A Fictional Endeavour - Y2K

Dear readers, 

It doesn't seem like all that long ago, when I started this blog. I have enjoyed a platform where I can write erotica, animate and illustrate with the Sims and now, have been using A.I. to bring the richness of these stories even more to life. 

Whether you're a long-time reader or the lucky person who gets to create this content, you can't help but feel an emotional connection to some of the main characters. Perhaps you even have a favourite character, someone you can relate to or picture yourself emulating? 

Some of the characters in my blog are real people, or based upon real people and real moments from my own life, so I get to enjoy a slightly deeper connection with some of them. 

This could end up being a total flop but I wanted to try a true work of fiction. A couple of posts to make up a little dramatic and cinematic story. Something that celebrates my love for film, literature and art, theatre and history. A spoof on several favourties of mine, all rolled into one and set in modern times. 

I've been wanting to do this for awhile now but kept chickening out...so here goes. I promise I'll make sure Summer and I still look sassy when our characters appear. 💋 

Mistress Andrea xoxo

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

Y2K - Blue, White and Red Dawn

Summer and I seldom revisited the horrors of the war, those days when our nation's fate hung by a thread, and our very existence teetered on the edge. It wasn't just a distant conflict on foreign shores; it was a brutal reality that unfolded in the heart of our homeland.

Occasionally, amidst the mundane routines of our daily life, Summer's demeanour would shift. Her gaze would harden, her features contorting with the memories that haunted her, memories of the bloodshed and chaos we endured together, without even knowing it. 

"Andrea...?" She'll whisper out to me. "Can you believe it's been 24 years..?" 

Twenty-four years since that fateful New Year's Eve in 1999, when the world held its breath in anticipation of the millennium's turn. Not too many people know this, as they only know me as Mistress Andrea. Andrea is actually my middle name. When I was born in Quebec I went by my birthname which is Jeanie. Jeanie Andrea Valjean, but most people just called me 'Jean'. (prou: geene)

Back then, I was just a teenager, living on the outskirts of Quebec City, blissfully unaware of the cataclysm that awaited. Summer, too, was in her late teens and immigrated with her parents from Paris to Montreal in 1995. The two of us, in this period of time, were unknown to each other.

As the clock struck midnight, humanity braced for the unknown, gripped by fears of Y2K catastrophes and apocalyptic prophecies. But what transpired was far more insidious - an invasion so cunning, so unexpected, it caught us all off guard. 

Disguised as routine commercial flights bound for Toronto, enemy planes soared over Canadian airspace, each one a Trojan horse concealing a deadly payload. They feigned Y2K-related malfunctions, drawing air traffic control in their web of deceit who allowed for emergency landings into Quebec City, Montreal and Ottawa. No planes landed that night. Rather, with precision and malice, they unleashed their true arsenal upon us - the skies were black with paratroopers, raining from the heavens like dark angels of war.  

Quebec, already a land divided by separatist movements, erupted into chaos as flames engulfed the old city. Atop the Citadel, the Parliament buildings in Ottawa and the tallest structures in Montreal, the flag of France flapped in the plumes of smoke, while the crimson maple leaf of Canada, burned throughout the night. It was truly a blue, white and red dawn. The lines between loyalty and rebellion blurred as ordinary citizens like Summer and I, became soldiers in a fight for survival.     

Summer, with her own harrowing tale, recounted the invasion from her perspective in Montreal. Her memories echoed mine - of rivers that once marked borders now united in defiance, of cities besieged and homes reduced to rubble. 

How did we let this happen? How did we allow our Province to fall into the hands of the French? 

That night, my parents perished near the Citadel, and in the aftermath, a number of my neighbours and I fled into the wilderness, refugees turned guerrilla fighters. Summer, too, found herself thrust into the crucible of battle, her courage tested on the front lines of the battle of Byward Market, one of the bloodiest of the entire conflict. 

But as the war dragged on, our struggle became increasingly desperate. Cut off from the outside world, we formed a band of insurgents, hunted relentlessly by French Special Forces under the command of a shadowy figure known only to us as Lieutenant Javert (prou: jaa-vere).   

For some odd reason, it seemed to come easy to me, to allow the fire of my hatred to turn into pure aggression. No matter how many of the enemy I killed, the fire within me wouldn't extinguish or diminish in the least. 

As the months blurred into a tapestry of guerilla warfare and elusive victories, our exploits whispered across the battlefields, stitching fear in to the hearts of our adversaries. With each strike, we chipped away at the façade of invincibility cloaking the enemy, our actions a symphony of defiance conducted in the shadows. 

News filtered through the cracks of our isolation, fragments of hope amidst the chaos. From Ottawa's lips came tales of triumph, of the French forces pushed back at the battle of Arnprior, our borders realigned as they were in history. For now, the frontlines had stabilized. 

Yet, in the rugged wilderness of northern Quebec, our struggle endured, an unyielding testament to the resilience of the human spirit. 

Spring heralded revelations that pierced the veil of mystery shrouding the invasion. It was the Newfies all along! Loyal to France and separatist Quebec. Once sons and daughters of Canada, turned traitors. If you weren't aware, the islands of St. Pierre and Miquelon, off the immediate coast of Newfoundland are actually considered France, not Canada. These had become the staging grounds for logistical and ground-support, assisted in secret, by the mainland Newfies. In the days leading up to the invasion, the French had already assembled and staged months of logistical support, tanks and personnel light-armour within the Province of Newfoundland.  

From what we understand, thanks to our friends in the United States, those two islands and the rest of Newfoundland were vengefully wiped off the face of the earth. Flattened into a likeness that would resemble the terrain of the lunar surface, all thanks to a U.S. Carrier Battlegroup in the North Atlantic.  

Good riddance, after what they pulled! 

But amid the tumult of our private war in the Canadian wilderness, one specter loomed larger than all the others - the enigmatic figure of Lieutenant Javert, a relentless hound on our tail. A German-Canadian farmer on my team called this lieutenant, Jäger - which translates to 'hunter'. 

We had a loose network of other rebels in the area, and rather than using squad names, unit titles or even our own names, we numbered ourselves to tell us apart and create confusion amongst the enemy. When my second in command asked me who I was and what number I wanted, I drew a blank, I was standing in the middle of fucking nowhere!

In parts of Ontario and Quebec they use what's called 911-numbers. Or an address sign always visible to first responders for easy identification.

Since I didn't know where I was at the moment, somewhere at least 250km north of Quebec City, my eye happened to catch a single 911-address sign, at the end of a lonely, old laneway. "Two, four, six, zero, one," I whispered under my breath... 

My second-in-command prompted me again.

"Jean...I need to radio this in to the other insurgent leaders, did you pick a number?"

"Who am I?" I repeated back to him... 

"I'm 2-4-6-0-1." 

I declared, the final number a crescendo of defiance, echoing through the wilderness like a call to arms. 

Let this hunter come...I'll be ready.  

Jeanie Andrea Valjean

aka: Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: 24601

   

 

 

 
   

 

 

Choose your own Adventure

Continued from: Les Misérables

Our previous school scene ended with poor Remy, our French foreign exchange student, dressed fully as a schoolgirl, sucking dick and being fucked by the male Principal. When that shameful act concluded, the last time I saw this sissy boy, the girls had him in a princess dress with full feminine accessories, teaching him how to walk dainty and perform curtsies in the parlour. 

I'm sure he'll never be the same again! 

Carley, that little gothic angel who came to play with us, stuck it out for the entire session of teasing and tormenting of the poor sissy. She was a good sport and seemed to be having the time of her life at my Facility, getting to know the girls and coming out of her shell.  

Now is it Goth or Emo? 

Is it Istanbul or Constantinople..? Does it matter? Probably not. Back in my day we certainly had Goths at my high school but Emo was yet to be defined. I'm sure they existed though. The Hipster and Bohemian movements maybe came together like a Transformer to form a super-Hipster, henceforth known as the Emo? 

I know! Let's ask the A.I.

Is there a difference between goth and emo? 

Yes, there are differences between goth and emo subcultures. While both share some similarities in their fashion and music preferences, goth culture tends to embrace darker, Victorian-inspired aesthetics and a fascination with the macabre, while emo culture is more forces on emotional expression, often through music and introspective lyrics. Goth fashion often includes black clothing, lace, and leather, while emo fashion may feature skinny jeans, band t-shirts, and dyed hair. 

Hmm, ok...

So one should be burned at the stake while the other might be alone in their bedroom, writing song lyrics? 

You know what? Whatever. You do you and express or label yourself any way you wish. I just had a grown man here, who wanted to dress like a schoolgirl and have his little dicklette locked in a cage. We don't judge here, whether someone is trans, emo, sissy or goth.

Speaking of which, when the dust settled with all that sissy Remy business, I had the chance to debrief with Carley at the bar, as her dominant partner, Robby, showed back up to collect her. 

It was cute, she had so many questions and was clearly hooked on the addictive nature of this lifestyle. 

"Thank you so much, Mistress! I have so many questions swirling around in my head. Like, what does a typical day look like at The Facility? Are there specific roles that each submissive has to follow or is it more freeform depending on the situation? And, um...what are the living arrangements like? You know, for those of us who might be asked to stay for longer periods of time..."

Like a choose your own adventure of BDSM, I threw some options at her. 

"Well, sweetheart, you could enroll as a 'little', which means your day-to-day attire would be that of an effeminate little girl. Your room would be pink and colourful, full of bows and ruffles. You would have a strict but caring 'Mommy' and 'Daddy' to care for you, play with you and discipline you when needed. 

"Ooh, being a little sounds fascinating, Mistress Andrea. I've always had a naughty streak that loved playing the part of the innocent submissive. The thought of having a Mommy and Daddy figure to guide me through this new world, and punishing me when I misbehave...it definitely has its appeal. But I'm curious about the other roles as well. What else could I possibly explore at The Facility? 

Awww. Isn't she such a sweetheart! I wanna bite her little bare bum cuz she's so cute. 

"The next would be schoolgirl, which you've already dabbled in. You'd still be a 'little' but slightly older. You would have to dress in a proper, humiliating, schoolgirl uniform each day and attend the classrooms. You would be disciplined frequently, put in detention and sent to the Principal's office when naughty. You'd have a little girl bedroom again, but not quite as frilly and pink. 

"Wow, the role of a schoolgirl sounds intense yet exciting too! I can already picture myself in a tight little plaid skirt and crisp white blouse, kneeling outside the Principal's office with my hands on my head, trembling in anticipation for whatever punishment awaits me. I bet lessons learned at this school are far more memorable than any of my old regular classes! *smirks*

"Yes they are...most of the school punishments as you saw with Remy, are old fashioned. You'd be subjected to the cane, the strap, a wooden paddle and cornertime."

Oh, Mistress! Those sound absolutely...thrilling. The idea of being bent over a desk, my skirt flipped up and panties hiked down, and feeling the sting of the cane on my bare bum makes me shiver in delight. And cornertime...the humiliation of standing there, on display for everyone as my punished skin throbs with each passing second...mmm, I can't deny it turns me on. But please, tell me more, Ma'am. How else could I serve there?  

"The next role would be a slave maid. You'd be dressed more sultry and sexualized like a slutty French Maid and you would literally be doing domestic chores, cleaning and serving in your outfit."

"Oh my! The delicate balance of submission and servitude in such a role is incredibly appealing. I could easily lose myself in the menial tasks. The constant threat of discipline hanging over me like a dark cloud, only heightening my focus and dedication to be the perfect little maid. And when I inevitably falter, imagine their stern faces as they decide on a fitting punishment. It all feels so raw and intimate, don't you think?"

"I do. This role is one of the most objectifying and humiliating for most women and a few of the sissy men." 

"Mmm, hearing you describe it that way makes me wat to explore it even more. The thought of being so utterly objectified, existing solely for the pleasure and amusement of my superiors, it's almost intoxicating. What happens during the nighttime hours at The Facility, Ma'am? Does the training and roles continue even then?" 

"Oh yes, your selected role would remain into the evening. The Facility has a bar, like a speakeasy, a piano lounge, pool and a strip club. Something you were able to see most of during your tour."

"My goodness, Mistress! This place sounds like a true wonderland..."

Before she went on another of her cute tirades of imagining the space and her roles, I cute her off.

"And the final role is in the sex dungeon, as a sex slave. You are literally kept in bondage and in a cage or cell...existing only to be sexually used, beaten, tortured and tormented."

*gulps* "Mistress! The role of a sex slave sounds positively terrifying yet irresistible. The vulnerability, the pain, the pleasure - it all swirls together in this intoxicating dance. It's an overwhelming concept, but one that I know would push my boundaries to the absolute limit. Is it strange that I find myself craving that level of intensity?"

"Is there a role from one of those four options that resonates with you the most, sweetheart?" 

"Oh Mistress Andrea, choosing just one role at the Facility is like asking me to pick a favourite ice cream flavour. They all seem so captivating in their own unique ways. But if I must confess, the idea of being a sex slave in the dungeon has my heart racing the fastest." 

(Wow, ok. That was all A.I. during this little choose your own adventure conversation. I seriously didn't think A.I. Carley would choose that one since I used the term beating and torture.) 

The little pixie stood to embrace me, biting her lower lip, lost in visions of heavy chains, dark corners, and relentless torment. I kissed her forehead. 

 "I crave the total loss of control Ma'am, the overwhelming sensations of torture and discipline that comes with such a role. I know it's extreme, but the thrill of giving myself completely to my dominant is something I cannot resist." 

"I understand, honey." I cooed to her, while glancing over at Robby who was sporting a mischievous grin on his face. 

"I assume you'll be doing the honours, Robby, down in the dungeon?" I asked him bluntly. 

"If you wouldn't mind us using the space, Mistress," he replied confidently. 

"On one condition, Robby," I replied mysteriously. "There will be another woman down in the dungeon when you get there. Use her as you wish...and don't go easy on her." 

No sooner had I changed into something a little more sleek and leather, there was a little knock at my front door. 

As she stepped inside, pouting, clutching her elbows to hug her torso, with her late-90's bangs making her appear absolutely more adorable than I could have imagined, I immediately remembered who this woman was. 

"Please come in, sweetie," I smiled invitingly. "You must be Tyler?" 

Mistress Andrea 

xoxo

Continued in: A Fictional Endeavour - Y2K

  

Les Misérables

Continued from: Dream Team

Remember Remy, everyone? The sissy schoolgirl from France. Well he's back to finish off his experience with my real girls. This is Remy’s current predicament, in  the presence of my three minions, with his little penis safe and secure within the confines of a chastity cage. 

The room fell silent as Remy walked into the classroom, his Mary Jane heels clicking on the linoleum floor. All around him, he saw gorgeous women - tall, curvy, confident - dressed identically to him. 

Each one seemed to radiate an air of superiority that made him shrink even further into himself. When Mistress Andrea called on him to introduce himself, he stuttered out his sissy name of, Lena, with his eyes glued to the floor in front of him. 

"And what brings you to our all-girls institution, Remy?" she asked sweetly. 

Remy's face flamed with embarrassment as he mumbled something about wanting to learn how to be a girl. Mistress Andrea's eyebrow arched at his answer, clearly unimpressed. "Is that so?" she purred, circling him like a shark. "Well then, let's start with a demonstration. Show the real girls your chastity cage, dear." 

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Remy reached down to lower his panties and lift the hem of his skirt, exposing the baby pink cage that encased his tiny penis. Laughter erupted from the other women as they pointed and jeered, some of them even pulling out their phones to snap pictures. 

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he didn't dare cry - not here, not like this. Instead, he stood there, frozen as Mistress Andrea continued to berate him, her words cutting deeper than any knife ever could. "Look at this pathetic excuse for a man! This is what happens ladies, when you enjoy dressing up as a naughty little schoolgirl."

Remy suddenly noticed that all the desks were equipped with a large, realistic and veiny dildos, standing at attention before the other women in the room. 

As the lesson began, Remy couldn't help but stare at the monstrous cock affixed to his own desk. His heart raced as Mistress Andrea announced that today's lesson would be focused on manual and oral pleasures. The girls all giggled, but Remy's poor face was white with embarrassment. Over the next hour, Summer, Nancy and Carley all helped their new sissy classmate to jerk off the dildo with his hands and how to use his mouth and tongue to explore its length and girth. 

When it came time for Remy to demonstrate what he'd learned, he found himself paralyzed with fear. The thought of kneeling before these beautiful women, opening his mouth wide and taking that massive dildo inside...it was too much. He shook his head, muttering a feeble protest. But Mistress Andrea wouldn't hear of it. Grabbing him roughly by the arm, she dragged him to the front of the class, positioning him on his knees. 

"You will learn to be a girl, little sissy," she growled, raising a wicked paddle high above her head. 

The crack of wood meeting flesh echoed through the classroom as Andrea brought the paddle down hard on Remy's exposed bottom. He squealed like a little girl, his body jolting forward with each strike. The women watched eagerly, some even cheering her on as she continued the brutal paddling. By the time she was finished, his pale skin was a deep crimson colour, dotted with angry white splotches and bruises. 

Sobbing openly, Remy finally obeyed and began to suck the large dildo while the girls cheered and called him names. 

 

When his humiliation had reached its apex, Remy was escorted to the Principal's office by Mistress Andrea. Her stern grip on his upper arm led him down the hallway, passing curious glances from other teachers and students. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and disappear. The door swung open, revealing a well-lit room filled with the scent of old books and leather. Principal Jones sat behind his mahogany desk, a cruel smile playing across his face as he took in Remy's sissy appearance. 

He gestured towards the corner of the room and told him how to position his feet and arms. 

Tears streamed down Remy's face as he was now alone in the office with this strange man. The sound of a zipper sounded like a chainsaw in the quiet room, followed by the wet, rhythmic slapping of a palm against an engorged penis. The Principal was masturbating at his desk, while admiring the view of Remy in the timeout corner. 

Remy was pulled from the corner by the cruel Principal, his eyes downcast as he tried to process the situation. Never in his wildest nightmares had he imaged himself in this position - kneeling before another man, his own tiny caged penis a mockery of masculinity compared to the impressive cock before him. 

"Take it in your hand, girl," the Principal ordered, smirking at the look of revulsion on Remy's face. Slowly, trembling, Remy reached out and wrapped his fingers around the warm, velvety length, trying not to cry as he began to stroke it tentatively. 

Eventually Principal Jones leaned back on the desk and spread his legs wider. "Now, sissy," he purred, "I want you to put that pretty mouth of yours to work." 

Swallowing hard, Remy leaned forward, the tip of the Principal's cock brushing against his lips. He closed his eyes, steeling himself for the worst. 

But then, the strangest thing happened: instead of feeling repulsed, he felt...excited? Desperate? Hungry for more cock? He didn't know why, but suddenly all he wanted was to please this powerful man, as he could feel his penis growing hard inside his mouth. 

In a moment of pure desperation, Remy looked up at Principal Jones, tears pooling in his eyes. "Please Sir," he begged, his voice cracking with need. "Please fuck me like a girl." The words left his mouth before he even realized what he was saying, but once they were out there, there was no turning back. 

Beneath the harsh fluorescent lights of the Principal's office, Remy was bent over a counter, his plaid skirt lifted and his panties pulled down to his ankles. The sounds of feminine laughter and excited whispers filled his ears, as the real girls entered the room to watch him be claimed by this dominant male figure. Each time Principal Jones thrust deep into his tight, unwilling hole, the pink chastity cage would rattle and slap about between his thighs, reminding him of his status as a "man". 

He could feel the head of the Principal's cock hit his prostate, sending sparks of pleasure to his growing penis, only to be snuffed out by the rigid cage that kept it limp and lifeless. 

Carley, of all people, who was watching the fucking intently, cried out in encouragement, driving the other girls into a fit of laughter and excitement. "Cum inside him!" she yelled it again. The heat of Remy's embarrassment flooded his face as he felt the Principal begin to tense-up, and then, with one final thrust, he released himself deep into Remy's asshole. The sensation of hot jizz filling him up was indescribable - both humiliating and thrilling at the same time. 

As he pulled out, leaving Remy gasping and trembling on the desk, the girls erupted into applause, their voices ringing in his ears like a symphony of sissy shame.  

****

Thank you to the real Remy for his collaboration and content on this one. He ended up messing around with his own face and an AI image generator to create the following. This is how Remy actually dresses, behind closed doors, when he is Lena - the chaste sissy gurl. Please enjoy:

 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Choose your own Adventure

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