Sissy Tasks : The Orders a Mistress Actually Gives

You have a list, sissy. Screenshotted at one in the morning from a corner of the internet you would not want named : a sissy task list fifty lines long, half of them humiliating, a few of them dangerous, and not one of them done. You scrolled it the way you scroll everything at that hour, warm and a long way off, and then you kept it. That is the part I find telling. That list does not want anything from you, and that is exactly why you kept it.

An order does. It arrives in a voice. It has an end. It closes one door in your week and leaves you standing in front of it, and on the night it ends, somebody asks. I have been giving my Evy orders for five years, hundreds of them, small ones and the other kind, and she has never once carried two at the same time.

So here are ten, in the order I give them, climbed one rung at a time. Yes, sissy, on a page they make a list too. The difference was never the paper. It is the taking : one at a time, each with its end, and a voice at the other end of it.

They begin where nobody can see you and they end somewhere you would not want to be seen. You can read all ten tonight, and I know you will. Reading them is not taking them. You take the first one tonight, and you do not touch the second until the first is kept, which means you will spend a whole week looking at an order you are not yet allowed to have.

Good girl for coming here to be told, instead of to read.

What a Sissy Task Actually Is

A sissy task is an order : given once, for a night or a week, with a clear end, one door it closes while it runs, and a report on the night it finishes. Four parts. The list in your camera roll has none of them, which is how it can sit there for a year without costing you a thing.

Given once means it comes from a voice that is not yours at eleven at night : mine, on this page, or hers, if a woman holds your key. A night or a week means it ends. An order with no end is a rule, and rules are a different animal, very few of them, each with its price decided in advance. The door it closes is where the heat lives, and almost nobody talks about it. The order is never really the thing you do. It is the thing you are not allowed to do while you do it : the second toenail, the day off, the finish. And the report is what turns an order into something more than a good intention. It is said out loud, kneeling, and somebody hears it, even if for now that somebody is the room.

It helps to know which of three things you are holding, darling, because a sissy’s week is built of all three. A ritual comes back every day, and the routine that carries your rituals asks only that you return to it. A rule stands, quietly, for months. An order arrives, runs its course and ends, and it is the only one of the three that can surprise you. Which is why it is the one you came here for.

How to Take an Order

An order begins before you do anything about it. There is a way of taking one, and the taking is half of what makes it feel like being owned instead of like homework.

Three laws hold the ladder together, and they do not bend. One order from it at a time : you never carry two rungs at once, because an order you are only half carrying is not being carried. If one of my Sunday letters hands you an order in the same week, you keep both, and where the two touch the same part of you, the letter wins. You climb when an order is kept, not when the week is over : time served is not obedience. And nothing sends you back down, which I will come to.

If you have not done your first week yet, do that first. The ladder starts where it ends. And if you are wondering whether a sissy with no discipline to speak of can climb ten rungs, that is the wrong question, and the answer to it is structure. You do not have to be brave for a week. You only have to be told.

The Ladder : Ten Sissy Tasks, From Invisible to Kept

These are first orders, and they start small on purpose : small is the only size a sissy keeps ten times in a row. Five rungs, two orders on each, and they come in this order for a reason : every one gives her something the next one will need. The bottom rungs cost nothing and can be kept in a house full of people who know nothing. The top ones cannot be done by anyone who skipped the bottom.

Before the first order, two things, and they come with you all the way up.

The envelope. Tonight, write a date on a card : two months from today, or later if your life needs it to be. Not sooner. Seal it in an envelope, write her name across the flap, or the word sissy if she has not told you her name yet, and put it somewhere nobody else ever opens. It stays sealed until you are standing on the top rung. You will think about it far more than a sealed date deserves, and that is how I will know it is working.

The card. From the fourth order on, every order you keep ends with a kiss : her mouth, in lipstick, pressed onto a plain card that lives beside the envelope. By the top there will be ten. It will be the most private thing you have ever owned, and the most honest.

Rung One : Beginner Sissy Tasks Nobody Can See

1

The painted secret

A week. One toenail. The smallest one. Tonight, sitting on the edge of the bed in whatever you have of hers, you paint it a colour she would choose : two slow coats, and you blow on it like a girl who has done this all her life. Socks go on in the morning and stay on in front of anyone, all week. And every morning, before the sock, you look at it. One small bright secret, the first piece of her you will carry through a whole day of people who suspect nothing.

The door : you do not paint a second one. However pretty the first looks, however loudly the other nine ask, and however many times you scroll down to the fifth order to see when. If bare feet are seen in your house, clear varnish, and you will still know it is there. If you own nothing at all, file it smooth and round, the way hers would be, and that is the order.

2

Seated, as her

A week. Every time you sit down this week, she sits. Knees together, ankles crossed, hands in your lap when they have nowhere better to be : the office chair, the car, the sofa, the train. And in every bathroom, at home and at work, you sit. Every time. The door locked, and for the half minute behind it nobody in the building knows who is in there. If you are locked, you sit there already ; this week you also sit like her everywhere else. Nothing about you changes in the corridor. Everything changes behind the door.

The door : no exceptions for the late night, the hurry, or the urinal nobody would think twice about. If you catch yourself sprawled in a meeting, you close your knees, slowly, and say sorry to me inside your head.

Rung Two : Something of Hers

3

Seven days underneath

A week. Panties, under everything, for seven days and seven nights. Under the suit, under the jeans, under the pyjamas you wear so nobody asks. Your first week gave you an hour in them ; this is the week they stop being an occasion and become simply the way you are dressed. If they are already your mornings, this week they are also your nights. If you own no pair you could live in for seven days, Evy’s guide to sissy panties will find you one.

Every evening, before anything else comes off, one hand on the waistband and her name, once, silently. Then take the day off slowly, garment by garment, and leave them for last.

The door : not one day off. The day you would rather not is precisely the one I am asking for, sissy. If a day truly cannot hold them (a changing room, a doctor), you say so that night, out loud, and the week runs one day longer.

4

The kiss card

One evening. Lipstick. Gloss if that is what the drawer has, balm if that is all, and if the drawer is empty, the order begins at a counter : one lipstick, the colour you keep coming back to, bought from a woman at a till who will assume it is a gift.

Put it on at the mirror, slowly, and look at her mouth for a full minute before you do anything else. Then press it to the plain card, once, in the middle, and write the date under it. Then three more, smaller, along the top edge : one for each order you have already kept. Four kisses. Good girl. The card goes in beside the envelope, and from tonight every order you keep ends the same way, with her mouth on it.

The door : you do not wipe it off until you have looked at her for that full minute. Most of you will want to at about twenty seconds. That is the minute I want.

Rung Three : Her Body

5

Smooth, and painted

One evening, and the night. Your legs, shaved, slowly, in warm water, with a new blade and nowhere to be. If trousers are all your house ever sees, the whole leg. If shorts or a partner’s hand might notice, the thighs only, above the line anyone else could see. Moisturiser afterwards, both hands, the way she would. Of all the layers of feminization, this is the one your body notices first. And now the other nine toenails, in the colour of the first. You have known since the first night that this was when. Tonight you are allowed.

Then bed, and the part of a first smooth night that no guide ever mentions : the sheets. You will lie down and they will find you everywhere at once, cool and close and new, and you will understand in about four seconds why women are so particular about sheets. Evy’s legs are smooth all the time now, and she still gets into bed some nights as if it were the first.

The door : nothing else is touched tonight. The sheets are the whole evening.

6

Service, as her

One evening. One room, thirty minutes, done properly. Dressed in what you have of hers : the apron if you own one, the heels if you own them, and whatever the apron is or is not covering is between you and me. The bathroom, the kitchen, the bedroom she sleeps in : every surface, slowly, the way you would if the woman whose house it was were going to run one finger along the shelf afterwards and then look at you. The whole craft of service is taught on the maid page ; this is its first evening.

When it is done, you kneel on the threshold for one minute and look at the room. That minute is the order. The cleaning was only the way into it.

The door : no phone, no music, no hurrying. Thirty minutes means thirty minutes of attention, not a room that happened to get clean while you thought about something else.

Rung Four : Her Wanting

The top half of the ladder is where the orders stop being about what she wears and start being about what she wants. From here, one clause applies to every order that touches your body : if a letter of mine has closed my hand this week, the letter wins.

7

The edge, dressed

A week. Twice this week, on evenings you choose, you dress in everything the ladder has given her : the painted toes, the panties, the smooth legs, her mouth. Then you take yourself to the edge, slowly, as her, and you stop there : hands flat, eyes open, and you wait for it to pass. Then you go to bed exactly as you are, dressed and wanting, and you sleep in her.

Until now you have been at the edge as whoever happened to be in your bed that night. This week I want to know who is there when you get to it, sissy.

The door : nothing is finished this week. Not on the two nights, and not on the five in between.

8

Kept full

One evening. One ordinary evening with a plug in : the size that has grown uninteresting in your training, never the one you are working toward. And then the evening simply goes on. Dinner, the dishes, a film, the email you have been putting off, and all the while you are full and nobody in the house knows. If yours can be run from an app, the way Evy’s Hush 2 can, set a pattern when the evening starts and put the phone face down in another room. From then on it decides when you remember. You do not.

The door : nothing else is touched, and nothing is finished.

If you do not own one, or your body has not been taught yet, this rung is the edge a third time, dressed, and this time you stop sooner.

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Rung Five : Kept

9

The wait

Until the date. The day you keep the eighth order, you are on the top rung and the envelope is still sealed. If the date has not come, you wait for it. Every evening until then, one thing of hers against your skin (the painted toes, a waistband, her mouth), and nothing is finished. Nothing more is asked of you than that, which is exactly what makes it the hardest rung on the ladder. If a letter of mine gives you a night in the meantime, the letter wins, and the envelope does not move.

If the date has already passed, you have been waiting without knowing it, and the wait is one night.

10

The night at the top

One night. On the date, or the first night after it that is yours : open the envelope and read your own handwriting from two months ago. Then dress her in everything the ladder gave her, all of it at once, and do her mouth last, at the mirror, slowly.

Tonight you may finish. As her, dressed, however you choose and at whatever pace ; your hands are your own business tonight. Here is my only condition, and you will understand it when you get there : the tenth kiss goes on the card afterwards. Not before. While you are still shaking, with a mouth a little less perfect than it was at the mirror. Then you look at the ten of them in a row, and you let them look back.

And then you will want an eleventh. There is not one on this page, not yet. These ten are first orders, the ones I give a sissy I have only just met. A second ladder will follow on this site, kinkier, for the ones who reach the top of this one. I will not be this gentle twice.

“

Hundreds of orders in five years, and never two at once. I hand my Evy one, and then I have the pleasure of watching her carry it.

— Mistress Bee

When an Order Slips

It will. Somewhere on the ladder, most likely on the second rung, a day will go missing, or you will keep an order in your own version : a little later, a little shorter, softer, or twice. An edited order is a slipped order, and it will not feel like one, which is why I am telling you now.

What happens next is what happens in my house.

And stopping for your body, or for your heart, is never a slip, on this ladder or anywhere else I write.

The Sissy Tasks I Never Give

The list in your camera roll almost certainly has some of these on it. Cross them out tonight, whatever else you do.

Some orders will ask you for proof, from the woman who holds your key or from a room built for it. A photograph can be the sweetest part of an order, the painted toe, the card with its kisses, proof that she exists. It can also be the most dangerous thing you ever send. The difference is never the photograph. It is what is in it, and who receives it.

And never to a stranger who demands it. A stranger online who wants your face, your name or a picture of your room is not giving you an order. That photograph is the first move in a very different kind of transaction, and it does not end the way you are imagining at one in the morning.

Who Gives the Orders When Nobody Holds Your Key

Most of you will climb this alone, and the ladder was written for you first.

So let me be plain about who is giving these orders. I am. Every one of the ten is given to you exactly as I would give it to a sissy kneeling in front of me, and the envelope, the card and the reports are yours to keep. You do not need a woman in the room to be under orders. You need the orders to come from somewhere other than your own head at eleven at night, and now they do. If you would like to know how you take an order before you start, my obedience test will tell you. It is not flattering. It was never meant to be.

When you reach the top, the ladder ends. The orders do not. Every Sunday I write a new one, the kind I would never put on a page anyone could search, and the sissies who receive it open it before breakfast. You will be told on Sunday, and you will carry it all week.

And if a woman does hold your key : give her this page. She keeps the envelope and the card, she hears the reports, and when an order has been kept, the kiss goes on in front of her.

From Evy : The Smallest Order I Ever Got

For years I painted my nails in secret. Pale pink, mostly, ordered online and hidden in the toe of an old sock. I did it when Mistress was out, perched on the side of the bath, and I took every trace of it off again before I heard her car in the drive. I told myself each time that it was the last time. Nobody has ever been better at a secret than I was at that one.

Polish came late in my training, after the lingerie and the heels and her first lessons at the mirror, and when it came, it came as one toenail. She put a bottle down beside my coffee one morning and said : One. The smallest. Socks all week. Show me on Sunday.

I almost laughed. I had painted ten nails and scrubbed them clean in a single evening so often that I had stopped counting, and one toe for a week sounded like nothing at all. It was the longest week of my life. Because this time somebody knew. Every step to the station, every meeting with my shoes under the table, every night when I peeled the sock off in the dark to look, there was a woman at the other end of it, waiting for Sunday. Years of secret polish had never once felt like anything. That one small toe felt like being held.

On Sunday she asked to see it. I took the sock off on the sofa with my heart going as if I were undressing for her for the first time. She looked at it for a long while without a word. Then she took my foot into her lap, opened the bottle, and painted the next one herself, slowly, her other hand closed around my ankle so that I could not move. Next week, two, she said.

All ten are painted now, and my fingers too, most days. But the one I think about is the first, because it was the first thing I ever did as her that was also done for someone. If you are carrying the first order on this page, you will know exactly what I mean by Wednesday.

One Command, Because You Read This Far

Rung one, tonight, and the two things that go all the way up with you.

Take a card and write a date on it, two months from today. Seal it in an envelope, write her name across the flap, or the word sissy if she has not told you hers, and put it where nobody else ever opens anything.

Then the first order. The smallest toenail, a colour she would choose, two slow coats, sitting on the edge of the bed. Blow on it until it is dry. Look at it. Then say yes, out loud, once. Lips only if the room is shared, and it counts.

Socks in the morning, and every morning this week, before the sock, you look at it first.

You do not paint a second one. You know when. Wait for it.

That’s all. That’s the whole command.

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