Lady Sylvia. Part 4
Lena was anxious, waiting for news from Fyokla, about her decision—or rather, the decision of her Mistress, as she called her—regarding her future fate: to be or not to be her bottom bitch. In Lena's head, a struggle continued among several Lenas, each pulling her to their side. However, the Lena who had decided to become a bottom bitch and had tasted again that rose-like aroma between Fyokla's legs had more allies. The other Lenas, weighing the pros and cons, were switching to her side. Only the brutal Lena and the conservative Lena resisted, afraid to step into that still completely unexplored, yet so captivating world just by its very existence—a world where she would be someone's thing! A world
where her desires would not be taken into account! And not by just anyone, but by a beautiful girl! No, a Lady! A strict Lady! The image of the Mistress was blurry in her mind, but knowing what a beautiful girl Fyokla, who served her, was, it was clear that the Mistress was a beautiful, stately, and authoritative LADY! The long-awaited text message from Fyokla arrived at 3 a.m. With trembling hands, Lena opened it and— the answer is positive! We will prepare! Do not make any plans for tomorrow or for the next week!
She reread and reread that arousing text message, which helped her bring herself to several orgasms, in which Roman also participated. But Lena tried to close her eyes and escape from the present reality where her husband was present, though she didn't want to completely offend him either, because she needed him as her own slave and henpecked husband, who, moreover, had already accepted her for who she was. Even if it was a shock for him, he had coped and made the right choice, and therefore he had the right to remain by the side of his mistress-wife Lena. He didn't even know yet that his wife would soon become a bitch for the Mistress! At that very thought, she came again, scratching Roman's back, emitting a frantic scream, biting his shoulders.
After work, Lena and Fyokla went shopping. Fyokla showed Lena the card the Mistress had given her and instructed her on what to buy and how Lena should look. It was completely unimportant what it cost or how much it cost—let me remind you, the Mistress was quite well-off and commanded immense respect among the tops (uppers, mistresses, ladies). But perhaps it's necessary to note that there weren't really any other 'ladies'; she was the one and only Mistress! And none of the tops even thought in their minds of somehow equaling her and calling themselves a Mistress. So, if the conversation was about 'the Mistress,' everyone in the know understood who was being talked about.
After the shopping, Fyokla conducted a briefing, explaining to Lena that she would first undergo a test, and if she passed, she would be initiated as a bottom bitch and from now on would be the property of the Mistress, who not only humiliates for her own pleasure but also promotes her bitches up the career ladder, provides protection, supports them financially, and, of course, spoils them with gifts. For every wrong action, the Mistress punishes! At the word 'punishes,' butterflies fluttered in Lena's lower abdomen. No swearing! Fyokla continued the briefing—and don't you dare say the word 'doggy style'! Taboo—a complete prohibition and inadmissibility—encompasses COPRO, PEDO, INCEST, ZOO, and for golden showers—Fyokla added, slightly embarrassed—the Mistress punishes! What exactly that meant, Lena didn't understand, but she didn't ask again, because what she would be doing with the Mistress would be chosen by the Mistress, not her.
— You are not a slave—Fyokla continued—you are a bottom bitch. The Mistress doesn't like the words 'slave' and 'mistress'! So remember that! You must be devoted to her, infinitely obliging, think about the Mistress's desires, your actions must always be aesthetic and insanely beautiful. Even if you hear the command to undress—and you should undress yourself if there are no outsiders, but if there are outsiders, then on the Mistress's command—so, you must undress beautifully, guiltily, and sweetly, while smiling, watching the Mistress's facial expressions, and reacting to the slightest movements of her hands, fingers, and especially her eyes. The Mistress loves to indicate with her eyes! Swearing and vulgarity are forbidden, as I already said, and no liberties or improvisations, and don't you dare joke or try to joke around showing that you're not afraid of her. The best you can expect for that is rather strong scars on your body, and the worst is complete ignorance and turning your life into hell! Do you understand? Do you understand there is no way back? Yes?—At these words, Lena grew cold, realizing perhaps now that this was not a game, but another life she had signed up for. She even wanted to say stop! Stop! I need to think more! But she understood that as soon as she said stop, all her rosy dreams of serving the Mistress would instantly collapse, and she would lose not only that unexplored and alluring life but also the respect of Fyokla herself, with whom Lena had already fallen in love and desired to be close to again.—Where are you? Hey!—Fyokla snapped her fingers in front of Lena's face, understanding that Lena had mentally flown off somewhere.
— Are you here?
— Yes!—Lena answered, smiling slightly at Fyokla's cute little face.
— Well, let's continue—Fyokla began with a serious look—from this moment on, wear only dresses!—And indeed, Lena noticed, she had never seen Fyokla in jeans or pants, and she never even wore a skirt—no skirts!—Fyokla continued—pants, jeans—TABOO, only stockings with garters and no belts!
— But you—Lena remembered the belt Fyokla was wearing when she... Lena blushed, remembering how delicious Fyokla was then, she so wanted to hug her again and.....
— Are you here?—Fyokla snapped her fingers again.
— Yes, yes!—Lena returned to reality again.
— I'm telling you—Fyokla said—I wore that for you!—She smiled—You said somehow that it aroused you, so I put it on with the Mistress's permission.
The Mistress's? Lena asked Fyokla silently, without opening her mouth, did you say with the Mistress's permission? So the Mistress already knew about me back then, and so it was she who sent Fyokla to me, so the Mistress and Fyokla had calculated her? How? Lena blushed again from the sudden wave of shame that washed over her.
— Oh, damn—Fyokla laughed, understanding that Lena was constantly mentally flying off somewhere—well, you seem completely tired, friend, let's go have tea!—She stood up and went to the kitchen, swaying her gorgeous ass—and remember, only high heels, well, in summer sandals and sundresses are okay, you must look now—she took a sip of tea from the cup—always 110% and smell delicious, and remember! Always be happy! Never whine about life! Your lot is to serve the Mistress! Understood?
— Uh-huh—Lena nodded, trying to absorb everything she had heard.
Lena underwent training for ten days, and now that very moment had arrived! She stood in the square, where her husband had brought her, dressed in a black robe with white trim along the edge of the hood (she hadn't bought this robe in a store; it was sewn in an atelier, with Fyokla telling the master what it should be like). Underneath, Lena wore a tight-fitting blue dress that was above the knee, under the dress white lace lingerie and stockings of the same color with garters, on her feet high heels, on her lips, as Fyokla had instructed, Lena applied bright red lipstick, which, by the way, Fyokla had also given her, and...
Fyokla, with trembling hands, looking around at the passersby, took off the hood of the robe, put a soft, lace mask over her eyes, and put the hood back on—this attribute seemed superfluous to her, she felt like she was at a masquerade and therefore felt terrible discomfort. But knowing and remembering that her opinion from now on mattered to no one, she still, overcoming her shame, stood and waited for the Mistress, who appeared a few minutes later, walking as if in slow motion. Her gait was precise, confident—heel before toe—she stood out noticeably against the backdrop of the gray mass. She was in the same robe as Lena, but hers had red trim along the edge of the hood, under which was a tight-fitting black dress and black stockings, high heels nine centimeters tall. In her hands was a beautiful leather satchel.
— Well, hello—said the Mistress Sylvia in a haughty and authoritative voice, handing her the satchel. At that moment, Lena was confused, not knowing how to kiss the Mistress's hand if she had the satchel in her hands, and Sylvia noticed this too—take the satchel and quickly follow me—after handing over the satchel, Sylvia turned around and walked with the same authoritative and cat-like gait, swaying her beautiful hips from side to side. Behind her, Lena practically scurried along, holding the satchel with both hands in front of her chest. Where they were going, Lena didn't know, but she knew she had no right to ask questions! Under no circumstances! Otherwise, this session and test could end instantly.
How cool, authoritative, and beautiful she is, thought Lena, continuing to scurry after the Mistress, not taking her eyes off her beautiful ass. This pair, which clearly showed who was in charge here, aroused genuine interest among the passersby. In front, striding with a proprietorial gait, was the tall Mistress Sylvia in a black robe with red trim along the edge of the hood, which covered her head, and in the same robe, but with white trim along the edge of the hood, with her head tucked in, walked—no, not confidently scurried—Lena, with a mask on her face, in which the image of a bottom was already clearly visible. Some people even stopped to watch how the Mistress walked and the bottom scurried along, holding the satchel in front of her chest. The Mistress only lacked a whip and a leash in her hands, but in principle, it was clear who was who. Sylvia specifically aimed for this effect, to test right on the street how Lena could withstand such suddenly imposed humiliation. Sylvia walked towards an expensive hotel, which was two blocks from the square, and Lena had to overcome this entire path clenching her teeth and suppressing her shame. She exhaled when she finally followed the Mistress into the hotel lobby and immediately, seeing the Mistress's nod towards a small sofa, sat down on it, placing the satchel on her knees. The hotel porter's mouth simply dropped open when Sylvia approached him, who, smiling, immediately covered his truly gaping mouth with her luxurious hand. She closed it by pressing on his chin upwards; the porter lost the power of speech, also smiled stupidly at Sylvia, and embarrassedly averted his gaze, unable to withstand the heavy gaze of the Mistress, who, like a panther, looked at him while checking in. The porter, who was smiling at first, by the end felt completely out of place, his hands were shaking, which surprised him and made them shake even more, his voice trembled as if at that very moment he was checking in a person on whom his life depended, which for some reason, as he thought, was hanging by a thread. Sylvia looked sternly at Lena, who was sitting meekly, still holding the satchel with both hands and pressing her knees together. From the facial expression of her eyes, Lena understood that she needed to spread her legs slightly, and she did so, presenting her snow-white, beautiful, lace panties to the view of the Mistress and the porter, which embarrassed him even more, and his forehead even broke out in a sweat.
— Everything is ready, Mistress—the porter uttered, not expecting himself to call the Mistress 'Mistress'—and again smiled stupidly, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. He felt as if he had unloaded a wagon of potatoes; he needed to rest and drink a glass of mineral water.
Sylvia, with the same authoritative and cat-like gait, taking the key to the penthouse, approached the sitting Lena, who tried to stand up but was stopped by a look and remained sitting on the same small sofa, still holding the satchel in both hands. Coming right up to Lena, Sylvia opened the satchel right on Lena's knees and took out of it a leather collar inlaid with nine small diamonds, which sparkled and shone brightly, giving the collar an expensive look and status to the Mistress. Sylvia smiled sweetly at Lena, holding this collar in her hands.
— Are you ready?—the Mistress asked quietly, looking at Lena, who was still sitting on the small sofa in a beautiful lace mask, looking devotedly into Sylvia's beautiful eyes.
— Yes—Lena uttered almost inaudibly, nodding her head.
Sylvia took a step back and with her eyes indicated Lena's place at her feet. Lena glanced once more at the porter, whose mouth had dropped open again, and obediently knelt before the Mistress, who smiled at her gratefully and fastened the collar around the neck of the newly minted bottom. After that, again following the Mistress's facial expression, the bitch extended the satchel on outstretched arms, from which Sylvia took out a leash, one end of which, with a clip, she handed to her bitch. And Lena, taking it, and as a sign of submission in front of everyone present in the lobby—who had stopped all their activities and movements, and even phone conversations were ended; complete silence reigned in the lobby—Lena herself attached the leash to her beautiful collar on her delicate neck.
— Well done, girl—Sylvia smiled, looking down at the bitch, after which she turned businesslike towards the elevator and demonstratively, but not too hard, tugged on the leash. The bitch jumped up from her knees and, still holding the satchel with both hands in front of her chest, again scurried after the Mistress. The porter and the other individuals swallowed dry saliva, watching with their eyes as the Mistress and her bottom bitch disappeared behind the closing elevator doors.