Petronella's Choice

by: Bryony - Read Author's Biography



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Petronella's Choice by Bryony Two finely-dressed women were taking tea, in an opulent sitting room. Althought both were in their late 40s, they were undeniably attractive, and of athletic build. A maid stood nearby, demonstrating a near-perfect submissive pose. The Mistress of the house fussed over the tea ritual, while her visitor regarded the maid, and not for the first time she shook her head in wonderment. "I still can't believe that's actually Lord Mandrake." "I can assure you it is. She'll show you her photo album to prove it, if you like. But please - don't refer to her by that name. She's so much more comfortable with Petronella now." Petronella stood with her hands clasped, gaze downcast. She stood still, like a statue. The visitor left her chair, and walked around the submissive, examining her closely. Few people would have endured such close, intrusive scrutiny - unless powerless and in abject submission. Petronella trembled slightly, but did not resist. Eventually, the inspection ended, and the visitor returned to her seat. "I have to say, Emily, what you've done here is miraculous!" "Oh, I didn't have to do all that much, really." "What? He's... she's... almost totally transformed!" "Yes, but I didn't do it alone. Far from it. The end result is attractive, I'll grant you, but I can't take the credit for that. Remind me to introduce you to Dr. Cho: she performed the various surgeries, and Petronella herself made most of the artisitc choices. I really didn't have to do much at all, beyond training her to move gracefully and helping her to understand how to be a good little maid." "She chose to look like this?" "Yes. This is what she wanted. Subject to my approval, of course, but nothing has been done to Petronella against her will." Amanda Thorne, Mistress of the house and owner of Petronella indicated a bulging folder on the coffee table. "If you care to examine her file," she said, "you will see that she requested every feature - and a few others that I rejected." The visitor reached for the folder, and pulled out a sheet at random. It showed a collection of X-rays, detailing a series of surgical procedures upon the feet. "Ah, yes. Petronella's feet. They look cute, don't they?" She indicated the maid, who blushed. "Tiny, girlish feet to fit in such cute little boots. Petronella wanted them that way. They aren't really feet like yours or mine, as she doesn't have toes anymore. The smaller bones were pared away when her feet were sculpted into that new, tiny size. If you took her boots off, you'd find that what's left is more of a stub. That sounds reckless, and obviously it was painful, but she specifically asked for this. In fact, she asked for the procedure to be taken a step further, and had some metal fittings implanted. You can see them in the last X-ray." "What are they?" "Well I don't know where she got the idea, but each foot-stump has a pair of threaded sockets, in stainless steel. Some bondage fantasy she used to have, I suppose. Or maybe still has. To do with her feet being fastened together, or fastened to something? I have no idea." "You never asked?" "No. I don't hold with all that 'spank me, spank me' nonsense, where the submissive tells the Dominant what they want done to them. I mean, who's really in control, if you start down that road? So Petronella's got some fantasy about bondage that goes right to her skeleton? So what? It's not my fantasy, and she knows better than to speak when she hasn't been invited!" This last was said very firmly. Petronella had drawn in a breath, and raised her downcast gaze fractionally, but she subsided instantly, and whatever she had hoped to say went unsaid. The other woman continued flicking through the folder, and raised her eyebrows. "She's had an awful lot of work done on her bones." "Yes. They all request Dr. Cho's body sculpting. After they've dieted excessively and acquired that starved look with toast-rack ribs it makes sense to remake the skeleton into the size they want to be. Mandrake was a big man, and that didn't suit his goals at all, so Dr. Cho and her team had a lot of work to do. I don't recall the specifics of the case, but if it was a typical job it will have involved breaking bones and removing sections, so the end result is smaller. The lowest ribs are often deleted entirely when the others are shrunk, and later a couple of vertebrae are taken out, if the maid wants to be small without giving up too much from her legs. My girls are vain about their legs, in general." "Good grief. Does anything stay original?" "You'd have to ask Dr. Cho if there's anything she won't attempt. I've never known her to refuse a challenge, though." "Astonishing. Forgive me, Amanda, but this has all come as something of a shock." "A surprise, perhaps, but I hope I haven't shocked you. All I have done is help some of our old friends. Once I found out I could help them, and when they beat a path to my door, what else could I do? You... you've been apart from the scene for, what, fifteen years?" The visitor thought back to the late 1990s, and grimaced. The 'scene' to which her friend referred was a secretive gathering of dominants, all of them from wealthy and successful families. It had been Emily that had nominated Amanda for membership. In the early days, both women would have said that the Club (it had no name) completed them: it allowed them to express a part of who they were, in a context where they had no need to explain, and no need to conceal. It also gave a dominant person access to a steady stream of submissives to toy with. Things had moved on, however, and the fetishes indulged by the members seemed to become ever more aggressive and extreme, until Emily began to fear that sooner or later some submissive would be mutilated, suffocated, or drowned. She left the city, and did not seek out a similar club in her new home. Even more than AIDS in the 1980s, this ugly, aggressive tendency threatened the fabric of the BDSM community. Amanda thought that she, too, would have to abandon the lifestyle, for fear of being consumed by the madness of excess. The old friends pondered in silence, and when Emily caught Amanda's gaze, it became clear they had both been thinking along similar lines. "I'm sorry I went away," Emily began. "Don't be," Amanda interrupted her. "I don't blame you." "You said you found you could help them?" "Yes. Try one of the lemon wafers, and I'll explain." "It started innocently enough. You remember Master Thomas? Yes, I thought you would. Well, you'd already been gone for a year or two when he was diagnosed with prostate cancer, and he had to have it removed. Now, if you remember Thomas, you'll remember him for his immense sexual appetite. After the procedure, he was a broken man. I know that he was contemplating suicide." "Now, around that time, Dr. Cho was struck off the medical register. She and I were barely acquainted at the time, but I knew of her reputation as a surgeon. Her only crime was to be impatient with the establishment; she developed some new procedures and she hated to see patients suffer while the approval process ground slowly on for a decade or so. So she'd performed 'experimental procedures' on patients, and that was the end of her career... officially." "I knew she had some clever tricks up her sleeve. She's one of the finest minds of our generation, and it seemed a terrible waste that she couldn't work. I arranged a meeting with her, and asked her to consult on Thomas' case." "Eventually she ended up constructing an operating theatre right here in the basement. First of all, though, she met with Thomas and examined him. The problem, at least according to Thomas, wasn't his inability to reproduce; he had some frozen sperm banked in case he ever wanted it, but he couldn't cope with the inability to experience orgasm. Remember, this was a man who had a live-in slave, and through indulging his various fantasies he regularly used to cum ten or a dozen times a day. The loss of that capability almost destroyed him." "Dr. Cho said that the, um, let me see... the removal of the retroperitoneal lymph node, I think it was, had destroyed the nerves involved in the muscular contractions that cause ejaculation. Basically, Thomas had a highly localized form of paralysis, and it was driving him crazy." "To implant fine wires that did roughly the same job as the nerves was simple for Dr. Cho, but she didn't stop there. Since there was no prostate to produce seminal fluid, she used an artificial substance to mimic it. Rather than allowing this to pass into the urethra and thus out of the body in the usual way, she gave it a looped path. Thus, Thomas could cum without ever running out, as it were, and this was triggered by a small electric current." "So that must be the origin of what I've heard," mused Emily. "That very much depends," her friend said archly, "on what you have heard." "I heard a whisper about you using this process to 'fix' your submissives. I'm not entirely sure I can believe what I heard, though: maybe it was just somebody's fuck-fantasy, spoken out loud...?" "No, it isn't. But we're getting ahead of ourselves. Don't you want to hear what happened to Thomas?" "Indeed." "Alright then. Well, Thomas now had the ability to orgasm, whenever he wanted to. All he had to do was apply a small electric current to his abdomen, and he would orgasm - for as long as he wanted, and as often as he liked. And you know what he did?" "What?" "Nothing at all. All he ever did was cause himself to orgasm. Hour after hour after hour. He let his business slide to the brink of ruin, and then sold it for a song. He let his house fall into disrepair. His slave left him... and he didn't care about a thing. He wasn't bothering to take care of himself at all. If you had seen him, you would have wept." "So what happened?" "We had to stage an intervention. A few of us told him he had to stop this, and fortunately he agreed. Dr. Cho altered the installation to one that was fully implanted, with a device that was recharged by motion, and with circuitry that imposes a time limit between orgasms." "So Thomas is alright? I feel twice as bad for going away, now." "Thomas is fine. He's not quite as he was, but he's still a fine man and a dear friend." "Well, that's good, at least. But you said it started this way. How do we get from Master Thomas to Petronella here?" "Corner, Petronella!" the Mistress exclaimed. The maid hurried to the furthest corner of the room just as fast as her tiny platform boots would permit, and there she stood with her nose pressed against the plaster. Amanda smiled. "So nosey, these maids. That'll teach her to earwig. Now where was I? Oh yes... Thomas and his induced orgasms. News had slipped out: people in our community knew that I had a surgeon friend who could give them irresistible orgasms. Despite what this had done to Thomas, they wanted it. Moths to a flame, they were!" "So what did you do?" "I said no. Forcefully and repeatedly. And there it might have ended, but for a new affair I got myself into." "A new subbie?" Emily grinned, remembering fondly those exciting early weeks and months with a new submissive, moulding them and probing their limits: testing and teaching. The discipline, and the gratitude; the symbiosis of lust. "Yes: a new subbie. A completely new one, in fact, because he'd previously been Lord Henry." "No!" "Ah, I see you remember him. But yes - he said he had felt this way for a long time; that he needed to submit utterly to me." "Oh," Emily smirked. "Utterly." "Just what I thought. So I told him 'utterly' meant castration, and I might take his tongue as well." "I bet that changed his tune." "Not one little bit." "Seriously?" "Absolutely." "Good grief, Amanda! What did you do?" "I took him on. Broke him in. Hell, I broke him." "Mmm..." Emily crossed her legs, squeezing her thighs together at the thought. "Yes. Now, of course I'm not stupid. I knew that his idea of complete submission might be a short-term fantasy. I knew that he might have entered into this in the hope that he would get 'fixed' like Thomas. Not that Thomas was ever my sub - just a friend in need." "So you had a cunning plan?" "I don't know about cunning. I don't like to trick people. I simply explained to Henry that if I decided to allow him the procedure, I would retain control of his orgasms. He agreed, and it was at this point that I really began to believe that Henry was sincere in his submission." "So he got 'fixed'?" "Yes. The procedure was the same as for Thomas, but with the addition of a remote transmitter, with a key code. Only when I chose would Henry cum." "That's a nice solution of the problem you described in Thomas," Emily mused. "And very fitting for a subbie. I assume he couldn't achieve orgasm by other means?" "Once the procedure was complete, he was unable to reach orgasm except with the implant. I had total control." "Did he make a good sub?" Emily's pupils had dilated. "Before the procedure, the best you could say was that he was sincere, and he tried hard. Soon afterwards, though, he became the best, sweetest little submissive you could wish for," Amanda recalled fondly. "Which still doesn't explain why Mandrake, over there, is in a satin dress, and answering to Petronella." Mistress Thorne smiled. "Well, at around that time, I was just getting into forced feminization in a big way." "Ah. I think I begin to see..." "Yes! So there's Henry, newly fitted with a device that gives him the biggest and best orgasms of his life... and there's me, intrigued to see just how much obedience I can command from my new, feminized plaything. I have to admit, I may have abused my position." "Surely not. He'd said he submitted to you utterly!" "Yes. Still, picture me controlling his only means of sexual release, and only allowing him a release when his attire and behaviour were feminine: whenever he's pleased me by being as girlish as he could possibly be. It was meeting my need to be dominant, and his to submit, and it was really little more than a game, for me." "And for him?" "Like many of the men who call themselves Masters, he had a flaw - whether of personality or in his genes - that gave him a colossal sexual appetite, and caused him always to expect instant gratification. I believe that's why they're drawn to the whole Master-slave business in the first place: they respond to arousal in an immature way that demands a simplistic sexual release. In other words, their dependance on orgasm is much greater than among the drab population in general, and this can lead them into all kinds of trouble. Imagine Henry, dressed day after day in exquisite lingerie and a maid's apron, cleaning the house and so on, and every hour or two I say 'good girl, Henrietta' and give him a nice, long orgasm. I mean, these are the best orgasms of his life: but he quickly learns that he won't get that feeling if his stocking seams are crooked, if he looks me in the eye, or if something that he says or does seems at all masculine. I was on quite a power trip!" Emily hugged herself with glee. "It sounds lovely." "I have to admit, it was amusing from the outset, and intriguing once I understood the full, transformative power that Dr. Cho's implant provided." "As a conditioning tool?" "Exactly. A reward so good that I seldom needed to apply any punishment beyond the withhold of the reward." Emily considered this. "So the bigger they are, the harder they fall?" "Quite literally. The more sexually driven the candidate, the more easily conditioned. It seems it's very hard to be a bad boy when you know that being a good girl might earn you as many as a dozen particularly potent orgasms a day." "And the maid thing was just a whim?" "More or less. One might as well get something useful from a sub. What's the point in keeping him or her chained up in your basement for weeks on end?" "Some subbies might like that!" Emily smiled. "Indeed," her friend observed, "Henrietta, it turned out, was particularly fond of bondage... although in such cases you always have to be sure they're not topping from the bottom." "I remember how he used to parade his trussed-up sub, years ago... but he liked to be bound, as well?" "Certainly. Remember, I worked upon Henrietta for many months, so I interrogated her on many subjects." "And what did she have to say for herself?" "She confessed that even when she was known as Lord Henry, her fascination with bondage and submission was a two-way street. She hadn't acted upon her desire to submit, because in those days she was ashamed to admit it, within our little community. Instead, in forcing her sub into bondage, she got a vicarious thrill... although secretly she sometimes imagined herself as the one being bound and gagged. "Well, you and I both know there's fun to be had in either role," Emily said, softly. "So what did you do?" "I started her on a programme of corset training. I didn't want to lose the services of my new maid by wastefully keeping her tied up, but I worked out a regime that kept her uncomfortable and acutely conscious of her status, throughout the day." "I do love a nice hourglass figure." "Yes! Well Henrietta excelled herself. In fact she would have dieted too much, if I hadn't kept things under control. As it was, she submitted to a series of ever-smaller corsets, and I praised her for her girlish figure, and gave her orgasms right afterwards. And you know what she did?" "What?" "She asked to start a hormone treatment that would give her a proper girlish figure. In fact, she begged me to take her balls away." "You're -" Emily paused part-way through her exclamation. "You're... not joking, are you?" "No. She saw them as an impediment, and wanted them gone." "What did you do?" Mistress Thorne shrugged. "When I'd warned her that submitting utterly would involve castration, I'd really only meant it as a warning about her choice of words. Now, though, it seemed it was what she wanted, and I felt like I wasn't living up to my side of the bargain... so I had her sign away the rights to her balls, and started a cooling-off period before I sent for Dr Cho. During that time she practically begged me to do it, with those puppy-dog eyes of hers. My, how expressive she could be, despite the gags she insisted on wearing. She sewed them all herself, you know." "Henry... really?" "Oh yes. Henrietta was so desperate for me to put her in bondage, it was almost comical. I'd ruled that she could wear nothing that interfered with her duties as a maid, but she always gagged herself. Bizarre! If I restrained her or punished her, she practically swooned - but I digress. The point is, she really got off on it all, but with all the wish fulfillment involved I had to work hard to make it was clear that I was in control. Nowadays, I've got the house rules worked out and things are much more efficient. I still find that maid training offers the best, no- nonsense path to completion." Mistress Emily helped herself to another lemon wafer. "I sense that you tried other things, along the way?" "Well, I could show you the creature I call Rubbertoy: he's confined upstairs, if you're interested. The submission was no less absolute, and he's interesting as a work of fetish art, but he's not what you'd call useful around the place." "Sounds intriguing." "Well, he was an interesting diversion, but like any piece I've worked upon, he's of less interest to me as a done work - and much harder to place than a maid." "Place?" Emily frowned. "Find a home for. You see, I'm getting inquiries from would-be submissives almost every week: most of them former Masters like Henry, and Mandrake. If I decide that they are sincere, and that I want to help them, the end result is another maid. Last year five new maids graduated, and this year I expect to produce seven. This house is large but there isn't enough work for an army of submissive servant-girls, and they all require personal attention. To neglect them would be needlessly cruel. Instead I've been supplying maids to our sort of people. When placed in a suitable home, everybody wins! And to be honest, when I learned that you'd moved back into the county, I didn't invite you here purely to reminisce." Emily blinked. "I... see." "I'm not expecting to convince you right away, but would you please consider it? You've a new household to set up, and I could provide a girl or two, to perform chores about the place. They require very little upkeep, beyond food and clothing." "You'll have to admit, this is all rather sudden..." "Indeed. And the last thing I want to do is pressure you into an arrangement you're not comfortable with, but if there's anything you would like to know, ask: even if you don't want one of my girls, I will keep no secrets from you, dear Emily." Emily paused. "Can I inspect Petronella more closely?" "Certainly." Mistress Thorne raised her voice: "Petronella, come here!" The submissive maid hurried to join them, her tiny boots clacking on the polished wood floor. Arriving, she performed a quick curtsey, and then resumed her submissive pose. "You may raise your head," said the Mistress. Petronella did so, but knew better than to look her in the eye. Both ladies examined Petronella's face closely. "As you can see, the face is fully feminine. Petronella actually asked for a much more elfin look, but I vetoed it: I dislike caricatures, so Dr Cho stopped short of enlarging the eyes too far, and I think the jaw is narrow enough. In fact, I quite deliberately left Petronella's looks a little bit understated: she's a maid, not a model. Dr Cho could have made her look like Helen of Troy, but I want Petronella to understand her place." "Lovely cheekbones, though," Emily mused." "Yes. Dr Cho does good facial work, doesn't she?" Emily had to agree. Next, the Mistress demanded that Petronella open her bodice, revealing two beautiful, pale globes with nipples that seemed already to be engorged. "Goodness," breathed Emily. "These are no ordinary implants!" "Indeed. They're splendid, aren't they? So lifelike! But there's more to it, and I think you're going to like this." "I can't abide you when you're smug, Amanda. Out with it!" Normally so poised and precise, Mistress Thorne grinned from ear to ear, and then explained: "In addition to the hormonal work, all my maids-to-be have what we call Variable Breast Training, and Petronella took particularly well to hers. Her nipples look erect, but that's actually because a pair of small valves are installed there. Behind each is an implant that can be inflated with a substance that we call Breast Fluid. The fluid can be pumped in, or out. Every week during her early training, Petronella would take herself off to the basement lab and connect herself to the breast fluid machine, to find out if she'd earned merits or demerits. If she did as she was told over an extended period, she got rewarded with bigger titties, and if she disappointed me they became smaller. Maids in training love to show off how good they've been, by comparing bust size. Although it's a competition of a kind, it's not accompanied by any of the macho nonsense they would have engaged in when they were male. It's rather sweet, really. They all encourage one another, and commiserate when they get shrunk. Nowadays the only time Petronella's breast size changes is if I do it on a whim. I think a 'C' is pretty much the maximum for Petronella, given her diminished size... unless for the purposes of deliberately making her look unnatural, or feel uncomfortable. We can do that if you like...?" "For now, I think she looks lovely, just as she is," said Emily, slowly and deliberately dragging a fingernail across one of Petronella's teats. The already elongated nipple hardened further under her touch. Petronella's sharp intake of breath was the only response she permitted herself. "Of course, she was a very good girl during her training, so I seldom had to deduct from her breast allowance." At the mention of "good girl", Petronalla quivered. "Good girl, Petronella," her Mistress said again. "That's something of a trigger phrase for my girls as I often choose to reinforce it with the delivery of an orgasm. Would you like to give Petronella an orgasm? I know she wants one, because they always do. Of course, that's of no consequence, but if you'd like see it - for your gratification rather than hers - I can pass you her remote." Mistress Emily pondered this, enjoying Petronella's stillness as she waited and hoped. The well-trained maid obviously knew that if it was felt she was trying to manipulate the Mistress or her friend, punishment would follow, rather than pleasure. "Perhaps later," the visitor said at last. Petronella tried hard not to reveal her disappointment. Wheedling and begging would have been unseemly, and would have earned her a punishment. She remained in place, eyes downcast. The conversation continued, on a variety of topics, and both the ladies completely ignored the poor little maid, who stood stock-still and wondered if she was supposed to have refastened her bodice. "Good girl," the Mistress said, eventually. She was pleased: the unspoken test had been passed. "Tell her what a good girl she is, Emily." "Petronella," Emily commanded. "Look at me. Look at me: you're a very good girl, Petronella." Petronella smiled in response, but the Mistress had produced the transmitter from her purse, and now pressed the control button. She held it down, all the while saying "Good girl, Petronella. Such a sweet little girl. My tiny little maid. You're a good girl..." After the first few words, Petronella barely heard her. She sank to her knees as the orgasm crashed through her, and kept on coming. Breathing hard through her nose, mouth clamped desperately shut: she knew from past experience that the Mistress didn't want to hear her ecstatic moans and grunts. The orgasm was wonderful - they always were - and just as it became intolerable, it ended. (Although the Mistress could trigger another at any moment, if she so desired.) Petronella could only guess how long she had been lost in ecstasy, and found that she had slumped completely to the floor, lying on one side. Regaining the ability to move, she scrabbled her way slowly and clumsily to her feet, and tried to adopt the pose of obedience, frantically smoothing out the creases in her apron and then trying to fasten her bodice with trembling fingers. Neither of the ladies seemed to notice. They had returned to their chairs, and were flicking through the photographs in the folder. A minute or two passed. "She wants her penis removed, you know," Mistress Thorne commented. "She petitioned me last month." "Petitioned?" "Yes: I got tired of all the undignified begging, so I outlawed it. Instead, each maid has to put her request in writing. You should see some of the things they've asked for! And all with such lovely girlie handwriting and scented notepaper." "So... did you agree?" MIstress Thorne couldn't remember every trifling detail of her girls' many treatments. She thumbed through the fat file to find the answer. Petronella wished she could see what was written in the file, but knew that it was forbidden. "Ah, yes: penis to be deleted." Petronella felt a surge of... not joy, as such... but intense gratitude. She was going to lose that foul, dangling lump between her legs, and present a nice smooth outline in her panties, like the longer-serving girls. "Ten days from now?" Emily was reading the file with interest. "Quite possibly. I'm really not well-informed on maids' medical schedules. They request things, Dr. Cho thins out any requests that are medically impossible, or merely dull, and I approve any of the remainder that interest me." "Hmm. But no vagina?" "No. Petronella isn't a woman, and shouldn't go putting on airs. She's a maid, and my maids are good girls: they have no need for sex organs." "I bet they want to be penetrated, though." "Yes, I imagine they do. What Master isn't secretly fascinated by the idea of being penetrated? Especially a former Master who has gone to all the trouble of transforming into a creature such as this. Hypothetically, If I let her out she'd be offering her back passage to any man she could find, I shouldn't wonder." Emily frowned. "How would you feel about that?" "Well, my maids aren't given days off, so it's not an issue, but it would be a severe breach of the rules. None of the maids is my lover, so I'm not motivated by jealousy... but they are my property, and shouldn't offer themselves to anybody without my permission. I already give them the best orgasms a human being could wish for, so if one of them sought to go against my wishes, that behaviour would have to be eradicated." Mistress Thorne's steely resolve showed through, as she said this. Petronella recognised the tone of voice, and paled noticeably." "How do you eradicate undesired behaviour, Amanda?" "You make them stop thinking about it, one way or another," Mistress Thorne replied cryptically, and wouldn't say any more on the subject. Her visitor left soon after, promising to consider taking a maid. Meanwhile, as scheduled, Petronella underwent Dr Cho's procedure. That last, small vestige of her maleness was removed, leaving her with a smooth, entirely sexless groin that Mistress Thorne told her would look quite lovely in the daintiest panties. That had been during the dreadful twelve days for which Dr Cho ruled that no orgasms be permitted, in case her writhing should tear at the stitches. Petronella was kept dosed up with Valium during that time, but it was a poor substitute. Finally, Dr Cho had inspected her handiwork and reported that Petronella's implant could safely be triggered again, but the Mistress hadn't done so right away. Instead she had required Petronella to dress in exquisite vintage lingerie and make her face up to perfection. Adding a pair of her special boots, she then had her walk to and fro with a book on her head, working to perfect a smooth, feminine gait. Only after two hours of this did the Mistress say she was "somewhat satisfied", and told the maid to sit on the floor. "Good girl, Petronella. My sweet, tiny little maid. You're such a good girl, my pet. You belong to me: mine to do with as I choose..." - and so on, all the while activating Petronella's control. Having the maid sit had been wise, as she all but fainted from the feelings that accompanied the Mistress' words. How long the orgasm lasted she couldn't have said, but it left her a trembling wreck, her makeup spoiled by the small puddle of drool that had escaped while she was senseless. When Petronella came to her senses she discovered that the Mistress had left the room. Eventually she managed to pull herself together, dressed in her uniform and went in search of her duties, shakily but with a deep feeling of contentment. Petronella didn't see Mistress Emily for a month or so, but one day when she was dusting in the library, she caught a glimpse of her on the verandah. Another of the maids was serving tea, but Petronella could hear a little of their conversation through the open window. "... but they never rebel against their modifications! Don't forget, they have to petition for those modifications to take place. Dr Cho has never performed a procedure without it being requested, in writing. If you asked the girls - not that I would, mind you - they'd probably tell you that their only complaint is that I don't permit them to indulge their more extreme fantasies." "Why do you suppose they have these fantasies?" Mistress Emily inquired. "My theory is that they're fascinated by submission, and the Master can only experience so much submission at second hand before he has to experience it for himself. The more dominant he tries to act, the more he's simply feeding his fascination. I could be wrong, but what other explanation could there be for dozens of former Masters wanting - begging - for this transformation. And that's not including the less sincere ones that I've weeded out and sent packing." "You must have put quite a hole in the old community!" "Well, it's certainly changing, but then it wasn't really sustainable before, was it?" "No." "Do you remember Master Tanner?" "Of course. I heard he died, what... seven years ago?" "No. He chose to disappear, when he came to me." "He became a maid?" "And a good one. She's called Cecily now, and works in the household of Lady Monica." "But he was so... aggressive." "Yes, he was, but he didn't remain that way. She's a sweet little thing now, and the transformation went like clockwork. I think that all those years of denying his true nature left him with a pent-up need to change. The eventual adjustment was swift... and thorough." "Lady Monica, as I recall, was never without a riding crop, or something nastier. Does she beat her maid?" "Yes. And they're both happiest that way. Cecily works in a very strict household, with bizarre punishments for a list of infractions as long as your arm... and she loves it. And when she's not in chains, I understand she's become quite the little cook." "There's no accounting for taste," Mistress Emily began, but her hostess had spied the loitering maid and spoke loudly: "Petronella! Basement!" She reached for a telephone. Petronella abandoned all pretense at cleaning and hurried to the basement staircase, fearing what might await her as a punishment for idleness, and snooping. One of the senior maids took the telephone call from the Mistress, and administered the punishment. It was a very morose Petronella who made her way back up the stairs some twenty minutes later: her bottom was sore from the caning that had been expertly delivered, and she had been 'fined' a considerable amount of breast fluid: she'd lost at least a cup size, and possibly more. The way her clothing hung loose at the bust was a mark of shame, and to top it off she had been fitted with sticky wax earplugs and an small inflatable gag in her mouth - these being the standard punishment in the Thorne household for gossiping. These would remain in place every waking hour for a week, and would relegate her to the dullest duties in which she would require no spoken instructions. Worst of all, she feared that the Mistress would give her fewer orgasms. She returned to her dusting a sadder and wiser little maid. When the Mistress spoke to her later, she had to mime to show how contrite she was, and she debased herself utterly. She wept, too, and this moved the Mistress, who recognised this utter submission for what it was. "Try to be a good girl, Petronella," she said. Petronella nodded emphatically, and was at last rewarded with a brief orgasm. The Mistress spun on her heel and strode away, to lavish praise upon a maid who had done better. Petronella learned the lesson, and tried to be good. Mistress Emily came to stay for a few days, and Petronella was loaned to her as something of a lady's maid. She would draw the new Mistress a bath, lay out clothes for her, and otherwise work to keep the guest suite spotless. She still wore the gag and the earplugs at this point, although by the standards of the household the punishment would normally have ended. Of course, nobody questioned the will of the Mistress in this. Petronella could have removed the gag with ease, but did not do so because she hadn't been given permission. The only time it was taken out was one afternoon, when Mistress Emily guided the maid to kneel between her thighs: she lay back on the bed while the maid lapped her to orgasm. Mistress Emily had been loaned the remote control for Petronella's implant, and she activated it such that they came together, three times in all. Then Petronella's gag went back in, and she resumed her normal duties, not a word being spoken. Petronella felt conflicted. Should she have done that? She was the property of Mistress Thorne; did a houseguest have the right to use her in that manner? She didn't know. Also, she had feelings for the new Mistress. That sexual contact was something new, and it had been astonishingly good. It was... seductive. Was her loyalty in question? This she worried about, afterwards. The visit came to an end, and Mistress Emily left without a word of goodbye to the little maid. The next day, Petronella was summoned to the basement and at last the gag and the earplugs were removed. She was also directed to connect herself to the breast fluid machine, and was pleased to feel herself growing. Her breasts weren't as large as they had been before her infraction, but they jiggled nicely and it was comforting to know she was no longer in disgrace. Two weeks later, the maid was called into the drawing room, where she was confronted once again by the two ladies. "Mistress Emily has some questions for you," was all that was offered by way of an explanation. The questioning began. "Were you once known as Lord Mandrake?" Petronella winced. "... yes, Ma'am." "Then you remember me?" Petronella kept her gaze on the tips of her boots. "Yes Ma'am." "Lord Mandrake was a Dominant." Petronella said nothing. "Well?" Mistress Emily demanded. Petronella floundered. "Yes, Ma'am." "So how is it that you are no longer a Dominant?" Emily pressed. "I am no longer Lord Mandrake. If it please you, Ma'am, I am Petronella." Mistress Emily turned to her hostess: "Is there any danger that he's shamming?" "I tend not to say 'he' anymore." "Well... sorry... she. Is there?" "She is aroused by submission, but this is no mere roleplaying, I assure you. Petronella has been immersed in training for more than two years, and has regularly committed herself to ever-deeper and more permanent acts of submission. She's been a very good girl." Petronella blushed. Emily struggled to express what she was thinking, but at last she began to speak. "I'm sure you think I'm being irrational, and I've tried to overcome my concerns, but I simply don't feel entirely comfortable with the idea of living with... with a person who was a Top: a powerful man. No matter what he or she looks like now. I worry that it'll be a constant battle against rebellious tendencies; at worst that I might actually be in danger from a submissive who turns violent..." Petronella's eyes grew wide. She couldn't imagine rebelling; not when submission had such sweet rewards. She longed for permission to speak, to deny the accusation... but it was not granted. Instead the Mistress spoke. "Petronella, I need you to listen very carefully. Come: sit here at my feet. Listen while I talk to Mistress Emily." The Mistress lit a cigarette while Petronella hastened to comply, trying really hard to project the perfect picture of compliant submissiveness. "I agree that Petronella is imperfect," her owner began. "They all are. They try to attain perfection, but I understand your doubts. I hope to convince you to give Petronella a home as an act of charity, because I know you're a charitable person, and I think that you might enjoy the devotion of a maid like Petronella, if only your concerns can be addressed." She paused for a long drag on her cigarette, and then: "Almost every week I get new requests from males who say they want - need - the kind of help I've given Petronella. Dr. Cho continues to work wonders, and the donations from maids who find that they no longer need worldly goods keep everything ticking along nicely. I have helped so many people to discover their true, submissive nature. I told you that five maids graduated from my household last year... Think about all the aggressive, domineering thugs like Master Tanner, replaced by the sweet and demure little Cecily. Or the confused, posturing buffoons like Lord Mandrake, who is so much happier and more productive as little Petronella here." She patted the submissive on the head. She stubbed out her cigarette and (not being a cruel Mistress) allowed the ember to cool completely before she plucked it from its holder and gestured for Petronella to open her mouth. Petronella held out her tongue, accepted the stub and, after a few attempts, swallowed it without a murmur. "I don't know," Mistress Emily mused. "She is obedient for you... but sex games can end." "Not necessarily," Mistess Thorne replied. "Dr. Cho has a procedure that I think might make Petronella acceptable to you. I have offered it to quite a few maids upon graduation, and none has yet refused. Of course, they're so addicted to submitting, we have to be careful about obtaining informed consent." "What is this procedure?" "Basically, Dr. Cho hooks the maid up to an EEG machine - that's a brain scanner to you and I - and it maps which parts of the brain are active while the maid is presented with a series of stimuli. Images, sounds, smells and so on. Things reminiscent of a variety of different activities. Are you listening carefully Petronella?" Petronella nodded, too unsure of herself to speak. "Once the brain is completely mapped, the centres associated with certain emotions, and thought patterns can be pinpointed. We know, for example, which part of the brain initiates violence. The old 'fight or flight' response? Well... we can find both: and cauterize them." "Cauterize?" "You're right to question that. Strictly speaking, it's not heat that's used, but a form of radiotherapy, just as when a brain tumour is treated. Low doses of radiation beamed from multiple different directions are made to intersect at a specific point. It does no harm to the rest of the brain, Dr. Cho assures me, but causes a localised buildup of scar tissue in selected centres of the brain. Basically, after a few minutes of treatment it becomes very difficult to generate those same brain patterns. After a few treatments, even if the maid did secretly harbour violent thoughts, we could eradicate them. Help her to be content, if you will, by eliminating her rebellious tendencies." "That's... monstrous. Isn't it? I mean... isn't it?" Mistress Emily stumbled. "Monstrous? To make a maid accept what she has become? To eradicate the urges that she has expressed a desire to be freed from, over and over again? What do you think, Petronella?" Petronella felt drunk, on a heady mixture of arousal and fear. "Mistress, I..." Petronella paused and thought. "I want always to be good!" she exclaimed at last. "Obviously, that would be subject to the normal cooling-off period, and I'd obtain written consent before Dr Cho starts the procedure. Still, there you have it: the maid wants to submit... utterly." Mistress Emily reached out and grasped the submissive maid's chin, and turned her head so she was looking her in the eye. Not invited to speak, Petronella tried instead to convey her thoughts with her eyes. She remembered that afternoon, and their shared orgasms. "Alright," the new Mistress spoke in a rush. "Here's what will happen to Petronella. She is to be treated as you say, to eliminate any possibility of violence. Any adventurousness she may formerly have felt is also to go. I don't want her to feel anything resembling self-reliance, or courage. She won't be playing a part any more; she really is to lose as much of her independence as you can drive out of her." Mistress Emily's face was flushed. She was breathing hard. She was turned on by this: she knew she wasn't acting with dignity, but she couldn't stop herself. Beside her, Petronella was also caught up in this moment of excitement at the absolute submission to come. "Show her the letters of the alphabet, and burn out her ability to recognise them - and numbers too. She will still understand what I say to her, but will no longer be able to read anything, or perform arithmetic." "But... Emily, dear... why?" "I want her to depend upon me. I don't just want to be in command of her; I want her to know that I am better than her. Also, make her reminisce about her past - find every pattern than you can find that relates to her childhood, or her life before she submitted to you. Delete them all." "This is vandalism!" "No. I'm just marking my property. You shaped her body: I will shape her mind. Ask Dr Cho if this is possible. In fact, I will also be composing a list of inhibitions that I want eradicated. Petronella is about to become a very broadminded girl indeed. Finally, if you can work out how to do it, make any speech that she hears completely unintelligible if it's deeper than my voice." Mistress Thorne was aghast. "Good God! It's like you want to delete half her brain!" "No. Half of his brain. But what a splendid, obedient little maid she will make. What a wonderful way to recycle him into something useful." "There really is no need to hack around with the brain to that extent. you know. My girls are absurdly grateful to anybody who simply tells them they're pretty, once in a while." "I've spelled out the circumstances under which I will take Petronella off your hands," Mistress Emily said slyly. If she wants to submit utterly, let her submit. I've no use for her if she still thinks she's Lord Mandrake in any sense." "I think that given the extent of the modification, I'd have to ask Petronella to think very carefully before submitting to these procedures." "Then ask. See how she looks at me: she already belongs to me! She will submit, or I'm a fool... and to seal the deal, I'll propose something else." "What's that?" Mistress Emily spoke directly to the maid. "Petronella, if you agree to the changes I have demanded, I'll do something for you in return. I will let you petition me, setting out exactly what those threaded stainless steel inserts in your feet were meant for, and I won't proceed with this brain business unless I first complete your fantasy of submission. What do you say: are you going to be my good little girl?" +++ What choice did you have? None at all. You were a victim of your libido, as your sort always are. As you enter Dr. Cho's mind laboratory, your new hooves clack on the hard, bright floor. Your new Mistress was true to her word, and cared enough to find out about your fantasy of submission. The hooves were crafted, and bolted into place. You're still learning to walk on them, but you appreciate the extra height they confer - bringing you back up to just over five feet tall. A stainless steel chain between them hobbles you, limiting you to small, mincing steps. Mistress Emily says she likes your hooves, and will have you wear them from time to time, even if you don't recall the desire for yourself, once your memories have been burned out. You are nervous, but she sends a quick jolt of an orgasm your way, and the afterglow has a calming effect. The new Mistress seems to be more free with orgasms, and that is really all you find it possible to care about, after so much conditioning. She had you visit the breast fluid machine when you entered the laboratory, and you now sport a pair of double D's. Too much for your tiny frame, really, but perhaps this is how the new Mistress likes you. She said you were a 'very good girl' so perhaps the breasts are a reward for your acquiescence. It's really not your place to speculate. It has also been explained (in documents you signed) that soon you won't be able to understand anything an adult male says to you, and you will lose a whole slew of your memories from before you became Petronella. You might find your libido further increased, with an inability to say "no" to virtually anything sexual. This, of course, was the last contract you'll ever sign, since you won't be able to read or write afterward. This is how she wants you, and what finer form of submission could there be? You are what you are: a submissive maid. There was a time when you thought you were a Master, but that was an unhappy, confusing time. A time of frantic urges and lusts: and all the time you were lying to yourself. Those who seek to dominate are always the ones who most urgently need to submit. You understand this now, and you will submit. That there is no going back from this only makes it more exciting. Consummation approaches. You will leave this room... perfected. You wish you had been invited to speak, because it gave you such a thrill to declare that you would submit to this. None of those present seems interested in anything you might have to say, though, and you have already consented. All is in motion, and you are no longer entitled to an opinion. The increased weight of your breasts makes walking in your hooves difficult, but you manage to cross the room, and slide gracefully into the seat of Dr Cho's sensory stimulation machine. The segments of the brain scanning machine are swung into place one by one, until your head is held fast. Images begin dancing on a screen in front of you, but before you can give them your full attention, the new Mistress leans in close, and whispers: "Good girl, Petronella. You're mine now."

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