Ethical Dilemma

Continued from: Sacrifice

Good news everyone! Summer and I were never in a war. France did not invade Canada, in this century anyway. And Summer and I did not kill ourselves out of pure love, in the Canadian wilderness... 

Dear readers, 

If you hadn't noticed, a number of my posts were pulled down, including my epic adventure story that had little to do with BDSM and spanking. 

I pulled these posts down myself...all the Tara Gregory and her step-daddy stories (which were great) and a few others that involved A.I. images. 

Let me tell you why...as this was an ethical dilemma.

Since I started my facility and various fetish studios, men and women alike seek out my services for a variety of fantasy purposes. Usually they want to be humiliated, degraded, objectified and debased, especially the women, and in some cases, completely dehumanized. 

BUT! This is all done on their consent, in a safe environment where they can explore their darkest fantasies, with the option of a safeword to stop everything. And we should never judge them for what they are into and there should be no shame in it, fair? 

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

This is adult film star, Cherry Torn: 

She's quite popular in the kink sites, she's had a variety of hairstyles over the years and I've always liked her, especially the noises she makes when under pain and orgasmic duress.  

This video in particular was delightful!

Here, Cherry finds herself in some dirty factory, all trussed up and being fucked directly in the ass by her Domme's strap-on. It looks like a punishment fucking for a naughty slave girl. I think her Domme's name is "Chanta" - she's awesome too.

During Cherry's sodomy, she's drooling from a very dehumanizing ball gag and making her lovely grunting sounds, as her anus struggles to accommodate the thrusting invader. 

(I love this gag btw, Sarah Jane, listen up! You’re getting one of these and you’ll be getting exactly this treatment!) 

Cherry is an adult film star, she may even have an agent or a team. She would have consented to this film and photo shoot, she probably even knew what it entailed and was likely paid handsomely for her performance. There would have been paperwork and contracts. I'm sure the rights to the original video and images belong to the film studio, to do with as they please. Cherry would have consented to this also...

What Cherry did not consent to, was someone on the internet farming her images from scenes like the above, then creating their own A.I. images of her in French Maid outfits, schoolgirl outfits or other compromising material. I think this recently happened with the likes of Taylor Swift and some other celebrities, so real in fact, that their friends and P.R. people were like: 

"Were you actually in a gangbang in Nashville last weekend, Taylor?"  

Additionally, this is now happening to more vulnerable teens and school-aged students as a new form of bullying and blackmail. 

One could argue a caveat emptor...let the buyer beware. Ye who uploadeth their own likeness to the internet, taketh on the associated risks in doing so. "You're already all over the internet, naked and being fucked because you're a porn star, what's the harm in a few more generated images?" 

I once agreed with this...completely. Especially with that "look at me" culture that started with Facebook and people were photographing themselves with their breakfast choice each morning and posting it online. It was irritating and unnecessary and that was definitely a too bad, so sad situation...you put yourself out there. 

But, all of this was before A.I. image engines became so real that Taylor's vagina was probably sore, upon seeing her own likeness riding some randomly generated dick.  

Mark my words, laws will be coming soon. To protect the innocent and more vulnerable from this. Or to protect the continued objectification of women, a word I used at the beginning of this post in a positive context. Again, the key here is consent.

So...much to my dismay and that of my readers, I had to say goodbye to the avatar of Summer, of Tara Gregory, of Tyler Scott and a few others. My avatar is safe, it was made with a combination of my own likeness and a rich description of myself, to arrive with such images as: 

As for the rest of the girls, they all got a little makeover, come have a look...

The beautiful and elegant, Isabella (Bella) Octavia Goth, my Latin stunner and devout sex slave. 

Her avatar was created safely and ethically from this image: 

To get this result: 

I understand they look a little more "cartoonish" than my image, but at least I'm not exploiting some random woman. 

I can still work with these. 

My beautiful wife Summer, the flight attendant. Summer Addison Holiday. Her new likeness was ethically created from this image: 

And the drumroll results: 

Would you like to know how Summer keeps her bare feet as smooth as silk, to accommodate her foot fetish sales and hosiery selling racket? Play beach volleyball two nights a week and run barefoot in the sand... 

We can work with this new avatar, everyone, can't we; for future blog posts? 

Some dungeon action maybe, with Summer in a bondage cell? 

Or perhaps you like her in her default role that she personifies around the house, severely age regressed and frequently spanked over my knee?

Last but certainly not least (for now), Cassie. Cassandra Leigh Goth, who is the 21-year-old daughter of Bella Goth. Recently she's earned the title of Mistress Cassie at my Facility. Her avatar was ethically sourced from this image: 

The A.I. took the above and generated the below: 

She looks like her mother doesn't she, just way more bitchy!? Ha.

She's gonna end up in the courthouse / judicial wing of my Facility if she doesn't tidy up her attitude though!

What do you think everyone, can we live with this? I'll continue my blog and my writing using the new A.I. girls above, the A.I. me and the Sims 4 animations and stills. 

Some sissy fans on Redditt have sent me A.I. images of themselves and their consent to use them in this blog too. Carley, the Tattooed pixie from the previous story, her creator advises she's synthetic, and not an actual person's likeness...so she's good to go. 

I might re-do the France invading Canada three-part story because I loved it so much. I already have the new version of soldier Summer, ready to go. ;)

Thank you all for your continued support, loyalty and understanding through this adjustment. Remember, this is all about protecting women and doing the right thing, in the face of technological advancements. 

Mistress Andrea xo

P.S. Read Mo Gawdat - Scary Smart. Yes I've plugged this book before...it's worth it, trust me.   

Continued in: Aggravated Anilingus

  

 

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

 

 

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