From Part 1:

I nod, only to be backhanded across the face. "Yes, Daddy!" I yelp, wondering if I'd gotten myself in over my head.

He slapped me again. "Is that how a little sissy faggot talks?" I slipped into a falsetto. "No, Daddy, I'm sorry!"

"That's right," he said. "Don't you dare talk like a man around me. You keep that soft, high tone all weekend. You're not a real man, are you? And I'm not even going to let you pretend."

​

Continued:

Daddy pushed me onto the ground and threw some clothes at me. "Get dressed," he snapped.

"Yes, Sir!" I squealed, remembering to speak in a sissy falsetto. I stripped as fast as I could, pulling on the plaid skirt, button-down shirt, dark socks, and mary jane shoes, as he aimed some kicks in my direction. His boots were heavy, and every blow hurt enough that I knew I'd be a bruised mess the next day.

The shirt was missing all its buttons but one, and my chest and nipples were exposed. I could only guess that this was by design. Daddy then fastened a bright red collar around my neck, and put me on a leash. I got up to walk behind him, and he kicked my knees out from under me. I crumpled to the ground again.

"Bitches don't walk on two legs, do they?" he growled. "No, Daddy!" I squeaked, rolling onto all fours, trying to crawl fast enough to keep up with him.

He led me to a different room where I saw a small wooden desk and a blackboard. It looked like a school classroom, with a few differences. For one, the chair in front of the wooden desk had two plugs protruding up from it.

"Sit, my little whore," he said. "Today, you'll learn a very important lesson. The first of many, I'm sure."

I eased myself down onto the plugs. They were lubed, thank goodness, and thanks to the daily stretching exercises Daddy had mandated for the 2 weeks before my trip, my holes were loose enough that they slipped right in. Sitting was a relief, though I could feel how every slight movement made the plugs shift inside me.

"That's right, cunt," he said. "No more unladylike fidgeting. You will learn to stay still." He pulled down a screen at the front of the room, and with the click of a button, a projection appeared. The title read: Bitch Anatomy Chart. It was a crude diagram of a woman's body, labeled with words just as crude. She was called "bitch," her breasts were labeled "udders," and her lips were labeled "mouthcunt."

"This is just the first part of your reeducation. You need to learn the names of all parts of your whore body" said Daddy, as his cane whisked through the air.

"What do you call this?" he tapped the cane against my nipples. I scanned the chart. "Udders?" I asked, tentatively.

He brought the cane down hard on my chest. Answer in a full sentence, whore. "These are my udders, Daddy," I said. Without warning, the cane came cracking down again on my chest, and I groaned.

"Was that your sissy voice, faggot?" Daddy growled.

"No, Sir!" I squeaked. "These are my udders, Daddy!" I yelped. The lesson continued. "That is my mouthcunt, Daddy," "That is my wet pussycunt, Sir," "That is my pretty princess asspussy, Sir," ... I lost count of how many times I repeated each word, but Daddy kept asking me the questions rapid-fire, and by the time he let me take a breath, the words were still repeating themselves in my head, and I realized that I was getting used to hearing myself speak in a sissy voice.

"Congratulations, sissy," said Daddy. "You've passed your first lesson, and you've earned your sissy name. For the rest of this weekend, you shall be known as sissy tiffany. Of course, you'll continue to answer to slut and cunt and bitch, and all the other names a whore like you barely deserves."

He walked over to my desk, caressed my cheek, played with my sore and striped udders, and then pulled out a sharpie and wrote "SISSY TIFFANY" on my chest.

"Now let's get you cleaned up, shall we?"

(To be continued... if at least 5 people comment on this post!)