Christina’s eyes widen with shock and Pansy squeals fearfully into the huge mouth-distorting ball gag. The two women laugh and exchange victorious knowing glances, clearly enjoying the sudden freedom to fulfil their cruellest desires.
‘Now,’ Céline says. ‘Let’s get on with the show. Sophie and I want to entertain ourselves for a few hours, before we make preparations for the extraction of Shelly’s replacement tomorrow morning.’
It is only now that Christina notices the small pink rubber sack that has been tied to the cording binding Pansy’s wrists so painfully behind her back. Sophie steps forward to remove the sack and then extracts another of the huge rubber ball gags from inside, this one a dark blood red.
She throws the bag on the bed and holds the gag before a quivering, yet also highly aroused Christina.
‘Open up, my naughty little pet.’
Her thick, always erotic French accent is filled with twisted pleasure. Christina looks into her crystalline blue eyes and knows a fear so dark that tears begin to well up in her own eyes.
She opens her mouth and Sophie rams the gag home with a painful angry determination. The gag crashes into the poor she-male’s mouth and suddenly it is as if her cheeks are being pumped up to explosion point. Her eyes stretch wide with discomfort and terror: she knows Mistress Sophie will show no mercy.
Then the binding begins, the application of wicked intricately painful bondage. Her arms are forced violently behind her back and then tied with an unnecessary tightness at her wrists and, like Pansy, below and above her elbows, so that the two points are touching painfully. Christina squeals angrily into the fat tormenting gag and receives a hard painful slap to her beautifully shaped black nylon-sheathed thighs for her trouble.
Her legs are then forced together and more rubber cording is used to secure with equal tightness her ankles, above and below her knees and her thighs. Still standing she is thus completely and very painfully immobilised. Tears of pain and fear trickle from her beautiful dark-brown eyes and Sophie teases her with cruel aroused words.
‘You look so unbearably pretty when you suffer, Chrissie. You obviously like pain. So how can I possibly resist giving it to you?’
While the binding has been in progress, Mistress Céline has lowered two long silver chains from electrically controlled pulleys fitted into the ceiling space. Each sissy bedroom is fitted with this device for use in the fitting of figure-training garments and punishment.
The chains dangle about four feet from the floor. Pansy is made to totter forward and turned around so that her tethered arms are facing Mistress Céline. The dark-skinned beauty then attaches the chain using a metal hook fixed at its end to the cording securing her slender silk-wrapped wrists. Fear and a furious and utterly irresistible masochistic arousal fill poor Pansy’s pretty blue eyes.
Sophie then makes Christina hop over to the chains, a precarious and painful process in five-inch-high stiletto-heeled court shoes! She is also made to face with her back to the chain and is secured to it in exactly the same way. This leaves the two gorgeous sissies facing each other, their arms tied tightly behind them and secured to the chains by their tethered wrists.
Sophie then very quickly binds Pansy’s shackled ankles, knees and thighs in exactly the same way as Céline has secured moaning sobbing Christina.
Céline then returns to the control box set into a corner of the curved wall and depresses a large red rubber-covered button. Both sissies know what will happen next and squeal into their fat brutal gags as the chains start to rise and their arms are pulled very painfully up behind them, forcing their upper torsos and heads down towards the floor. The chains are allowed to ascend to exactly the point at which the pressure on their elbows is so severe, there is a real danger of physical damage. This leaves the two sissy beauties in desperate discomfort, struggling to breathe and to retain their balance. Both know that if they fall over, they will dislocate their shoulders and be left in helpless agony.
Yet this is only the dreadful beginning of their ordeal. For as soon as they are held firm and fast in this awful position, Sophie makes a point of extracting two long thin bamboo canes from the rubber bag and holding them before the tensed flushed faces of the sissy captives.
‘Donna and Blakemore have spoilt you two terribly,’ Céline snaps, her voice filled with a sado-erotic indignation. ‘This Moderate stupidity has left you thinking you have a role to play in our grand scheme that is ridiculously beyond your station. Your role in the Radical vision is simple: mindless slaves to be used and abused as womankind sees fit. Your desire, your needs, your identities. This is all irrelevant nonsense. You are no better than domestic tools. Instruments to be used and then disposed of. Soon you will begin the process of final transformation. Those ugly dangerous cocks will be removed and, soon after, we will convince Helen to begin a further process: lobotomisation. This is all you have to look forward to, my sweets. Suffering and more suffering. And this little demonstration is just a taste of the pain that will be your permanent lot under the Radical regime.’
Then there is a terrible explosion of pure pain in Christina’s thighs. Sophie has applied the first cut of the cane. The poor sissy squeals in agony and moves forward very slightly, thus applying a further deadly pressure to her shoulders. Saliva floods over the rim of the gag and begins to trickle along with her copious tears onto the floor. Her heart pounds with utter black terror, her body is on terrible fire. Then poor Pansy is squealing and fighting the urge to move forward: Céline has administered an even more brutal cut to her shapely white nylon-sheathed thighs.
They each receive twelve cuts of the cane. Miraculously, they remain upright, but only just, and at the end of the cruel beating, both are on the verge of losing consciousness, their thighs and buttocks on fire, their vision badly blurred by hot fast-flowing tears.
They are mocked and teased by the two mistresses, whose eyes are filled with an almost psychopathic anger-fuelled pleasure. This is pure dark hate.
But then the door opens and Donna is in the room, quickly followed by Ms Blakemore. Just as Christina begins to fall forward, strong arms are being wrapped around her torso and she is being pulled back from the terrible brink.
‘Get out of here!’ Donna screams. ‘Now, you filthy bitches. Out!’
Céline stands directly in front of a furious and gorgeous Ms Blakemore.
‘You think you can stop this,’ she says, her voice filled with contempt. ‘You think Helen will listen to you. But you are wrong. And you will soon find out just how wrong. What Anne has suffered, you and all the other Moderate scum will suffer twice over.’
Ms Blakemore, her lovely brown eyes filled with a fierce anger, smiles slightly and says in a calm, even voice, ‘Get out.’
Céline gestures angrily at Sophie and the two women march out of the room, Sophie spitting at Ms Blakemore’s feet as she passes.
Ms Blakemore comes over to Pansy and the two women begin to free the brutally punished sissies.
‘We must act quickly,’ she says to Mistress Donna. ‘As quickly as possible.’
4
They had come for Peter just before midday. That was all he really knew, that and the fact that he was now inside some form of moving vehicle trapped in bizarre and utterly inescapable bondage.
He had been in his bedroom, lying on the bed, reading a book. The door had flown open and a tall dark-skinned woman had entered. She was followed by two others, another tall very busty brunette and an angular blonde. All three were dressed in tight black body suits that accentuated their figures in a deliberately sexual manner.
‘Get up!’ the dark-skinned woman had shouted in a cold French accent. ‘Now!’
At first, he had been convinced he was dreaming, that he had nodded off reading Jane Eyre and was now experiencing a particularly convincing and powerful wet dream. But then the dark-skinned woman had leant forward and grabbed him by his hair. The pain was too real. He had screamed, tried to lash out and then found himself o
n his back on the floor. He had tried to get up, but a high-heeled foot was pressed into his chest. Then, to his horror, the brunette was on her knees at his side, working free his trouser belt.
‘What’s going on!’ he screamed, his voice girlish and terror-streaked. ‘Get off me!’
Then the blonde was on top of him. She grabbed his nose. He screamed again. But the scream was blocked halfway as something soft and considerable was rammed deep into his mouth. He tried to fight her off, but then she was directly on top of him, her knees pressing his arms at his side. She towered over him like an angel of grim female vengeance. He looked desperately into her cold blue eyes and squealed with a black terror into the gag filling his mouth. She was smiling, obviously enjoying herself. Then he saw that she had a roll of silver duct tape in her hands. Her eyes met his and he knew he was doomed. She tore a long strip from the roll and leant forward. She spread the tape over his lips and then pressed a hand against his mouth to make sure it was fixed as firmly as possible. His trousers were quickly pulled free and then, to his horror, so were his underpants. He felt his sex pop up and laughter fill the room: he was violently erect.
He was pulled into a sitting position. With his arms suddenly free, he attempted to fight off his attackers. But then, to his utter horror, a warm hand firmly grasped his cock.
‘One more wrong move and you’ll be undergoing premature sex change.’
He froze. The voice belonged to the dark-skinned woman. He looked into her eyes and saw an inescapable and utterly determined power.
Then his T-shirt was virtually ripped from his torso, his socks were jerked from his feet and he was, much to his disgust and almost unbearable embarrassment, naked.
‘Bind him and bag him,’ the French woman said, leaving him to the not too tender mercies of the brunette and the blonde.
And it was as the brunette had knelt down to begin the binding that something rang loudly in his tormented mind. Like the others, she wore a very tight black nylon body suit. Like the others, she had a stunning feminine figure, with a particularly striking pair of breasts that strained with erotic energy against the tight, almost rubber fabric of the body suit as she moved with some grace over his prone form. But then, as she had straddled him, he had seen the large hard cock straining against the crotch section of the suit! He had cried with shock and outrage into the gag, its tangy, even bitter taste becoming more and more apparent.
Then this beautiful hermaphrodite had used pink rubber-coated cording to put him in a tight and completely inescapable bondage. She had easily tipped him onto his back and then hauled his arms very painfully behind him, binding them with the cord at the wrists and elbows. Then, after playfully slapping his backside, she had secured his ankles and knees. In a few seconds, he had been made utterly helpless!
Yet this was only the beginning. He squealed and sobbed as he was rolled onto his back. One of the other suited figures handed his ambiguous tormentor what looked like a pair of white nylon tights. Yet closer examination showed only one leg; indeed, the strange clothing device seemed to be nothing but this one single sheer white nylon leg. She then began to roll the leg up his own tightly secured legs, and he quickly came to realise that it wasn’t a leg, but a nylon body sack!
As he was expertly and quickly consumed, he found himself staring up at the face of the ‘woman’ who was securing him. She was truly beautiful, with large dark eyes and thick dark hair bound in a tight practical bun. Strangely, when their eyes met again, there was no anger or determination, but rather an unnerving gentleness.
‘Lie still. It’ll be a lot easier,’ she said, in a high-pitched, rather little-girlish voice. ‘Please.’
The body glove was pulled up over his helplessly stiff sex and then across the rest of his slender naked form. Soon he was completely and very tightly sealed in sheer white nylon from head to toe. And then, still bathed in cold fear, he had finally fallen still. His eyes wide, his cock hard, his heart pounding desperately against his chest, he had suddenly realised that any kind of struggle was utterly useless.
The taste in his mouth was musty and intimate. The gag itself was made of some kind of silk. The tape was thick and held his lips shut in a vice-like grip. And then the beautiful brunette had produced a simple white nylon stocking, rolled it up into a ball and quickly stretched it over his head. He had moaned into the gag, his eyes fixed on her large perfectly formed breasts, and the world had been dimmed by a scented soft nylon mist.
Then there had been hands upon his body, powerful, strong, but also careful. He had been picked up from the floor and carried by two of the black-suited figures from the room, down the stairs and into the living room. Here, he had been placed on his feet, swaying, stunned and still violently erect, and standing, to his utter horror, before his mother. She had stood before him, a strange smile on her face, her eyes drawn helplessly to his embarrassing erection.
His mother: fifty the week before this bizarre abduction, but still beautiful. With her generous, even plump figure, honey-streaked blonde hair and soul-melting brown eyes, she stood nearly six feet tall in a pair of three-inch stiletto-heeled court shoes. She was also wearing a tight black skirt and a white silk blouse that shimmered sensually in the noon light. Her hair bound in a tight bun, her legs sheathed in sheer black nylon, her full lips a deep strawberry red, she was, as usual, a vision of striking mature beauty.
‘I’m afraid I’ve had to activate my threat a little earlier than originally anticipated,’ she had said, her large breasts rising and falling with a rapid and obvious excitement beneath the expensive silk.
She had threatened ‘to take drastic action’ after he had received a fine for drunkenness – the latest manifestation of a behavioural problem that stretched back to his father’s death seven years before. He had been twelve then and was now less than a month away from his nineteenth birthday. During the last year, she had become involved in a group called the Bigger Picture. This had coincided with his expulsion from the sixth form and the beginning of the rapid deterioration of their always problematic relationship.
‘My friends in the Bigger Picture have agreed to take you on much earlier than I anticipated. This is surely for the best, my love: if you stay in the world of men for much longer, I’m sure you’ll end up in prison. Yes, you’ll be much better off properly sissified. You’ve always been rather girlish, so I’m sure you’ll look rather lovely in tights and panties.’
He had squealed his anger at her then, his eyes wide with animal fury despite his embarrassment and inescapable bondage. And her smile had widened.
‘I hope you like the taste of my soiled panties, Peter. I’ll be sending a collection to the training facility at the end of each week for your enjoyment.’
His eyes widened with shock, a brief disgust, and then something much more disturbing – arousal. His mother had then stepped forward and placed a soft warm kiss on his forehead.
‘From now on, you are Petal. My beautiful sissy Petal.’
As she turned away, her hand had brushed against his rigid deeply tormented cock and he had cried with anger and a deeply guilty desire. His eyes had fallen upon her plump, substantial and very shapely bottom and her long black nylon-sheathed legs and he had realised he was indeed truly doomed.
And now, in this strange vehicle, he knows this simple fact with an even greater and sharper clarity. He is held down on a rubber upholstered bench by tight thick leather straps at his ankles, thighs, waist and neck. He cannot move an inch, including his head. He is looking helplessly upward at the metal roof of a transit van.
His heart begins to beat faster as the van suddenly slows. Then it stops. Then the vehicle is moving again, but much slower, across slightly bumpy ground. And it does this for maybe five minutes before stopping once more. People climb from the front of the vehicle. Doors open and slam shut. Feet crunch across gravel. Then the doors directly behind him are opened and strong afternoon light floods in.
Despite this new development, he remai
ns silent. For the last two hours or so – the period of this strange journey – he has had plenty of time to consider what is happening; plenty of time to realise a simple disturbing truth: that he is aroused by this abduction, by its erotic framing, by its clearly sexual intent. He remembers his mother’s beauty and the secret that she has obviously known for much longer than he might have ever guessed: the secret of his transvestism, the secret of his dark, kinky and very deeply fetishistic desire. Why else the panties and why else the name Petal, the name of his secret identity, the name of the character in the series of stories he had been writing for the last two years and had been publishing on the Internet? Petal and her beautiful mistress, Lady Maria Angel, who gags her slave with her soiled panties. Maria: his stepmother’s name. Yes, it all made terrible sense – a sense strengthened by the Bigger Picture, an organisation he had been interested in since he had read about Emily Ashcroft. An organisation that had secretly excited him and driven him into a bliss of sexual arousal when his mother had announced she was attending the fundraising ball.
Then hands are working free the straps and he is being carried from the vehicle and placed on some form of flatbed trolley. He is wheeled quickly and rather uncomfortably across the rough ground of a forecourt or driveway. He manages to look to both his left and right. He is in the grounds of some vast country house. The black-suited abductors – or at least two of them – are on either side of the trolley. Then the trolley bumps roughly up onto a harder smoother surface and suddenly they are travelling down an echo-ridden corridor. Then, after only a few seconds, they are in a huge marble-floored and oval-shaped entrance hall. The precise cruel clicking of high heels explodes across this large open space. There is a woman looking down at him, a very beautiful stern brown-eyed woman with dark hair and striking blood-red lips. She is wearing a tight black dress that stresses the precise lines of a very large firm chest. His cock stirs in its teasing nylon prison and he tastes the most intimate physical secrets of his attractive, secretly loved stepmother.
Silken Embrace Page 6