Silken Embrace

by Christina Shelly

  ‘There there,’ she continues to whisper. ‘There there.’

  By the time she has finished this particularly erotic cleansing, I am quite shattered. I am led shaking and weak from the shower and then dried with a large very fluffy pink towel. Wrapped in the towel and in her arms, my continuing arousal is violently obvious and seems to amuse Ms Gillette greatly.

  ‘Now it’s time to get you fed and ready for your big trip out.’

  I look at her with wary eyes, knowing that behind her warm smile there is a deep cruel desire for my very considerable humiliation.

  The towel is removed and I am quickly covered in a mist of talcum powder and very strong rose-scented perfume. Then, in a careful ritual of unbearable eroticism, the vibrator is very carefully reinserted inside my more than welcoming arse.

  I am wrapped in a pink silk bathrobe covered in a pattern of hundreds of tiny flowers, my hard tormented cock left so that it is poking provocatively through the front.

  Within a few minutes, I am strapped into the highchair being fed a bowl of pink-coloured savoury mush and two bottles of warm sugared milk. My desperation for sustenance is very clear, and Ms Gillette gently strokes my damp brow as I suck desperately on the large teat of the pint-sized baby bottle.

  Sated and a little steadier on my naked feet, I am led over to the large dressing table beyond the pen. I then find myself watching as Ms Gillette recreates, with a rather expert hand, my pretty sissy face and hair, aided by make-up and various sissy grooming tools.

  As usual, I am deeply impressed by the care and skill of the mistresses of the SMC. They all seem to possess the talent of almost effortless sissy construction!

  ‘Before I was a model, I was a trainee hairdresser. Right back in the early 70s.’

  I nod and look up via the oval dressing table mirror into her ice-blue eyes and notice the nostalgic smile crossing her still very beautiful face. She looks down at me and her smile widens.

  ‘That was just before I met your Aunt.’

  To complete my facial make-up she has to remove the dummy gag, and it is then, to my utter horror and surprise, that I talk to her.

  ‘Were you lovers then?’

  There is a strange threatening pause. How could I have said such a stupid thing! Surely I will be punished!

  But no: there is no anger in Ms Gillette’s eyes – only a slight winsome sadness.

  ‘No. It took about six months, I suppose, just after we both realised we could make a go of modelling. We ended up sharing a flat in London, and one thing led to another. I had always known I . . . preferred girls; but Jane always seemed to have boyfriends. She has always liked men. That’s why she was never really interested in feminism. It was all too desperate for her. She always had power, real power. Over men and women. She didn’t need an ideology of excuses.’

  It is only then that she manages to catch herself. It is as if she is coming out of a trance that has sent her back thirty years.

  ‘Anyway,’ she suddenly snaps. ‘Enough gossip and enough of your naughty chatter.’

  She quickly paints my lips a bright deep pink and then ties the dummy back in place. She then very careful combs through my hair one more time, ensuring that it looks as thick, frothy and feminine as possible.

  I look at myself and see, as I have seen on so many occasions, a very beautiful living doll, a work of art created by the perverse genius of the women of the Bigger Picture.

  I am helped up from the stool and then led back towards the large cornucopia of delights that is the huge white wardrobe that dominates the Nursery. And it is here that I begin to understand just how much of a challenge the day ahead is going to be. This is made clear by the first item of sissy wear: a light pink Senso rubber body stocking, an all-consuming delight of Senso-impregnated latex designed to completely cover every inch of my sissy form.

  Ms Gillette opens the stocking up at the neck and very carefully rolls the surprisingly slender item of fetish wear into a bowl, beneath which are rubber sock-like tails. I rather gingerly step into the bowl and Ms Gillette quickly slips the sock coverings over my feet and then begins very gently to easy the rest of the stocking up over my feminine form.

  Soon I am enveloped in Senso; my entire silken body sheathed in this slender but very strong latex rubber, from the tips of my painted toes to my always narrow, naturally feminine neck. Like the feet, the arms end seamlessly. My hands are therefore wrapped in the equivalent of the fingerless mittens.

  Ms Gillette admires the effect of the rubber body stocking on my body and is clearly impressed. She pulls open one of the large wooden doors of the wardrobe to reveal the full-length mirror and my mouth falls open with a deep highly narcissistic arousal. The stocking extenuates the startling truth of my creation in a way that is both immediate and deeply erotic. It is as if my carefully designed sissy form has been painted a bright pink: every detail is clearly visible through the slender tight furiously stimulating Senso rubber fabric, including my always hard long nipples and my restrained achingly hard sex.

  ‘Quite stunning,’ Ms Gillette whispers, before continuing this latest ultra-kinky and very exciting dressing.

  What follows is a costume designed to humiliate, arouse and display. Yes: this is a costume chosen with a simple purpose in mind: my exposure before the students of Ms Glynis Ambrose’s academy for young ladies.

  After the stocking, I am ordered into a very tight pink leather- and satin-panelled micro-corset. This is wrapped around my already slender waist and tied very tightly in place with silk ribbon lacing. I gasp into the dummy gag and my eyes widen with fear and the slightest anger: there is no need for this painful restriction – it is merely another expression of Ms Gillette’s cruel pleasure.

  After the corset, I am presented with a striking pair of white silk camiknickers with heavily be-frilled legs and a tight elasticated waist. The knickers stretch down to just above my knees and the waist presses against the taut edge of the mini-corset.

  After the knickers comes the stunning deliberately soul-destroying dress: the latest shocking work of SMC sado-erotic ingenuity.

  It is exactly the same pink as the Senso rubber body stocking and made from a thick puffed satin material. Its shape is essentially conical, running from a thick very high and heavily be-frilled neck outwards to a wide very short skirt beneath which is attached a spectacular sea of white-and pink-layered frou-frou petticoating. It has long equally puffed sleeves designed to attach to the matching mittens. The dress is decorated with looped rows of pink lace, creating a descending pattern that seems to run from the neck right down to the also heavily frilled hemline of the skirt.

  The back has been unbuttoned and I step into the dress without any instruction from a smiling clearly excited Ms Gillette.

  As she pulls it up around my rubberised form, I moan with aroused anticipation into the dummy gag and stare into her beautiful ice-blue eyes. My gaze betrays an ultimate sissy surrender and an eternal bottomless desire for my elegant intricate and endlessly perverse sissy fate.

  Ms Gillette secures the buttons and the dress closes around me, a powerfully erotic symbol of my consumption by the Bigger Picture. Yes: I am consumed and destroyed by my own desire, and out of this process of destruction comes glorious sissy rebirth, a rebirth that becomes strikingly apparent as I find myself again staring into the full-length mirror, beholding an image so perfect in its construction and intent that there can never be any opposition. I see my great sissy beauty and moan with a harsh all-pervasive pleasure into the dummy gag. Yes: there is absolutely no escape, and this thought fills me with an almost transcendent sissy joy! After the dress, things move more quickly. My rubberised feet are quickly imprisoned inside a pair of beautiful pink patent leather ankle boots with testing five-inch stiletto heels. The laces, tied in fat but delicate bows, are made from a beautiful dark pink silk, and around its high ankle is fixed a row of tiny bells!

  After the sexy boots, my already rubber-wrapped hands are sealed in the fat
silk mittens whose existence was betrayed by the sleeves of the dress. The mittens are buttoned tightly to the sleeves and my hands are utterly and inescapably immobilised.

  After the mittens, and to my surprise, Ms Gillette removes the dummy gag. But my mouth is not unstopped for very long. From the pocket in her skirt, the gorgeous cruel-eyed beauty quickly extracts a pair of red silk panties and her smile widens. I look at the panties and then at her.

  ‘Yesterday’s panties. Something to keep you stimulated during the trip.’

  She rolls the panties into a ball, with the gusset facing outwards, and then forces them deep into my mouth. My eyes widen with shock and arousal, and a slight well-muffled moan of erotic confession slips past this new gag.

  She uses a broad strip of the thick face-covering plaster to hold the gag in place, stretching it across my pink-coloured lips and bulging alabaster cheeks with a paradoxical tenderness.

  The efficacy of the tape is immediately apparent: it is impossible to move my lips or get any real sound to slip past the thick highly adhesive material. My eyes communicate everything that needs to be said: I am lost in a world of ultra-aroused sex madness from which there will never be any chance of escape.

  Then the final touch: a new and quite incredible bonnet. It is the same pink as the elaborate dress, and made from a mixture of ruffled satins and smooth silks. Its arched hood is covered in curving lines of thick white lace, and at the top of the hood is an arched section across which the words ‘Baby Shelly’ have been printed in a thick red silk stitching. Yet perhaps the most unusual facet of this strange kinky piece of sissy headwear is that the side flaps have been designed to be tied together not beneath the chin but across the face so that the plaster gag is completely obscured and all that can be seen are my sex-addled pleading eyes!

  As Ms Gillette pulls the bonnet over my head with a slow teasing care, her eyes never leave mine. The taste of her sex filling my tormented mouth, I return her piercing merciless gaze with one of utterly helpless submission. She ties the satin-coated flaps together above my lower face with a very fat dainty silk bow and then steps back to admire the humiliating intricacy of my radical babification.

  ‘Lovely,’ she whispers, her arousal obvious. ‘Absolutely lovely.’

  Then, quickly, she binds my mittened wrists and elbows behind my back with more of the rubber-coated cording. I squeal with aroused discomfort as the knot binding my elbows is secured and I notice her cruel excited smile broaden. She then extracts a vibrator controller from her skirt pocket and within a few seconds I am experiencing the teasing pleasures of medium pleasure mode.

  Then she leads me from the Nursery. Unfortunately, I am so violently aroused I am unable to take any real account of my surroundings. There is a long corridor and then a fresh blue-skied morning. I am helped to totter nervously across a gravel driveway, the bells fixed to my boots ringing sweetly in the brisk morning air, and then loaded into the back of a large silver Mercedes.

  I find myself sitting next to Ms Gillette. I look up into the rear-view mirror and find myself staring at a pair of very beautiful and also very familiar eyes. Then the driver turns to face me. It is Myriam, dressed in a gorgeous black leather chauffeur’s costume and hat. I gasp with excited surprise into my inescapable gag.

  Myriam starts the car. Within a few minutes we have left the wood that seems to circle Ms Gillette’s country home and are heading through a lane that cuts across a large expanse of flat fen-like fields. And it is only now that I begin to guess that we are somewhere in East Anglia.

  The journey to Ms Ambrose’s Academy for Young Ladies takes just over twenty minutes. The Academy itself is a large manor house at the end of another wooded lane. Access is controlled by a large metal gate operated by cameras and remote control.

  The lane quickly opens up into vast grounds that are maintained with the elegant precision of the best-kept English country houses. Indeed, the house and its grounds appear more a National Trust property than a functioning school for young ladies. Yet the grounds appear deserted.

  We pull up by a large white door bordered by rather pompous white pillars. Myriam elegantly hops out and helps Ms Gillette from the car. She then skips around to my side. I am extracted with an efficient care. Then I am standing in the forecourt in my striking sissy attire, a truly odd spectacle of absolute and unyielding forced feminisation amidst the elegance and aristocratic refinement of the English countryside!

  ‘You really do look wonderful in this new outfit, Shelly,’ Mary Gillette says. ‘We should keep you like this permanently.’

  I look into her ice-blue eyes and try to understand if she is serious. The enigmatic truth of her always makes interpreting any statement that slips past her perfect cherry lips difficult. But now, here, in this new and strange realm of ultra-sissification, I get a sudden and dreadfully erotic sense of sincerity.

  She takes me by a mittened hand and I am led up marble steps into the grand entrance of Ms Ambrose’s Academy for Young Ladies.

  The entrance foyer is a wide wooden-tiled space. Immediately in front and above us is a long balcony bisected by a wide staircase. Behind the landing is a large arch-shaped stained-glass window through which pours a midmorning light speckled with dust motes. At the foot of the stairs stands a tall red-haired woman who appears both familiar and strange. Dressed in a long tweed skirt, a tight cream-coloured sweater and very high-heeled court shoes, she appears the perfect representation of the strict school mistress.

  Upon our entry, announced by the loud click of heels and the sweet ringing of tiny bells, she looks up and her eyes almost immediately fall upon my elaborately babified form.

  ‘And you,’ she says, in a clear, confident and erotically authoritative voice, ‘must be Shelly.’

  Instinctively, I perform a deep submissive curtsey and the redhead claps appreciatively.

  ‘As lovely and eager as you promised, Mary,’ she says, stepping down from the stairs and strolling confidently across the room towards me.

  Now I know I am facing Glynis Ambrose, the headmistress of the Academy. Her physical resemblance to her much more generously proportioned sister is located in the face. Her hair is much shorter, yet her striking emerald eyes announce the genetic truth of their relationship. She is taller, with a much more slender figure, although her breasts certainly hint at the considerable generosity of her sister’s! Then she is standing almost directly in front of me, her eyes wide with an obvious and dark fascination.

  ‘The girls are really keen to meet Shelly and her friends. Rupert has always been a popular house boy, and now he is to be fully transformed. But full-blown sissy maids – well, what with that and the meeting of the Executive . . . the place is buzzing with anticipation!’

  Glynis shares her sister’s cultured upper middle-class voice and her ironic inflection. Yet there is a coldness about her, a cool calculating cruelty that is absent from Lillian. The reference to the meeting of the Executive can mean only one thing: the Bigger Picture Executive Group, the ruling council of its worldwide operations. My heart skips a beat. These women are all very obviously supporters of the Moderate cause. Have the Moderates returned to power so quickly? And then the reference to ‘Shelly and her friends’. My heart thumps with excitement as I consider the potential in these words.

  ‘Let’s go to my office,’ Glynis says. ‘Lillian is there with Rupert and our friends. We’ll have a little chat. Then we can have a tour of the building and meet the other girls. Then I’d like to spend some time alone with Shelly.’

  I look up at the striking dominatrix and feel my kneels buckle, for in her gaze there is a very clear and deeply perverse sexual intent that tells me my time alone with her will be a little more than diverting.

  I am led by Glynis Ambrose down the corridor that runs off to the right of the large central stairway. We are followed by Ms Gillette.

  The headmistress’s office is at the end of the corridor. As we enter this large oak-panelled room, I am surprised (a
nd utterly delighted!) to find not just Glynis’s lovely sister Lillian and her beautiful sissy son, but my Aunt Jane and Ms Blakemore!

  Aunt Jane steps forward as I totter desperately toward her, my ankle bells ringing, squeals of delight fighting to escape my tight sweet panty gag. She wraps me up in her arms and presses my bonneted head into her ample soft bosom. Once again, I am in heaven.

  Then I am being passed over to Ms Blakemore who repeats the erotic mammary envelopment and tears of absolute joy flood from my large sissy eyes.

  Lillian and Glynis watch this spectacle with amused slightly cynical eyes.

  Lillian is sitting on a large black leather sofa set against a far wall. The pretty, soon to be fully sissified Rupert is standing beside her. As Ms Blakemore releases me from her profound embrace, my eyes immediately fall upon him and we behold each other with surprised and intense desire.

  Today Rupert is dressed in a strikingly ingenious variation of the ‘Little Lord Fauntleroy’ costume that was his usual attire. He wears a striking pink silk blouse with very thick ruffled frills running down the middle. The blouse has a very wide collar and a thick pink silk ribbon has been slipped beneath it and tied in a very fat ultra-sissy bow at the front. The blouse is tucked into a pair of very tight silk hotpants that accentuate his beautifully shaped and helplessly girlish backside and reveal in a most blatant and teasing manner his large angry erection. The high and heavily frilled legs of the pants barely cover Rupert’s slender beautiful upper thighs. His legs are sheathed in semi-opaque white tights that display his long feminine legs to a simple and highly impressive perfection. His small feet are trapped in five-inch stiletto-heeled pink patent leather court shoes that leave him tottering nervously before his beautiful buxom mother. His balance is made even more problematic by the fact that, like mine, his arms have been bound tightly behind his back at the wrists and elbows. His thick short red hair has been subjected to a particularly curly perm and his gorgeously emerald eyes are filled with a deeply erotic mixture of nervous fear and desperate sexual arousal. This look is accentuated by the fact that a thick silk scarf is covering his lower face and is tied in a fat and tight bow at the base of his slender sissy swan’s neck. Judging from the bulging cheeks hidden by the scarf, his mouth is filled with a panty gag and his lips are sealed tightly shut with the same ingenious plaster that is now so effectively silencing my helpless moans of wild sissy pleasure.