Silken Embrace

by Christina Shelly

  Mistress Helen is now a woman transformed. She stares up at Ms Blakemore with large stunned childlike eyes, a woman trapped in the heart of a fierce all-pervasive desire.

  ‘I know how much you want me, Helen. And I want you too. We need each other.’

  She then gestures for Christina to step forward. The fascinated and deeply aroused sissy maid curtsies and totters sweetly forward, her bottom wiggling with its usual helpless enthusiasm, her large tightly restrained and perfectly formed breasts bouncing happily before her.

  ‘We’ll start with one of Christina’s superb foot massages.’ Mistress Helen nods weakly, even submissively and stares at the gorgeous she-male beauty with needy eyes.

  Christina curtsies her understanding and kneels before Mistress Helen’s feet. She then very carefully slips the high-heeled black patent leather court shoes from her black nylon-sheathed feet, her heart pumping with a nervous sex-charged anticipation. She is to give her mistress pleasure: the truest service a sissy maid can offer.

  Mistress Helen instinctively stretches her feet out before Christina and rests the right foot on her wide silken lap. And as Christina begins gently to massage the warm hosed instep, Ms Blakemore leans forward and places a long gentle kiss on Mistress Helen’s quivering glistening blood-red lips.

  Christina feels Helen’s foot stretch in her lap and a shiver of terrible uncontrollable pleasure passes through her body. She feels warm, always unbearably erotic nylon interlaced with sensual body heat. She presses her thumb a little harder into her mistress’s perfectly curved instep and Helen lets out a kiss-gagged squeal of surprisingly masochistic pleasure.

  Christina watches – utterly transfixed – as, still locked in the kiss, Ms Blakemore begins to slide the zip of Helen’s tight-fitting dress down her back. Then, releasing herself from the kiss, Ms Blakemore carefully edges the stylish expensive dress over Mistress Helen’s broad shapely shoulders, her skin a light bronze, and then eases it down over her very large, still very shapely bosom.

  Helen is wearing a black silk bra with perhaps surprisingly feminine French lace trimming. It barely contains the extraordinary generosity of her plump breasts, and Ms Blakemore – obviously struck by their great ample beauty – is eager, even before the dress is removed, to unclip the bra and let it fall – almost with a sigh of relief – from these glorious orbs. And then they are before her and before Christina. The sissy’s eyes widen with a deep honoured pleasure: the rarely seen, perfect and erotically plentiful bosom of Mistress Helen.

  Leaving the dress at Mistress Helen’s waist, Ms Blakemore, a drunken smile curving her full lips, leans forward and begins gently to caress Helen’s dark nipples to angry erection. Helen’s mouth falls open, a gasp of girlish delight slips into the sex-charged air of the bedroom. Her eyes close and she whispers ‘oh yes’, her voice cracked by fierce blind need.

  ‘Take the dress off, Christina,’ Ms Blakemore orders.

  The she-male is momentarily startled and looks at the buxom black beauty with confused fearful eyes.

  ‘Do as I say,’ she says, her calm elegant voice filled with a real and thus erotic threat.

  Christina nods and releases Helen’s foot. She then climbs carefully to her heeled feet and stares, momentarily dumbstruck, at Mistress Helen’s astonishing chest.

  Beneath the boobs, she is wearing a black silk and elastane-panelled panty girdle that is holding firm her not inconsiderable stomach. Mistress Helen has always been a well-proportioned woman, and Christina has always been deeply attracted to the erotic generosity of her form.

  And she barely notices as Christina very carefully eases the dress over her wide hips and large, yet still very sexy backside, and then lowers it down her black nylon-sheathed legs and over her beautifully formed feet.

  She folds the dress neatly and places it over the dressing table stool. By this point, Ms Blakemore is covering Helen’s breasts in hundreds of tender teasing kisses, and one of her hands is lodged firmly between the splendid dominant’s legs. Helen releases a terrible long pent-up cry of pleasure and a confession.

  ‘Yes, yes. Please, Amelia, my love. I’ve wanted you to do this to me . . . for so long.’

  Ms Blakemore looks up at Christina.

  ‘In the dressing table – first drawer down. A dildo. Bring it here. Now.’

  Christina curtsies and obeys, opening the drawer to discover a long ribbed red rubber dildo with a fat curved head. She cannot help holding it to her nose and breathing the powerful aromas of Mistress Helen’s cunt before turning to the bedside.

  ‘Put it on the bed and get back on your knees. Suck her feet.’

  Again Christina obeys, soon back on her knees and soon gagged firmly with one of Mistress Helen’s black nylon-sheathed feet.

  Ms Blakemore manages to ease the panty girdle and tights down to Helen’s thighs to expose a soaking thickly black-haired sex. She then lowers the almost delirious, overwhelmed beauty down onto her back and gently parts her wide muscular thighs. At first she uses the fingers of her left hand to prepare Helen for the dildo. Helen’s cries turn to wild screams of angry animal pleasure as the hand does its dark sensual job. Then the dildo is eased inside her as Ms Blakemore’s lips continue to pay very careful and prolonged attention to her lover’s impressive breasts and Christina sucks desperately on her feet, her own sex aching, her mind shocked to its core by this brutal graphic seduction. Then Mistress Helen bucks violently and Christina loses the foot. But by then it hardly matters. Ms Blakemore has forced the dildo all the way home and Mistress Helen is completely under her kinky control. For a moment Ms Blakemore looks down angrily at Christina.

  ‘Get out!’ she snaps. ‘And shut the door behind you.’

  Christina curtsies deeply and totters quickly from the room, stunned and aroused, her mind spinning with images of Ms Blakemore’s aggressive seduction. Mistress Helen’s cries of dark pleasure explode behind her, their force pushing the startled excited sissy out of the bedroom and then out into the main corridor, where she promptly collides with Mistress Donna, her lovely petite wife-mistress.

  She smiles her typically bright positive smile and says she would like a quiet word with Christina in her rooms. Christina returns her loving smile, curtsies deeply and follows her down the corridor.

  Compared to Helen’s quarters, Donna’s rooms are modest. But they have a warmth and style that speaks more of a home and reflect Donna’s personality perfectly.

  Christina has spent many happy loving nights with her wife-mistress in these rooms and has perhaps gone further than any sissy ever should with Donna in terms of their sexual activities. However, since formally being transformed into an SMC maid, Christina has never had penetrative sex with the gorgeous petite blonde. They have had many other forms of sexual contact, but none that would, strictly speaking, contravene the strictest rule of the Bigger Picture.

  As they enter Donna’s living room, and with the bizarre adventure with Ms Blakemore and Mistress Helen still ringing in his mind, Christina finds herself, as she has on many other occasions, appraising her gorgeous wife-mistress with sex-hungry eyes.

  It is ten years since they married, and still she is stunningly beautiful. A medium-sized blonde with a perfect, almost compact form, she has always been the kindest and gentlest of the SMC mistresses. She openly despises Céline and Sophie and was a key figure in the removal of Anne.

  Tonight she is dressed in a very tight pink cashmere sweater which displays her large but never disproportionate breasts to perfection and carefully accentuates her slender waist. She is wearing a short white leather miniskirt, and white nylon tights celebrate her long beautifully shaped legs, as do a pair of pink patent leather court shoes with striking five-inch heels. Over the years, she has let her hair grow long and straight, but this afternoon it is bound into a very tight bun by a diamond butterfly-shaped clasp.

  Yes: she is stunning and Christina wants her more than ever. Her love for Donna is absolute and unending as is her acceptance of he
r wife-mistress’s every command without a second’s hesitation.

  She asks Christina to take a seat at the small circular dining table, ordering her to cross her legs tightly and pull her petticoat-laden skirt up so that they are displayed frankly and erotically in their sensual nylon prison.

  Donna then draws up a chair so that she is only a few feet from her sissy she-male husband. Her big blue eyes drink up Christina’s long black nylon-sheathed legs and her helplessly swelling large breasts. The mutual sexual attraction is powerful and fills the air with a static electricity of furious desire.

  ‘You know I can no longer support Helen,’ Donna says. ‘Even after all we’ve been through together. Since the very beginning. Since you and I first met . . . properly.’

  Christina nods weakly, remembering the strange and desire-driven events that had led to her life-changing encounter with the startling trio of Helen, Donna and Anne.

  ‘Her ideas have become too extreme. There’s too much hate in her. Something’s changed, Chrissy. Something to do with power. She’s been overwhelmed by the speed with which the Bigger Picture has taken off.’

  Christina nods again, remembering the strange light that burned in her eyes at the meeting with the mistresses: the flame of a certain but very clear madness.

  ‘So we have to act, and quickly. Ms Blakemore has supported the Moderate cause since the very beginning, and it was, as you know, Jane who took action against Anne. Helen wants to accelerate TSC. She wants most of the sissies completely changed in the next few days. We have to act now if we are to save you and the Bigger Picture.’

  Christina is shocked by this news, but not surprised.

  ‘Amelia thinks she can change Helen. Get her to see the error of her ways. Helen is dead mad about Amelia. She always has been. She’s the only woman Helen has ever confessed a real desire for. Amelia thinks she can exploit this, get Helen to see the error of her ways. She’s working on her now. And let’s hope she can get somewhere. But Céline and Sophie are fanatics, Chrissy. They’ll never give in. And that means we will have to deal with them in a more severe way. And you will have to help us my sweet.’

  Christina’s eyes widen.

  ‘We need you to act as bait. To get us close to the two of them so that they can be overpowered. If we can get doubt in Helen’s mind and get Céline and Sophie out of the way . . . then, working with Jane, we have a chance. But we have to act quickly. And you have to understand that what I am going to do is to save the Bigger Picture.’

  ‘What are you going to do, Mistress?’

  Donna’s eyes fill with a momentary sadness.

  ‘We’re going to pretend to broker a peace deal with Céline and Sophie. After our little argument earlier in the week, things are pretty bad between us. And the only way we’re going to be able to convince them we’re serious is to offer them you. You and Annette.’

  Christina’s eyes widen and her heart quickens. ‘Offer us?’

  ‘Yes. You will be left as a peace offering in Amelia’s quarters. We’ll tell them they can do what they like. They will come and find you. They will be suspicious, so you will need to be with them for a while. You know they will hurt you, but in the frenzy of their sadistic pleasure, their guards will drop and then we’ll make our move.’

  Christina ponders the risk she and Annette will run, but then she looks deep into Mistress Donna’s eyes and sees a helpless and intense love, a love that she returns twofold.

  ‘I will do anything for you, Mistress. Anything.’

  Donna smiles warmly then leans forward and places a long passionate kiss on Christina’s soft cherry-red lips. The she-male beauty swoons with helpless pleasure and falls into a long and deeply loving embrace. She feels the soft generous body of her gorgeous wife-mistress and her cruelly imprisoned cock struggles desperately in its terrible but very necessary restraint.

  ‘Oh please, Mistress. Please!’ she cries, as she breaks free of Donna’s embrace and beholds the startling sexual beauty of the most important woman in her life.

  Donna smiles and places her hands on Christina’s softly hosed knees.

  ‘Don’t worry, my sweet. You deserve relief and you’ll get it. But first, I have something else to show you. A vision of the future.’

  Christina looks at her wife-mistress with confusion and just a hint of trepidation. She remembers the elaborate expensive video designed and directed by Mistress Anne that had set out a world under the Femocracy. It had been entitled ‘A Vision of the Future’ and been watched under particularly testing conditions. Yet this is not some bleak hint of the Femocracy: this is much more personal and enjoyable.

  ‘When all this is over,’ Donna continues, ‘when the Radicals are defeated, we will need to get on with the work of the Bigger Picture. Now that Anne has gone and Helen’s future is in doubt, a lot of the managerial burden may fall on me. And I’m not really as administratively minded as Helen. So I’ll need some serious secretarial help.’

  The look of fear in Christina’s beautiful brown eyes changes quickly into one of genuine interest.

  ‘I’ll need you, Chrissy. As my personal assistant. In the evenings, at weekends, you can be my pretty sissy maid. But during weekdays, I need your skills as an administrator.’

  As she speaks, she rises from the table and takes Christina by the hand. Then she leads her into the large simply decorated bedroom where they have spent so many deliciously kinky nights.

  Donna leaves Christina standing by the large double bed and then goes over to the walk-in closet, a deep cornucopia of feminine delights and her only true excess. She returns a few moments later carrying a number of items of female clothing and places them on the bed before the curious highly excited sissy.

  ‘I ordered these from a London fashion house. I think they’ll look really good on you.’

  Christina looks down at the clothing and then up at Donna. She hasn’t worn conventional women’s clothing for over ten years, and the thought of doing so now fills her with a deep sexual joy.

  ‘Try them on,’ Donna says. ‘Now.’

  Christina nods weakly and Donna helps her out of the spectacular white silk pinafore and the black silk maid’s dress. As Donna’s hands and ample figure brush against Christina, the sissy beauty feels a sense of almost unbearable happiness laced with a thick dark almost mind-numbing sexual pleasure. Her mistress’s strong vaguely oriental perfume torments her flaring nostrils and her agonised sex begs for an impossible release.

  Soon Christina is dressed in only her elaborate foundation wear (all personally chosen by Donna), her sheer black tights and her five-inch-heeled black patent leather court shoes. Donna lets her hands run across the white elastane-panelled panty corselette that holds Christina’s buxom form firmly in place, her eyes drinking up Christina’s generous proportions with a dark sex hunger. Donna’s love of 50s and 60s style foundation wear has provided them both with many hours of fetishistic pleasure, and poor Christina can only moan with a dreadful delight as Donna’s hands reach the crotch area.

  ‘There’s a website dedicated to 50s undergarments. I was thinking of buying you an original 1955 American panty girdle and waist cincher modelled by Betty Page. Would you like that?’

  Christina nods and mumbles a hoarse ‘Yes, Mistress. Very much.’

  ‘In that case, you’ll need to be a very good girl for your mistress.’

  Christina performs a tiny bob curtsey and Donna’s bright generous laugh fills the room with an aching erotic love.

  Donna insists Christina leave the undergarments and hose in place, except for the white silk camiknickers that are part of her formal maid’s attire.

  She wiggles out of these and then confronts the clothes on the bed. The camiknickers are quickly replaced by a pair of very pretty black silk panties, with delicately frilled edges and a teasing red heart in the centre. She pulls the panties up her nylon-sealed legs with a sigh of joy and Donna’s eyes widen with intense arousal.

  After the panties come a
micromini-skirt of black silk-impregnated cotton, with an elasticated waist. Once this has been positioned, it is clear just how ‘micro’ the mini-skirt is, its hem barely reaching the top of her beautifully shaped, hosed thighs. Then there is the sweater, made from black nylon, and which clings to her ample figure like a coating of jet sex oil, accentuating the exact and perfect form of her large firm perfectly designed breasts in a way that inspires a gasp of sheer sex surprise from Donna.

  Finally, there is the jacket, made from a terribly expensive black Italian silk, and which is slipped over her broad but paradoxically shapely shoulders with a gentle, almost nervous care by the gorgeous clearly aroused blonde beauty.

  ‘There,’ Donna whispers. ‘Quite perfect!’

  She guides an excited Christina to the large stand-alone mirror, held in place by an ornate white wooden frame by the closet. And when Christina sees her reflection, a gasp of surprise escapes her pretty girlish mouth, which betrays not just her pleasure in this look but a sense of genuine shock. She had forgotten just how authentic this changing has made her. Dressed in the spectacular and often surreal costumes of the SMC, her natural femininity is lost in the image of explosive sissy submission. Here, though, is a deeper and perhaps a more disturbing truth: the perfection of an illusion and its transcendence.

  ‘My God,’ she whispers. ‘I forgot what it felt like. To be so . . . real.’

  She turns to Donna and smiles. There are tears in her wife-mistress’s eyes.

  ‘This brings back a lot of memories, Chrissy.’

  Then she steps forward and gently kisses her beautiful transvestite slave on the lips, a kiss that grows into a further passionate embrace. Then they are staggering backwards towards the bed. They fall onto the bed, Donna beneath her she-husband. There are no commands now, no orders or control. Indeed, there is an aggression in Christina’s eager, desperate yet still intrinsically feminine movements. She hauls up Donna’s skirt to reveal the soaking gusset of her tights. She eases the tights down to her thighs and then pulls her white silk panties after them. Donna spreads her legs and Christina plunges her head between them.