic horses are the sports coupes of the equine
world. My family is waiting for me at the trailhead that leads back
into the woods.
"We are getting close, kids," exclaims mother. Just a mile uphill and
maybe a half mile down into the valley. Mother sounds excited. Well
good, her bad memories of her messy childhood are being supplanted by
happy memories of her riding horses (probably to escape the source of
said bad memories, her family.) We head up the trail flanked by
security. Initially mother and Abigail fall into a giant discussion
about purchasing the Shetland ponies. This trader or that farm. I
basically tune it out.
Then Abby and mother discuss college applications. I tune back in. Abby
has wanted to be a doctor like forever. Mother would come home to find
me as a little gurl, wrapped in bandages or splints, since I had to have
'emergency' treatment by Dr. Abby. Mother and Abby are discussing the
merits of the three Matriarchy colleges here on the West Coast;
Sacagawea, Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz, and Kate Warne. Mommy went to
Sacagawea, the liberal arts school, where she majored in philosophy, for
some reason. Cruz is the science and engineering school, and Warne is
definitely the 'partygirl' school. If Abby wants to go pre-Med, and go
to an all womyn's school, in a campus controlled by the Matriarchy, she
should go to Cruz or Marie-Anne Paulze Lavoisier, on the East Coast or
Henrietta Swan Leavitt, in the Midwest. Of course it's a big world out
there, and maybe Abby wants to go to Stanford or UCLA. Her grades are
top notch and her sports and extracurriculara are fabulous, she can get
into most places.
If she selects a school in the greater outside world of men, Abby would
probably rush one of the many matriarchal sororities found at most
schools. It's difficult for most womyn in the Matriarchy to live in
college dorms with the 'smelly bags of testosterone'. The sororities are
an oasis where womyn can live amongst their fellow womyn of the
matriarchy and enjoy the comforts of their sissy servants. Also the
sororities are huge recruiting centers for women of the outside world.
Want to live in a sexually liberated world, where women are safe from
predatory males, and have your every whim completely satisfied by your
effete submissive slave? Go join Kappa Iota Theta. The sororities also
have the famous 'back door' entrance. Where males of the outside can
voluntarily enter and 'surrender' their masculinity to the Matriarchy
and become the dainty sissies they were always meant to be. They get a
score every semester. Unless a specific womyn wants to take
responsibility for them and break them in, the 'volunteers' are all
shipped off to 'sissy high heel ('boot') camp, to get any shreds of
independence obliviated and any pesky residual masculinity beaten out of
them. I'm listening in on the conversation, because I am honestly
curious about where Abby is going, and if she does go to an 'outside'
college, often sisters bring their sissy-sters to be servants, in those
sororities. That's the closest this gurl is getting to college life,
and those parties, they are basically orgies. Sounds like a ton of fun
to this gurl. (Of course one of the USC sororities got suspended
recently, for knocking out a bunch of sissies' teeth, and a few broken
jaws, for a 'bitch slapping' contest that got way out of control.
Admittedly, that doesn't sound like a barrel of fun.)
Mother says, "if you go to a school outside of the loving embrace of the
'big M' (aka the Matriarchy) dear, I've learned my lesson with
Francisca and Xi Xi Xi, find the sorority that's the right fit for
you." When Francisca took the full sports scholarship at UCLA, and
perhaps to mollify mother a little bit for passing on a matriarchal
college, Francisca decided to rush mother's beloved sorority of Xi Xi
Xi. Right before pledge week, Francisca asked mother to come down for
some sort of parent's weekend, saying she wasn't really fitting in with
the Xi Xi Xi girls. Mother who had absolutely no intention of
'helicopter parenting' her eldest child, only came down because of the
request. They went to some mother-daughter garden party at Xi Xi Xi.
After about thirty minutes or so, mother took Francisca to some isolated
spot and pretended to touch up her makeup, and whispered "let's stay for
about twenty five minutes, just for appearances sake, and I strongly
recommend that you rush at any other sorority, dear, I had no idea this
chapter was filled exclusively with these miserable, vapid, shallow,
backstabbing, harpies. Please don't go here. Still your choice, of
course, dear." They didn't last five more minutes. Francisca rushed one
of the jockette sororities, Psi Phi Pi, and had a blast, with the sporty
granola girls; surfing, rock climbing, and even naked skydiving.
Perhaps because she was always getting up at the crack of dawn, to catch
some 'killer surf', Francisca couldn't party all night, which was
probably a good thing for a person who already had to struggle with
addiction at a young age.
What is nice is to hear mother and Abby having a discussion about an
important subject without either of them snapping at the other.
"So where are you going to send Jezzie, presuming she doesn't get kicked
out of Templeton?" inquires Abby.
"Saint Agatha's Academy for wayward sluts," jokes my mother. (Actually
I think Abby was trying to do me a 'solid', perhaps flush something out
of the 'Sphinx', aka mother, while she was in a chatty mood, about my
'mysterious' fate.) Mother clearly has plans for little ole me after I
graduate from Templeton, but she's playing her cards very close to her
chest. She might just marry me off, for all I know there's already
signed marriage contracts locked in her safe. She might send me to a
sissy finishing school in Europe. It's always bugged her that my years
of French don't seem to ever take, and hey I'll take a semester or even
a whole year in Europe. (I mean twist my arm, right?). Or she might
send me to a sissy trade school, like nursing, cosmetology, or if I get
my wish, a fashion design school. I could also see mother having me get
my Certification as a Nursing Assistant and sending me to volunteer in a
Matriarchy charity project in the developing world. They provide a lot
of health services to women in those countries where women always seem
to get the short end of the stick. I am sure helping these women get
PAP smears and mammograms would be rewarding; Francisca got a lot of
personal growth from her volunteer work, and I am basically a do-gooder
at heart. I know that all roads will eventually lead to an arranged
marriage to a suitable major clan family, of mother's choosing, and me
raising babies, and keeping house,(and hopefully throwing fabulous
parties). (I know that when roughly two thirds of the sissy population
is routinely castrated, (for getting a failing breeding grade from the
Matriarchy or otherwise pissing off their owners) and getting sent to
some institution to perform most likely repetitive menial work, forever,
any of my possible fates would be a paradise.)
Mother whistles again, "we are close but I just can't hold it in any
long, let's pit stop." Oh thank the goddess, I think to myself, I was
seconds from making that same request. Horse riding is just brutal on
the bladder. "Capital suggestion, mumsey," says Abby. I guess we were
all holding it in.
"If memory serves me correctly this path to the right leads to a
secluded glen, with some trees that have the necessary low hanging
branches, let me text security, and see if they, ahem, need to join us."
Mother's memory is perfect. The path takes us away from the main trail,
and leads to a secluded glen, with those trees with the very important
low hanging branches. Mother and Abby drop 'trou', grab a branch, and
do the 'hang and squat'. They share some tissue, biodegradable, of
course and then Mistress Deavers and mistress Burrows arrive, with the
same sense of urgency. I start smiling as soon as Agent Deavers
arrives, and give her a deep curtsey. (Dang it. I know this feeling
all too well, I'm getting a crush on her. 'Sigh'. I'm sure it's
painfully obvious to everyone. I mean she is totally my type.)
After the agents finish up, mother says "let's saddle up girls, walking
right by me." I demurely raise my hand. "What you haven't gone yet,
little one, waiting for a royal invitation?"
Now mother absolutely knows that my clitty plug is locked in place to my
chastity, and this gurl needs her help to pee, but she's in a playful
mood and clearly wants to tease me a little.
"Mother, I'm a little extra secure down there, could you perhaps unlock
me, Pretty Puuuuuuhhhhhhlllleeeaassseee with sugar on top?"
"Oh that's right, silly me, we had to take extra steps because of your
extreme sluttiness. Dear me. Now, where's that darn key?"
Mistresses love to make the 'I lost the key' joke. It never seems to
get old for mother and her friends. I wish I could say the same. I
just give her a fabulous smile.
Mother is rummaging through her hand bag, saying with mock annoyance
"ball gag, handcuffs, butt plug, cat-o-nine tails, leather strap;
goddess knows you can't travel light with a sissy, am I right girls?
Ahh key." Mother holds it out like a party favor. I lift my skirt and
drop my panties, and mother 'tsking' away about this 'burdensome task'
that she secretly (well actually with barely concealed glee) enjoys,
unlocks the tip of my sissy clitty plug. I have already reached into my
handbag and grabbed a disposable sissy urinal. Since sissies have to
squat (no exceptions, (I've tried only a couple times, to stand and pee,
you know how a man does, when no one was around the house, and I was
pretty sure I wasn't being monitored. Neither time I stood before the
toilet, would a mere drop would come out. I felt so guilty after the
second attempt, I confessed to mother upon her arrival, and presented
her with a riding crop, I just felt so ashamed), and although my
voluminous skirt of this dress looks delightful draped over my horse's
flanks when I am riding, the 'hang and squat' technique would require
someone help me with my full skirt, and that's really a task for other
sissies to help me with, it's simply not appropriate to ask a womyn for
help holding up your skirt, it's not womyn's work, not in the least.
That the goddess for the inventor of the sissy urinal. I place it over
my clitty and squat. Of course being a sissy I am not afforded any
privacy. As I squat and relieve myself, mother converses with the other
womyn and pats my head and strokes my hair. You just have to get used
to the concept, privacy is a privilege only for womyn. I finish up and
walk to the edge of the glen and toss my urinal and my antiseptic
chastity wipes into the woods. They are both biodegradable and will be
decomposed within weeks. I return to the womyn, and raise my skirts and
lower my panties as mother locks my (carefully cleaned) sissy plug. All
the womyn are grinning at me. I know that look. They have plotted
against me, in the brief time I was disposing/cleaning up. Perhaps they
need to kill some time and what's more fun than toying with your
plaything (aka me)?
Mother snaps her fingers and points to the ground. I drop to my knees.
"I caught you flirting gurly gurl, what do you have to say for
yourself?"
"I am very sorry." (What I really want to say is 'a duck's gotta quack,
and a bee is going to buzz', flirting is involuntary for a sissy, but I
don't.)
"Are you attracted to Agent Deavers?"
"Very much so, mother. She is so powerful, and dominant, and hot, and
strong, and ...."
"Okay, okay we get the picture! Go find a good switch in the woods,
bring it back for Agent Deavers, pick well little one." I am handed
agent Deavers' sheathed hunting knife. I hurry off into the woods to
find a stick for my dominant to beat me with. One would think I would
return with a twig, but that would lead to a rebuke that would be so
well deserved and probably make a nuclear detonation look tame in
comparison, so let's not even go there! Every gurl in sissy scouts has
to get hir badge in switch making. It's not all just baking cupcakes
and brownies, in the sissy scouts. (Mother was a big fan of the sissy
scouts, I made it all the way to Peacock Scout from Junior Swish.
Mother liked scouting because it got me out of her hair (I mean I am
sure that I am just a non-stop joyride for my parent, at all times). I
enjoyed scouting immensely. I got a well deserved break from my older
sisters' chronic teasing and taunting, and I loved the hiking, cuddling
in the tents after said hikes, and this gurl only got hir s'mores fix
when sie was camping. Also, I looked so freaking adorable in my
uniforms. Yes, the sissy scouts have a multitudinous number of
uniforms. I mean 'hello'!) I've spent oodles of camping trips with my
fellow scouts looking for that 'perfect' switch that would be used to
discipline the whole 'flock' of scouts. Whoever found that best switch
only received a quarter of the swats of the rest. So there's a big
incentive to find that perfect limb. There was a life lesson in this as
well. Sissies are often put in competition with other sissies, with the
winner getting a reward that might lead to a harsher punishment for hir
fellow sissies. The lesson is that your loyalty is always to your scout
mistress, (but it is meant to apply to any dominant) not to your fellow
sissies. We must never collude, or act collectively in any way that
defies a command. On the other hand, if your best friend is really sore
down there, who's to say that the switch I discarded for another, wasn't
perhaps really the best one? I mean hypothetically, of course.
After a few minutes of searching, I find a mean looking switch. (I,
ahem, usually won that sissy scout challenge, I guess I have a knack for
it.) Just the right feel and weight. Yep, this is going to hurt like
hell. I cut it down using Agent Deavers' really femacho knife and lop
off the branches. I run back full speed to my dominants. I mustn't
keep my dominants waiting. I drop to my knees holding out Agent D's
sheathed (I'm not running in the woods any other way) knife and the
switch. Is making the means of your punishment the ultimate act of
submission? I mean probably. I am super turned on right now. Agent D
tests out the switch, slashing through the air, just inches from face.
She gives me a wicked smile and a thumbs up.
Elissa
- 03.08.2021
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A sissy called Jezebel Part XIII
- 2 years ago
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A sissy called Jezebel Part XXXV
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