On Sunday Liam awoke early. He hadn't intended to, it just happened. Truth was he was just so goddamn nervous knowing he would have to go back with Mercer, that fucking sadistic, perverted bastard.
Telling Hank, his stepfather, about the possibility of suing Mercer hadn't gone at all like Liam had expected. He really had thought Hank would pounce on the opportunity. He was the kind of guy who liked get-rich-quick schemes, though judging by the fact that he still wasn't rich, they never seemed to work.
But instead Hank had shut him down quickly. Liam didn't know what had happened between his stepfather and Dominic, but Hank had certainly seemed uncharacteristically cowed. But Hank hadn't just shut down Liam's plan of getting out of the contract and then getting rich by suing Dominic for the many abuses that took place in his mansion, Hank had also made it clear that Liam would be going back there. And his stepfather wasn't a man many people could say no to.
Hank's appearance alone could see to that. His stepfather looked so completely different from Liam that no one had ever made the mistake of confusing Hank with his biological father. Hank always reminded Liam of a bull. He was bald, thick-necked, broad-shouldered and perpetually red-faced, as though he was always angry. Which, to be fair, he often was.
Liam, meanwhile, took after neither Hank nor his biological father, whom he had never met, particularly strongly. He was taller and broader than Corey, and reasonably athletic too, but next to genuinely athletic men, like Jason, his build looked slight again. His brown hair, brown eyes and lean frame made him look good enough, but next to Corey's pretty-boy looks Liam was rather forgettable. However, his face still carried a trace of softness around the jaw and cheeks that annoyed him whenever someone pointed it out. At least Corey's obvious facial femininity aided his pretty-boy appearance. Liam had always been stuck in an awkward middle ground instead: a bit more masculine than Corey, but not enough that anyone would point it out.
Really, in his own mind, Liam didn't have a lane. For all the shit he gave Corey, Corey at least was obviously pretty. For all the hate he nursed toward his bastard of a stepfather, Hank at least was obviously masculine. For all the jealous resentment he had developed toward Jason in the short time he had known him, Jason at least was obviously athletic.
"But there's nothing obvious about me," he thought, not for the first time.
Eventually, as his thoughts kept spinning, Liam just got up, resigned to the fact that he wouldn't fall asleep again. It was all so fucked. How had he fucked up his life so badly? It had all just begun with a little gambling, nothing wrong with that. And for some time Corey and he had actually won too. That was what had convinced them that by borrowing money they could win everything they had lost back.
Liam decided to once again think over his options. Really, he had four options left. None of them seemed particularly promising.
The first was going to the police himself and blowing this whole thing open. But that came with some major risks, not only because Corey and Liam had been gambling and borrowing illegally, but also because the people they had borrowed from would surely find out if he talked to the police. Of course another major problem was that Mercer had a far easier time defending himself in court, and Liam had signed that fucked-up contract. Not to mention that Mercer would for sure reveal the pictures and videos he already had of Liam in skirts, makeup and chastity cages during any court proceedings. Coupled with Liam's signature on the contract, it would all be considered "voluntary." So even if Liam won the resulting court case, his social life would be forever fucked from then on.
The second option was talking to his mother, but the obvious issue with that plan was that she was currently out of town again. Neither he nor Hank had any idea where she was, as she somewhat regularly just fled town to go on a bender. Lianne Dawson was a pretty woman despite her age and habits, pretty enough to have convinced her then-dealer Hank to abandon his usual rule of keeping his social life separate from his customers and get together with her. Something Hank had, in the meantime, come to consider a major mistake. Lianne was unstable, unreliable, perpetually out of money and often out of town. All factors that had forced Hank to play a much more direct role in Liam's life than he had ever imagined.
The third option was to simply wait it out. The contract would run out after three months, but the issue here was that Liam was by now convinced that leaving would not be simple. He was pretty sure Mercer would pull some shit to keep him and Corey forever if he could manage it. This option was attractive because it rocked the boat the least, but it would only work if Liam could actually leave when the three months were up.
The fourth option was the most interesting. Liam could just take after his mother and run. The notion had been with him for years, long before he had ever heard the name Dominic Mercer. His mother's absences during his childhood and adolescence, coupled with the stories she told when she was back, had imbued the concept of being on the run with an almost magical energy for Liam. But of course he lacked both the money and the skills to do it properly.
Really, for now, Liam was unsure which option to pick, but he tended toward the third one until he could come up with something better. Even if "something better" was just finally having the balls to go to the police, consequences be damned.
The rest of the day Liam spent almost suspended. Nothing he did he could really enjoy because, truthfully, he was just waiting for the doorbell to ring and for Dominic Mercer to stand outside waiting to pick him up again. At least Hank didn't bother him much, because he was still fast asleep even at midday. Liam could hear his snoring through the closed bedroom door whenever he walked to the kitchen to get a snack.
And then, at four p.m., it finally happened.
The doorbell rang.
When it did, Liam winced and immediately thought, "Fucking pussy. You knew he was coming."
Liam slipped out the door and back into Dominic's clutches before Hank, whom he heard grumbling awake in his room, could properly get up.
"You're eager to return to me," Dominic commented lightly as Liam quickly closed the door behind him.
Dominic Mercer was as infuriatingly self-possessed as usual. Tall, broad-shouldered and impeccably dressed in a dark tailored suit that undoubtedly cost more than all of Liam's and Corey's debt combined. His neat dark hair was perfectly groomed, while his sharp jawline and high cheekbones gave his handsome features an austere quality. Pale blue eyes regarded Liam with the calm amusement of someone watching a particularly predictable animal.
As they drove, New York drifted past beyond the car windows. Trees along the avenues had begun turning green again now in late spring, and crowds of pedestrians filled the sidewalks while sunlight reflected brightly from the glass and steel of Manhattan's skyline. The city always seemed to gleam somewhere in the distance no matter where one found oneself within it.
"Hey guys," Liam muttered quietly as he took his place beside Corey in the middle seat and Emily, who sat by the opposite door in Dominic's Maybach.
"What's up, man?" Corey replied.
"Hi Liam," Emily chirped. "We were just talking about you." Naturally, only Emily seemed actually excited to return to the mansion. Liam didn't ask what they had been talking about.
As Dominic drove the Maybach toward his New England mansion, Sunday's preparations for the coming week at that very mansion were very nearly complete as well. Throughout the afternoon, the sissy maids that had remained over the weekend, such as Jessica and Madison, had busied themselves preparing the mansion for another week of the academy. Uniforms had been washed, ironed and laid out neatly for Monday morning, makeup kits had been restocked, lesson materials for the coming week had been distributed to the various classrooms throughout the mansion so that everything would be where it was needed.
And of course preparations for Corey's and Liam's big day had been made. After all, tomorrow their naming ceremony would take place. Madison was teary-eyed as she thought back to her own naming ceremony. They always took place not long after a sissy's initiation into Mercer's harem, so Maddie, back then, had still very much felt she was Matthew Elias Reed. But despite "his" lack of acceptance of the new name on the day "he" received it, Madison Elise Mercer really had been born that day.
And yet, years later, when she thought back on that day, it no longer felt like Matthew's ceremony. It felt like Madison's. And that realization always made her emotional.
"Okay." Jessica's voice cut in cleanly, interrupting her thoughts. "What are we crying about this time?"
Madison blinked and looked up. Across from her, Jessica lounged comfortably in one of the veranda chairs, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. The afternoon sun caught in her platinum-blonde hair, turning it almost white. Not for the first time Maddie noticed that for a sissygirl that supposedly so despised being one, Jessica played her role exceptionally well. If she didnt know better, Maddie would´ve had no idea that this was, in fact, a sissy. And one who insisted she hated it too.
"Nobody's crying," Maddie protested, her voice melodic and soft, years of vocal training and the throat surgery seen to that. Matthew´s actual voice had been erased years ago.
Jessica raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Maddie."
"I'm not."
"You're literally crying. Mind your makeup."
Madison quickly rubbed at one eye, and Jessica sighed dramatically. "You are such a disaster." Despite the words, there was obvious affection beneath them, affection that not even Jessica managed to hide.
The veranda they sat on overlooked one of the mansion's gardens. Warm afternoon sunlight spilled across the stone walkways and carefully sissy-maintained flowerbeds, while a gentle breeze rustled through the trees surrounding the estate. Yesterday had been their turn for maid duty, which had been interrupted for some hours by Clara's arrival, but today they had a free day while other sissies performed the mansion's services.
And Jessica was profoundly grateful for that fact. She had spent enough weekends on her knees scrubbing floors, or doing other things on her knees, and carrying laundry baskets to appreciate free time whenever it appeared.
Both girls had changed into casual clothes after lunch. Well, casual for a sissy. Both Jacob and Matthew wouldn't have considered what Jessica and Madison were wearing casual, and Jacob would probably have found some very choice words to describe it. But compared to what they usually wore, this really was casual.
Madison wore a soft pink cardigan over a white sundress that barely covered her hairless thighs, paired with delicate golden sandals. Her dark hair had been pulled back loosely, leaving a few carefully styled strands framing her face. In terms of makeup, a light layer of foundation gave her skin a doll-like appearance, while mascara and eyeliner emphasized her large, vulnerable and now slightly wet brown eyes. Pink gloss shimmered on her bee-stung lips, and a touch of blush sat high on her cheeks, lending her a perpetually embarrassed look so befitting of a sissy.
The sandals presented her pretty feet to the world. Their own category of humiliation in a way, as many of the mistresses and masters at the mansion had noticed over the years that displaying a sissy's feminized feet was one of the few areas of their body that even veteran sissies could still get embarrassed about. Years of pedicures, performed by herself and other sissies, often Jessica, had left Maddie's feet soft and meticulously maintained, the toenails painted a bright, attention-grabbing red.
Clara had an entire curated picture collection of sissies giving each other pedicures. Jessica holding Maddie's tiny foot. Jessica kissing her big toe to test whether the color was still wet, exactly as they had been taught. Jessica concentrating intensely while she carefully painted a perfect line of shimmering pink across Maddie's nails. Jessica presenting the finished result to the camera while Maddie sat with her ankles crossed.
The sundress she was wearing came with its own annoyance. Beneath it, Maddie wore the same crotchless lingerie Dominic favored, which meant she always had to remain conscious of how she sat. Too careless and there was a risk of revealing the little flat iron cage and her, by now, tiny and atrophied "sissy cherries."
Jessica, for her part, wore a tiny white knit crop sweater paired with a matching white skirt. The loose weave of the sweater revealed glimpses of the white bra beneath, while the cropped hem left her flat stomach exposed from just beneath her breasts to the waistband of her skirt. The outfit framed several of the mansion's permanent additions to her body perfectly. Her navel piercing glittered softly whenever she moved, while lower down the elegant ownership tattoo visibly marked her as one of Dominic's kept sissies. The white fabric contrasted beautifully with her platinum-blonde hair, making it appear even lighter in the afternoon sun.
The skirt sat snugly on the hips Dominic had spent years and a small fortune creating, its short hemline drawing attention to long smooth legs maintained through endless treatments. White sandals completed the look. Their thin straps exposed feet that had long ago been surrendered to the mansion's pedicure schedule, every toenail painted a glossy pearl white that matched both the outfit and her fingernails. Winged eyeliner framed her icy blue eyes, pale pink gloss gave her lips a soft shine and a touch of highlighter caught the sunlight across her cheekbones.
Somewhere farther across the grounds, laughter drifted through the warm air and Jessica suddenly had the thought that it wasnt all horrible. Such afternoons still existed after all, they could still be experienced. And she was pretty sure as Jacob she had never once appreciated a spring afternoon simply being. Sissification really had put a lot of things into perspective, even if she still thought she didnt deserve to be here. Clara had cheated too, but nobody had done anything to her for that. No! Instead she had been hired by Dominic and now got payed just so she could live out her deepest, most perverse and sadistic fantasies.
"So, why were you crying, Maddie, honey?" Jessica asked.
Madison looked down at Jessica´s pedicure, unable to meet her friend´s gaze "I totally wasn't."
"You literally were."
"It was, like, one tear."
Jessica rolled her eyes, then giggled slighly "Huuuge difference, of course."
Maddie smiled despite herself and looked out over the garden path for a few moments. "Tomorrow's their naming ceremony."
"Right." Jessica simply confirmed.
"And it just kinda made me think about my naming ceremony. You know "Madison"."
"Yes, I know your name" Jessica smirked and Maddie gave her a look, her large brown eyes reminding Jessica of a deer´s or a bunny´s at that moment.
Maddie continued . "I don't know. I dont know. Sometimes I just think about how scared I was back then. I was still so convinced I was Matthew."
"You were." Jessica said. That was the difference between them, for Jessica, sissification was degrading, and the further removed you became from your original self the more degrading it was. Really, this was what made her special to Dominic. The issue with his brand of sissification was that you couldnt capture a sissy who truly fulfilled the fantasy of forced feminization. After all, if all the 140 sissies across the country that had signed with his foundation had been forced into it the whole thing would´ve come crashing down on him long ago. So most sissies were more like Maddie, and those like Jessica, Liam and Corey, were a true rarity
"No, I mean it." Maddie tucked a loose strand of hair behind one pierced ear, causing her intricate earrings to jingle slightly. "I look at everything now and I... I dont think I ever were"
Luckily, before the old discussion could flare up again, Celine suddenly appeared on the veranda.
The former accountant was still wearing her maid uniform from today's rotation. The black dress hugged her narrow waist tightly before flaring out into layers upon layers of white frills and petticoats, while a crisp white and largely decorative apron sat neatly over the front. White stockings disappeared into glossy black heels that clicked sharply against the stone floor as she approached. She carried herself with an almost comically limp-wristed femininity, one hand resting lightly against her hip while the other floated beside her, wrist bent sissy-like, just as trained.
"There you girls are," she said, affected exasperation in her voice.
Even after all these years, there was still something absurd about being addressed as "girls" by another feminized boy in Jessica's mind. Celine had once been a young accountant, pretty enough as a guy, even before her sissification, but still decidedly male. And now she stood before them in a maid uniform, heels and makeup, calling them girls as though this were the most natural thing in the world.
Jessica still had moments like this quite often, where she suddenly stepped back and looked at her life from the outside. One of three enormous mansions that she knew of, all filled with sissies. Former boys now wearing skirts and makeup. A billionaire patron financing the entire thing as a hobby. It was all completely ridiculous. But what could she do?
"Yes, babe?" Jessica asked, before adding without letting her answer, "They're here, aren't they?"
Celine smiled. "You're right as always, Jessi."
A few minutes later the three of them were making their way across the estate toward the mansion's parking area, Celine clicking beside them, having some trouble on the gravel path in her heels. The enormous manor loomed behind them and in front of them Dominic himself loomed, having just gotten out of his black Maybach.
The new week had arrived.
"Ah. The welcoming committee," Dominic said in greeting, while, inside the Maybach, Corey, Liam and Emily watched the scene unfold.
Celine, being on maid duty, immediately dropped into a deep curtsy. The layers of her maid skirt and petticoats spread around her legs as she carefully gathered the sides of the fabric between her fingers. She slid one high-heeled foot behind the other as she bent her knees, the movement forcing her thighs together in a posture that looked impossibly feminine to Corey.
The back of his neck prickled as he was reminded that Emily was sitting right beside him, observing that same scene. Seeing a thoroughly feminized sissy lower herself in such an unmistakably feminine way before one of her "betters." Even bowing would've been less humiliating.
"Welcome home, Master," Celine said automatically. The modes of address a sissy used for her betters depended on the role she was performing at the time. And a sissy maid addressed her male betters as either "Master" or "Sir."
Corey was once again struck by just how far the Mercer Foundation seemed capable of taking voice feminization. Celine's voice was soft, light and unmistakably feminine, not merely higher-pitched but distinctly recognizable as female, had he not known better.
Before anyone could respond, she was already hurrying forward across the gravel in quick little steps, heels clicking rapidly beneath her. Reaching the Maybach, she opened Emily's door with the efficiency of someone who had performed the task dozens of times before. Meanwhile, Corey and Liam were left to climb out on their own side. Liam didn't really notice or care, but Corey took note of the little difference in treatment, and it hadn't been ordered either. Celine just seemed to know that Emily "deserved" better treatment.
"Hi, Daddy," Madison squeaked, genuinely happy to see him.
"Yes, hi, Daddy," Jessica added as well, genuinely unhappy to see him.
Dominic chuckled and then said to Jessica, "Still a delight, I see."
Jessica rolled her eyes in response, but unfortunately, that only seemed to amuse him more.
When all had gotten out of his car, Dominic locked it, and without further comment simply marched toward his mansion, enjoying the uneasy attention the entire group, save for Emily, regarded him with. What greater proof of victory of one male over other´s was there than this? In his mind, none.
He entered his mansion through one of the side entrances, intending to take the shortest path to his and his sissy wife’s luxurious suite. A bit like a hotel, his mansion was subdivided into a large number of suites for guests, with his being located quite far up inside the enormous structure. His suite itself was practically an entire apartment inside the mansion. It contained a master bedroom, a spacious living room, a fully equipped gourmet kitchen for Tiffany alongside a formal dining area, a private office for Dominic, a bathroom large enough to rival those of luxury hotels, and a small private balcony overlooking the grounds of the estate.
He found his sissy wife in the enormous kitchen that formed part of their private suite.
Like the rest of the apartment-sized residence inside the much larger mansion, the kitchen was lavishly appointed. Dark stone countertops stretched beneath warm lighting, polished cabinets lined the walls, and expensive stainless-steel appliances gleamed from every corner. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked part of the estate grounds beyond.
Tiffany stood at the kitchen island preparing dinner.
She had clearly dressed with care. The pastel dress she wore would not have looked out of place in a 1950s advertisement. Its fitted bodice emphasized her surgically narrowed waist before flaring into a neat skirt that fell just below the knees. A delicate cardigan rested over her shoulders, and a small pearl necklace sat at her throat. Her makeup was subtle but meticulous. Everything about the outfit projected the image of a cheerful, devoted housewife.
Dominic knew exactly why. She was trying to keep him in good spirits now that her son, soon-to-be-daughter, was here.
"Told you he'd be back," Dominic said. His deep voice carried through the room.
Tiffany turned and looked back at him immediately. There was so little trace of her old self visible as her large, vulnerable eyes looked at him. Her long hair framed her beautiful, carefully maintained face. The years really had transformed her into exactly what Dominic had intended: a picture-perfect sissy housewife. He really had brought a fantasy of his late twenties to life in his mid-fifties. He was living his dream, and how many people could say that of themselves?
"I never once doubted you, honey," Tiffany replied as she stepped forward and wrapped her slender, muscleless arms around him.
Dominic returned the embrace, and for a moment the former bully and his former victim simply stood together in the kitchen while the smell of dinner drifted through the room.
Then Tiffany glanced toward the door and asked, "Can I go see him, baby?" even though she already knew the answer.
"No. Not before tomorrow's naming ceremony."
Her disappointment was clearly visible, even though she did her best to hide it, but certain aspects of Dominic's sissy training worked to ensure emotional fragility and incontinence. Simply because to Dominic the notion of a sissy being unable to hide what she was feeling in that moment was delightfully adorable.
"Of course," Tiffany said quietly.
Dominic patronizingly kissed her on the forehead, adding, "Just one more night, and then you can see her and address her by her sissy name."
That seemed to comfort her somewhat, and knowing there was nothing else she could do if her husband had made up his mind, knowing she would lose any confrontation, she simply nodded and returned to her stove, prompting Dominic to pat her on the butt and laugh. "I guess it's boys that belong in the kitchen after all."
Meanwhile Corey and Liam found themselves once again in the tiny room they shared. Tiny by design. While the mansion around them was absurdly large and the elites, like Emily, and instructors, like Clara Bell, enjoyed entire spacious apartments for themselves, the sissies were kept, two at a time, in these tiny doll-sized and doll-furnished display cases. Because, when combined with the cameras placed in every room, that was what they were to him. His collection of pristine sissy dolls, stored neatly in his mansion.
Beside Corey, Liam dropped onto the bed, making the blanket crumple beneath him. "Alright, bro. There's probably cameras in this room too, so I know you bastards are listening!" he suddenly shouted into the room before continuing at a normal volume again. "But we should still discuss what to do because, bro, I'm fucked. I don't know what to do or if we should just wait it out until the three months are up and hope he literally does nothing to keep us here."
"That thing with Hank really stumped you, huh?" Corey said, stating the obvious, but he didn't really know what to do or say right now either. And he certainly wasn't used to being the one in the lead in this friendship. Usually Liam was the one who did that for him.
"Yeah, you could say that," Liam answered, then he continued, "And I don't really want the police involved because of my mom."
"You think she's high again?" Corey asked, and was rewarded with a "Dumbass question, of course she is" by Liam, who then added, "And I don't want us to get stabbed or something by these fucking assholes we owe money either if we talk to the cops."
"So the grand idea is... doing nothing?" Corey asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Do you have a better idea?" Liam snapped back at him. After a few seconds of Corey's silence, he then said, "Apparently that's the approach for now until we think of something. If worse comes to worse, we can always just make a run for it."
The next morning began normally, well, normal for an institution whose purpose was the training of sissies. They were awoken at 6 by the loudspeakers in their room playing actually very pleasant bird sounds. A surprisingly comfortable way to wake up, even though it was much too early for Liam's tastes. Not long after, Max and Samuel showed up. They did their morning hygiene, showered, and cleaned their cages. Put on their wigs. Corey's blonde bob, Liam's dark-brown layered cut, Max's inky-black bob, and Samuel's long curly brown hair. Then came their beginner uniforms: white ruffled panties over their cages, white pantyhose, soft blouses, pleated skirts that fell just above the knees, and black ballerina flats with little bows. And then finally they found themselves at breakfast.
Corey found it insane how quickly the human mind could get used to new circumstances. If he didn't constantly remind himself how strange this was, then the day had begun how he had expected. How was that even possible? How could a guy get used to wearing a skirt so relatively quickly?
"Perhaps I am a sissy," he thought during a silent moment at breakfast, but banished that thought nearly as fast as it had arisen. That was what they wanted him to think, and it was tantamount to giving in. Really, was it not more likely that the human mind was simply very plastic and could get used to things it had no ability to change very quickly? He decided he preferred that belief.
Then, while Corey and Liam had their first Monday class again, "Feminine Fashion, Presentation & Deportment" from 8:00 AM to 10:00 AM, the eight house girls at the mansion were already busy preparing the venue for tonight's naming ceremony. The mansion maintained a large ballroom for such occasions, it was an elegant space that hosted all manner of social functions throughout the year. Naming ceremonies, Sissy beauty pageants, sissy auctions for charity, graduation celebrations, mock school dances, and even the occasional sissy prom were all held there. With its polished parquet floor, crystal chandeliers, small stage, and enough room for around 80 people, it was one of the largest rooms in the mansion, perhaps only eclipsed by some of the storage halls situated below the mansion.
Dominic and Keene were in exactly such a storage hall at that moment, specifically the one housing the outfits. The hall took up a large portion of the mansion's basement floor and looked quite similar to a theater's costume department. Metal racks stretched far ahead in neat rows filled with all sorts of clothes wrapped in clear plastic bags. Perhaps close to a thousand outfits hung there, properly classified and marked. One section contained beginner outfits, another intermediate wardrobes, while some of the most complicated costumes and dresses had racks of their own. Shoeboxes were lined up on shelves along the walls, alongside wig heads with their wigs, handbags, jewelry cases, makeup kits, and many plastic containers filled with accessories. This hall was the largest of the mansion's storage halls and, in many ways, a tangible embodiment of Dominic's obsession, at least in Keene's opinion. Though naturally she wouldn't have voiced such a thought so as not to antagonize her benefactor. But she estimated that, all in all, this hall probably contained several million dollars' worth of outfits.
"And this is only one of three such mansions, with a fourth one in construction" Keene thought as the two walked through the rows of clothes "it boggles the mind".
They had come down here for the simple reason that, for such an important occasion as the naming ceremony, various types of costumes were available, and Dominic wanted to select them himself.
"How about this one, Veronica?" he asked her, and the doctor with white hair turned around to take a look.
The costume he was indicating was really a terribly pink monstrosity. One could assume that it had been inspired by a prom dress, though no actual girl would ever want to wear something like this. The dress looked to be entirely made up of little pink fabric roses, so densely packed onto the dress that they began to overlap each other, which Dominic knew created an intense ruffling sound when worn. Hundreds of these tiny flowers decorated the whole thing in such a mass that the material could hardly even be seen anymore. It was bell-shaped and off the shoulders, forcing the wearer to have their beautiful slender arms revealed at all times. From the waist, the dress bloomed outward in wide circles, layering the little pink roses until it reached the ground.
Within the mansion's wardrobe classification system, the dress very clearly belonged to the third category: Sissy Feminine.
Dominic had devised a system which divided feminine clothing into three broad categories. The first was Classic Feminine, consisting of ordinary women's clothing. Blouses, skirts, certain jeans, and so on. The second category was Sweet Feminine, which was clothing that deliberately emphasized youthfulness, softness, and traditionally girlish aesthetics. Sundresses, evening gowns, ribbons, and bows fell into this category.
And then there was the third category.
Sissy Feminine consisted of clothing specifically designed for sissies, and only sissies. The goal was not merely to make the wearer look girly, but to make them unmistakably and immediately appear as a sissy. Such outfits exaggerated feminine features and aesthetics far beyond what any woman would ever choose for herself. To Dominic, there was an important distinction between looking like a woman and looking like a sissy, though sissies wore all three categories. They usually wore Sweet Feminine, with Classic Feminine mostly acting as a reward for good behavior and during their free time, where they could choose their outfits themselves, within reason. Sissy Feminine mostly remained for functions and to punish a misbehaving sissy.
Early on, Dominic had made all his sissies wear Sissy Feminine all the time and had used no categorization system at all. But that soon came with several problems. The main one being that a sissy who wore such humiliating and revealing clothing every day eventually got used to it. Humiliation, Dominic had found, was actually a precious thing, and a person could grow quite resilient to it if it happened too often. Another problem was that anyone could either immediately tell that the person wearing Sissy Feminine was a sissy, or, if they were wholly unfamiliar with the concept, they could at least tell that this person had very strange taste. But that wasn't something Dominic wanted at all times. Sometimes he wanted his sissies to blend in. A benefit that emerged from the categorization system was also that sissies grew to be thankful for being allowed to wear Classic Feminine and even Sweet Feminine, which amused Dominic.
"Yes, I think it fits the occasion," Keene answered. "Pair it with some nice high heels, and it will do wonders."
"High heels? You think so?" Dominic asked. "They would have to be led up on the stage. They can't walk in them yet."
"Arranging that should be no problem at all," Keene said.
Dominic looked at the dress again and felt himself growing hard. There were moments when the sheer scale and depth of his victory in life were still hard to fully grasp.
To have all these sissies act as though his nonsensical rules were real, and then to remember how, when it all began, these were nothing more than fantasies he had had in the late '90s, during long nights of building up Mercer & Bockton Capital Group with his old friend Michael Bockton, when Dominic would masturbate to sissy fiction to take the stress off. In such moments, he often imagined what correct behavior for a good sissy he would enforce if he had a sissy. But back then, he had no idea that someday actual sissies would be scrambling to behave exactly like that to avoid his punishments. The attraction was not that he believed in any of it. He knew the rules were arbitrary because he had invented them himself. He knew what he was really doing. He was consciously creating a game and then getting turned on by watching his sissies have to take it seriously because, to them, it was serious. He made sure of that. They lived by rules that existed solely because Dominic Mercer had once imagined them during a late-night fantasy. If only his younger self could somehow know what the future held for him.
He had created a completely arbitrary social system from scratch and was now watching his sissies have to devote themselves fully to it, even to organize their entire lives around it. They were broken down and rebuilt simply to fit his sexual fantasies and for no other reason. Not because, in his mind at least, it was right, or they deserved it, or they needed to be taught a lesson. Many of his employees believed these reasons. Even many of his sissies did. But Dominic had created the system and knew it was only real because he saw to it, not because he had discovered a fundamental truth in his sissies about who they truly were.
But this was the turn-on. Hundreds of people across the country, sissies and his instructors both, behaved as though his sexual fantasy that he had forced into reality was a profound revelation and deep truth. Entire lives were uprooted and changed because it made him hard. This, more than all the money he made and the properties he owned, was real power.
Everything the Mercer Foundation now did could ultimately be traced back to something a much younger Dominic once imagined during late nights in the '90s.
At that moment, up in her and her husband's apartment within the mansion, Tiffany was nervously pacing up and down in the kitchen, trying to remember her lines and body language. Every sissy Dominic owned was really an actress, and the role she had been assigned today was that of the proud, emotional mother at one of the most important moments in her daughter's life. The sort of woman who couldn't help but smile even as she cried. The woman who dabbed at her tears and told everyone what a proud mother she was. She would fuss over everything and anything. She would adjust her daughter's dress although it needed no adjusting, and she would be overcome by emotion every time she looked at Corey become whatever name Dominic had chosen. Tiffany should be radiating with the full maternal pride of a mother seeing her daughter achieve an important milestone in her life. This was the way Dominic had explained he wanted her to be for the ambiance, and Tiffany did not want to let him down.
She still wasn't entirely sure how to feel about Corey's impending sissification, if Dominic's plan really went off without a hitch and Corey didn't somehow manage to get out of it. But Tiffany doubted Corey would manage that. She knew her son, and she knew her husband. Her husband would probably pull out ahead. Her son was too much like her. He wouldn't be able to win this.
On the one hand, she was of course happy to no longer be the only sissy in the family, and she looked forward to the prospect of having her two families, Dominic Mercer, and Tiffany's ex-wife from when she was still Terrence, and her two kids Olivia and Corey, be united into one. And if the education she had been given over the last few years was even just partially correct, then Corey, like her, was meant to be a sissy. The logic was airtight and self-reinforcing, in a way, because whether a male was a sissy or not could be discovered simply by attempting to subject him to sissification. A true man could not be successfully sissified, but a sissy, naturally, could. And so if Corey, like her, could neither resist nor escape sissification then, by Dominic's logic, he deserved sissification.
Tiffany smiled lightly, thinking back to how Terrence had resisted that idea at first, calling it "circular reasoning" and "unfair because Dominic used blackmail and violence." But her protestations hadn't mattered in the end, because, as per Dominic's logic, she was a sissy, and couldn't resist her sissification, and what did a sissy know?
But on the other hand, Corey's life would be effectively over, or at least his life would become narrower. A sissy was almost entirely managed. Sure, he wouldn't ever have to bother himself about making an income again, or even with most of the responsibilities that usually came with adulthood, but his ambitions and options would have to shrink as well. Tiffany knew that once Dominic had really dug his claws in, Corey would probably be nothing but a sissy for the rest of his, or rather her, life.
And there was a largely unacknowledged and deeply shameful anxiety that Terrence, or what remained of him beside Tiffany, could never quite get rid of. An anxiety, a quiet whisper really, about what the successful feminization of Corey would mean for the Porter name. Terrence's birth name, one Tiffany, now called Mercer after her husband and conqueror, had already lost. It was a silly fear, but one that resurfaced from time to time at the edges of her mind.
But until this evening there was nothing she could do about any of it except repeat her lines again.