Gina's New Beginning (A Sissy Story)

Sissy has really turned around. A new name for her, and now Gina is making her debut into the world. This is a continuation of Sissy's Saga.
Gina's New Beginning
By Maid Joy

I have been staying with Karen for some months now. I feel like I’m a freeloader, but I do, in fact, pay rent. She has a spare bedroom, I need a place of my own, she needs some money to make the mortgage and power bills, and I have money I’m earning that I don’t have to spend on anything other than a place to stay. It’s a good arrangement.

Karen has told me repeatedly that the cleanup I do here is more than enough compensation, but I’ve also taken it upon myself to organize her correspondence since she is usually busy “beating the asses of those who want to be beaten”. Since the silly sissies don’t know what to do with the mail after they answer the door and get it, well, it’s easy to lose things.

So the simple solution was for Karen to play the indolent Mistress, with nothing more to do than to have pretty girls and sissy boys wait on her. Meanwhile, I am in a maid’s uniform to be sure (one much more conservative than what they are wearing), and after they give me the mail and papers and packages, I deal with the contents. It’s amazing how tolerant the postmen (and sometimes women) have become.

My job is going well. The shelter is grateful to have me there, and I take care of paperwork there too. I am used to it since most of my time in the Army was spent pushing papers around, running and waiting to attack someone. Don’t have to do the attacking and killing too often these days, but I do still keep the body in shape as well as teaching these women here what they need to know to keep safe.

In the class one day, someone asked why they needed to learn to be safe.

“I have seen all the ads out there about ‘Not Raping’ and while I approve of them heartily, we still have to make sure we can defend ourselves from those who haven’t gotten the message yet.” I saw heads nod in the class.

“Meanwhile, grab your purses. We are going to empty them and figure out how to make a weapon of every item in them.” With that, we went over all the contents and figured out how to make the most unlikely item be something that could be used to defend themselves during an attack.

“Kleenex. I love these little things.” I looked around for my “attacker”. I had long since had to hire a “fall dummy”, Billy, a 17 year old gangly kid who needed extra cash to get through his final High School days. “Billy, come at me.”

He came at me as if he was going to grab me. He had been trying to do so since we hired him. I tossed the Kleenex into his face, moved laterally to his left, grabbed the outstretched arm, spun him around me and threw him into the padded wall.

“Good for distracting and blinding them. Don’t forget the Kleenex, the loose powder makeup, the liquid makeup, all of them can be tossed into the eyes of your attacker to temporarily blind him. Just make sure that once he is blind that you move in a direction that he’s not going to anticipate easily, like below him, to his non-dominant side, to the dominant side of him, behind him. Going straight back is not a good option however”.

I dusted Billy off and had him come at me again. I tossed the Kleenex up in his face again, and backpedaled. He kept coming on in a straight line, eventually getting a hand on me.

After I broke his grip off my wrist I said, “That’s why going straight back is not a good thing to do. It limits your mobility.”

I found someone’s hair-teasing comb in her purse. I also found a fold up traveling brush. Both the women who owned them despaired that they would do anything.

“Not so, these are fine weapons.” I went over to the heavy bag suspended from the ceiling.

“Don’t you want to demonstrate with me?” Billy said.

“Hon, not if you don’t want to have several severe injuries by the end of this class.” The ladies laughed.

One lady raised her hand. “I can see how the teasing brush would be good to use as a stabbing weapon,” she said.

I nodded. “Yep, this handle used to separate the hair is a good stabbing thrusting item, but that’s not why I say it’s a good weapon. Have any of you considered the teeth?”

They all looked confused and started looking at each other.

I held up the brush. “This is probably the best weapon you can have for close in combat. The bristles are hard, they are sharp, and when dug into certain points of the anatomy, they are deadly.”

I went to the heavy bag. “Imagine that this is Billy, and he has gotten in close enough to hurt me.” I went close to the heavy bag, close enough to be enveloped in the assailant’s “arms”. I quickly slashed the bristles across the area that could comprise the face.

Eyes opened wide. Everyone understood that slashing those bristles across the eyes would cause MAJOR damage. But I wasn’t done. “Okay, the eyes are a good target, but I have a better one.” I approached the bag again. I slashed the bristles across the face again. I turned to the class.

I saw looks of confusion. No one saw what I just did. One lady looked thoughtful. “Lisa, right? You’re a nurse?” I asked while looking at her. She nodded.

I smiled. “Then you know exactly what I did just then, don’t you?”

Again she nodded.

“Then please explain it to the class.”

She gathered some courage and said, “You slashed the forehead, didn’t you?”

I grinned ear to ear. “Yes, I did.”

There was more confusion. I looked at the class. “Per square inch, there are more capillaries in the forehead skin than in just about any other section of the skin. They are close to the surface, easily cut open and they bleed forever.”

Lisa spoke up. “Unlike a lot of places, there’s no major artery to close them down simply, or there IS, but it’s not where many people think it is at. So the blood coming out of the forehead flows into the eyes, and keeps flowing. It doesn’t cause really permanent damage like going after the eyes could do, but it could be a deterrent.”

I smiled happily. “Think of boxers, they get their brow ridges cut open all the time from boxing gloves, abraded open and it bleeds into their eyes all the time. It will be a deterrent, and it will also blind them, and keep blinding them until they get it stopped. It’s not about doing the most damage to your opponent; it’s about stopping him from hurting you. It may be that you know that sometimes you want to stop him without hurting him, and if that’s the case, this is one option.”

“But what about the travel brush you have from me?” Kim the physically smallest girl asked.

I opened the brush. I left the bristles folded up, and held it right on the hinge with the handle part sticking out between my ring finger and pinkie. Since I was still standing near the punching bag, I lashed out quickly, hitting the bag where a man’s stomach would be located. I did it without telegraphing the move much, just hitting fast, jabbing it into what would be the midsection. The bag swung away from me after my hit by about a foot.

I raised my eyebrows. “Questions?”

The night was spent demonstrating how to use those items as weapons or distractions, and how to counter some of the more common things. “Don’t breathe in if someone blows a powder at you or covers your nose and mouth with a cloth. That’s the natural, normal, human reaction and it is counted on by your assaliant, but if you do it you are dead. Instead bite the hand holding the cloth, lash back with your stiletto heel and pop the bastard’s kneecap off, elbow him in the ribs, move out of the cloud of powder or whatever. I don’t care what you have to do to preserve yourself; this class is to ensure that you have at least one extra chance.”

I really enjoyed teaching and I enjoyed knowing that these girls were getting good lessons in survival and escape from me than they would get in a karate class. After all, karate classes are teaching you to fight back, not how to escape and evade.

“Standing and fighting is not a strategy that you should use. There’s a reason that bruisers come built like apes, and it’s because SIZE DOES MATTER. The knuckle draggers are bigger and heavier and no matter how many throws you master, they CAN be countered by muscle mass and training. Look at sumo wrestling for a perfect example. So your strategy should be twofold; one, don’t get in the situation in the first place and two you should make it your business to escape and evade whenever you can.”

“Hit him and run. But always run toward groups of people. Most assailants don’t want to be seen by others, nor do they want to be caught. Dark alleys, places with burned out lights, times after the movie let out and the parking lot is deserted. THOSE are the times and places that an attacker is going to get you. Don’t spend 10 minutes in the bathroom fixing your makeup, because by that time everyone has probably left and no one will see you, and that makes you a target.”

All this preparation was tested about a week later when a jealous boyfriend tracked Jess to the shelter. I was engaged in straightening up the area we used for class when I became aware of a commotion of some sort. A couple students came rushing in and dragged me outside, just in time to see Jess deliver a picture perfect break-hold that he had on her forearm, block his slap rounding in on the left side of her face, and escape back into the building. She hadn’t hurt him, but she got away clean.

Needless to say, the jerk wasn’t coming into the shelter, and the police were called, especially since he had a restraining order against him and had physically assaulted her, so he was going to jail for a while.

I couldn’t decide what I wanted to do about Karen. Every day I wanted to be with her, in a manner that would reflect my skills and abilities in the carnal knowledge category. I didn’t want to take her, make her or anything with violence, but I did want to hold and stroke, touch and bring to a fever pitch. I wanted her sweating and needing to have me in her.

These days a lot of my life is “but on the other hand” and but on the other hand I was facing “do I really want to be a woman” with her? And the answer to that conundrum totally confused me.

I did want the tenderness, the touching and the intimacy. That’s part-and-parcel of being female. Violence is the hallmark of a male psyche. I had always been one of those who wanted my partner’s pleasure more than mine. Making her scream in ecastacy was more important than anything I got, THAT was my orgasm, hers. Even though I had been on hormones and testosterone blockers for the better part of 10 months, I still wanted to do that to her.

I finally decided I had to take matters into my own hands.

One night after the last of her clients had gone home; I made her dinner, oysters in garlic sauce, tea sweetened with honey, asparagus with a basil reduction. I cooked and just as she was coming back from her shower, I served her the dishes with all the flair I had taught myself.

Her eyebrows went up. “Well, you really want me to go to bed with Big Ben don’t you?” Apparently she already knew those foods were aphrodisiacs and that she would need her monster vibrator that she threatened her clients with.

Shyly I murmured “I’d rather it was be me.” I tried to watch her reaction without looking at her. The toaster gave me a clear view of the startled look on her face.

She blinked a few times. “Um…. What?”

I looked her right in the eye. “Karen, I find you extremely attractive. I have wanted to make love to you since we met. I don’t care if I get a physical release, I can’t really get it up anyhow these days, but I want YOU.” I waited, my heart pounding like a trip hammer.

I had wanted to talk to her about this, ever since I was thrown out of the Army. I wanted to tell her this, and I knew that she had made no secret about wanting me too. She treated me like a partner in the home, relying on my skills where I had expertise and leaving things that I could do to me. I tried my best to return the favor and trust as I could, and we had developed a rhythm of working around each other, intersecting at times, like meals, and occasionally my helping her in her work, but while I felt the interest, I had tried to keep the sexual tension to a minimum.

But getting up every day and seeing her in some of the items she wore for clients... that would be a strain on anyone’s self-control. Until recently, I had been taking more cold showers than hot.

I had noticed that while she would allow the shape of her body to be seen and admired by myself and her clients, she was never unclothed in front of any of us. She had seen me that way once or twice, usually when I was helping with the “wife” scenes, but she had never done anything to take advantage of it. She had teased me once by leaving me in the chastity belt for a few hours until I promised to spit-shine all her leather outfits to Parade Ground Military polish.

Truth be told, I had actually enjoyed that more than I can explain.

My time in the restraints had shown me a side that was a lot less-than-vanilla than I was comfortable thinking about, but I didn’t want to use her toys without her say-so. So the lotion got used up, and I went through boxes of Kleenex.

While I still got the occasional wood that had nothing to do with my need to drain my bladder, the desire to have her in my arms, and to be in her arms was nearly overwhelming at times; a union of souls and minds, rather than a joining of flesh.

I worked to convey all this to her while we ate. She sat there and listened, as a good girlfriend would to her friend, so my heart was alternately in my throat or my shoes. I told her how I didn’t care about my physical needs, how I was fine with that, but that I wanted to be the person she thought of when she thought of a partner, a friend, a lifelong love.

Finally, after the Bananas Foster, I wound down. I stopped talking and cleared the tissue from the table where I had a small mountain of them growing. She hadn’t said a word during the recitation. I just knew I’d made a huge mistake.

Mechanically I gathered the dishes and moved them to the sink so I could wash them, as a good house mouse would. I didn’t hear her footsteps behind me, but I felt her hands go around my torso from the back, and join each other over my heart.

“Gina, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t see this coming. I’m so glad you spoke of it. Thank you.”

Oh, G_d… it was the kiss-off speech. Fresh tears filled my eyes.

She continued. “I was afraid that my lifestyle had put any hope of that kind of relationship outside the realm of possibility.

“Gina, you are blossoming into a wonderful woman, someone that anyone could be proud of to have in their life. You probably saved that one girl from a beating, and you are so kind and considerate toward me. I really wish you had told me all this earlier.”

She turned me around, pulling my head down to her shoulder. She whispered, “Because I was starting to think you didn’t like me”.

People really shouldn’t drop bombs like that. All at once I went from Hell to Heaven in nanoseconds. I wasn’t sure my body could handle the adrenalin overload.

She held me as I cried. We cried together. Somehow we wound up in one of the huge stuffed chairs in her dungeon, the place she felt most comfortable and safe. We were curled around each other and I was babbling. She was whispering to me, comforting and helping me get my head back down out of the clouds.

“Darling Gina, we have several problems that we need to talk about before we decide to go into any kind of relationship here. Please come back so we can talk.” Her voice finally penetrated my brain and woke me up.

I finally stopped sniffing and crying long enough to actually look at her. My makeup was ruined and she hadn’t bothered to put any on after her shower, so we looked like two sponges who had absorbed too much water, both bloated, tears leaking and snot running…. It wasn’t pretty.

But then, real life never is.

She looked at me and said “My little sparrow, get into the bathroom and clean yourself up. Then come back in here and we can talk some more.”

I think I teleported into the bathroom, cleaned myself as I was used to in the Army (quick scrub with a washrag on my face, pits and crotch) and then flew back into the room with her.

I swear she hadn’t moved, but somehow a chair moved itself across the room so we were facing each other. A pen and a notebook had appeared in her hands and she was writing something. I perched in the chair opposite her so I could give my undivided attention to her, but that was going to backfire since I was busy looking at her perfection.

Do I sound sappy? Well, I’m allowed. I think I’m in love, or at least in that crush state that teen girls get into. Since I was going through puberty again, I’m allowed.

Karen looked at me. “Okay, here’s just a set of problems I can think of in no particular order. Read over it and see if anything needs to be added.”

She handed me the notebook and I read:

- My job
- Your job
- The Army
- Your transition
- My clients
- The “gameroom”
- Your sexual preference
- My sexual preference
- Society

She stopped writing there. I looked it over and tried to think of each problem as a problem and decide what we could do about them.

“Well, the ‘your job’ problem shouldn’t be a problem since it makes money for both of us, it’s how you make a living. The Army is immaterial since they threw me out and for that I say good riddance to them. Your clients, well, they are YOUR clients, you do with them, as you want. I had thought that your sexual preference and my sexual preference were compatible in general, you like boys and I like girls. No problem there….”

I trailed off because as I thought about it, I could start seeing some things that were going to be a real problem in the future.

She nodded. “You’re starting to see it. Gina, I won’t lie to you. I don’t intend to quit and become a house marm, I plan to continue to be the Bitch Mistress you met and paid to turn you into a humiliated sissy. That’s going to continue, and it will continue with my clients. They pay a lot of money for that privilege, and there are not a lot of places they can get their rocks off in this regard. So if you have a problem with that, we REALLY need to talk about it now instead of later.”

She stopped and looked at me to see my reaction.

“Well, you don’t have sex with any of them…” I started to say.

“But I will probably be doing more sexually with them than I will with you, that’s going to cause problems eventually.”

I looked at her instead of the paper I was holding. “Not for me it won’t. You will be doing things to them, and they will be looking at you and you will be letting them touch you sometimes, but I will have something they don’t.”

She was confused, I could see it in her eyes. “And that is…?”

“I’ll have you. All of you. I’ll have your tears at a sappy movie, I’ll have your sniffles when you are sick. I’ll have the scent of you on the pillow. I’ll have your hair in my mouth. I’ll have more of you than they will, and you will be with me, not just playing with me like you do them.”

She started to say something, but I continued. “Karen, yes you have a sexual job. Lots of others do too. I’m not after just sex, although that’s pretty important to me. What I want from you is what I’ve been getting from you all this time, a person I enjoy being with, someone compatible with me, someone who when I think of the future, I’m thinking in terms of ‘we’ instead of ‘me’. I do that when I think about next year. I do that when I think about fifteen years from now. I see US instead of myself. When I think about things to do, I find myself including you in those plans as a matter of course, as something natural and right, rather than having to modify my plans for you as some kind of ‘add-on’.”

The pile of tissues was growing next to her. “You are starting to sound like you are proposing to me, you know.”

I thought about that. “You know, you’re right. It does sound like I’m asking you to marry me. And if that’s the case, what do you say? Marry me?”

There was no pause, no thinking, no consideration for other factors. “Yes.”

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