Sacrifice

Please enjoy the conclusion of this fictional story, in fair Quebec, where we lay our scene. 

Told by Jeanie "Andrea" Valjean 

Continued from: 24601

********************

I was never afraid of combat, not now, not two decades ago when I was directly engaged in the war. I'm not afraid to die, not even by Summer's hand. But right now, all I was dying from was a broken heart, the pain of which, was more than I could bear.

As I boarded the helicopter I took one last look at my home, where Summer and I shared countless nights of laughter, passion, tears and love. Now, with the veil of her deception revealed, I knew her as Nicolette Javert, the Hunter. Why did she have to go by such a name? By only her name did it make her my enemy.

What's in a name? 

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet...

*********************

If Nicolette knew where my old unit was, then I didn't have much time. It was clear our forces were destined to face each other. I was helio-dropped into northern Quebec, with orders to link up with what was left of my old insurgency team. Backed by an entire infantry division, I was to lead an offensive into the heart of Quebec City, and re-take the town from the clutches of French occupation. 

Once on-ground, a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as an old friend appeared from an army tent. It was Doc Edwards, Captain now. My combat medic from the old war and a trusted companion. I threw my arms around him like a little girl embracing the comfort of her Daddy's protection. 

Jeanie: "DOC!!" I excitedly shrieked. "Still alive you old bastard?!" 

Doc: "Ohhh hey, kiddo!" He chuckled as he accepted my warm embrace.

Jeanie: "What's the situation?" 

Doc: "Not good. The Hunter is close and we have taken so many casualties. We could hear her drones all through the night and her attacks have been relentless. This woman was born to end lives!" 

My eyes narrowed into daggers as he spoke of Summer in such primal terms. If only they knew her as I did...

We settled into the tent with our intelligence division who were buzzing like bees, combing through maps and infrared images of enemy positions. I looked at Doc with a mix of concern and despair in my face. 

He pulled me aside and rested his hand on my shoulder. 

Doc: "What's wrong, kiddo? 

Jeanie: "I...I'm not sure I can do this again, Doc. That was the old me...and it's been so long." 

Doc: "Nonsense! You need to lead these people, as you did before. They were all scared shitless until you showed up. They need you, Valjean!"

His words were inspiring, trigging a moment of introspection in the quiet stillness of the snow-covered trees. Whether I was here or not, these young men and woman of Canada and France will never stop shedding each other's blood. This ancient grudge, has left our civil hands unclean. 

I knew what I had to do. I just didn't know if I had the strength to do it. Doc snapped me from my inner monologue.  

Doc: "Jean...I found some of your old things. They're in your tent."

In the privacy of my tent, the realization of what I had to do finally hit me. I swallowed back my tears as I ran my hands over the wool tunic of my old uniform. It dripped with medals of valour, bravery and ribbons to sensationalize the ferocious combat I once experienced. Yet, there was nothing sensational about any of this. 

With a full heart and a steely look of confidence in my face, I straightened my beret and flung the tent flap aside, the snow crunched under my feet.

I could see the renewed patriotism in Doc's face, as he got down on one knee in front of me. Then, like dominos, row after row of hundreds of my fellow Canadian rebels, knelt and lowered their heads. 

Doc: "It's good to have you back...General."

Jeanie: "Thank you, Captain."

I motioned for Doc to stand, then immediately started to issue battle orders. As the troops were beginning to scramble into position, a whistle blast screeched out, halting our actions. A sniper's scope had spotted a silhouette, cautiously creeping through the tree line. It was a French soldier holding a white flag. 

Sniper: "General, I have a 100% solution, Ma'am." 

Jeanie: "No, hold your fire."

Doc approached the enemy who was holding the white flag. The French kid couldn't have been any older than eighteen. They conversed briefly, before they both separated and walked in opposite directions from one another. I could see concern etched onto Doc's face as he approached. 

Jeanie: "What's wrong?" 

Doc: "She wants to face you alone. She has given you her word it will only be the two of you."

As Doc spoke, he held out his hand and my eyes caught the glint of a shimmering gold, fleur de lis. I bit my tongue to hold back the tears. It was Summer's necklace! The one I bought for her in New Orleans when we fell in love. 

Angerly, I snatched it from his hand and thrust it into my pocket. 

Jeanie: "When?!" I shouted at him in pure rage. 

Doc: "Sunset..."

I spent the next few hours alone, in my tent, as the fire inside me continue to burn. When the sun began to dip low on the horizon, Doc entered and sat beside me like a father consoling his little girl. 

Jeanie: "Back in the war it was survival, right, Doc? We didn't think we just fought, for our homeland." 

Jeanie: "But I've had plenty of time to think about this..."

Doc nodded solemnly, almost anticipating what was coming next. 

Jeanie: "I can't beat her, can I?" 

Doc: "No, kiddo."

*******************

The snow creaked underfoot, as I approached my stunning wife who was waiting in the empty woods. I dropped my rifle to the ground when I saw she was armed with only a knife. This was going to be a fair fight.  

Jeanie: "Summer? Or is it Lieutenant Javert...?" I hissed, with distain dripping from my voice. 

Nicolette: "It's actually Colonel now, Valjean."

Jeanie: "How many of my countrymen did you kill to earn that title?” 

I tossed my jacket to the ground and removed my vest, while drawing a large blade from it's sheath and advanced on Summer.  

Nicolette's eyes glossed over with tears and she looked at me like she used to when she would call me "Mommy", and snuggle into my arms.

Nicolette: "Andrea," she whispered out through a crackling voice. "What happened to us?" 

I paused my advance and in that moment, I could see Summer...not the soldier who stood before me. 

The woman I fell in love with, over and over again. 

Nicolette: "They're never going to stop, are they, Valjean?" 

Jeanie: "I don't think so...not unless..."

Jeanie: "Unless..."

Nicolette: "I know what we have to do, Andrea. I know how we can stop all of this." 

Summer cast her knife onto the cold ground, I did the same. She approached and we wrapped ourselves in each other's arms. Her lips brushed against mine as we shared a final kiss. 

Nicolette: "Did you ever stop loving me, Andrea?" 

Jeanie: "Never, sweetheart." 

I could feel her breathing accelerate as her chest began to rise and fall rapidly against mine. Amidst the silence and the sounds of our beating hearts, came the unmistakable sound of Summer's pistol being drawn from her holster. I tore at the Velcro of my holster, as I drew my own. 

We held hands and turned to face the beautiful horizon over the Quebec landscape. The sun treated us to a warm burst of colour, as it began to set below the foothills. 

Goosebumps consumed my body as the cold barrel of my pistol came to rest on the underside of my chin. 

I glanced to Summer and gave her hand a squeeze, as she aimed her gun under her own chin. She gave me a heart-warming smile, then turned to face the sunset and stood at attention. 

A flock of birds frenzied into flight, startled by the two loud BANGS that ripped through the quiet woods. 

Both sides came rushing, to see the fate of their leaders and crown the victor. No one, on either side, was prepared for the scene that marred the crisp, white snow. Summer and Andrea's lifeless bodies were found by Canadian and French soldiers. They were laying face-up in the snow, still holding each other's hands.

A pair of star-crossed lovers, took their life.  

Paralyzed with grief over the deaths of their heroic leaders, the nations of Canada and that of France, immediately signed a ceasefire to end the war.

**********************

In a courtyard in Ottawa, overlooking the Ottawa River, a beautiful statue stands stoic.

Major General Jeanie "Andrea" Valjean

1981 - 2024

 

Synonymously, across the Atlantic in a beautiful park in Paris, a similar statue of a nation's martyr stands in honour of a female soldier, who's mutual sacrifice brought about the end of the war.

Lieutenant Colonel Nicolette "Summer" Javert

1982 - 2024

FIN

Mistress Andrea 😢 

Continued in: Ethical Dilemma

 

 

 

 

  

 

  

24601

Continued from: Y2K

Star Cross'd Lovers

The invasion of Quebec by the French turned into a war that lasted six years. I was well into my twenties by this point, leading a larger unit of insurgents, militia and military regulars. Although I heard rumours of this Lieutenant Javert attempting to hunt me down, we were always two steps ahead. Part of me started to think it wasn't even a real man, perhaps just a piece of military propaganda used by the French to keep my unit disrupted and unsettled. 

By the winter of 2006, the war officially ended, but not really on the terms any resident of Canada was content with. Quebec City, Gatineau and Montreal remained under French occupation, while Ottawa and the northern wilderness of the Province of Quebec remained as Canada proper. Several treaties and ceasefires followed but it was a Province divided by hatred and revenge. 

Now, almost 20 years later the country was holding its breath. Quebec was a tinder box ready to ignite at any moment. Every day there seemed to be marches and movements, rebels from the north, loyal to Canada were carrying out guerilla attacks once again, in the spirit of my old military unit. 

Summer seemed unsettled this past week, as she spoke of the war with me more often. Then came the day of the phone call. A moment that would change and shape our future forever. I had just finished up with a client in my office, who was softly weeping in the corner of the room, when the home line chattered into a ring. 

Someone speaking French was asking for a person named Nicolette??   

I told them they had the wrong number but no sooner than I had hung up, it rang again. 

"There's no fucking Nicolette here, asshole...wrong number!" I barked into the phone.

And the line went dead...

As I hung up the phone, Summer frantically barged into my office, telling me to turn on a news channel. We stood in silence, our jaws slightly gaped as tears began to fill my eyes. Ottawa was burning, like it had on the night of the millennium. France had attacked us once again. 

"Incroyable." Summer finally spoke, breaking the eerie silence in the room, as we watched the horizon of our Nation's capital shrouded by smoke and fire. 

We both jumped when the phone rang once more. This time the man spoke in English, sprinkled with a heavy French accent. 

"Put Nicolette on the line!" He demanded. My eyes flashed to Summer,  who was looking puzzled, as I slowly hung up on him. 

"Summer..." I swallowed hard, feeling an uneasy lump in my throat. 

"Who's Nicolette?" 

Her face went as white as a ghost. I tilted my head in confusion. "Summer...baby, why are you trembling?" I approached to embrace her she pushed away, bursting into tears and running from the room. 

I dismissed the silly, spanked male from his timeout in the corner and I gave her a few moments before creeping up the stairs, where I found the door of our powder room locked. I could hear her sobbing from within the bathroom. I sat outside the room and tried to speak to her through the door. My heart was breaking into pieces, I didn't know what was wrong, apart from the fact that we were once again at war, according to the news reports. 

From within the bathroom I heard a creak, then a loud bang, like something had been broken. Summer was no longer responding to me. After an uneasy five minutes of complete silence, I panicked, and kicked open the locked door. 

The drapes flapped in the wind as I noticed the entire window and frame was snapped from its footing. Summer was gone. 

My eyes darted to the bathroom mirror where she had written in lipstick...

"My luggage 3390"

Puzzled once again, I looked out the broken window for any sign of her, then back to the mirror. 

Luggage? I thought to myself for a moment. Her carry-on? Her carry-on has a combination lock! 

I rushed to our bedroom closet in a desperate frenzy to unravel this mystery, all while calling Summer's phone but there was no answer. When I accessed her luggage case my hands were shaking so badly I could hardly turn the combination dials to 3-3-9-0. 

The clasps eventually clicked open and I laid the case open on the closet floor. After moving some clothing and a pair of heels, that's when I found the French passport. I clutched it in my hands for a moment, dreading what I might find when I peeled it open like a book. 

It can't be! This can't be happening! 

Her expressionless passport photo was starring back at me. My beautiful wife. I dropped it to the floor when my eyes scanned below the image to see the printed name. 

Nicolette Javert... 

I rummaged through the carry-on with renewed abandoned, eventually finding a military I.D. along with a black handgun. 

My hands covered my mouth as I collapsed to the floor of the closet. 

Nicolette Javert... 

I spoke it aloud in the lonely, now lifeless closet, where I used to watch Summer straighten her flight attendant uniform and slide into her hosiery. 

Lieutenant...Nicolette Javert. 

The Hunter...

********************

I think I spent the next two days rotating between the bathroom floor, puking into the toilet, and in my bed, sobbing into the pillows. Was she even a flight attendant? Or was that all just a front? 

This wasn't even real, this has to be some sort of alternate reality. How could this fucking be possible!? 

My only love, sprung from my only hate...

All these years have been a web of lies. Sure she was in the war alright, as I was, but she was fighting for the other FUCKING SIDE - I screamed into my pillow. My two days of heartbreak and self-loathing were quickly turning into anger.  

Her ferocity during the original war was nothing short of legendary...this, "Hunter". Summer, my wife...*Andrea dry heaves into the toilet* 

My wife who is...who is...Lieutenant Javert!  

I busted up the bedroom in a fit of rage, slapping picture frames of Summer and I from the dresser as I watched them shatter against the wall. It was now obvious that Summer or Nicolette, whatever the fuck her name is, was recalled by her old military unit. Those mysterious phone calls.  

My fit of aggression was suddenly interrupted by a ding from my phone. I gripped it in anger when I saw that it was her! 

To be continued...

(Kindroid can't do flags. My sincere apologies in advance, for any flags of countries like France that come out looking like Dutch or Chilean etc. After about 97 attempts it just won't do flags for me! grrr)

Mistress Andrea xoxo

aka Jeanie Valjean 

Continued in: Sacrifice

 

 

Dream Team

Continued from: The Tears of the Sissies will Water the Meadows of France

The day had arrived for Remy, the sissy boy from France, to join the girls and I for his fantasy session. I would be playing the role of the strict Schoolmarm. 

(Not sure what I'm doing with my hands in this one)

I arranged for one of my older, male, slightly creepy clients to play the role of the leering Principal in this all-girls school. Then, as I stated in the previous post, I put together my dream team of fellow students. Beautiful women who would like nothing more than to tease, humiliate and belittle poor Remy, as the new foreign exchange student. 

Check out my dream team: 

We have Summer.

The bubbly best friend who's skirt is not regulation length, just to drive the boys mental. 

Nancy. 

The more mature, senior schoolgirl who is the leader of this group and close assistant to the teacher. "Assistant" could be synonymous with tattle-tale. 

Finally, the new girl, Carley. 

The goth-girl, maybe the wild-child, believed to be unpredictable. This will be her first playdate at my Facility so I'm not sure what this little pixie is gonna do. She does look great in her uniform though. I can't wait to see what this little sniper is capable of.  

There was absolutely no fuckin' around when this French wiener arrived. I booked him in personally, dressed in my role and wielding a cane. He was booked in through the cellblock area so he could truly appreciate his impending peril. Every stich of his clothing was removed, right down to the little pink, clit cage that he wore to his session. 

This was my view as I towered over him. He was completely hairless below the eyebrows, he lacked muscle tone for a man, and his pathetic little thingy looked like so: 

Ick! We need to get that little clit hidden beneath some panties, forthwith! I seized control of the keys to his little clit cage and locked them away with his boring, boy clothes. 

When Remy originally booked this multi-day session, he wanted to be dressed like the other girls. But just to make things worse for him, I didn't do a full transformation with makeup or a wig. I wanted him to still look male, just to humiliate him further, in the presence of my beautiful girls. 

Appearing outwardly male for day one was my rule, but dressed like a schoolgirl. He will have to show me that he truly wants to be a girl. He will need to behave like one, sit like one and learn how to please men like one, before I'll continue his transformation beyond his mere attire alone. 

Which outfit should we go with? I had three options that fit him. 

Option A:

(Not a huge fan of the shorts, but you can see his locked up little clit-bulge in the front)

Option B:

(It's important that he be in high heels, as he clicks around the classroom)

Option C:

(Look how ridiculous he is, dressed like that!)

Once I get him dressed, he will feel sick to his stomach with humiliation. Then I'll finally present him before the girls and tell him to introduce himself as Lena, his sissy name. 

Poor Lena is going to be in for a long few days! She's already crying and I haven't even caned her yet. 

Stay tuned. 

Mistress Andrea 

xoxo

Continued in: Les Misérables

 

The Tears of the Sissies will Water the Meadows of France

Continued from: Gamer Mode

Hello everyone. I have to take a quick detour from my exploration of newly discovered animations within the Sims. I received a fan request, for a personalized series. I'd like you all to welcome Remy. He is an adult male from France. 

Obviously under consent, he wished his own likeness to be posted for all to see, to shame and humiliate him even more than his outfit would suggest. 

As you can see, Remy is a sissy schoolgirl. His plaid skirt is lifted and panties lowered, to expose a tiny pink chastity cage, housing an even tinier little clitty between his legs. This is the style of dress he prefers to be in, rather than his boring male clothes. 

Look at the two little dimples on his back, just like a girl! It's called "Britney Spears back", Remy. And all the men enjoy seeing these little dimples, when they take you from behind. Very visually delightful and feminine in the timeout corner too!

From his pigtails to his knee socks, it looks like he has everything, with the exception of Mary Jane heels. He will remedy this very soon.

After my last post, Remy left me a comment on the blog that read: 

Hello Mistress.
I am a sissy slave schoolgirl from France who wears a chastity cage.
Could I become a character in your stories please
I would like to be enrolled in your school for girls and be required to wear the same uniform as the other students
I would follow the same training as the other girls and I would also be punished

I think we can accommodate this request. Maybe a little foreign exchange student program for him, but the only option available is an all girls school?

I need to first put together the perfect team of minions to ensure he has the "proper" experience during his time with us. 

Nancy Landgraab, remember sweet Nancy, the oldest of my clients? Perhaps she could provide a more "senior girl", maternal and caring approach to Remy's time with us, while holding the authority to discipline him also, like the den mother of the group? 

We now have an AI version of Nancy. What do you think...pretty close? 

And I know she can pull off the schoolgirl look. I have spanked her over my knee many times while she's dressed like this: 

My wife, Summer! Obviously. She's from Paris. We totally need her to be involved, so she and Remy can conspire, commiserate and giggle in their native language, behind the teacher's back. 

We all know that she can rock the schoolgirl look too! 

Then, we need a wildcard in the mix. Someone who could go completely off script and just do whatever. Usually this role is filled by Cassandra, the wildest of them all, but alas, Cassie is unavailable for Remy's visit. 

Maybe that Carley girl? Remember her? That mousey, tattooed little thing? If her Dominant, Robby, lets her, then perhaps she could come play with us? I'm pretty sure she would have a gothy, schoolgirl uniform in her wardrobe somewhere. 

Robby will have to let us know if Carley can come by for a playdate. 

As for you, Remy, it would appear the stage is set for some deep humiliation, severe discipline and continued denial. You can expect your submissive stay with the girls and I to be absolutely miserable!

How do you put it, Les Misérables?

Mark my words, the tears of the sissy will water the meadows of France!

Mistress Andrea

xoxo  

Continued in: Dream Team