Sissy Room

Favour

Elfy is a good writer, and everyone has their preferences.  For me, these stories lose something quickly.  I love the conflict and him realizing what was happening to him.  The first few chapters are awesome, but now he's a baby. Great.  Now what?  There's no conflict anymore, he's trapped, there's nothing to fight for.  Again, this is just me.  Some people like the helpless blubbering baby route for the main character. I prefer when there's still a path to regain maturity, even if the character doesn't get there, because there's conflict and drama in that.

Oh really I've never heard of this story before, do you have a link to it or something also again just to let everyone know I'm not the writer of the story I'm simply copying and pasting it and putting it on here for story preservation.

I binged both of these stories this weekend and I'm really enjoying them! I love hypnosis and accidental side effect things. Might have been a mistake to catch up so fast, though. Now I have to wait for more to be posted. 😭

FUN IN THE SHOWER, A SWIMMING LESSON, AND, AS THEY USED TO SAY, SOME "DIRTY WORK AT THE CROSS-ROADS." Part 5 Barbie was awakened by a sharp slap on her upturned bottom.  She'd spent the night face-down (and she realized, with chagrin, that she had a hand inside her panties).  She hoped Jenny hadn't noticed, but the expression on her face suggested that she had. Then she removed all doubt. "I'm sorry I didn't think to bring your vibrator, Barbie.  I know how horny girls of your age get at the least little thing...." And then she giggled -- giggled! Jenny had already gotten up, showered, ordered breakfast, and dressed.  During her own shower, Barbie examined her bottom and was relieved to see that there was no bruising.  It was still red, though, and tender.  She stood under the hot water for a long time, luxuriating in the heat and the feel of the needle spray on her breasts, tummy, and crotch...especially her crotch.... "The nerve of that girl...making cracks about my vibrator," she fumed.  "I suppose she'd want me to demonstrate it, next....  Oh, god!  Having to m-mas-masturbate in front of her....  How wicked! I'd HAVE to, though, if she ordered me.  I'd have to...just.... Oh, god...oh...ohh...ooohh!"   By the time she emerged from the steamy bathroom, the food had arrived: bacon, eggs, biscuits, orange juice, and coffee for Jenny; mush and milk for Barbie.  Ravenous, she ate her swill in silence. At last Jenny finished her coffee, glanced at her watch, and announced, "Okay, sleepyhead, hurry up.  Swim class in half an hour." "Aaaaah!  I forgot all about that.  But, please.  I'm still much too sore for any kind of physical workout this morning.  Can't we just skip that...Mommie?" "Don't be silly.  It'll be good for you....  Besides, you've already had a workout, of sorts, while you were in the shower. Right?" Barbie blushed and nodded. "Right?" "Yes, Mommie....  I-I couldn't help it...." "Hormones made you do it?  Well, maybe...maybe not."   ******************************   Twenty minutes later the two were walking past the front desk when Fred cleared his throat and called to Jennifer.  He handed her "THE" slipper and thanked her for loaning it to him.  She smiled and tucked it into her purse.  "Actually," she said, "I don't think Barbie thanked you sufficiently last night for her spanking.  Go on, dear, thank the nice man. "Th-thank you, s-sir, for s-sp-panking me.  I'm trying to be a good girl...." Damn!  She could feel her panties getting damp again.   ****************************** Not ten minutes after mother and daughter had continued on to the YWCA (with Fred relishing the fact that he knew which was which...and wondering exactly how he could best employ that knowledge), he looked up to see the businessman's wife coming toward him.  She was quite attractive, mid-forties, blonde hair stylishly done, trim figure well taken care of -- in short, a woman who was the center of attention wherever she happened to be, and clearly accustomed to the finer things of life.  Looking at her now, however, it was obvious that something wasn't right. Even her perfect make-up couldn't camouflage her red and swollen eyes.  And she appeared to be walking rather stiffly, as if each move was painful.  She sniffled and said, in a soft and trembling "I am sorry for causing you to sp-spank me last night, and I want to...sniff...apologize for my actions and thank you for my-my punishment....  Your hotel...sniff...is wonderful, and we hope to use...sniff, sniff...use your fine services again....  Often." At this, she turned stiffly and limped away, one hand hovering near her rump. Fred had a dreamy expression on his face as he re-played his vivid memories of her pretty bottom, bare, wagging to and fro under the Turkish slipper.  He patted the two crisp c-notes in his pocket and watched the woman painfully seat herself in their Mercedes.  Hurry back, now!   ****************************** At the YWCA, Jennifer and Barbie headed straight for the area marked, "POOL." "Yes?  Can I help you?" a husky voice asked. The woman was tall and lanky, with short, black hair and olive skin.  Late 30s, maybe.  She was wearing a damp t-shirt, loose shorts, and a whistle on a lanyard -- and apparently nothing else. She was attractive, if you liked the type. Barbie thought she was probably a "lipstick lesbian." "Yes," Jenny replied.  "Miss Girardo?  My daughter's signed up for a beginner's swim lesson." "Okay.  We'll be running just a little late today.  The others in the class won't be here for a while. You weren't informed?" Jenny shook her head. "No matter. My instructors are here. This'll just give us the opportunity for...'personalized' instruction." Barbie didn't like the way that sounded, but it didn't seem to bother Jenny at all. "I'll just leave Barbie in your hands, then.  I'm anxious to try the frappuccino back in the glassed-in lounge area -- I've heard people rave about it.  Incidentally, she doesn't have a suit." Miss Girardo grinned, showing her very white teeth.  "Don't worry about that.  Go on and enjoy the lounge."  She looked down at Barbie.  "First thing for you, kid, is a shower." "I just had a shower," Barbie retorted. "Doesn't make any difference.  State law requires a verified shower before you enter the pool area.  Come along.  Little girls can't shower without adult supervision." Barbie, of course, was pissed. She didn't want to undress and parade around naked in front of a bunch of dykes or a pack of kids, and she didn't want any swimming lesson...most particularly in the NUDE. She'd lived this long without swimming, so why start now? Jennifer, however, had a different view, and all it took was one glimpse of that damned slipper to convince Barbie that she had better be obedient on this matter. Accordingly, she followed "Stretch" into the seedy locker room and reluctantly began to strip.  She longed for the country club facilities: private shower stalls, each with its own enclosed changing area. Here, however, there were just a few dented lockers next to big gang shower, maybe 25 feet square.  A series of sprinkler pipes ran along the ceiling above the shower area, and there were a number of drain grates set into the floor. Pretty crude. No walls, no modesty panels, no curtains.... She was just handing the coach her panties when two damp 20-somethings in black tank suits came in, a stocky Latina and a lithe redhead. "Who's this, Myra?" Red asked. "Barbie...Barbie Wilson," the head coach answered.  "She's a beginner and obviously a little shy, poor thing....  Barbie! You get along to the shower, now, and don't waste time." As Barbie obediently turned toward the big gang shower, the Latina spoke up.  "From the looks of her butt, it appears little Barbie's had a recent spanking. She might as well be wearing a sign." The coach laughed.  "Yes, and if you'll take a glance at her crotch, you'll see why, probably." "Ahhh! So you like to play with yourself, huh, chica?" The redhead snapped a towel at Barbie's tender bottom.  "Answer her, brat!" "Aaaaa!  Please!  YES!  Yes, I-I like to....""O-kay.  So, get your rosy little butt into that shower, and make real sure you scrub EVERYWHERE...or we'll have to get in there and give you a hand," the coach said. Barbie scurried into the institutional shower...and jumped back with a squeal as the icy water hit her.  She managed to get up enough nerve to edge back under the frigid spray and lather up. The cheap soap was no treat, but it could have been worse. And it got worse.  The three women watched closely as she scrubbed herself from head to toe....  And then, before they'd let her out, insisted she demonstrate her fingering technique.     ****************************** After the shower and the show, she and the three instructors moved to the pool area.  Nobody else had arrived yet. "Okay, kid," Coach Guardino said.  "You can start your warm-ups. Squats first. Go!" The three women crowded around Barbie then, as she obediently spread her legs and commenced doing her squats.... She was very conscious of the sub-text, and it both annoyed her and seemed to turn her on.  And that annoyed her even more. "Look at how WET she is!" Red said. "And not from the shower, neither," the Latina added.  "She's a HOT one!" "I love the way it opens and closes as she's going up and down.... Like she's advertising, or something," Red grinned. Coach Guardino merely smiled indulgently as her subordinates prattled on, but she DID have a look in her eye that made Barbie shiver. After a number of stretching and loosening exercises, they moved on to breathing and arm movements, which Barbie had to practice while standing beside the pool.   At last, appearing bored with the proceedings so far, Coach Guardino snapped a towel at Barbie's butt-crack, causing her to stumble a few erratic steps...and tumble into the pool.She immediately began to flail about and scream for help in the classic way of drowning females.   Her lurid shrieks bounced off the tiles and echoed around the pool area, sounding like something out of a slasher movie.  Meanwhile, the three women were all laughing uncontrollably. Though Barbie was appalled that these people would just stand and laugh at her while she drowned, right now her panic overrode all other thoughts and emotions, and she pleaded for help. "Stand up!" the coach said. "What?  What?  Oh, please!  (Blub!) Please help me!" In unison the three shouted, "STAND UP!"  Barbie finally let her feet down and felt the bottom.  She had been floundering around in about three feet of water.  Still laughing at this crazy naked girl with the rosy butt and skillful fingers, the coach grabbed Barbie's wrist and hauled her over to the ladder and out of the pool. Barbie's wits, already frayed, snapped.  Sputtering and fuming, she muttered, "Bitch!" and reflexively pushed hard, sending the off-balance coach reeling backward to topple ungracefully into the deep end of the pool. Apparently Coach Guardino's sense of humor was not very elastic, for, a moment later, she rose from the pool like wet, grim death, scrambled out, and made straight for Barbie, who was rooted to the spot and repeating over and over, "I didn't mean it....  I'm sooo sorry!" "You're going to be a lot sorrier," the coach said through gritted teeth.  "It's no wonder that somebody had to tan your backside, but I guess they didn't do it thoroughly enough....  So, you brat, get ready for another dose!" Barbie tried to back away, but she had no escape route.  The coach seized her ear and dragged her over to a pool-side bench and across her lap.  The coach's arm went up...and paused...and.... There suddenly came a shout of "STOP!" "Thank god!" Barbie gasped. It was Jennifer, apparently come to save her.  But Barbie's relief was short-lived.  Jennifer simply walked up and handed the coach the slipper (which she had thoughtfully encased in a plastic bag, to protect it from the damp). The furious coach immediately accepted it and put it to use.  In the next few minutes, Barbie learned a new lesson, namely that being spanked on your wet bottom was wickedly painful. Discarding all modesty and self-control, Barbie carried on as if she were possessed.  She kicked and screamed and thrashed about with utter abandon.  Still, Coach Guardindo, seemingly of some long-lost Amazon stock, had no problem holding her easily with one hand, while whaling away mercilessly with the other. All in all, the spanking was rather brief, but very memorable. And, when Barbie was let up, she did the traditional dance, holding her bottom and blubbering incoherently until the coach pushed her back into the shallow end of the pool. "There, baby, that should cool you off...."   ****************************** Fred looked up to see Jennifer and Barbie crossing the street, heading back to the hotel.  And Barbie was walking the same way the businessman's wife had earlier. As the two were passing the desk, Fred delivered a message that had come for them while they were out. "It seems your husband will be detained another week," he said to; Jenny.  "But he should be home by next Sunday.  He was sorry he'll miss the masquerade party, but he wanted you two to go anyway and have fun.  Jennifer just smiled and nodded, though Barbie appeared unhappy.   Fred then asked, in a smirking, patronizing voice, "Is everything alright, young lady?" There was that irritating "young lady" thing that was really getting on her nerves.  "NO, EVERYTHING IS NOT GODDAMN ALRIGHT! I JUST GOT MY BARE ASS BLISTERED BY SOME AMAZON DYKE!  OKAY? AND NOW I'M GOING BACK TO MY SORRY-ASS ROOM! OKAY?" That little tantrum proved unwise. Not ten minutes later, the sound of leather on flesh and Barbie's barely-muted wails drifted from their room and down the hall.  The hour of silence that followed meant corner time, of course. Jennifer was determined that, since her father would not be back in time to enjoy the party, she would ensure that this weekend left a lasting impression on her mother. Still, she was becoming rather bored and decided that this would be a good day to shop for her new car. She had meant only to window-shop, but, when she came across THE car, her DREAM CAR...and reputed to be one of the very few like it in the whole state, she just had to have it. She put down a $500 deposit, charged to her credit card, so that the dealership would hold the prize until Monday. And she was so ecstatic and full of charity, in fact, that she decided to go easy on her mother for the remainder of the weekend. They ate in the hotel dining room again.  This time, however, Jennifer was positively giddy.  And, in spite of all the trials and humiliations she had suffered, Barbie was actually happy for her, as well.  Even as Barbie sat primly on her pillow, she smiled at Jenny's delight.  She could bear no grudge, for she had merely gotten what she'd deserved.  And perhaps she'd deserved it for some time.... During their dinner, Fred took a message from Jennifer's credit card company, which urgently needed to reach her.  She had been using her card a lot the last few days, and she was now over her limit. The card company had okayed the $500 charge to the the car dealership, but wanted her to know that her card was maxed out by twelve dollars. The company rep had said they would be happy to extend her limit, however, and all she had to do was phone them. But she did have to phone before attempting to use the card again. Fred promised that he would pass the message along. He then called the dining room hostess and asked to be informed if the two women at table three asked for any liquor and if they charged their meals. Sure enough, not ten minutes later, Jenny ordered a small glass of wine, and signed for the meals. Chuckling, Fred picked up the phone. JENNY AND BARBIE MEET THE SHERIFF AND ARE INTRODUCED TO PADDYWELL. Part 6 As he dialed the phone, Fred Dobbs whistled a brief, merry tune -- something he recalled hearing recently at the Mayfair Burlesque. But he didn't have long to wait. "Ah, yes....  This is Fred, over at the hotel.  Is the Sheriff around?  I've got a 'situation' here that'll interest him...."   ****************************** Not long afterward, Jenny was roused from a "Project Runway" re-run by a peremptory knock on the door.  Her visitor turned out to be a tall, burly man with a complexion like rare roast beef, wearing a a uniform and a badge. He touched the brim of his Stetson.  "Miz...Wilson?  I'm the Sheriff hereabouts.  Sorry to bother you at this time of evening, but I need to ask some questions, and the sooner the better. Alright if I come in?" Jenny blinked.  This was rather ominous.  And, besides, she was wearing only the robe provided by the hotel and was nervous at being next to naked in this situation.  (The robe seemed considerably shorter than it had a moment before.) "Well...um...I suppose so...." He entered, closing the room door behind him.  He moved lightly for a big man. "You're Miz Jennifer Wilson?  Have some ID?" Jenny handed over her driver's license and asked, "What's this about, Sheriff?" He frowned.  "This'll go a lot smoother if you'll just let ME ask the questions."  Jenny nodded.  He glanced at her license and handed it back.  "Who else is here with you?" "My...um...daughter, Barbie.  She's taking a shower at the moment." <a name="more"></a> The Sheriff banged on the bathroom door.  "This is the Sheriff! C'mon out here...right now!" Two minutes later, clad only in a damp t-shirt of Jenny's, Barbie timidly shuffled out of the bathroom. "This your daughter, Miz Wilson?" "Um...yes, this is Barbie." "ID?" "Oh, well, sh-she's still too young...just an adolescent...." "So it appears.  How old is she?" "Um...um...th-thirteen...." "Okay.  Then can you explain how an 18-year-old (which your license says you are) has a 13-year-old daughter?" "Oh, well...she's adopted...." "Uh-huh." "But what difference does it make, Sheriff?" "I thought we'd agreed that I would ask the questions." "Um...." "Well?" "Y-yes, sir...." "Fine.  You have documentation of this...adoption?" "Well, n-not with me, of course, Sheriff." "Uh-huh.  Alright, Miz Wilson, let's stop tap-dancing, whatsay? Maybe you're aware that because of the new security laws -- state and federal -- it's a crime to...'knowingly falsify personal data when so doing might impede an official investigation....'" He could recite from memory the best parts of these laws, but he chose to read the Miranda Warning off a card -- and he then proceeded to do exactly that. "Am-am I under arrest?" Jenny gasped. "You're asking questions again...."  He looked at her sadly, with barely contained disappointment.  "I'm hoping I won't have to put you in jail, so you'd best be straight with me. Now, is Barbie at least 18 years old?" "Y-yes, sir." "In that case, I hereby present you with these warrants, duly signed by his-honor-the-mayor, remanding you both to Paddywell Academy, pending further investigation.  The present charge is '33833.8 PC: Credit Card Fraud' -- but more can be added later." Paddywell! Though she had been teasing Barbie about Paddywell, she hadn't really fantasized about it in detail.  Now she began racking her memory to dredge up what various people had told her about the place. It was a private reformatory for women aged 18 to 40, set up along boarding school lines....  The women ("girls") were often sent there for various petty offenses -- such as overdue library books, parking violations, jaywalking, and insolence -- though some were serving time for more serious things, such as trespassing, shoplifting, disorderly conduct, misdemeanor vagrancy, and lewd behavior (not to mention marital insubordination)....   And the girls were well-supervised by the staff -- the predominantly male staff....  Both the headmaster, Dr. Leamus, and the Provost, Prof. Lakewood, in particular had reputations as clever and accomplished disciplinarians and prided themselves on turning the rottenest delinquents into nice, polite little girls. Jenny shuddered, but was surprised and chagrined to find the beginnings of a tingling between her legs. Doubly distracted, she was slow to react when the Sheriff turned her about and cuffed her hands behind her back. "Do you have to...?" she blurted. "Yep," he replied, laconically, and handcuffed Barbie, as well. "But-but credit card fraud?" Jenny persisted.  "I don't know anything about any credit card fraud.  You're making a BIG mistake, Sheriff.  Who says fraud?   He ignored her and herded them both toward the door. "Can't we get dressed?" Barbie whined. "Nope."  And he ushered them out. They went down two flights and into the lobby. Padding barefooted and handcuffed across the parquet, to the amazement of several guests and the amusement of Fred Dobbs, Jenny became aware that she had something else to be concerned about -- the knot in her sash was beginning to slip. "Holy Crap!" she thought.  "What else is going to happen?" The knot, however, held (barely), and she slid into the back of the Sheriff's prowl car without a major incident.  But Barbie was not so lucky.  With her hands cuffed behind her, there was no way she preserve her modesty, and getting into the car rucked the bottom of her t-shirt up around her waist.  The Sheriff looked in at her and, with a perfectly straight face, said, "Now don't you be getting my upholstery messy, young lady...."   ******************************   It took only 5 or 6 minutes to get from the hotel to Paddywell in the Sheriff's cruiser.  The Academy occupied a great, grim, Gothic building atop a low hill.  It was guarded first by a massive stone wall.  An ornate iron gate swung open, apparently automatically, as the Sheriff drove up to it.  Just inside the outer wall there was a manicured lawn, perhaps 100 yards deep, and, beyond that, another fence...a wire one, possibly electrified.   Jenny imagined that the guard dogs prowled this grassy area, though she didn't see any. When she exited the car, Jenny's sash just gave up, and her robe parted.  She crouched, with a pitiful little squeal, but she was summarily jerked to her feet and hustled up the broad limestone steps into the "school." Of course, no one offered to close her robe and re-tie the sash. As she was hurried along, she couldn't prevent the robe from streaming out behind her, revealing many of her choicest attributes.  Somewhere along their route, the sash dropped to the ground unnoticed and was left behind. Inside, it was very quiet, except for the faint sounds of Jenny's and Barbie's bare feet on the terrazzo floor.  (The Sheriff moved silently.)  There was a heavy-lidded middle-aged man on duty at what must have been a reception desk; he nodded to the Sheriff in passing.  The only other people about were bored, slowly-moving cleaning crew. The Sheriff marched his prisoners down the broad main hallway to the end, into a quaint Edwardian-style elevator, and then, on the top floor, along a lushly carpeted corridor to a heavy mahogany door. "Headmaster's study," the Sheriff growled.  "Mind your manners." He knocked on the door as a formality and opened it without waiting for a response. The room was spacious, but at the same time seemed cozy.   Barbie was impressed; this was her kind of place.  Aside from the stereo (Tchaikovsky...5th Symphony, wasn't it?) and the PC in the far corner, the book-lined study might have been as it was a century or more ago.  Even the telephone and the electric lights appeared antique.  There were red Bokharas on the floor, three Toby jugs on the slate mantel, and a number of military and naval paintings on the walls. There were two men in the room.  One, wearing a dark sweater, was sitting behind the massive desk, looking over his steepled fingers, staring off into the middle distance, apparently rapt by the music. He had sharp features, and both his brown hair and thin moustache showed some touches of grey. The other man, older and heavier, was sitting in a red leather wing chair near the fire, a glass in his hand and a square decanter and a soda-water syphon at his elbow. He was a study in various shades of grey -- short hair, bushy eyebrows, thick moustache, baggy tweed suit -- his only concession to color was a repp tie, dark red with blue stripes edged in gold. He lifted his glass to acknowledge the Sheriff, who nodded back amiably. The man at the desk continued to listen to the music until the end of the movement, then turned it down a bit.   With a somewhatambiguous expression, he gazed at Jenny and Barbie and said, "I am Dr. Leamus and this is my colleague, Prof. Lakewood.  You two are the Wilson girls, I presume...." Barbie, who had been lost in her admiration for this room, was suddenly wrenched back to reality. Jenny spoke up.  "There's been a huge mistake...." He held up his hand. "Hmmm.  Sheriff, I think the handcuffs are not needed." The Sheriff nodded and removed both pairs of cuffs. "Thank you, sir," Jenny said, rubbing her wrists. Dr. Leamus continued speaking to the Sheriff.  "Now, let's have a look at them." Without changing expression, the Sheriff reached out with his left hand, grasped the bottom of Barbie's t-shirt, and whisked it off over her head -- while, at the same time, he pulled off Jenny's robe with as much style and grace as Manolete handling a cape. Barbie managed to take it stoically, but Jenny shrieked and fell into a crouch. All three men looked at Jenny sadly.  "Tsk, tsk," said Lakewood. He sighed.  "I expected a LITTLE more discipline." "Oh, yes...disgraceful," Leamus agreed. "But the little one is controlling herself well. Already shaved, too." He smiled at Barbie. "And I'm informed that you already have your Academy uniform." "Y-yes, sir...." "Admirable. We'll fetch it from the hotel. Of course, you'll have to be processed tomorrow, just like your...well, whatever this other girl is.... But, after that, I imagine you'll be on your way to becoming an honor student."   He turned his attention then to Jenny, whom the Sheriff had pulled to her feet and re-cuffed.  As for you, young lady, I can see we'll have be stringent -- very stringent -- with you if we're to correct your deficiencies."  He shook his head. "No, I'm afraid that filthy patch of hair between your legs just can't be allowed to remain even until morning. We'll have it off tonight." He reached for a manila folder lying in his in-box.  "Now, who's on duty at this hour?" Lakewood downed his drink.  "Doesn't matter.  I'll take of it." The headmaster beamed.  "Excellent.  Most generous of you." "Not at all.  I like to keep my hand in...as it were." Leamus glared at Jenny.  "And you should be thanking Prof. Lakewood, girl. Ingratitude is not tolerated here." "Th-thank you, sir," Jenny managed.  "But...." "'But' nothing," Leamus went on. "And, since you don't have a proper uniform, you must do without for a while, until you can earn enough credits to pay for one....  But, for the present, you can continue to wear those cuffs, as your uniform." "You-you can't do that...can't hold us just like that.  I'm expected back at school.  I'll be missed...." He heaved a sigh.  "So many entering students insist that I can't do this or that, but I keep doing it anyway....  And it's all quite legal, isn't it Sheriff?" "Quite legal." "Incidentally, girl, what school do you attend?" "Doeville State." "A fine institution.  We have very good connections there, so we needn't concern ourselves there.   Starting tomorrow, you will rise at 7:00, lunch at noon, dine at 5:00, and usually be in bed by 8:00.  The rest of the day will be filled up with classes and work assignments.  Do well, and you'll earn credits -- which will result in priviledges -- do poorly, and you'll get demerits.... Tomorrow, of course, will be slightly different, since much of the morning will be taken up by the processing procedures.  So...." "Excuse me, Alec," Lakewood interjected.  "But how long has it been since you've processed a student personally?" Leamus looked nostalgic.  "Personally?  Oh, quite some time...." "The good old days, right?  So why don't we take a trip down memory lane and do these two tonight?  The Sheriff might even like to lend a hand." "Sounds like a plan," the Sheriff replied. "You've talked me into it," the headmaster said. He rose from behind his desk with a smile twitching at his moustache. "Let's go." Barbie, the potential honor student, suspected things were going to get worse before they got better.                                                                                                                            The End