Then my naked buttocks touch the cool leather of the seat and I feel the probe slot into the deep dark core of the vibrator.
I stare up at the lovely vision of harsh beauty that is Myriam and meet her cool malign gaze.
‘Very good,’ she says, clearly excited by the efficient execution of this kinky and dreadful punishment.
Then she fixes my satin- and silk-sealed wrists to the arms of the chair. Once my wrists have been buckled to the arms of the chair, she uses the straps attached to the back of the seat to tether me even tighter, wrapping the thick leather straps around my stomach and chest and fixing them tightly in place via thick silver belt buckles attached to each one. Then my ankles are quickly buckled to the legs and I am completely immobilised.
My violently erect cock still on fire, tears of pain, anger and deep frustration now trickling from my wide sissy eyes, I watch with a terribly genuine fear as Myriam proceeds to kneel down once again. As she does so, the broad petticoat-supported skirt of the gorgeous black silk maid’s dress rides upward and I find myself confronted with the almost unbearably erotic spectacle of her long black nylon-sheathed legs right up to her upper thighs. Through the fine clouds of petticoating a pair of heavily be-frilled white silk panties are clearly visible. My engorged burning cock strains forward and I squeal with a bottomless animal need.
Myriam looks up at me and her lovely helplessly cruel smile widens. ‘Not long now, my love.’
As I ponder this slightly mysterious and rather threatening statement, Myriam takes up the coil whose end is a variation on the sheath used in the playpen recycling device. Then she shuffles forward, providing me with a dreadfully clear and wickedly teasing view of her substantial perfectly formed cleavage, and takes my unfortunate member in her free hand. I squeal with fear and arousal and then she very slowly and carefully inches the sheath over my sex.
Within a few endless minutes that leave me wiggling angrily in the chair, the sheath is pulled tightly over the full infuriated length of my crimson cock.
Interestingly, the sheath does not function as a restrainer, and my tormented cock finds itself teased by strange soft rubber that I quickly realise is Senso. Indeed, within a few seconds the standard chemical interactions are taking place and the pain in my sex is quickly being replaced by a very powerful physical stimulation! As I come to terms with this sudden and far from unwelcome change of direction, Myriam takes the tube connected to the metal box fixed to the base of the chair and draws it up to the metal frame containing the oval bottle. It is now I notice a small nozzle attached to the front of the tube that slots exactly into a small circular hole in the top of the metal frame. Then, to my increasing concern, she takes the end of the tube attached to my sex and slots it into the second of three holes set into the top of the frame. And even this is not the end, for she quickly produces a third length of tubing, each end of which is fitted with a nozzle. She slots one end into the final hole in the frame and then pulls the free end up towards my face. I squeal with fear and shake my head desperately as she works free the plastic cover of the dummy gag and, to my astonishment, inserts the final nozzle directly into the centre of the fat rubber teat that is so effectively filling my mouth.
She steps back and considers the strange spectacle that must be me. Her smile widens and I know I am on the verge of a truly terrible ordeal.
‘Yes, now my pretty pet is all ready.’
Then she takes the baby’s bottle filled with the formula and my cum and, previously unseen, a small plastic funnel from the highchair. She inserts the funnel diagonally into a small hole set into the front of the metal frame and carefully pours the liquid in the bottle into it. Almost immediately the liquid begins to fill the glass bottle held in place by the metal frame.
When one bottle is empty and the other full, Myriam removes the funnel and the empty bottle. Then she swiftly crouches down by my feet and within seconds the metal box beneath the chair begins to whirr and vibrate.
Once again, Myriam stands up and steps back, her beautiful face filled with cruel irony.
‘The box is a smaller version of the recycler,’ she explains, as I fight the increasingly effective ministrations of the Senso latex sheath. ‘Both it and the belt are fitted with small electric pumps. As you can see, your sex is now attached to the belt, as is the recycler box. In a few minutes you will come. The pump in the belt will suck your cum into the belt bottle, adding to the mixture of formula and cum already there. Then the pump will switch to full power mode and the mixture will be pumped up into the dummy gag and through the porous teat into your mouth. You will swallow the formula, which contains a powerful laxative, and, thanks to your weakened bowels and anus, you will quickly void the liquid waste matter via the suction of the probe down into the recycler. Here, the liquid waste matter will be thoroughly sterilised, more formula added and then pumped back up into the belt bottle. By this time, thanks to the changes in your body chemistry initiated by the genius of Ms Blakemore and the SMC, you will be ready to come again. Thus, the training cycle will be established and the punishment complete. Here, in this training chair, you will surrender complete control of every physical aspect of your being. Here you will realise the true meaning of submission.’
I look up at this gorgeous creature, once a timid slave of wicked women, now a cruel beautiful and utterly merciless dominatrix, with appalled and amazed eyes. The truth of the ordeal has been explained. I am truly to suffer greatly. Yet even as I contemplate this awful fate, I feel my cock tremble with the earliest signs of another violent and utterly uncontrollable orgasm.
Then Myriam kicks the brake free and I find myself being wheeled towards the large apparently bottomless wardrobe that dominates the right side of the room. I squeal into the gag as the chair is pushed past the wardrobe to a shadowy wall space. Here I notice there is a small white-painted wooden door. Myriam leans forward and opens it to reveal a tiny dark space, a bit like a stairwell cupboard. Then, to my horror, I am wheeled inside and immediately plunged into absolute darkness.
I squeal with a terrible, very real terror into the fat dummy gag. I struggle vainly against the various forms of kinky bondage holding me firmly in place. But every effort I make is useless. I feel the sinister metal box throb beneath the chair. And worst of all, I feel the terrible inescapable truth of the coming orgasm. Soon I will explode into the sheath and then the grim, cruel and utterly inescapable process of the recycling at the heart of the Trainer will begin.
I hear the door close and I know Myriam has deserted me. I am to remain in this terrible cool darkness, my body completely under the control of sinister technology, my soul truly crushed. My heart pounds with fear and a dreadful apprehension. A wave of almost unbearable and deeply masochistic pleasure floods across my babified and bound form. I cry with a helpless bottomless need into the fat dummy gag, and within seconds of being plunged into this terrifying darkness, I experience a savage, deeply disturbing orgasm, a massive cosmic coming. Silver stars explode in the blackness. Every muscle strains furiously against my utterly unyielding bonds.
Yet even as I experience this tremendous elevating pleasure, I am painfully aware of what my heart-shuddering orgasm has set in motion. I feel the sheath fill with my warm thick cum and then a deep vibration shimmers across the belt. Suddenly the teasing sheath seems to squeeze my still rock-hard cock and I realise that the cum is being sucked up into the oval bottle held in the firm metal frame of the belt. My arms strain angrily and now desperately against the tight rubber shackles, but to no avail. A sense of crystal clear panic grips my pounding heart.
I listen to the cum splashing into the liquid mixed by the evil utterly gorgeous Myriam. As I struggle, I can still smell her expensive perfume (the type favoured by the buxom cruel-eyed Ms Gillette) and, in my frenzied imagination, the sharp odour of her sex. Already, with my fear at its height, I can feel my sex responding yet again to the awful caress of the Senso latex sheath.
Then the new mixture is being pump
ed from the bottle and into the tube that leads so inevitably to the fat dummy gag. I scream out for Myriam, for Ms Gillette, for my beloved and much missed Aunt Jane. Please! I feel a slight vibration pass through the dummy gag. The new terrible formula is only a few inches from my well-stopped mouth now. I shake my head, try to spit out the dummy gag. But every effort to escape my fate is completely and devastatingly useless.
Then I can feel the liquid passing through the front plate of the dummy gag and begin to fill the large rubber teat. Then the first taste of the disturbingly sweet formula explodes in my mouth and I know all further resistance is (as it always was) useless.
Within a few minutes I am sucking helplessly on the fat teat and in the process squeezing the formula into my mouth and down my throat. Large tears of dark deep despair mix with a renewed and equally dark masochistic desire to produce a sense of profoundly disturbing ambiguity. My cock strains, waves of pleasure emanate out from my arse across the rest of my sissy form. Sealed in Senso, so tightly bound and gagged, so completely helpless and humiliated, I find myself suddenly – in this total darkness – breaking through another barrier. Suddenly, it is as if I have left my body and floated up into the darkness of the room. But this darkness is far greater than the confined space I had been imprisoned in by lovely evil Myriam. Indeed, it is a space without bounds; the eternal blackness of a cosmic desire.
And it is here I remain for what feels like a very long time; detached, yet also connected. But not connected to my suffering body, to my desiring needful physical form. No: now I am connected to the vastness of human desire, to the will to pleasure, to the great craving of all being that is the essence of life itself.
I remain in this state until the door suddenly opens and the soft pink light of the nursery gently destroys the all-consuming blackness. I have come maybe four times. Already, I have voided waste matter into the metal box and I am consuming the second recycled formula when hands fall upon the chair and quickly wheel me from the strange horrible cubicle.
I hear a loud and angry sigh as the pink light suddenly overwhelms my temporarily damaged vision.
The room slowly comes back into focus and I find myself looking up at a clearly very annoyed Ms Gillette.
‘She’s gone too far.’
At first I think she is talking to me. But then another figure steps into my field of vision, the mature and elegantly buxom form of the rather lovely harsh-eyed Ms Ambrose.
‘I don’t think there’s any real damage done. In fact, it may help me.’
Ms Gillette’s nervous hands struggle with the shackles, belts and tubes, but eventually I am freed from this techno-bondage and helped to stand weakly and shakily upright.
‘We need to leave her to rest for a while,’ Ms Ambrose says. ‘Put her back in the pen unsecured for an hour. She’ll sleep. Then we can get started.’
It is then that I smell Ms Ambrose’s signature sandalwood perfume and she begins to come into clearer focus before me. This is the woman who will be responsible for my training, the woman who will have absolute control over this next strange and hyper-erotic stage in my sissification. I gasp with a helpless pleasure as I behold her astonishing generous form and feel my aching long-tormented cock return to life.
Today she is dressed in a very beautiful cream silk blouse with a high frilled neck. Set into the centre of the neck is a gorgeous oval-shaped emerald which exactly matches the colour of her exquisite eyes. Her thick glistening red hair is bound in a tight bun with a diamond butterfly-shaped clasp and her lips are painted a dark peach. The blouse is tucked with flawless precision into a knee-length black and white check skirt, thus pulling it down tightly over her very large, still very firm breasts. The skirt rides elegantly over the plump curve of her belly and around the broad hills of her wide shapely hips and erotically ample backside. Her long very shapely legs are sheathed in sheer black nylon, and her feet are elegantly imprisoned in three-inch stiletto-heeled court shoes of a sparkling black patent leather. She is a vision of generous mature beauty, and I am quickly lost in her powerful determined gaze. I avoid her amazing eyes and find myself staring helplessly at her large breasts as they strain against the white silk blouse.
‘He really does like you,’ Ms Gillette whispers, her voice filled with cruel amusement framed by sexual arousal.
Ms Ambrose smiles, her stern countenance momentarily broken by a warmer kinder self as she stares down at my increasingly apparent erection.
‘You can leave us alone now, Mary. I’ll be fine on my own.’
Ms Gillette nods, her own smile knowing and ironic.
‘Of course. I’ll come back in about an hour and we can get started.’
She leaves without another word and I find myself alone with this gorgeous matron, my heart pounding with a new trepidation and an even stronger desire. Almost as soon as the nursery door is closed and locked, Ms Ambrose extracts a new dummy gag from a suitably deep pocket in her long elegant skirt. It is more or less the same as the previous gag, but I immediately notice that the teat is somewhat shorter and wider and that the plastic base is a darker shade of pink.
‘Open up, my little baby petal,’ she whispers, her voice suddenly softer, gentler, and cut through with a thick core of pure sexual intent.
I obey instantaneously, overwhelmed by this amazing vision of mature beauty and the fat dummy gag is carefully slipped between my soft girlish lips.
The adhesive tape on each side of the heart-shaped plate ensures that the gag is held fast and hard and there is no chance at all of removing it, especially given my hands are still firmly imprisoned in the elaborate ultra-dainty pink satin-sheathed and fingerless mittens.
‘Good girl,’ she whispers. ‘Now let’s do something about that naughty little willy of yours.’
I moan with fear and a violently renewed need as she extracts a fresh Senso pink rubber restrainer from the skirt pocket.
‘Hold still,’ she says, carefully lowering herself down onto her black nylon-sheathed knees.
Then her hands are upon my sex and I gasp with surprise and a giddy instant pleasure into the dummy gag. My erection grows into her warm embrace and I hear a sigh of aroused amusement slip from her dark-peach lips.
‘You have a lovely cock, Shelly,’ she whispers.
Then I feel her lips brush against the engorged crimson helmet and squeal with real shock and wild delight. This is certainly not what I had expected from Ms Lillian Ambrose! Instead of a harsh unyielding nanny dominatrix, I seem to be in the hands of a plump matronly beauty who wants, above all things, to mother me in a deeply erotic way! I am astonished and ecstatic.
Then the rubber restrainer is being pulled very gently over my cock’s bulging head and down its long hard length. And immediately I am even more surprised: this is not the pin-lined punishment device promised as a daily torment for the next six months. This is an ultra-soft, but still tight and efficient restrainer – the sort that I had worn so willingly for every day I was a delicate sissy prisoner of the SMC.
‘Don’t worry,’ she says, her voice soft, loving, completely at odds with her tone when Ms Gillette was in the room. ‘We don’t need the pins anymore. I don’t think you’ll be misbehaving with me, my little beauty.’
Once the restrainer has been snapped into place, she carefully pulls the heavily be-frilled white silk panties over my sex and then straightens the spectacular, erotic dress.
‘There. Now you’re ready to go back into the pen.’
She takes me by the hand and leads me over to the playpen. I feast my eyes on her gorgeous buxom form and know that things are changing profoundly. Suddenly, I feel overwhelmed by the worshipful deeply masochistic desire previously inspired by Aunt Jane and the amazing Ms Blakemore.
Ms Ambrose leads me inside the pen and helps me to sit down in the centre. She then puffs up a number of silk cushions into a large pillow-like pile and lays me down on my back.
‘Sleep now, my pretty. I’ll be back soon. Then the fun can trul
y begin.’
She places a kiss on my still tightly bonneted head and I swoon with girlish delight. Our eyes meet, and this time I hold her gentle but still daunting gaze.
‘Sleep,’ she whispers.
As my eyes flutter closed, she slips from the pen. By the time she leaves the Nursery, I am in a deep dreamless sleep.
9
I am awoken by a much firmer, harder-eyed Ms Ambrose.
‘Wake up, Shelly!’ she snaps, shaking me with a slightly overdramatic sternness.
I moan my weary surprise and look up at her buxom form with tired, yet quickly focused eyes. I am immediately aware that I have a truly enormous and rather painful erection that is fighting angrily against the soft and very tight embrace of the restrainer.
I sit up and try to shake off the dust of my brief and heavy slumber. And as I do so, I become aware of the others in the room and the next, utterly perverse stage of my kinky sissy adventure.
Ms Gillette stands directly behind Ms Ambrose, who has now risen from the crouching position required to wake me up and is looking down at me with beautiful stern emerald eyes.
Ms Gillette is dressed in a black silk suit and a matching open-necked blouse with a wide collar that reveals with a precise deliberation the dark valley between her large, firm and beautifully shaped breasts. She is at least four inches taller than her actual height thanks to a pair of spectacular black leather mules armed with striking vicious stiletto heels. Her thickly waved blonde hair is bound in a tight bun by a black velvet band. She looks, as always, beautiful and profoundly imposing.
Yet it is not the impressive form of Ms Gillette that ultimately attracts my attention. For as Ms Ambrose steps back from the playpen, my eyes fall upon a truly arousing spectacle. I gasp in amazement, startled and immediately stunned by the velvet-gloved fist of a fierce arousal. A few feet from Ms Ambrose is Rupert. Yet not the daintily attired pretty boy I had met previously. No: Ms Ambrose had made good on her threat to sissify him. And in a most determined fashion!
Silken Embrace Page 14