The Rise of Brandy & Jessika

[F/ff] [spanking] [domestic discipline] [sissy] [humiliation] [mdlg]

Continued from: What's the Catch?

“Brandy, can you believe we live in an industrial park, with a Dominatrix, in a fetish studio?”

I said it straight into the mic, my voice a mix of giggles and disbelief, the neon lights from my gaming setup casting pink and purple glows across the room. Brandy cracked up beside me, leaning into her mic with that signature cheeky grin. We were recording our latest BJ Podcast episode, but honestly? We barely got past the intro before I started rambling about our insane new reality.

It’s been a few months since that first, life-changing spanking at Mistress Andrea’s hands, and omg, you guys… everything flipped upside down. Brandy and I said yes to her offer that very night on the couch—tears still drying on our cheeks, robes wrapped around our sore bums, nuzzling into her like lost kittens. We accepted her offer and moved in full-time, and it’s been the wildest, most amazing, and sometimes most terrifying upgrade ever.

Our rooms? Literal dreamlands. I got this huge corner bedroom with massive windows overlooking the industrial park (weird view, but kinda cool at night). I decorated it exactly how I wanted—neon LED strips around the gaming desk, a massive monitor setup for streaming, shelves full of Switch games and Zelda merch, a cosplay corner with mirrors and racks for my elf archer outfits and cute Kawaii dresses. Mistress paid for everything: new high-end camera gear for my OnlyFans, ring lights, soft backdrops, even a professional ring light that makes my feet and stockings look magazine-perfect. Brandy’s room is right next door—same deal, but with her Brandy After Dark aesthetic: soft pink walls, tons of lingerie drawers, a big vanity for panty try-ons, and a huge bed for her spicy photo shoots. She went all in on the bum-in-panties vibe, obviously... and I think she has a secret nook for her Star Wars outfits, cuz she's a super nerd! *giggle 

Online school? Also covered. I’m enrolled in graphic design, finally chasing that dream I ditched during COVID. Brandy’s doing digital marketing and content creation. Tuition, books, laptop upgrades—Mistress Andrea pays for it all. We literally never have to worry about money. Groceries appear in the fridge, meals get cooked (sometimes by Mistress herself, and her veal marsala is to die for), and we have zero chores. Like, zero. The sissy maids handle everything—laundry folded, dishes done, rooms cleaned—while they curtsey in their little uniforms, caged and blushing. It’s surreal.

But… here’s the catch. The ever-mysterious catch we asked about that night (the first one, anyway).

There are rules. Strict rules. Under Mistress Andrea’s roof, we live by her structure. Accountability is non-negotiable. 

Screen time limits (no 3 a.m. gaming binges), set bedtimes (11 p.m. sharp, lights out), curfews if we go out. Boyfriends or girlfriends? Allowed, but they have to be approved, and there are boundaries—no sleepovers without permission, no bringing anyone into the Facility without her okay. Mandatory study days—no skipping online classes. And if Mistress wants us to dress a certain way at a certain time? It’s always “Yes, Ma’am,” no fuss, no sass.

Break the rules? Very real punishments. Very real spankings. The kind where you don’t sit comfortably for days. Hand, hairbrush, belt—whatever she decides fits the “crime.” We’ve already learned that the hard way (more on that later, hehe). It’s not fantasy anymore. It’s real domestic discipline, with real consequences, real tears, real sore bums, and real growth.

So yeah… we live in an industrial park, with a Dominatrix, in a fetish studio. And somehow, it feels like home.

One of the wildest parts of this whole dreamland life. I’m this smol, cute little thing, you know? Barely 5’5” on a good day, with my wavy hair usually tied back in a tight braid while I’m streaming or editing vids. I’ve got that gamer-girl vibe where I feel all cozy in oversized hoodies and slippers, curled up with my Switch playing Animal Crossing or building epic fantasy worlds in The Sims. Hehe, nerd alert— I love escaping into those pixelated adventures, where I can be a powerful queen or a sneaky elf, no real-life drama. But irl? The thought of being around big, intimidating men—guys twice my age, old enough to be my dad, all tall and broad-shouldered—was super scary at first. Like, omg, what if they were creepy or pushy? My heart would race just imagining it, that vulnerable feeling of being so tiny next to them, especially with my secret spanking fetish always lurking in the back of my mind. I’d picture them as these dominant figures, and it freaked me out.

But hehe, boy was I wrong. The first time I saw one of them—mincing around in those sky-high heels, click-clacking awkwardly like they were learning to walk all over again on some noob level in a game—it changed everything. Their fluffy maid dresses swishing with every step, those frilly aprons tied in big bows, stockings hugging their legs in this total role-reversal… it was like watching a character glitch in the best way. 

Some were in tears, sniffling quietly as they dusted the shelves in our wing or folded our laundry—carefully handling my cute knee socks and panties like they were precious artifacts, probably dying inside from the humiliation. 

Others were too humiliated to even look up or forbidden to speak to us at all, just curtsying silently with their heads bowed and scurrying away like scared NPCs. It was like, whoa, these aren’t scary dudes; they’re… broken in the best way, all soft and submissive, turned into these pretty little playthings. Seeing that power flip? Omg, it gave me this rush, tying right into my spanking fantasies— that idea of control and vulnerability, but from the other side.

Me and Brandy—knew their little dicks were always locked up in those cages, hidden behind satin panties that probably rubbed against the metal with every move, a constant reminder of Mistress’s control. Like, we’d whisper about it during our podcast recordings, giggling over how they’d throb uselessly while serving us. And the wrath of Mistress if they stepped out of line? Omg, that was no joke—she’d have them over her knee or worse in a heartbeat, and they’d be begging for mercy, their voices all high and whiny. The ones who were permitted to speak called us “Miss Jessika” and “Miss Brandy,” all polite and deferential, which was so strange at first. Like, Brandy and I are submissives in this space, right? We’re the ones getting spanked and put in timeout when we mess up, our bare bums turning red from her hand or that hairbrush that stings like fire. But nope, the lowest of the low on the pecking order was clearly not us—it was them, these men turned into pretty little maids, all frills and flushes, mincing around with trays of our favorite iced lattes or vacuuming our rooms while we lounged in our skimpiest of outfits, driving them mental!

They were all very pleasant, though—never pushy or weird. They’d never enter our wing of the Facility unless it was previously arranged, like when Mistress scheduled them to serve drinks during our podcast recordings—bringing us sparkling water with lemon slices on a silver tray, curtsying before backing out of the room. Or doing our laundry, folding our cute panties and stockings with these careful, trembling hands—omg, I’d catch one sneaking a glance at my sheer hosiery, his face turning pink, but he’d never say a word. Making our beds every morning, fluffing the pillows just right, all while probably throbbing in their cages at the sight of our young, tight little bodies lounging around in bras and panties, editing our OnlyFans vids. Hehe, it was kinda empowering, you know? Like, in my content, I’m all about teasing with my feet and socks, making subscribers drool over pics of my toes in fuzzy slippers, but here? These sissies were the ones drooling (figuratively, lol), locked and denied while we got pampered.

At first, it took some getting used to—feeling like royalty while these “men” simpered and served, their high heels wobbling as they carried our shopping bags from online hauls (Mistress spoils us rotten with new gaming gear and cosplay stuff). I’d feel a little guilty, seeing one cry while scrubbing the floors, but then I’d remember the rules: they’re here by choice, just like us, craving that humiliation. And omg, the stories we’d swap during downtime—Brandy laughing about how one sissy tripped in his heels serving her tea, spilling a drop and getting sent to cornertime right in front of us. It made our podcast eps even juicier, us dishing about “the help” while plugging our content. But both Brandy and I began to love it. Like, we felt like princesses in a dreamland, all pampered and adored, with our Queen making sure everything was perfect—bedtimes enforced, studies checked, but with that maternal care that makes the spankings feel… meaningful. 

The second part of "so, what's the catch," isn't quite as exciting as picturing Brandy and I being punished for real. It all had to do with finances and business deals in relation to our spicy content, who gets what percentage of what content, ya know? Mistress made us a very good deal, and as you can see, it hasn't dampened our spice. 

"Innocent?!" Whatever, you ho! 

This has been Jessika, signing off for now. 

Continued in: Takin' the Piss

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