Takin' the Piss

[F/ff] [spanking] [F/f] [humiliation] [schoolgirl] [mdlg] 

Continued from: The Rise of Brandy & Jessika

Oh my gosh, you guys, it’s Jessika here, picking right up where I left off—‘cause this whole “catch” thing in our arrangement with Mistress Andrea? It’s got two parts, and part two is all about the business side of our spicy content. Like, hehe, who knew moving into a fetish facility would come with profit-sharing deets? But okay, let’s dive in. So, all my content I create under my original brand, Gamer Toes—you know, the feet and hosiery stuff where I tease with slow stocking rolls or toe wiggles in fuzzy socks—Mistress takes 25% of the profits. 

Same for Brandy After Dark, her panty-focused shoots and vids where she bends over in those cheeky thongs and makes everyone drool. 

25% each. And honestly? It’s more than fair. Like, think about it—Mistress is doing everything for us: paying for our rooms, all the new cam-girl equipment with those fancy lights and backdrops that make my feet look magazine-perfect, our setups for late-night streams (within bedtime rules, lol), cosplay hauls that let me dress up however I want. She’s even covering our online degree programs—graphic design for me, so I can turn my creative ideas into something real—and all the tuition, books, everything. Plus the structure and accountability she’s brought into our lives? The rules that keep us on track, even if it means the occasional… okay, maybe frequent sore bottoms from real punishments. Hehe, it’s worth it— we never want for anything, and that 25% feels like a steal for the dreamland she’s built. It’s like she’s our guardian angel with a paddle, making sure we thrive while we create.

Then there’s the new stuff—any content created under the brand of The Facility. Like, we’ve talked about it as a possibility in the future: filming our spankings or other punishments, turning those real, teary moments into paid vids for fans who crave that authentic domestic discipline vibe. Imagine capturing the scolding, the over-the-knee position, the smacks landing with that sharp crack—fans eating it up. 

We haven’t started yet—it’s still this exciting “maybe someday” idea, something we whisper about after lights out—but if we do, Mistress would take 50% of the profits, and Brandy and I would split the other half. Again, super fair— she’s the one making it all possible, with her expertise and the space. Plus, the crossover potential? My foot fans getting a peek at my toes kicking during a belting, all frantic and dangling in the air, or Brandy’s panty lovers seeing hers pulled down slowly, that humiliating reveal before the first smack. Omg, the thought makes me blush hard, but it’s kinda thrilling too—turning our real-life corrections into something that pays, blending the shame with that secret rush.

Speaking of rules from that previous chapter—remember the one about dressing a certain way when Mistress instructs? It turns out she mostly means for our online schooling days. Like, no one on a Zoom class or call can see below the waist, so she deliberately age-regresses us to humiliate us, to make us feel all vulnerable and small while we study. 

We have to dress like naughty schoolgirls—plaid skirts that are short enough to flip up way too easy, crisp white blouses buttoned up tight but feeling so exposing, knee socks that hug our calves (perfect for my hosiery content inspo, hehe), and those Mary Jane shoes that click like constant reminders of our “punishment” as we walk to our desks. Omg, sitting there taking notes on graphic design while feeling like a little girl in trouble? It’s so embarrassing, my cheeks burn the whole time, that childish uniform clashing with the adult world on my screen. But… ugh, the involuntary arousal is real. That mix of shame and thrill hits different—my panties (when we’re allowed them) get all damp, and I squirm in my chair, trying to focus on lectures while my mind drifts to the “what if” of getting caught slacking.

And yeah, we’ve been spanked in these outfits—more than once. Like, full-on over Mistress’s knee, skirts flipped up with that humiliating whoosh of fabric, exposing our bums to the cool air, panties yanked down (or off if she’s feeling extra strict), that hairbrush or hand coming down while we’re crying like kids. 

The humiliation? Off the charts—feeling so childish at 24, exposed and punished in a uniform that screams “naughty girl,” my legs kicking helplessly, mary janes flailing in the air as each smack lands with that sharp, echoing crack. The sting builds fast—warm at first, then burning hot, spreading from my cheeks to my thighs, making me yelp and promise anything to make it stop. “I’m sorry! I’ll study harder!” I’d sob, tears streaming, my bum bouncing under her palm, the position leaving me so helpless, dangling like a ragdoll. And Brandy? She’s secretly admitted to me one night, after a particularly stingy session where we both got it together—side by side over her lap in turns—that she’s masturbated thinking about her spankings. Being spanked in the school uniform, shamed but thrilled, that rush of being so vulnerable turning her on big time—the way the skirt hikes up, the knee socks slipping down a bit from the kicking, the hairbrush thudding against her bare skin while she cries. 

And okay, spilling the beans here—I have too. Like, long after the misery of the real punishments passes, when my bum’s still tender but the sting fades to a warm glow that lingers for days, I’ve had at myself under the covers, replaying it all: the scolding that makes you feel so small, the over-the-knee position where your feet dangle and kick uselessly, the smacks echoing in the room as your bum turns redder and redder. It’s embarrassing to admit, that childish setup turning into this secret thrill, but hehe, that’s the kink life, right? The humiliation sticks with you, but so does the rush—making those “naughty schoolgirl” days equal parts dread and desire.

Can you believe Brandy and I have been here for months now? Like, it’s become this cozy little corner of the world for us, our own “wing” tucked away from the main kink spaces that we are not allowed to be in. Brandy is such a goodie-two-shoes sometimes. Who invited Buzz Killington?

My room and Brandy’s are right next to each other, these huge, bright spaces that feel like our personal havens. Mine’s all decked out with neon lights glowing around my gaming desk, a massive monitor for streaming, shelves full of Switch games and cosplay props—think elf ears and cute maid outfits hanging in the closet. Brandy’s is super similar but with her vibe: pink accents everywhere, a big vanity for her panty try-ons, and racks of lingerie that make her After Dark shoots pop. We pretty much live in each other’s pockets—no rules about being in each other’s space at all. Like, we’ll game together for hours, me kicking her butt in Mario Kart while she trash-talks in her low-rise jeans and tee. Or movie nights with popcorn, cuddled under blankets watching rom-coms or anime marathons, giggling about plot twists. And study sessions? Omg, we do those together too, huddled over laptops in our… well, those dreadful schoolgirl uniforms Mistress makes us wear for online classes. 

It’s all so fun and freeing, you know? No parents nagging, just us being our nerdy, kinky selves. But there are those bedtime rules— we have to be in our own rooms by ten, lights out by eleven, or it’s a spanking. Like, a real one. We’ve learned that the hard way a couple times—staying up too late editing vids or chatting, and boom, over Mistress’s knee the next day. It’s that accountability thing she talked about, keeping us on track, but hehe, it keeps things spicy too.

Down the hall from our rooms is that mock-up living room—the one with the grey walls over brick, retro furniture, that sturdy chair and stool where everything feels so… domestic. Omg, that’s where Brandy and I got spanked together for the first time, remember? It’s still the spot for when we need to be punished as a pair—like if we both skip study time or break curfew together. It’s designed purely for discipline, no sexy stuff ever happens there; it’s all about real correction, that maternal vibe Mistress brings that makes you feel so small and sorry.

Across the hall, though? That’s the mock-up childish dorm room—a sparsely furnished space that gives off this little, vulnerable feel, like a stripped-down kid’s bedroom with just a bed, a desk, and that ominous corner for timeouts. No frills, no comforts; it’s deliberately plain to amp up the humiliation. This is where we usually get taken individually for punishments or groundings—right across from our bedrooms so the other can hear everything through the thin walls. Like, if Brandy’s in there getting spanked, the door closed, I can catch the muffled cries, the loud smacks of hand or hairbrush on bare skin, her begging and promising to be good. It’s designed that way on purpose—to make the listener squirm, knowing it could be you next. The fear of the unknown hits hard when you’re lying in bed, toes curling under the covers, listening to your bestie get thrashed.

The first few times we were spanked in front of each other? Omg, mortifying. Like, severe humiliation that left me red-faced and teary before the first smack even landed—being naked together, watching her bum turn pink then red, her legs kicking, hearing her yelp… at 24? It’s so childish, so exposing, but yeah, it made my pussy wet despite the shame. That involuntary arousal, the way my body betrayed me with that warm tingle while my mind screamed ‘this is embarrassing!’ Now it’s not so rare anymore, not so taboo. We’ve been through it enough that the dynamic’s shifted—we even tease and taunt each other to make it worse, being little bitches about it. Like, if I know Brandy’s in trouble, I’ll whisper “You’re gonna get it so bad” before Mistress takes her away, twisting the knife with a giggle. Or she’ll mock me during cornertime, saying “Look at that red bum, Miss Gamer Toes—fans would love this.” Hehe, it’s mean but kinda fun, amping up the humiliation in this sisterly way. Who knew kink life could feel like this.

Like, total ride-or-dies—gaming together, swapping OnlyFans tips, binge-watching anime until dawn, the kind of bond where we finish each other’s sentences and know exactly when the other needs ice cream after a bad day. But since then? Omg, we’ve been bare naked and humiliated in front of each other countless times. Like, stripped down to nothing, our bums all red and stinging from Mistress’s hand or that hairbrush that bites so hard, listening to each other cry and beg like little girls. “Please, I’ll be good! No more!”—that kind of desperate stuff, punished right in front of one another, our tears mixing with those childish kicks and promises. It’s so exposing, so vulnerable at 24, but hehe, that’s what makes it hit different.

In the kink world, we’re essentially slave sisters—not related by blood, but bound through our submission to our “Mommy” Domme, Mistress Andrea. We love it, you guys. That shared dynamic, knowing we’re both under her maternal control. 

Oh, and speaking of sisters—I’ve befriended this adorable girl from the UK named Willow. She’s around my age, super cute with that British accent that makes everything sound fancy. We met through some online kink forums, and now we game together sometimes—late-night sessions on Discord, teaming up in Overwatch or chatting while I grind levels in Zelda. She knows all about the spankings and our dynamic here—the rules, the uniforms, the sore bottoms. Willow’s always wishing she was part of it too, like the third slave sister in our little family. “I’d love to be there with you lot, getting the belt and all,” she’ll text, and we giggle about how perfect she’d fit—another bubbly one to tease and taunt. The way Brandy and I go at each other to make the punished girl’s misery worse? Willow calls it “taking the piss.” Must be some British term, hehe—I looked it up once, and it’s like poking fun to deflate egos or something. Fits us perfectly, doesn’t it? Anyway, that’s our sisterly bond—full of love, laughs, and a little mean-girl spice.

Watch me take the piss on Brandy here, *giggle: 

This has been Jessika, signing off for now. 

Disclaimer: All text prompts going into A.I. systems to create some of the content of this blog along with requests for A.I. images appearing in this blog, clearly state that everyone involved is an ADULT, above the legal age of consent.