Then my cock is tugged much harder and I am dragged from sensual daydreaming by the fierce damning orgasm that Rupert has been so uselessly resisting. His body jerks madly, every muscle stiffens; his eyes widen with terminal sex shock; he releases a series of desperate dark animal squeals into the fat panty gag held so effectively in place by the broad thick strip of plaster. Then, as his pelvis thrusts instinctively forward, his cock unloads thick creamy cum into the stocking and, within a few seconds, a grey-white head of spunk has soaked through the sheer nylon surface.
As he comes, he must know the price he will pay: that his cock will be painted with a hot-pink long-life dye, a most terrible and intimate feminisation; that, following his awful ordeal, it will be wrapped in pin-lined Senso rubber, making every helpless angry erection a torment that will constantly test the barrier between pain and pleasure; that his arse will be filled with an SMC anal vibrator and trained for one simple purpose: the creation of a central locus of sexual pleasure in the back passage – the core ecstatic damnation of the sissy. And then he will become she – he will be permanently sissified, kept in sissy dresses, in the sheerest hose, in the prettiest panties; then she will be subjected to the shocking and inescapable physical transformations demanded by the Bigger Picture, including the creation of a pair of large ultra-sensitive and always very beautiful breasts. Yes, I can see in his sobering eyes that he is fully aware of the consequences of this helpless coming. Yet even as the semen drips from the head of his stockinged sex onto the rubber floor of the playpen, I can see something else: a continuing arousal, a clear and confident excitement. Our eyes meet and I see something else: the true depth of his attraction to me and his even deeper desire for his spectacular sissy fate.
Part Four
10
Pansy and Petal have been allocated to the laundry room, the huge rectangular space where the clothes and associated attire of the mistresses and sissies of the SMC HQ are cleaned and ironed day in day out, from 8.00 a.m. to 12 midnight. Each laundry shift lasts four hours. They have relieved an exhausted Christina and a clearly aroused Annette.
As Annette brushes past Pansy, they exchange a strange look of recognition and desire. To Pansy’s great surprise, TSC has revitalised the lovely redhead. She had expected the terrible finality of the changing to produce a defeated and depressed sissy soul who would be an object of pity and disquiet. Yet Annette is buoyant, happy and, it would seem, constantly excited. Pansy knows that vibrators buzz at low pleasure mode in both her arse and her new ultra-sensitive cunt, but her arousal is something deeper – it is desire framed by love and acceptance, plus the secret knowledge of something important and very good.
It is 8.00 p.m. Normally, they would remain here until midnight then return to their room. But tonight will be different; for earlier, Pansy had been summoned to Ms Blakemore’s quarters to pick up her dirty washing, a chore that had quickly exploded into a wonderful sexual adventure.
She had arrived at the dusky angel’s room at just after 7.00 p.m. Ms Blakemore had unleashed her warmest sexiest smile and ushered her into the main living area.
Pansy had been prepared to be impressed by the great buxom beauty, but the ample vision that had confronted her was beyond even her wildest dreams. And equally surprising had been the presence of Mistress Helen. Ms Blakemore was dressed in a silk dressing gown that covered her chocolate-coloured and very ample form like a layer of shimmering white paint. It was very short, running down to the middle of her thighs to reveal her long perfectly formed legs sheathed in white nylon stockings held in place by elegant white lace garters. On her feet were a pair of three-inch-high stiletto-heeled silver slippers. The gown was stretched very tightly against her large beautifully formed breasts, yet it was also open slightly to reveal the dark space between these marvellous orbs. Her long erect nipples were pressed against the silk surface of the gown. Through a gap at the bottom of the gown it was possible to see that she was wearing a pair of white silk panties, with elegantly frilled edges. Her hair was released from its usual businesslike bun and flowed down against her silken shoulders in thick glossy waves.
‘Just in time,’ she had whispered, her eyes filled with wicked intent. ‘Come in.’
Pansy had curtsied deeply and followed this spectacular and much-loved mistress into the intimacy of her private quarters, her eyes pinned helplessly to Ms Blakemore’s considerable and very beautiful backside as it wiggled inside its soft silk prison. Mistress Helen, dressed in a pink semi-transparent nightdress, matching nylon stockings and very high-heeled slippers, was sitting on the sofa, her eyes filled with desire and a strange form of relief.
Pansy was dressed in a white sissy maid’s dress made from silk and satin, a white silk pinafore and white, very sheer nylon tights. Her feet in five-inch-high white patent leather ankles boots, her hands sealed in glacé gloves, her thick blonde hair tied in a tight bun with a white silk ribbon, she was a vision of sissy innocence and beauty. Her large breasts strained against the erotic tightness of the uniform and, as she tottered forward on the heels, her petite backside swayed with a helpless eroticism and her bosom bounced with girlish enthusiasm.
‘You must be missing Shelly,’ Ms Blakemore had said, walking over to a very large plastic washing basket filled with panties and tights, a basket Pansy’s pretty blue eyes had quickly fastened onto.
‘Yes, Mistress, very much.’
Ms Blakemore had smiled warmly and turned to face the sissy beauty.
‘Come here, my pretty daisy.’
Pansy had tottered forward.
‘Sit with us.’
She had sat down between the two beautiful buxom mistresses on the leather sofa.
‘These are very challenging times, Pansy. For us all.’
Pansy had nodded, her eyes moving quickly between the washing basket, Ms Blakemore’s breasts and the long pink-stockinged legs of Mistress Helen. As Ms Blakemore had sat down, the silk gown had slipped even further open and the tormented sissy had had a very good view of one of Ms Blakemore’s titanic tits, a display that was, she knew, far from accidental.
Ms Blakemore’s musk perfume had tormented Pansy’s girlish nostrils. The sissy’s eyes fed on the buxom beauty’s astonishing form with a starving man’s desperation. Her sex had strained angrily and pointlessly against the wicked sensual Senso restrainer. Her own considerable chest rose and fell desperately as her heart had pounded with a furious unyielding desire.
‘Shelly betrayed the Bigger Picture on one level. We all accept that.’
Again, Pansy had nodded weakly, very uncertain of where this conversation was going, and nervous about the dreamy look filling Mistress Helen’s honey-brown eyes.
‘Yet she was also a victim of wicked women. Particularly Mistress Anne. And she, ultimately, was punished as well.’
Pansy had looked up at Ms Blakemore with surprise.
‘Yes, I know. Strong words. But I really do think the Radical perspective is quite warped. They’ve got it all wrong.’
Pansy was now very obviously astonished, especially given the presence of an apparently totally indifferent Mistress Helen!
‘But, Mistress,’ she had whispered, her eyes darting towards Mistress Helen, ‘how can you say that and be . . .’
Ms Blakemore had smiled. ‘And be a supporter of Helen?’
Again, very nervously, Pansy had nodded.
‘I am a supporter of Helen, Pansy. We have had our differences, but now they are behind us. Helen has reconsidered her positioned and has decided to support the Moderate cause. She knows I was instrumental in the removal of Anne and the escape of Shelly and Myriam. She also has approved the removal of Mistresses Céline and Sophie.’
Pansy had felt a cold fear wash over her beautiful sissy body. Her thighs clenched together and the anal plug, a permanent companion for all SMC sissies, had pushed deeper into her always-accommodating arse.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ Pansy had whispered.
‘You don’t have
to say anything. In the next twenty-four hours everything will change back to the way it was before Helen lost her way. And once things are back on course, then we can proceed confidently with our great plans for the Femocracy. And tonight, after the laundry session, I want you to bring Petal here. I have a little celebration in mind.’
Pansy had nodded and a slightly sly look entered her eyes. ‘A celebration?’
Ms Blakemore had smiled. ‘Yes, just the four of us. You, Petal, Helen and myself. And if you’re very good, we’ll even release you both from your restrainers.’
Pansy’s blushes had barely disguised her immediate and very powerful arousal. Like many of the other SMC sissies, she has a very deep and sexual crush on the gorgeous buxom Ms Blakemore. Her attentions are indeed often intimate. The walls of her quarters are covered in superbly crafted pictures of all the sissies in various states of distress, humiliation and absolute submission, pictures created by the beautiful mistress, who has a genuine and profound artistic gift. Pansy herself has been sealed on more than one occasion inside the pleasure machine hidden inside of the wall of Ms Blakemore’s bedroom, and here she has discovered the true depth of her helpless and relentless masochism. She has also been treated on one particularly amazing occasion to a prolonged and ultra-eroticised suckling on the dusky beauty’s generous and very lovely bosom. Yet never had Ms Blakemore personally overseen an actual release of her cock from the restrainer.
Ms Blakemore’s smile had progressed into a light teasing laugh.
‘You need to take the wash basket down to the Laundry for me, Pansy. It’s mainly our tights and panties tonight.’
Pansy had looked at the overflowing basket with a fetishist’s helpless passion and then up at the gorgeous countenance of this supreme beloved mistress.
‘I’d better add these as well.’
Then, to Pansy’s utter astonishment, Ms Blakemore had risen from the sofa, slipped the dressing gown down over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She had turned to face Pansy, whose eyes were wide and whose mouth was open with a profound and aroused surprise.
Ms Blakemore had then very teasingly slid the panties down to her stockinged knees and allowed them to fall to the floor.
Struck dumb and rigid by the astonishing spectacle of Ms Blakemore naked except for the stockings and slippers, Pansy had found it very hard to respond when the generously proportioned beauty had ordered her to pick the panties up and add them to the pile in the wash basket.
‘Hurry up, Pansy.’
Although soft-voiced, there had been real menace in Ms Blakemore’s second command and the sissy had obeyed instantly, grabbing the warm scented panties from the floor and dropping them into the basket before picking up the basket and turning to face her stunning exposed mistress.
‘Now, go about your business. And we’ll see you later.’
Pansy had performed a quick bob curtsey and then began to totter as sweetly and sexily as possible from the room. And as she had reached the door, Ms Blakemore called her back.
‘Don’t forget: you and Petal, at midnight.’
Pansy had curtsied again and, after feasting her eyes one last time on Ms Blakemore’s amazing nakedness, she had turned and slipped through the door out into the corridor.
And now she is standing before the lovely doe-eyed Petal, still holding the basket of Ms Blakemore and Mistress Helen’s secret delights. She smiles at Petal and puts the basket down on the floor.
‘Is this your first time in the Laundry?’
Petal nods weakly and whispers a nervous ‘yes’. Her eyes are filled with a tense anticipation hiding rather unsuccessfully an obvious desire. She is still remembering Pansy’s teasing words when she had tied her so tightly the other night. Pansy regards Petal very carefully. She is without doubt the most beautiful sissy she has come across since the much-missed Shelly. So naturally feminine, despite her pre-transformation flat chest, so elegant and calm in her posture and presentation. Yes: a natural.
Tonight she is wearing a very short pink trainee dress of shimmering satin, covered in a white silk and heavily frilled bib-apron. Her long statuesque legs are sheathed in very sheer pink nylon tights and her feet are erotically sealed in pink patent leather ankle boots with five-inch stiletto heels. She is wearing white glacé gloves and her thick hair is bound in a fat bun with a wide pink silk ribbon. Her eyes seem to glow with erotic intent in the soft light of the Laundry. Yes: there is an almost deliberate sexual tease in every facet of her expert feminisation that seems to come not from the fact of her changing, but from the depths of an already ultra-feminine soul.
‘There’s loads to do, as usual. But it’s really quite fun. And when we’ve finished . . . well, there’s something even more exciting planned.’
Petal’s quizzical expression inspires Pansy to unleash a dazzling and teasing smile.
‘Ms Blakemore wants to see us in her quarters, with Mistress Helen.’
Petal’s eyes light up with an instant arousal. ‘Really?’
It is the first time Pansy has heard the new sissy’s voice. Pre-transformation, it is the voice of a young man, yet even this is framed with the care and felicity of a girl, and added to the slender elegant form and the striking sissy attire, its impact is very exciting.
Pansy nods and then leads Petal to the row of washing machines and tumble driers that dominate the Laundry. Three large baskets of elegant and kinky attire have already been left for their attention and Pansy makes a point of extracting a pair of Mistress Helen’s favourite cream-coloured silk panties.
‘Aren’t they lovely?’ she says, holding them open like an exposed summer flower so that the damp gusset is exposed. ‘They belong to Mistress Helen. And they’re very wet.’
Petal stares at them in astonishment, her eyes fixed on the elegant flower patterns that run through the panties like barely perceptible veins.
‘This is the not so secret pleasure of the Laundry, Petal. This is why we like working here so very much.’
She then steps forward and presses the gusset against Petal’s nose, so that the lovely trainee sissy can breathe in these most intimate and erotic of Mistress Helen’s very personal fumes.
After about thirty seconds, Pansy pulls the panties away and she knows a fundamental moment is upon them. Petal stares at Pansy in shock and then they are suddenly in each other’s arms. The first kiss is clumsy and hard, filled with a desperate passion. Pansy can taste Mistress Helen’s sex on her new lover’s lips and her sex begs for freedom inside its tight constantly teasing Senso restrainer. She knows that poor Petal’s cock is also begging for an impossible mercy.
It is Petal who pulls away, finally. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers.
Pansy laughs. ‘There’s no need to be sorry, my love. This is all part of your training. Sissy love is part of our destiny. Don’t apologise . . . embrace it!’
They kiss again. This time softer, with more care. Then it is Pansy’s turn to part them.
‘We’ll have plenty of time later, Petal. Now we have to work. We need to wash this lot and start ironing the stuff in the driers. Have you ironed before?’
Petal gives Pansy a deeply concerned look and shakes her head.
‘Well, in that case I’ll just have to show you. But you’ll have to concentrate. Any mistakes later and I’ll personally give you a sound spanking.’
Petal’s eyes widen with an obvious pleasure at the thought of being spanked by the lovely Pansy.
‘Well,’ Pansy then says, her smile widening, ‘maybe I’ll spank you anyway.’
The next hour is spent working together on washing, drying and ironing the clothes of mistresses and sissies, a deeply pleasurable experience for both Pansy – who has always loved working in the Laundry – and for Petal – who finds the closeness to her new mistresses’ attire incredibly arousing. This, combined with the presence of the gorgeous teasing Pansy, creates an atmosphere of joyous sexual stimulation. Her sex, always so hard since her arrival at the SMC, is
now stretching with a terrible but also enjoyable desperation against its tight delightfully unforgiving restrainer.
As they work, Pansy cannot help quizzing Petal about her past.
‘Did you dress up before you were sent here?’ she asks, once Petal has quickly come to terms with the techniques demanded to iron the wide variety of materials that make up the mistresses’ elegant and deeply sensual attire. For a moment there is an element of suspicion in Petal’s eyes. The question is sudden and might appear weighted with some secret intention. But there is only honest curiosity in Pansy’s lovely sissy eyes.
‘Not really. But I was always interested.’
‘Interested?’
‘In my mother’s clothes. In her . . . style. She’s very beautiful and elegant. She’s always dressed so very carefully. And after my father left . . . well, it was one of the things I found always got to me. Not so much her, as feminine things and femininity. I was attracted to it in a way that was deeper and more intense than just a sexual desire for a woman. And it worried me . . . terribly. And I fought it. I tried to react against it. And that’s when everything began to fall apart. When all the behaviour issues started. And I suppose that’s why I ended up here. Which is a bit ironic.’
Silken Embrace Page 16